Unofficial Portkey Archive

(A/N: Once again I have to thank Mary Caroline for her help. I depend on her to tell me when my ten-year-old heroine sounds older than ten.

I appreciate every review! Please do let me know what you think. Not that I expect a lot of readers, what with A Certain Movie giving you all better things to do than read this…)

(Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to Jo. The plot belongs to me. The characters belong to themselves.)

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

"Restoring Hope"

by Paracelsus

*

30 August 2008 - Year 10 P.V.

*

"Wow!! Comet Boards! Thanks, Uncle Fred!" Isabeau and Michelle threw themselves at Fred and Angelina and hugged them enthusiastically.

"They're from Uncle George, too, and you're both welcome," laughed Fred, extricating himself. "Happy Birthday, you two." Angelina gave Fred a discreet nudge in the ribs with her elbow; when he looked at her, she nodded towards the twins' mother and grandmother.

For two women so different in appearance, in upbringing, and in personality, it was remarkable how similar Molly and Fleur looked just then. They were each giving Fred and Angelina a pinch-lipped stare that was quite easy to read: Are those things safe?

"They're no different than Muggle snowboards, really," Fred said to them, answering the unspoken question. "Except they've got racing broom charms put on. Including Braking, Cushioning, and Foot-Grip Charms. I think Comet's going to recoup their reputation with these boards… the P.V. Generation loves them, prefers them to brooms."

"And Lance is already practicing cartwheels on his," added Angelina proudly (as Lance groaned "Mu-umm!"). The implication that she, Lance's mother, thought the Comet Boards safe enough, was not lost on the room.

Certainly not on Fleur. "Well, they do look like fun," she conceded, then raised her voice ever so slightly and added the special Mother-Is-Watching harmonic. "Although I would hate to be forced to confiscate them for being flown in the house." Isabeau, who'd been about to mount her Comet Board, hastily jumped off and tucked the board under her arm.

"Besides," added Bill, watching with amusement, "there's still cake." As always when the Weasley clan were gathered, food proved a more than adequate distraction. The 'young ones' (and this included Ron) rushed over to the table where the cake stood, ready to be cut by the birthday girls, while the 'elders' (and this included Ginny) looked on with indulgent smiles.

Eventually Ron emerged triumphant from the throng, and looked around for an empty space where he could eat his cake in peace. He found it next to Ginny. "Aren't you going to get any?" he asked, gesturing with his fork.

"Mum's chocolate mousse cake? Of course I will… when I can make my way to it." She watched Isabeau and Michelle take charge of slicing and serving the cake, laughing with each guest who came to the table… "Oh my. Look at them, Ron. They're… flirting with everyone! When their Veela powers kick in, they're going to be dangerous."

"If we're lucky, they'll be in Gryffindor… where I can keep an eye on them." At Ginny's questioning look, Ron went on, "Yeah, McGonagall's chosen me to be the new Head of House. I was hoping she would… Old Man Winsock was absolutely terrible."

"Not to mention he won't be coming back this year. Or has McGonagall yet managed to get rid of the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?"

Ron smiled slyly. "We've come up with a way around it," was all he'd say.

"Good. Hogwarts is going to need all the competent Defense teaching it can get." Ginny sighed. As though thinking in parallel, Ginny and Ron both glanced over at Hope, sitting quietly by the cake table. She was watching the festivities, and seemed to be enjoying herself… but she had an air of reserve, or rather, more reserve than normal.

"Yeah," commented Ron. "I'm hoping she'll be in Gryffindor, too."

"Oh, let's hope not." At Ron's expression of indignation, she grinned impishly. "Bad enough her Dad's a Professor. Having her Dad as her Head of House, too? Can you imagine having had Mum instead of McGonagall when we were at Hogwarts?"

"Ewwww," they said together, and shared a laugh. It's been a long time since we've done that, Ron thought happily.

But Ginny quickly sobered as she continued to keep an eye on Hope. "Ron? Have you been reading the Prophet recently? Have you seen what they've been saying about Hope?"

"Don't get me started," said Ron bitterly. Since last month's attack on Hogwarts, the newspaper had run numerous articles spotlighting several of those who'd fought or been injured there… before settling on Hope as the media-proclaimed Heroine of the Day. Her dramatic gesture and her "I am Harry Potter" credo had made it easy for them to do so.

"I won't, but… how's she handling it?" Ginny seemed genuinely concerned; Ron told himself he was imagining an underlying edge to her voice.

"She won't talk about it much, but she really doesn't like the attention," Ron told her. "I'm almost afraid of what'll happen when she goes back to Potter Primary in a few days." He thought of the new precautions the primary school had been forced to implement - making the school's new location Unplottable, for instance, and issuing customized Portkeys for each student- and set his cake aside listlessly. He no longer had any appetite for it.

Now that was a bad sign.

"I've tried talking to the Prophet's editors, but they wouldn't listen," he continued. "And as much as I'd enjoy threatening reporters with rectal splinching, Luna tells me it wouldn't stop them in the long run."

Ginny considered. "Mm, blackmail remains a possibility…"

"I doubt they're all unregistered Animagi, though." Ron gave an exasperated sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl. "Okay, I can understand needing to rally public confidence, but do they have to focus so much on Hope's personal life? Merlin, I'm almost tempted to…" He stopped short.

"To do something flashy to draw attention to yourself, and away from Hope?" asked Ginny shrewdly.

"Yeah. Look at me, everyone… I'm Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's friend. Hell, Ginny, sometimes I think I'm turning into Harry! I've got a crazy Dark magician out to kill me, I've made money from the deaths of those I love, and I hate the media! Why shouldn't I try and draw attention from Hope?"

"Only it wouldn't work, would it?" Ginny noted with a shake of her head. "You'd just become a father-and-daughter media darling. At least now you understand what Harry went through." Her eyes flicked back to Hope as her expression turned grimmer. "Let's hope she never does."

She turned her attention back to Ron. Her voice was lighter as she added, "And frankly, I don't think you should do anything that would help the Prophet sell papers."

"Ah, excellent point. Here." Ron picked up his cake and handed it to her. "You deserve a reward for that."

"Hey!" came Bill's voice, as he walked up with two servings of cake. "I was going to give her one of these." He handed a serving to Ginny as Ron retrieved his own cake. "What are you two conspiring about?"

"Just thinking about Hope going off to school," Ron shrugged. Having shared his worries with Ginny, he suddenly found he didn't want to spread them to the entire party.

Bill smiled. "Empty-nest syndrome, Ron?"

"Oh, you can gloat. This time next year, the twins may be gone, but you'll still have Ghislaine. Luna will only have me." Ron's eyes found Luna as she sat across the room, conversing with Angelina and Verity, who'd come to the party with George.

"Ah well, you've still got a year to put a bun in the oven," Bill reminded him. "I know Luna would love to have a second child around your house."

"Yeah," admitted Ron with a rueful half-smile. "Hey, it could happen. Hope springs eternal."

"Well, tell her to stop," said Ginny with a perfectly straight face. "She's obviously distracting you."

Ron ignored the pun. "Or I could just wait until she goes off to Hogwarts before mentioning your kind suggestion to Luna."

"Wouldn't help," Ginny riposted, still deadpan. "You'd really be Hopeless then."

This second pun proved too much to ignore, and Ron was forced to respond by threatening Ginny with a forkful of chocolate mousse cake. Bill watched as Ginny squawked in mock terror before grabbing Ron's fork hand and redirecting the cake towards his own face. The ensuing tell-off by Mrs. Weasley ("Ronald and Ginevra!! What kind of example do you two think you're setting?!") was like an echo of an earlier, happier time. Bill loved it.

It made it easier to keep some things to himself. Bill couldn't bear to ruin the happy moment by talking about developments at his job… certainly not to Ron and Ginny. The fact had gone unnoticed by the wizarding world, overshadowed by the other events on that day… but on 31 July, when the Potter legacy was scheduled to revert to the Ministry of Magic, Gringotts Bank had formally declined to turn it over.

*

"Everyone keeps worrying about me," Hope complained that evening. "I really wish they'd stop."

"Shouldn't they worry?" asked Hermione. "From what you told me, you've practically declared yourself the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix. I really wish you'd told me about it sooner."

"It was hard to find privacy at Aunt Fleur's house."

Hermione didn't say anything, but her expression was eloquent. If you'd told your parents about me, as I told you to…

"And I didn't declare myself the leader of anything," Hope went on. "I was trying to get the grown-ups to get it together and do something."

The portrait sighed. "Well, you've a year before you begin at Hogwarts," allowed Hermione. "Perhaps you'll be eclipsed by some other media star before then. Otherwise, you may learn for yourself what Harry went through in his first year." She paused. "So. Speaking of Hogwarts: Do you want to revise some more from The Standard Book of Spells tonight? You're up to book 3…"

Hope shook her head.

"Do you want to talk, Hope?" asked Hermione more gently. "You can always talk to me, you know… if things get to be too much."

Hope hesitated, but in the end she shook her head again.

"Well, if I can help you in any way…" Hermione persisted.

"Okay," said Hope, seizing the opportunity. "Tell me about the fourth Horcrux."

Hermione blinked in surprise, then scowled furiously. "That's not what I meant, young lady!"

"I know you don't think I should know about Horcruxes," said Hope hurriedly. "But I already do. I just think it's important that I know what you had to do to defeat Voldemort. I'm sure of it. I don't know why, but I am."

"You don't know…" Hermione began, but couldn't complete the sentence. "Hope…" she began again, and her voice was somehow both stern and anxious.

"Mother? Please?"

The two determined witches matched gazes for a long minute before Hermione relented. "Well, actually, there's not much I can tell you," she said. "We hadn't yet located the fourth Horcrux when I was painted. At that point, we'd found two - Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup - and identified a third, Ravenclaw's athame. The fourth one was a matter of some debate…"

*

"He came to Godric's Hollow to make a Horcrux," Harry declared. "It'd fit with his psychology if that particular Horcrux was from Godric Gryffindor."

"Fine," conceded Ron. "What was it?"

"Haven't a clue."

They were in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, the day after Christmas. Harry had insisted on continuing their training regimen, even though they were on holiday; the Room had responded by arranging itself to look as it had during the heyday of the D.A. They'd taken turns shooting hexes and blocking them - Hermione had proven exceptionally good in her shielding, even by her own standard - and were now taking a break.

Conversation had turned to the same topic it always did, recently: the remaining Horcrux, as yet unlocated and unidentified. Hermione and Harry were on their feet, pacing and talking, burning off the nervous energy left over from their exercises. Ron, by contrast, was sprawled in a comfy-chair, idly flipping through one of Lavender's Tarot decks (which annoyed Hermione on multiple levels).

"Let's say you're right," began Hermione. "Let's say Voldemort succeeding in making a Horcrux when he killed your parents… before his attack on you backfired."

"I can't prove it," Harry admitted. "But I'm sure of it. I don't know why, but I am."

"The only known existing artifacts that belonged to Gryffindor," Hermione continued didactically, "are the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword. The Hat has been kept in the Headmaster's office since before Tom Riddle was born - it never leaves except for the Sorting. And the sword was hidden in the Hat. Nobody even knew it still existed until you pulled it out of the Hat to kill the basilisk, Harry."

"Then the Horcrux had to be something else of Gryffindor's," argued Harry. "'Known existing artifacts' implies there are unknown artifacts existing."

"Oh, brilliant, Harry. Something that might exist, but we don't know what, and we don't know where," scoffed Hermione. "If it exists at all. That certainly narrows it down."

"We do know where," said Harry, ignoring the sarcasm. "If Voldemort brought it to Godric's Hollow, to my parent's house that night… then it's still there. He couldn't've taken it away once he was disembodied, right?"

"No, but others could. Someone obviously retrieved Voldemort's wand from the wreckage - why not the Horcrux as well? Wormtail could've done it easily… we don't know what he was doing between the time your parents died and the time Sirius confronted him."

Harry shook his head. "Yeah, but that was after. I'm sure Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow alone. He kept the Horcruxes secret, after all, even from his own followers. Or do you think Lucius Malfoy would've given the diary to Ginny if he'd known what it really was?"

"Oh yes, Ginny. I'd almost forgotten what an important part she's played in all this," Hermione said heatedly.

"Huh?"

"In fact, I'm sure she's got some valuable insights that she's waiting to share," Hermione continued, becoming shrill. "You'd probably much rather be with her than with… with us!"

"Hermione?!" asked Harry incredulously. Unconsciously he took a step towards her, reaching out…

She was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, never mind me... I guess I've got the megrims today, that's all."

"Yeah," put in Ron, "I know what you mean. It's been nice seeing everyone… and Christmas breakfast was fantastic…!"

"It sure was," said Harry, his eyes on Hermione. "And it was the most interaction any of us've had with Ginny these last few days."

"But y'know," Ron opined, "between being cooped up at Grimmauld Place and cooped up at Hogwarts, there's not much to choose." He gathered up the cards, shuffled them, and started flipping through them again.

Harry nodded, as though reaching a decision. "Well, then," he ventured, "after we leave here, let's not go straight to Grimmauld Place. I'd like to go back to Godric's Hollow and search my parents' house again. I'm sure the Gryffindor Horcrux is there, somewhere. It.. it feels right."

"We searched it once already, back in September," Hermione felt obliged to point out. "It would help if we had some idea what to look for…"

Ron flipped another card, then paused. "You-Know-Who was obsessed with the Founders, right, Harry?" he asked slowly. "Stuff they used to own?"

"They were the only ones worthy enough to provide him with Horcruxes," confirmed Harry.

"And he's big on patterns, right, Hermione? Numerology, symbolism, that sort of thing?"

"Precisely. Seven soul fragments, because of the magical significance and stability of the number seven," said Hermione, growing impatient.

"Well, then…" Ron started laying Tarot cards on the table, face up. "Four suits in the Tarot. The cup. The sword. The pentacle or jewel." He turned another card. "The wand."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. "If the sword is cognate with the athame… and the jewel with the locket…" Hermione admitted.

"It would fit with how Voldemort thinks," Harry finished, nodding slowly in agreement.

"Right, then," Hermione said, becoming her usual brisk self again. "Gryffindor's wand it is. At least, we can use that as our working assumption. And if we do find anything, we can use the Durmstrang spell to test it." Smiling warmly at Ron, she reached over and squeezed his hand. "Well done, Ron."

Ron blushed and looked away, feeling very pleased.

"And we'll go to Godric's Hollow again… and as many times as you think we need to, Harry," she concluded, turning to him. He looked so thankful… she knew that this was the best moment she'd ever have to tell him, tell them, of her condition. She took a breath and summoned courage…

And Harry surprised her utterly by gratefully taking her hands in his own. He didn't just hold them, or squeeze them as she had Ron's… instead, he brought her hands up and touched his lips to them, exquisitely gentle.

And, momentarily losing all power of speech, it was her turn to blush and look away.

*

6 December 2008 - Year 10 P.V.

*

"But Mum, I've got to go shopping," Hope protested. "Christmas is almost here." She was careful not to let her voice pitch upwards into a whine… that would be beneath her dignity. If all else failed, then she'd try whining.

"Christmas isn't for three weeks," said Luna.

"Nineteen days."

"You won't win any sympathy points that way, my girl."

"Sorry." Hope stood silent for a moment, then tried a different tack. "Nobody's attacked Hogsmeade yet, Mum."

Luna sighed. "The operative word being yet, diamond. It'd be just like Bellatrix to target Christmas shoppers. I'd simply rather you not wander through town alone. Couldn't you hold off on shopping until your father or I can accompany you?"

"Um… that'd make it hard to shop for you." Hope brightened, pretending to have an idea. "How about if I go with Aunt Gelina? Would that be all right?"

"Angelina's busy taking care of Ygraine…" Luna paused and looked thoughtful. "On the other hand, I suppose she might welcome an opportunity to be away from the baby for a couple of hours. Especially with the outbreak of Danish Lactophages… All right, but only if she agrees."

"Yes, Mum, I promise," replied Hope, conveniently neglecting to mention that she'd already Spoken to Angelina, days ago, and that Angelina'd already agreed. "Love you, Mum."

"Love you too, Hope. I'll see you tonight," said Luna. The Speaking Glass shimmered and became a simple mirror again.

Hope dashed back to her room and opened the box of Potions supplies. With Luna now working full-time at the Quibbler, their after-school Potions classes had been put on hiatus. Hope felt incredibly guilty about breaking her promise, brewing potions without Luna's supervision. But this was the only opportunity she might have, and she had to seize it while she had it.

And besides, she tried to rationalize, these potions are perfectly safe. All the books say so. Hope took the flasks, filled with the potions she'd brewed, out of the box and slipped them into her knapsack. She added an eyedropper, an atomizer, and a couple of odds and ends, then ran back downstairs to the Speaking Glass. She tapped the frame and called, "Angelina Weasley?"

After a second, her reflection morphed into the image of her Aunt Gelina. "H'lo, Hope. You all ready?"

"Uh huh. I can use the Floo Powder and come right over…"

"You have your house's Floo password, so you can get home again?"

Hope nodded. She couldn't keep from blurting, "Were you able to find him?"

Angelina smiled. "In the Greater London telephone directory."

*

An hour later, Angelina and Hope were walking through Muggle London, and Hope was doing her best not to gawk in wonder. A couple of years ago, her class at Potter had taken a field trip to Edinburgh, as an exercise in Muggle Studies - but that trip in no way prepared her for the crowds, the traffic, the noise, the excitement of London.

"Where are we?' she asked, as they approached a block of what might have been either small shops or large flats.

"Fitzrovia," Angelina told her. "Soho's just south of us, if you're interested. Stay close to me, now." She was, Hope noticed, keeping a watchful eye on any passerby who approached too near. Hope took her aunt's hand and stayed close.

Eventually they came to a nondescript door squeezed between two shops. It opened onto a narrow flight of stairs, leading up to another door. Angelina didn't bother with the bell, simply knocking sharply. She waited a moment, then knocked again. "Dean?" she called through the door. "Are you there?"

Footsteps sounded within. The door was opened by a very tall, very thin man wearing a paint-daubed shirt. "Angelina? Lord, is it really you?"

"Sure is. May we come in?" They were ushered into an echoing artist's loft. Its high ceiling was filled with broad skylights; a door led to a back room, presumably an office or a bedroom. Three or four easels with painted canvases stood under the skylights, and sundry art supplies were scattered about haphazardly.

Angelina and Dean traded a short but heartfelt hug, then turned to Hope. "Dean," said Angelina, "may I introduce my niece Hope Weasley? Hope, this is Dean Thomas, your dad's dormmate at school."

"A pleasure," said Dean, extending his hand. Up close, Hope could see that one side of Dean's face was crisscrossed with thin scars, as if sliced by many tiny scalpels. "Hope Weasley, is it? I remember hearing about it when you were born."

"A lot's happened since then," said Angelina. There was a reproving note in her voice.

Dean either didn't notice it or chose to ignore it. "So what brings you fair ladies to my humble studio today?"

"Oh. Uh, I'm sorry… you must not've got either of my owls…" began Hope. She'd used her teacher's owl at Potter, a clever ploy to avoid parental questions.

"Those were your owls?" Dean gave a half-shrug of apology. "I got them… I, er, just didn't answer them. I don't… well, these days I live like this."

"Dean retired from the wizarding world after leaving Hogwarts," Angelina explained brusquely. "Do you live completely as a Muggle now, Dean?"

"As much as I can," replied Dean, slightly defensive. "It suits me fine. I make a good living here now. Calendar work…" and he gestured at the canvases with their half-finished landscapes, "and some commissions. And no Death Eaters to come a-calling, which truly suits me fine."

"We could've used your help these last few years, any number of times," said Angelina.

"I just didn't feel up to helping a society that looked down its nose on me as a Muggleborn," Dean told her. "Funny, that."

"You've only traded one kind of racism for another," Angelina retorted bitingly. "Wog."

Dean smiled without a trace of humor. "'Least no one's tried to kill me this year. And you?"

Angelina had no ready reply to that. Dean nodded and turned back to Hope. "So, as I was saying…"

"I was hoping to, uh, buy some art from you," said Hope. "To give for Christmas?" She didn't completely understand the adults' exchange, but thought that now might be a good time to play peacemaker.

"Mmm. It's a little late in the season to commission art in time for…"

"Actually," Hope put in quickly, "I was hoping you kept some drawings you made back where you were at Hogwarts. Some sketches of my Aunt Ginny?"

Angelina looked surprised, while Dean looked astounded. "I do still have portfolios full of sketches from back then," Dean said after a moment. "How did you know…?"

Hope shrugged one shoulder. "I heard someone say it. You were sketching people during Christmas break, your last year at Hogwarts, right? I thought Aunt Ginny might like to have one of them… if it's okay, I mean."

"It may take me a moment to dig them out," said Dean. Brows lowered in concentration, he retreated to the back room of the loft. Angelina and Hope were left alone in his studio.

"I wanted to do something special for Aunt Ginny this year," Hope explained. "She's been really nice, and I'd like to be nice back."

"Especially since… your birthday," commented Angelina, referring obliquely to the attack on Hogwarts. Publicly, Ginny had been acting much better towards Hope since July: spending more time with her, offering advice on everything from hair care (which Hope greatly appreciated) to Quidditch broom selection (which Hope, who hated flying, had suffered without complaint). Hope seemed to enjoy the new attention from her aunt.

In private, though, Angelina couldn't help wondering about Ginny's change of heart. It was welcomed by the entire Weasley clan, but Angelina and Fleur had compared notes: both thought they sensed an underlying tension still present. A sort of watchful hardness, whenever Ginny was with Hope.

"Well, this will be a very thoughtful gift," Angelina assured Hope. And if it helps remind Dean of his ties to the wizarding world, she added to herself, so much the better.

Dean's head reappeared in the doorway to the back room. "I found 'em. More than I can carry at one go, though… what year are you most interested in?"

"Don't bring them out… I'll come back there," Hope volunteered, and quickly moved for the door. "Be right back, Aunt Gelina." This was turning out perfectly.

Once she and Dean were alone, she said, "The sketches you made, your last year at school? They were more than just Ginny, I know. You sketched lots of people, didn't you? Like my birth mother?"

"You mean Hermione? Yeah…" Dean flipped through the loose leaves of the portfolio. "I make a lot of sketches, and I never throw them out. It's not unusual for artists to do that… you never know when a particular idea will be needed." He turned up a set of pencil drawings: not a lot of detail, but recognizably Hermione. Hermione reading a book, Hermione chewing on a quill, Hermione glaring directly at the artist…

"Here are some of Ginny." There were many more sketches of Ginny than of Hermione. They seemed to run the gamut of emotions: laughing, wistful, irritated, focused, sleepy. One, more detailed than the others, showed Ginny sticking her tongue out at a smirking Ron. It had been lightly colored with pastel charcoal.

"That's a good one," Dean commented, noting her interest. "Is that the one you'd like?"

Hope hesitated. "Well, yes, but… actually… what I'd really like is…" She took the portfolio from Dean's hands and began flipping through the pages. Some drawings of Ron, a few of adults she assumed were teachers, two girls she didn't recognize, an owl and a pussycat…

And there it was. A pencil sketch of a thin young man, dark-haired and bespectacled. The lightning-bolt scar on his forehead was almost hidden amidst the bird's-nest of his hair. He was in profile, one arm stretched out, palm upwards. A few inches about his hand floated a small winged ball - a Golden Snitch, Hope realized. The only color in the drawing was a touch of green, added to the eyes.

She looked closer. This sketch was far more detailed than any other she'd seen: Dean had spent extra effort to capture this subject. There were lines of care worn into the corners of his eyes and mouth, and the barest suggestion of premature grey at his temples. His eyes were fiercely intent on the winged ball - yet he wore a hint of a smile, as though this was a relaxing activity that he hadn't enjoyed in months.

"This one," Hope announced, pulling it out of the portfolio and showing it to Dean.

"Man, I'd forgotten I had this." Dean smiled in reminiscence. "Harry didn't give me many opportunities to draw him, but in this case he was concentrating on the Snitch. You want this one for Ginny, too?"

"No," said Hope boldly. "I want it for me. I want you to paint it."

Dean looked sharply at Hope. He didn't say anything for a long, terrifying moment, and Hope felt her boldness oozing away through the soles of her feet. "You don't mean ordinary paint, I take it," he finally said, his voice cold and flat.

"Uh, no," she mumbled. Unslinging her knapsack, she set it down on the floor and brought out the flasks of potions she'd brewed. She looked up silently at Dean, quite unable to say any more.

Dean maintained his sharp look. "You have Hermione's portrait," he deduced.

She nodded. She still couldn't say anything, but she refused to give herself permission to look away.

After another long moment, Dean sighed. "Even with the right potions, I couldn't paint a living portrait like Hermione's. I can't work from a drawing, or a photo… I need to have the subject physically present. I have to capture his essence…"

Hope nodded again. Reaching back into her knapsack, she brought out the atomizer. She filled it from one of the flasks, then carefully sprayed a fine mist of potion over the sketch.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the image's hand darted up to pluck the Snitch from mid-air. His head turned slightly to give the viewer a sly sidelong look, as though to say he'd known all along that he was being watched and sketched… and his smile at catching the Snitch was both exultant and, oddly, self-effacing.

The tiny spurt of magic spent, the image stopped moving. Hope looked back at Dean, still silent, but with desperately pleading eyes. Dean returned her gaze for a moment before turning his attention to the drawing.

"I'd have to use that sketch," he said, very slowly, thinking it out. "Paint directly over it… no transfer. Can't use oils, they'd bleed, so I'd have to use gouache… which isn't permanent…"

"Tempera?" she suggested meekly.

"Might pucker the paper," Dean replied absently. "Unless I faced it…" His eyes came back to focus on Hope. "I can't promise anything," he told her bluntly. "I don't know if the drawing has enough of his essence. I don't even know if I can still do magic, after so long. I don't know…"

"But you'll try?"

Dean looked again at the sketch, noting the jawline and facial bones… then his artist's eyes returned to Hope's suddenly eager face. His voice grew gentle as he replied, "For Harry, how can I not?"

*

25 March 2009 - Year 10 P.V.

*

Tonks waited with crossed arms while O'Houlihan, the Aurors' curse-breaker-in-residence, walked slowly back and forth on the hillside. Slightly up the hill was their destination, a cave opening barely tall enough for a person to stand erect. "Definitely a Muggle Repelling Charm," she reported at length. "But with an added layer, projecting… Aversion? Terror? Circe, this is a work of art…"

"Just get us through it safely," snapped Tonks. They were standing deep in the Cambrian Mountains, and she felt exposed… vulnerable. The other two Aurors, Featherstone and Oakley, were keeping watch for any attacks, by air or land, but that was small comfort.

Tonks hated standing in the open like this… but there'd been reports of Muggles fleeing in fright from this area, and the magical protections surrounding the cave were proof that someone was hiding something here. Since the Ministry had nothing here - and Tonks knew that the Order of the Phoenix had nothing here, either - it had to be something to do with Bellatrix and her crowd.

O'Houlihan was still inspecting the hillside, shaking her head. "I can't… mmm, I can't localize any additional curses here. No barriers… no Anti-Apparation Jinxes… if there's something else here besides the Repelling Charm, it's very well hidden." She reached out her hand tentatively, as though feeling for an invisible wall. "Aha, there you are…!" She twisted her hand slightly, and a wave of warmth flashed through the assembled Auror team.

"Good to go," O'Houlihan announced. Tonks immediately summoned her team with a curt hand gesture, and they approached the cave entrance. They positioned themselves, waited for the curse breaker to give the all-clear… then Featherstone and Oakley jumped through the cave entrance and immediately pivoted right and left, fanning out. Tonks was right behind them, taking the center point.

Candles sconces bolted into the rock flared into light as they passed through the entrance into the cave. A mattress rested against one wall, some empty food tins and butterbeer bottles were scattered across the floor… all covered with a film of dust. The cave had evidently been abandoned years ago.

At the back of the cave was a massive metal door, with a circular window of thick glass set into it. "I don't believe it," said Oakley, inspecting it closely. "This thing looks goblin-made!"

"I'm guessing that means a simple Alohomora won't open it," Tonks replied. Mentally, she tried to compile a list of wizards to whom the goblins would give (or sell, she amended) such an impressive magical item. It was a very short list… the goblins jealously guarded their skills at Artifaction. They might sell some of their lesser Artifacts - but this? It could easily have been used as a Gringotts vault door.

Topping the list was Bill Weasley, whom the goblins regarded as favorably as any human alive. But even he wouldn't have access to this level of goblin magic…

Strike that, Tonks thought suddenly. Why limit it to the living? The cave's been deserted for who-knows-how-long. A better guess would be Dumbledore - the goblins certainly trusted him, everybody did - but what would Dumbledore be doing with a door like that? In the middle of nowhere?

Well, the middle of Wales, but it was the same thing.

"I don't see a keyhole on the door. Look around," she ordered. "There has to be a latch somewhere to open this."

"Found it. Them, I should say," called Featherstone. She gestured to two long levers set into the rocky wall of the cave, several feet from the metal door. One of the levers was painted bright red.

"Two?" Tonks looked through the door's window. Sure enough, there was a second door behind the first one, likewise set with a circular window. Whoever'd built this was dead set on keeping something safe.

They waited for O'Houlihan to run her wand around the edge of the door. "Clear," she reported. Then Featherstone pulled the first lever. With a slight hiss of escaping air, the outer door opened. Tonks swung it back.

"Let the air circulate," she told the others, while she examined the inside of the door. The edge was sealed to be airtight; Tonks was sure the inner door had a similar seal. There was a peculiar mechanism attached to the inside of the door, at waist height: a spring arm with a cup on the end. Experimentally, Tonks pushed the arm down until she felt a catch click. She took her hand away and waited, while O'Houlihan did her scan on the inner door.

Just as the curse breaker was turning to say the inner door was clear of curses, the catch let go, and the spring arm popped away from the door with a spung! If anything had been in the cup, it would have been tossed well away from the door.

"So… whoever built this…" said Oakley slowly, "they'd open the first door, put something in that… that catapult… snap it in place, shut the first door, open the second door…"

"And wait for the catch to release… tossing the whatever-it-was inside," finished Tonks. She looked through the inner door's window, but saw nothing. "Wands ready," she said anyway, and nodded to Featherstone.

Featherstone pulled the red lever, and the inner door opened. Immediately, they were hit with an incredible noxious stench, like a combination of rotten eggs and maggoty meat and fermented vomit. Tonks nearly gagged before placing a Bubble-Head Charm over herself. "Lumos," she whispered, and stepped into the innermost chamber.

Lying against the far wall was the collapsed, crumpled body of a dementor. A dead dementor. "I didn't even know those things could die!" Tonks exclaimed.

Oakley was right behind Tonks, Bubble-Head Charm in place. "Well, they breed," he commented. "They're born. So they must die, sooner or later." He approached the dementor's body cautiously, and gave it a tentative prod with its wand. "Wasted away. I'd almost think it starved to death." He stood and examined the rocky walls of the chamber. "Yeah… the walls have been fused into glass. They're airtight. With the doors closed, even a dementor couldn't get out of here. This place wasn't made to keep intruders out, but to keep the dementor in."

"And it's been years since anyone was here… with the thing trapped inside, no emotions to eat… yeah, I think you're right. It starved to death." Tonks was looking around the chamber. "Still doesn't answer the question of who'd keep a caged dementor in the first place…"

"Chief," interrupted O'Houlihan urgently, "we should leave. A spell's just been set off. Not a curse," she added quickly, as Tonks looked ready to chew her out, "or I'd've spotted it earlier. But something… triggered when we opened the inner door." She looked out, through the double doors, to the cave entrance. "An alarm, I'd bet."

"Fine. Two can play that game. Oakley, O'Houlihan, put everything back the way it was. Featherstone, I want our own alarm spell cast on this cave. Let's see who comes to check on their pet dementor." Tonks was headed out of the chamber when she spotted some items on the floor, hidden in darkness. She shone the light of her wand on them.

A locket, a cup, and a knife.

Was the dementor set as a guard over them? she wondered as they re-sealed the massive doors. That would explain the extra wards outside the cave… but the items didn't look particularly valuable. And if they were valuable, why weren't they set together carefully, instead of lying on the floor any-which-way?

Tonks still wondered this hours later, hours spent keeping the cave entrance under surveillance, waiting to see if anyone would respond to the alarm spell. No one showed up. Eventually, Tonks assigned Oakley to wait there until midnight, just in case. She and the other Aurors returned to their offices at the Ministry, they to turn in reports on the day's raid, she to write an owl to McGonagall. Thereafter, the Aurors relied on their own alarm spell to warn them, should anyone enter the cave again.

*

Ron nearly dropped his wand when it began to vibrate gently in his hand. He knew what the buzzing meant… and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it at the moment.

"No, Brocklehurst, not like that! You try casting a Protego like that and you'll be flat on your arse. Make your moves short, exact and to the point." Ron demonstrated the proper wand motion for the Shield Charm without casting it. "Now try again, you lot…"

Technically, this was a meeting of the Defense Association, the Hogwarts student club that Ron had sponsored this year. But the new, improved D.A. met several times every day, bringing together all students fourth-year and higher - for whom membership was mandatory. Ron was very involved with the club, showing all its members how to cast hexes, erect shields, and stay alive when confronted with Death Eaters.

It was, for all practical purposes, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

The Headmistress had devised this way of avoiding the curse on the Defense Professor's post. The curse only affected the Defense Professor - not necessarily anyone who taught Defense. Harry had taught more Defense Against the Dark Arts in their fifth year than Ugly Umbridge ever managed. Snape had taught Defense twice, briefly, before actually getting the post in Ron's sixth year: as an 'assistant' to Lockhart, and as a substitute for Lupin. It wasn't until he was officially given the Defense Professorship that the curse came down on him.

So, for this year, Professor Flimworthy taught the younger students the basics of Defense, and on paper was in charge of the curriculum for the older students. Actual training, however, took place in the Defense Association, the student club headed by the Quidditch instructor. That the Quidditch instructor had learned his Defense skills fighting for the Light alongside The Boy Who Lived didn't hurt a bit.

His wand buzzed again, and Ron slipped it into his pocket. He knew what it meant: someone had stumbled onto their cave, managed to get through the wards, and opened the inner door to the dementor's cell - triggering Hermione's alarm spell. But he had over sixty students in his care at the moment, half of whom were tossing curses while the other half tried to block them. He couldn't leave them to investigate. It would just have to wait.

Ron could only hope that, whoever it was at the cave, they weren't so stupid as to open both doors…

*

"And just be careful not to open both doors," Hermione finished.

"Thank you for the bleedin' vote of confidence," muttered Ron. "Maybe you should rig it so that both doors can't be opened at once."

"If I did that, we couldn't get the dementor into his cell, could we?" Hermione gave a final look around the cave. "Everything's ready, I think. As soon as Harry arrives, we can go out and find a dementor."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, they're not that hard to find, these days," said Ron. "Still breeding like mad, from what I hear. Even the Muggles are noticing something's not on."

Hermione nodded. "The hard part may be finding just one. We may have to split one away from its, um… swarm? Herd? Whatever." She stopped, obviously unwilling to bring up the sore point that had come between them all week.

Ron tried to approach it obliquely. "Harry and I can probably do that. You can keep this place ready for it when we bring it…"

"Ron," said Hermione sharply, "have you learned to summon a corporeal Patronus?"

"Hermione," Ron shot back, just as sharply, "did you think Harry and I were letting a dementor anywhere near you? In your condition?"

"I'm pregnant, Ron, not crippled!"

"Five months pregnant, Hermione! You really want a dementor near your baby? For once, dammit, just stay behind! And oh, for your information, I can make a corporeal Patronus!"

"That little dog? You did it once, Ron. With no dementors in sight, let me remind you."

Ron spluttered a moment before he retorted, "Doesn't matter, anyway! Non-corporeal Patronuses will do fine for what we need today." He turned away from her to face the cave entrance. "Not everything has to be perfect, y'know. It only has to be good enough."

"Well, guess what, Ron? We don't always know what will be 'good enough'. Trying for 'as good as possible' at least gives us some leeway." Ron turned back to answer, and Hermione jumped in, "And in this battle, Harry needs every bit of advantage we can give him."

Ron scowled at her. "That's a low blow, 'Mione," he said, using her hated nickname.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "Whatever it takes, Won-Won," she replied in kind.

She stopped abruptly and stiffened, as if listening. Simultaneously, she and Ron turned to the cave entrance in horror. They both felt the approach of numbing coldness, felt all happiness draining from their souls, felt as though their lives were pure misery and pain and not worth the living…

And faintly, from outside the cave, they heard a hoarse bellow: "Expecto Patronum!"

Trembling, Hermione steeled herself and started out of the cave. Ron grabbed her arm and dragged her back. "Think of your baby," he said soberly, then left the cave at a run.

Only to come face to face with a towering hooded figure, black and chilling. Behind it, a shining silver stag was prodding it up the hill, like a sheepdog herding a recalcitrant sheep. Nearby, Harry was in the process of taking off his invisibility cloak. "It was threatening the Muggles in Llanwnog," he shouted. "I had no choice, I had to stop it."

"And as long as you had to stop it, why not use it, right?" Ron moved to one side and brandished his own wand. He felt awful, like he wanted to lie down and die, but he forced himself to recall his triumphal procession from the Quidditch pitch after winning the Cup in his fifth year. "Expecto Patronum!" He got a silvery cloud to shoot from his wand… not as effective as Harry's stag, maybe, but few Patonuses were, and it did the job.

The dementor wailed angrily, unable to resist the Patronuses' prodding but resenting it nonetheless. It tried to glide past the cave, and nearly made its escape… then recoiled as a silver otter darted out of the cave and began nipping at its feet. Hermione hastily emerged from the cave behind the otter, and put some distance between her and the dementor. "Right, then," she said, determinedly brisk, "one last push, gents."

Bounded on three sides by the cloud, the stag and the otter, the dementor was forced into the cave. The stag followed close behind, its head lowered to fit through the entrance, with Harry right behind that. His face was haggard and drawn, and Ron knew the horrible things his friend was hearing and imagining… but Harry was long past the stage where he would let that stop him.

Hermione and Ron stood outside the cave for a moment, waiting… until they heard the metal doors clang shut, one after the other. The feelings of foreboding and depression lifted from them.

Wordlessly, they turned and looked at one another. Ron nodded a curt inquiry towards Hermione's stomach; she patted it and smiled, to say that mother and child were both fine. He visibly relaxed, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Took both of us helping him," said Ron, by way of apology.

"You'd think we'd know by now," agreed Hermione ruefully.

They entered the cave to find Harry sitting on the mattress they'd brought. Even with the dementor in its cell, its presence could be felt in the cave: Harry was still pale and sweaty, and Hermione sat down on the mattress to hold him from behind. Ron felt sick and gloomy, but at least he wasn't feeling suicidal. "Now what?" he asked.

"Now Hermione puts those Repelling Charms in place outside," replied Harry, "and we leave for a few days. We let it get hungry, with nothing and no-one to feed on. And once it's good and hungry…" He held up Slytherin's locket, dangling by its chain from his forefinger. "We'll see if it's willing to munch on one-seventh of a soul."

*

Ron was present that evening when McGonagall got the owl from Tonks, asking about certain items she'd spotted in a cave on a Welsh mountainside. He was surprised as anyone to learn that dementors could, evidently, die of natural causes. Afterwards, he stopped by the Hospital Wing to beg a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey. Ron was a considerate husband and father, after all, and he didn't want to bother his family with another of his silly nightmares.