Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry learns the circumstances of Bill's death, has to be stupefied by Dumbledore, is both salvaged and savaged by Hermione, punches out a mirror, visits Dudley, learns Eliza has quit her job, and tries to help, learns of political upheaval from Dumbledore, finances the Order's new headquarters, gets new glasses, sees his lawyer, talks with Professor McGonagall, learns what happened to Luna, and upsets Ginny.

This is the first chapter written entirely after the debut of Half Blood Prince. I stated the following about that book: "Anyway, it's JKR's world and we are merely trespassers. She is perfectly within her rights to do with us as she will, even to set traps. Still, it would be nice to know what an idealistic genius Muggle-born could possibly see in a Quidditch-obsessed pure-blood whose only beef with the status quo is not enough status. Could be commercial. The book buying market has a lot more Rons and Ginnys than Harrys and Hermiones, so the bell curve rules."

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 24 - Requiem

That was a topper. Harry yanked his arm free and retreated under the bedclothes. "This cannot be happening," he mumbled unbelievingly. "It's another bloody nightmare, and when I wake up you'll all be gone…."

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently but firmly. "This is no nightmare. This is worse."

Under the strain of all that had happened, Harry finally cracked.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!" he screamed.

Dumbledore tried his best to manage the situation. "I share your distress, Harry…."

Harry continued to bellow, paying no heed. "I CAN'T STAND IT ANY LONGER!! TAKE ME TO THE BASTARD NOW, BEFORE ANYONE ELSE GETS HURT…!! I'M NOT WORTH THIS…!!!"

"You need to control yourself," Dumbledore counseled. "This is precisely what he…."

Harry was beyond listening. He started to glow and spark. In his rage, he grabbed the first object he could focus on - his long-suffering alarm clock - and hurled it through the window. The glass fragmented and fell with a resounding crash.

Nothing seemed to matter. Nothing seemed to help. Voldemort was destroying his world, piece by deadly piece. "I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!!! MAYBE I'LL KILL HIM!!! MAYBE HE'LL KILL ME!!!"

"Harry, you are not meaning what you are saying, surely…."

"MAYBE WE'LL KILL EACH OTHER!!! NO MATTER WHAT, AT LEAST EVERYONE ELSE WILL BE BETTER OFF!!!"

Harry was shimmering ever brighter. Hedwig squawked with fear, and swooped out the shattered window. In her haste, she scraped her left wing against a jagged shard, causing her almost to howl - an eerie owlish echo of Harry's own pain. Hedwig quickly vanished in the darkness.

The air was crackling. Dumbledore was suddenly aware that his own substantial locks and beard were all standing on end, giving him the appearance of a large, greying sea urchin.

Lupin pleaded with the Headmaster. "Albus, please do something. No good can possibly come of this. Harry … he's … he's…."

Dumbledore acknowledged Remus' worry with a raised hand and a nod. His sorrowful, blue-eyed gaze never left Harry's thrashing, effulgent form as the boy became increasingly enmeshed within the writhing sheets below. The sheets were starting to smell. Soon they would be smouldering. "You leave me no choice, Harry…. Stupefy."

Dumbledore's spell, of course, worked. Harry instantly fell unconscious and his ethereal luminescence promptly faded. Silence was restored, and an unreal calm briefly reigned.

"Bloody Hell," George swore. "I never thought I'd see the day…."

Fred shook his head. "Sorry, but that was the easy part. We're even further from setting things right than when we got here."

"Right!?" George gave his alter-ego an odd look. "Forget right, at this point I'd settle just for holding things steady."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head, and gently brushed an errant lock back from Harry's damp and clammy forehead. Softly, he addressed the insensate young man whose travails were overwhelming. "Truly, everything happens to you. I wish with all my heart that it were otherwise - but your course will never be easy…. The path of righteousness in wartime never is."

The Headmaster displayed uncharacteristic sorrow as he straightened up and surveyed Harry's prostrate form. The boy's young body was sprawled brokenly on his meagre Muggle bed. He was clad only in his rumpled boxers and partially wrapped in the disheveled bedclothes. "He had already lost so much," Dumbledore sadly thought out loud. "Now yet another life, another lifeline, has been cruelly wrenched from his grasp."

Lupin, Fred and George said nothing, lost in their own gloomy meditations. The Headmaster heaved a great sigh. "Stunning Mister Potter was the last conceivable thing I wished to do…." His steely gaze fell upon Lupin, searching for an affirmation that was not forthcoming. "….But I am not about to risk a magical catastrophe, here or anywhere else. Nor can I have the Board of Governors concerned that he is a danger to himself or others."

Grimly, Dumbledore looked away from Lupin, to Fred and George. "He did not take that very well," the old man admitted. "Unfortunately, I think we are going to need reinforcements, are you agreed?"

Lupin looked at Dumbledore knowingly and imploringly. Harry's perilous state did not leave them with many options….

Fred and George added their reluctant approval. Fleur was not Bill's only confidante in (at least some) matters Potterania. The Twins were well acquainted with his descriptions of Harry's previous magical outbursts. Neither cared to experience one of those up close and personal.

Further discussion of the matter was unnecessary. All present understood what the Headmaster had proposed.

Dumbledore continued, "Very well, I shall collect her. Her family will not like it, but their changed circumstances leave them little choice - provided, of course, that she agrees."

"No matter what, she will, I'm certain of it," Lupin affirmed. The Twins nodded their agreement.

* * * *

Hermione was dead knackered. The night had had already been much too long and far too horrendous. Whilst she had survived the Death Eater attack, she had also been eyewitness to the immolation of six people. In one panic-filled moment, she thought Death Eaters had murdered her father. Then her parents informed her that they were moving to Australia - without her - as though the alternative would have been any better.

To add an exclamation point to that awful evening, she had finally met, face to face, the woman she believed had taken Harry's virginity. Hermione had not handled it well. Bollixed it royally was more like it.

Her reaction, she was now convinced, had been rather over the top. As a result, she was convinced that she had hurt - not helped - her cause with the only person who really mattered. Harry's voice, loudly and angrily telling her to mind her own business, still stung in her memory. It echoed through her thoughts, at once raw, sharp, and sarcastic.

The moment she returned home, she had locked herself in her room. She had not emerged since.

Hermione was in fitful slumber when, well after midnight, a drawn and grave Headmaster Dumbledore appeared uninvited in her bedroom and sought to rouse her.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began without formalities. It was not an advisable approach - not in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. Hermione rolled over….

"Diffindo!"

The Headmaster's reactions were just quick enough. The Severing Charm missed his face by millimetres; a large portion of his beard dropping to the floor. The spell buried itself in the wall. A poster bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms slowly flopped over, supported only by its lower pushpins.

Dumbledore silently and wandlessly conjured a protective shield that deflected several more rapid-fire hexes.

"Miss Granger," he repeated patiently, "It is I, Albus…."

"Dumbledore," the young witch groaned. "I don't believe it. I just attacked my Headmaster…. Oh, I'm so sorry…."

"Not to worry," he said wearily, "there is no harm done." With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore's whiskers leapt from the floor and reattached themselves. "I am the one who must offer amends for the unannounced intrusion. It seems there has been an emergency, and I am requesting your assistance. Mister Potter…."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said wearily. "Not that I don't want to help, but I rather doubt Harry wants to see me right now. I haven't been a very good…."

"Whether or not he wishes to see you, he needs to see you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "When I told him that Bill Weasley was dead…."

"Dead!? Bill!?" Hermione struggled to grasp the concept. "That's awful," she finally said. "I can't see how Harry can take much more…."

"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed. "He went into an irrational rage…. I had to Stun him to prevent another outburst."

"I'm still not sure he'll see me," Hermione admitted abjectly. "We had a row. I deserved what I got. I wasn't a very good friend to him earlier. I let my emotions get away from me…."

"It happens, Miss Granger. Sometimes, it cannot be helped," Dumbledore offered with a weak smile. "Last night was a terrible time for us all. None of us, including myself, performed altogether admirably…. Not meaning to pry, but you do not think that Mister Potter would harm you, do you?"

"Feh." Hermione dismissed that thought immediately. "No matter what, I'm certain Harry would never deliberately do anything to hurt me," she declared.

"I agree," Dumbledore answered. "Which is why I came here. Will you help me bring Mister Potter back from the brink? I doubt that there is anyone else who can."

Hermione swallowed hard but did not hesitate. "Very well," she agreed. Her thoughts, while chaotic, all circled the same centre of gravity - `If Harry needs me, I will be there for him.' Hermione realised that, whilst she might not be able to give him what she wanted, she could still try her best to give him whatever he needed. That was what friends were for.

Thus, at four in the morning, Hermione was standing alone before Harry. Hastily dressed in an old jumper and dungarees, she was trying however she could to find some way to help him cope with the murder of his guardian of only a few weeks. Dumbledore had fully explained how badly his attempt to tell Harry had ended. Hermione had as much, or more, eyewitness experience with Harry's eruptions as anyone, but she willingly accepted that risk.

Dumbledore counteracted his Stunning Spell. "Ennervate."

Hermione whispered, "Harry, wake up. You need to wake up…."

His eyes flickered. He groaned loudly. "Oh, Hermione… I had the most terrible nightmare…. Whaaaa?" Harry abruptly jerked himself upright in the gloom. "Hermione, what are you doing in my room…?" Harry pulled the bedcovers over his nearly naked body. The indistinct blob under those covers shuddered and for a few moments gave off the sounds of hyperventilation.

In a very small voice, Harry asked, "It wasn't a nightmare was it?"

Hermione struggled to answer Harry's question. "N-n-n-no Harry, it's not… Dumbledore told you the truth. Bill's really … dead.… Y-you have to be strong because… because … because I can't be any longer…." Hermione wailed the last few words and collapsed in tears against Harry's sheet-covered figure.

His gut reaction was to try to soothe her. Harry awkwardly tried placing both hands on Hermione's back … but the sheets got in the way. Frustrated, he vanished them wandlessly. Once he did that, the touch, the smell of her hair, the feeling of Hermione's body lurching in sorrow beneath his hands was too much. A wave of emotion shot through Harry's own core….

His anger melted away. His stoic exterior shattered. Within seconds, Harry began weeping as well. For both, the events of the past twenty-four hours were simply overwhelming. The two grieved together for what seemed like forever. No more words were spoken. None needed to be. Their embrace was sufficient - more than sufficient.

It had not been planned. Such a thing could not be. But their mutual catharsis through mutual mourning relaxed Harry and calmed his fevered emotions. He did not explode. He did not hurt Hermione, or anyone. He accepted the horrible news without further incident.

Eventually, Hermione gently disentangled herself, and whispered to Harry, "Are you ready to see the others now?"

Harry reluctantly nodded, but when Hermione made to rise, he caught her by the wrist. "Give me a few minutes more…. Please?" Harry did not attempt to draw her towards him again, so Hermione parked herself in Harry's desk chair.

"Would you mind?" Harry asked. After brief moment of uncertainty, Hermione figured out that he wanted to get dressed.

"I can leave," she offered.

"No," Harry said with a start. "Just … just turn around…."

Her cheeks burning crimson, Hermione turned to the wall until Harry told her he was done changing.

Then Hermione mutely watched as Harry resolutely folded himself into a lotus position and performed Occlumency to clear his mind.

Hermione was struck with the cruel irony of Harry's plea to her for a few minutes more of solitude; in his own house no less. How much different this encounter was from her previous visits here. Before, the atmosphere had been lively. Now it was just … deadly.

Somebody had once said "no man is an island," but this man, no this boy, was simply marooned. He was a rock, but he was an island - isolated. What was worse, in this case, at this moment, he was one feeling the pain. He was one who did cry. All his fame and fortune (Hermione grimaced at that thought) notwithstanding, Harry was so profoundly alone. He so desperately needed a bridge….

Hermione tried to imagine what Harry must be feeling at that moment; her emotional link to him was detecting the most abject depression she had ever sensed. She tried to ignore the link, particularly as it began to affect her own psyche. At this moment, more than any other, Harry needed his privacy….

Seconds stretched into minutes. Lost in her own thoughts, Hermione did not notice when Harry had finished preparing himself. His dark depression had lifted. A dull aching pain had replaced it.

She was startled when Harry told her, in an even, unfamiliar voice devoid of emotion, "I'm ready Hermione. You can let them in now."

She walked slowly to the door, but just before opening it, Harry caught her by the arm. "Hermione?" he asked questioningly, "I'm glad you came … after … after everything, and all…."

"Why, of course I'd come," she responded quietly, "a little unpleasantness is nothing compared to this."

"You're, you're better than me," Harry choked out. "I'm not sure I would have … after … after somebody yelled at me like that."

"You're not just somebody," she replied. "You're my best friend in all the world. It was my fault…. I hope you can forgive me…."

"You don't need to be forgiven, Hermione," Harry reassured her. With that, their private moment ended.

Hermione stepped to the door, opened it, and had a whispered conversation outside Harry's earshot. Soon Dumbledore, Lupin, Fred and George filed back in. Harry said nothing, but looked at Dumbledore and nodded.

The Headmaster did not miss the cue. "Mister Potter, Voldemort's Death Eaters did something utterly unexpected this evening … completely out of character. They carried out an attack on foreign soil. Previously - for more than thirty years - Death Eater activity had been confined to the British Isles. Voldemort may someday rue this escalation, but tonight he achieved total surprise."

He paused. Harry said nothing, but was staring intently, so Dumbledore continued. "A group of Death Eaters led by Bellatrix Lestrange carried out a successful attack on the Delacour estate in France. Your guardian and one other were killed, and there were lesser casualties."

Hermione scowled at the Headmaster. He had already told her some of what had happened. She would not have described any casualty as "lesser."

"Tell me what happened," rasped Harry, his voice tapering off to the verge of dullness.

"The French authorities are still keeping a number of details close to the vest, but the attack on the Delacour estate commenced precisely at midnight. Fleur Delacour had taken the TGV to Paris to announce the engagement and make some arrangements. Bill Weasley stayed behind to take advantage of the opportunity to make better acquaintance of his soon-to-be in-laws and to meet some local friends of the family. The return train was delayed, perhaps by sabotage."

"In any event, except for some house-elves, Mister Weasley and the remainder of the Delacour family were alone in their château at the time of the attack. There was apparently quite a struggle, and several Death Eaters perished. In the end, however, the force of the Death Eaters' numbers was simply too great. He, Maréchal Delacour, and most of the elves perished."

"What about the rest of the family?" Harry asked earnestly.

"Madame Delacour survived, but was driven to madness by the violence of the assault. The only sane survivor was the young daughter, who hid in a laundry bin. Miss Delacour - Fleur, that is - discovered everything when she arrived home. She is in seclusion."

"The daughter - that would be Gabrielle Delacour, wouldn't it?" Harry asked through tightly pursed lips.

"That is correct, Mister Potter," replied Dumbledore.

"I-I saved her once…. During the Triwizard Tournament's second task…. Gabrielle was the person Fleur valued the most, and when Fleur was delayed, I cut her loose and brought her to the surface along with Ron." Harry's voice continued devoid of emotion.

"Ah yes," Dumbledore reminisced with a sigh. "I had almost forgotten about that."

"I haven't," Harry replied. "Fleur sent me a note, inviting me to their … château, is it? She said I was Gabrielle's hero."

"I do not doubt that for a minute, Harry." Hermione interjected.

"Some hero I was last night…. No bloody chance that will ever happen now," Harry spat, showing emotion for the first time during the conversation. Turning to Dumbledore, Harry said, the words like daggers, "I think you're keeping things from me again. I want you to tell me exactly what happened. I need to know all the details."

"You really don't want to know," cautioned Lupin. "The details are not pretty…. Not in the least."

Harry wheeled and glared at his former professor. "I have to know - and I have a right to," objected Harry. "I have to know to be able to fight them. I'm too bloody weak. I tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Lestrange at the Ministry and failed miserably. She said I really had to mean it. I have to appreciate exactly how evil Voldemort is … how evil she is … if I can ever hope to kill them."

Taken somewhat aback by Harry's lethal sentiments, Dumbledore groped for words. Hermione did not.

"No Harry, you don't want to know and you don't have to," she forcefully insisted. "Why on Earth are you taking advice from a slimy Death Eater…? You can't fight Voldemort on his own terms like that - it's suicidal. He'll…. He'll know just how to deal with you, since he's the master of vengeance." Hermione paused for a breath. She was shaking with rage herself, a rage that took on all comers.

"If you ever try to destroy Voldemort by turning yourself Dark…," Hermione admonished Harry, and then turned to the others, "…or if you ever encourage him to, I will, I will … walk out of that door, forsake magic altogether, and never look back! I cannot…. I will not live with that. You are good Harry, not evil, and you cannot make a deal with the Devil, even to finish Voldemort."

Fred and George looked at each other, but said nothing. They had only come to offer moral support, as Bill's brothers. They were in no mental shape to do anything but watch the drama that was unfolding.

Dumbledore chimed in, offering the wisdom of age in support of Hermione's certainty of youth. "Miss Granger is absolutely right, you know. You will never defeat Voldemort with the magic Voldemort knows most thoroughly." Turning to the others, he said, "Now it is my turn to ask you to step outside, if you will."

The others looked confused, but they all filed out docilely.

Dumbledore muttered an Imperturbable Charm, and then addressed Harry. "Have you told Miss Granger about the prophecy?"

"No," Harry answered truthfully. "I've often considered it, but I haven't."

"You have acted with admirable circumspection, although you might have let something slip just then," affirmed Dumbledore. "Be that as it may, it appears that Miss Granger has independently come to some fairly accurate conclusions regarding the prophecy. Remember what it said, Harry. The power that you have to `vanquish the Dark Lord' is `the power that the Dark Lord knows not.' You will not fulfill the prophecy through cold-blooded hatred, or by means of an Unforgivable Curse, for there are no powers with which Voldemort is more intimately acquainted."

"Well, what is it, then?" countered Harry.

"That I cannot tell you," replied Dumbledore. "Nor would it do either of us any good to tell you, for you must find it within yourself."

Harry gaped at the Headmaster. "You're the Legilimens," he mumbled. "If you can't tell me, nobody can." He kicked disconsolately at the floor. Behind him, unseen by the young man, the painted image of Godric Gryffindor gave Dumbledore a knowing wink, before yawning and shuffling off again.

"It is not as far away as you think," Dumbledore answered, "nor as unknowable."

Harry sat mutely on the bed, shaking his head at the latest of the Headmaster's færie tales. "Your perspective is different from mine," he moped.

With their discussion of the prophecy concluded, Dumbledore invited the others to return. He announced, "Notwithstanding Miss Granger's point - or perhaps because of it - I believe that the both of you need to know exactly what happened at the Delacour château. This has nothing to do with revenge. The forces of light should never entertain such fantasies. However, under the circumstances, I believe that the truth will come out. I would much rather you learn it now, and from me, than from some lurid, half-fictional account in the Prophet."

"As best I know, Mister Weasley and Maréchal Delacour fought together against overwhelming odds. They almost succeeded in repulsing a phalanx of at least twenty Death Eaters, directed by Madam Lestrange. Mister Weasley was felled by the Killing Curse moments after a great feat. He had collapsed the roof of the Delacours' indoor swimming pool on several of his adversaries, drowning them…." Dumbledore stopped and gathered his thoughts.

"Unfortunately, his death was not the worst of it. For some time after that, Maréchal Delacour fought on tenaciously to protect the rest of his family. Several of his elves evidently sacrificed themselves to block additional Killing Curses…. But it was not enough."

"Somehow, the Maréchal was injured. Due to that, the Death Eaters captured him alive. They also found his wife. They … they brought him before his wife. Purely for spite, Lestrange used a dismembering spell - something known as the Four-Corners Curse…."

Harry and Hermione both shuddered. That was one of the very same curses that had been featured in Lesson 128. Harry's eyes narrowed, but that was nothing compared to Hermione's reaction. The young witch purpled, and had to bite her lip savagely to keep from interrupting. `They taught that awful curse to Harry,' she thought. But she said nothing.

"...literally to tear him apart in front of her," Dumbledore continued. "Madame Delacour had evidently been hiding in the wardrobe. There is no evidence that she participated in the fight. Unfortunately, the Defence curriculum at Beauxbatons for girls has always left something to be desired…."

The Headmaster paused again, returning from that tangent. "As a result she took leave of her sanity. Her daughter, Fleur, discovered her sitting on the floor of their wrecked bedroom, babbling incoherently and surrounded by blood and human body parts."

"Both corpses - or in the Maréchal's case, what was left - were mutilated … in that … in the manner I… er … previously described to you earlier in the evening…. Maréchal Delacour's severed head was found impaled on a splintered post on what remained of their canopy bed."

"Her recovery is doubtful," Dumbledore concluded, a rueful expression on his face.

There was little more to say after that. No funeral arrangements had yet been made, as the French Ministère de la Magie was involved. The time of night did not lend itself to small talk.

"Mister Potter, no one save vampires is awake at this hour. As difficult as it seems, you should try to get some sleep. You are undoubtedly exhausted - as am I," Dumbledore instructed.

"Easy for you to say," Harry grumbled. "You weren't the target of these attacks."

"If ever there were a time for you to use that Dreamless Sleep Potion that Madam Pomfrey prescribed for you last June, this is it. You are too tired to think straight, and when you have trouble acting rationally…." Dumbledore's voice trailed off.

Harry knew the Headmaster had in mind the recent screaming fit that had forced his hand and drawn a Stunning Spell. Harry agreed to use the Potion.

Surprisingly, Hermione also requested some of the Potion. Except during her immediate hospitalisation after the events at the Ministry, Hermione had never used - let alone requested - this type of potion. The stress of the Death Eaters' revelry had taken its toll on her as well.

Late the next morning, Harry was roused from deep sleep by bright sunlight streaming through his magically repaired window. Startled, he jerked himself to a sitting position in bed. "Oh bloody Hell; I must be terribly late…. What time is it anyway? Accio alarm clock."

CRASH.

Startled by the noise of shattering glass behind him, Harry had his wand out faster than the blink of an eye - just as his alarm clock restored itself to its accustomed position of prominence on the corner of Harry's desk.

"Right," a chagrined Harry muttered to nobody in particular. Only now did he belatedly recall hurling the clock through the window the night before. Now the clock had managed to break the same window twice - going and coming.

Harry started to remember everything. He ran a hand over his face, reaching upward to tug at his errant hair, as untamed as ever. The cobwebs in his mind fell away much more easily than his unruly locks. Images, revolting memories of the night before, began flooding back unbidden - and despite pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he could not staunch the flow.

Very shortly, however, a realisation, more prominent than the others, overtook him. He was likely late for his Auror training lesson. The clock read 10:30 a.m. Harry snorted and lurched out of bed in the general direction of the loo.

"Relax Harry; your lesson's been cancelled."

"Bloody Hell!" Harry whirled around whilst assuming a defensive combat position. He saw Remus Lupin at the foot of his bed, leaning back in what was normally his desk chair. The front two chair legs were in the air.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry blurted. "What's going on?"

"Harry, please - I'm Remus to you…."

Lupin received a blank look for his trouble. Harry had asked a question, and wanted an answer.

"What's going on is that the entire Ministry is in an uproar, especially the Auror Corps," Lupin informed Harry. "The attacks have caused a full-blown political crisis." He lowered the chair slowly. "Your lessons are suspended for the rest of the week - maybe longer - whilst things sort themselves out."

"When will I know?" Harry replied.

"Same as always - when somebody tells you," Lupin said, shrugging. "Oh by the way, you've had an owl." He unceremoniously tossed Harry a letter.

"Reparo." Lupin took the opportunity to fix the broken window.

Harry ripped the letter open. It was from Ron - another Quidditch-soaked letter, containing Ron's dramatic descriptions of Hogwarts' latest victory in the quarterfinals of the Danish interscholastic tournament, and including another Omniocular with excerpted highlights. Written before the attacks, Ron's letter seemed wildly out of place now, even trivial.

Giving Ron's latest only a cursory glance, Harry tossed it aside. "Where's everyone else?" he asked.

"Your aunt and uncle spent the night with Dudley in the Frimley Park Hospital. He's got a broken wrist and some burns. You might want to visit. Fred and George are back at the Burrow. Their family has a funeral to plan."

"Why are you still here?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore didn't think you should be left by yourself - not after all that's happened," Lupin replied. "Why it's me, I'm not altogether sure. I suppose it's because I'm the last of the Marauders. With James and Sirius dead, and with the other turned traitor, Dumbledore must feel that, of everyone, I have the best idea of what you are going through right about now."

Harry mutely regarded Lupin for what might have been the longest fifteen seconds of the older man's life (if Lupin's own life had not been so tragic). When Harry finally spoke, it was to ask another question. "Profes… er … Remus, do you ever think about what's happened and … you know … think about what might have been done differently…? I guess … what I'm asking is … do you blame yourself for what happened?"

Lupin let out a huge sigh and blinked rapidly. "Only every day of my life for the last fifteen years or so," he confessed sadly.

"I thought so," sighed Harry alongside him. "I think I'm the most inept and useless person that ever walked the Earth, sometimes - and this is one of those times."

"Well, join the club," Lupin invited, his left eyebrow raising, giving away his not-so-subtle sarcasm.

"How have you found the strength to … to continue? I'm just about ready to go bonkers," Harry asked, eyeing the man intently.

Lupin returned his gaze through saddened, slightly wolfish, eyes. "Because, Harry, I have to. And so do you. That's just what he wants - Voldemort - for us to become too depressed, guilty, fearful, whatever, to carry on…. If we don't pick up the pieces and continue, Voldemort wins. And that's just too terrible to contemplate…. So it's hardly strength when there's no other choice."

"What do you think I should do now?" Harry asked.

Lupin replied flatly, "Carry on as best you can…. That's all anyone can do. But remember that too much sacrifice can turn your heart to stone. You still have to live, somehow. But for the moment, there are wounded to heal and dead to bury. Where do you want to start…?"

Harry stared into space for an unnervingly long time before speaking. "I suppose with the living," he decided. "Can't help the dead, after all. Can I see Lao Kung?"

"Not now, since nobody knows where he is," Lupin replied. "His directive for such an event has taken him back to somewhere in China, and we've been told not to inquire. If he lives, I reckon he'll be back when he's ready."

Harry went down the list. "What about Luna - or Dudley?"

"Miss Lovegood's still in intensive care. Her injuries are severe and, at this point, prevent her from speaking. You'll be informed when her condition improves, I assure you. Your cousin is not seriously injured. He's a much better bet, if you're willing, that is."

"Damn right, I am," Harry replied resolutely. "Dudders turned out to be almost okay, and now he's paid the `I-know-Harry' price for it."

With that he rose to his feet and headed for the Dursley bathroom to wash up.

"Oh, and Harry…." Lupin called after him. Harry turned. "How do you feel about funerals?" Lupin asked. "If it's too much, too soon, I'm sure people will understand.…"

"Whatever anyone says about fault," Harry responded grimly, "in some sense what happened is my responsibility. I'm prepared to go to every funeral that will have me. I feel that's the least I can do for those who died for the crime of knowing me - or of being related to one of my friends." Harry turned on his heel.

"Is that something I can tell Dumbledore?" Lupin asked.

"Why?" asked Harry in return.

"Because if you're serious, Dumbledore's the one to convey that offer to the families," Lupin responded. "I'm sure you'd rather not be having those conversations yourself, and it's not something I think you could trust the Creeveys, or even Hermione, to do - although I'm sure they would try, if you asked."

Harry pondered the point a bit. Ordinarily Dumbledore was far too nosey to be trusted as a social secretary, but this was different. "Yeah, I suppose so," Harry agreed. "He's far smoother about such things than I am. If there's anyone to be offended, let him do it…. Tell him that I'll attend any funeral where I'm welcome."

"Got it," Lupin acknowledged. He sighed in amazement at how Harry could possibly hold up under all the strain, being barely sixteen years old. Without warning, he heard a tremendous crash from down than hall. Lupin sprinted to the bathroom to find Harry standing in front of a ruined medicine cabinet mirror, shattered glass everywhere, calmly examining his bloody, sliced-up fist.

"Why in Merlin's name did you do that?" Lupin asked reproachfully as he drew his wand and made to set the cabinet right again.

"I just couldn't stand to look at myself just now," Harry replied honestly. "I'll get over it, though," he continued, with just the slightest hint of a smile. "The pain helps me remember that I'm still alive."

Lupin pointed his wand at Harry's bleeding knuckles, but Harry stopped him. "Leave it," he directed. "I figure that I should at least have some sort of a scar on account of last night. To share everyone else's losses, so to speak."

Harry applied some Betadine and sticking-plasters to his knuckles Muggle-style, the way Dudley had showed him earlier that summer when he introduced Harry to boxing. Then Harry went to see Dudley, Muggle style - trailed discretely by Lupin.

Harry cautiously popped his head through the door to Dudley's sick room. "There you are," he said evenly. "Thought I'd never find it."

"Harry, mate," Dudley's eyes brightened when he recognised Harry. "Glad you could make it. Bloody inconvenient that nobody knew where you were…."

"I … I heard…." Harry said haltingly. "I'm so relieved you're safe, and alright … er … mostly…. Gas explosion…. Terrible things, those…."

Whilst Dudley was pleased to see Harry, his Aunt and Uncle were less receptive. But even they did not make any rude remarks, given the circumstances. Amazingly, there were apparently some things that overcame even the Dursleys' dislike of him. They were too thankful that Dudley had escaped from the horrible natural gas explosion that had leveled his gym and killed several people.

With a wavering voice, Dudley told Harry something that he thought his cousin did not know. "Er … Harry … I'm afraid that … that your karate teacher … that Kung fellow … didn't make it…. At least that's what I heard…."

Dudley had no way of knowing that Harry had far more information about Lao Kung than he did.

"You're…." Harry started and stopped. "Why, that's awful," Harry said, whilst thinking of Bill so that his face would convey the correct emotion. "He was … one of the best teachers I've ever had. Any word on a memorial….?"

Of course, there was none, as Harry well knew.

The Obliviators had done their work effectively. Dudley had no idea what really happened, and the rest of the family was altogether clueless. Dudley rattled on good-humouredly about how he would be out of the hospital in a matter of days and how he would get the large cast off of his left arm in a month or so. The fight for which he had been training was, of course, postponed, but Dudley was simply happy to be alive.

Dudley did not know the half of it, Harry reminded himself.

The Dursleys' sheer gormlessness left Harry feeling rather ill at ease. It seemed to him that the entire scene was one big lie - enough lies to turn his stomach, even though for once they were not directed at him. He felt like he was walking on eggshells to avoid saying or doing anything that would give the game away.

As a result, Harry said good-bye to his relatives sooner than he anticipated. Outside the hospital, he rang up Eliza on his mobile. Harry expected merely to leave an apologetic message on her answerphone, because Eliza was normally at work during midday. Harry was surprised when she answered.

"Harry, is that you?" she asked, upon hearing his voice, knowing the answer full well.

"Er… Yeah. I was expecting you'd be at work. I have some more bad news…." Harry waited for Eliza say something, but when she didn't, he ploughed ahead. "Bill Weasley, my guardian, was killed last night by Death Eaters - he was in France."

"Oh, Harry, that's so terribly awful," Eliza wailed. "You must be shattered. I,I,I don't know what to say. Do you want to come over? Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help you. This makes my bad news sound so trite…."

Harry was a little nervous. Eliza's "anything at all" comment called forth uncertain memories of the last time she had offered to do "anything" for him - and that time she had meant "anything" in the carnal sense. That offer had led to … well … one of Harry's now lesser problems….

Then he heard Eliza mention "bad news."

"Oh, Merlin, no!" Harry gasped, jumping to what seemed to him the most obvious conclusion. "They didn't…. Dumbledore didn't tell me the Death Eaters had attacked your family too!"

"Calm down, Harry, that's not what I meant," Eliza soothed. "I don't have any family worthy of the name, really. I'm not that different from you in that respect. Although, come to think of it, I will ring my Mum in Wagga Wagga, just to be sure. My bad news is only that I'm quitting my job."

"Quitting your job?! Why are you doing that?" Harry protested. "Don't go anywhere.…" Harry ducked between two motorcars. With only the barest effort to let Lupin know what he was planning, Harry Apparated to Eliza's kitchen - tripping a couple of car alarms to cover the distinctive "POP".

Eliza whirled around upon hearing a similar pop behind her. She was still holding her phone.

"I hope it's not because of me…," Harry continued.

"Of course, it's because of you, Harry," Eliza chided. "I can't continue there because too many people know about us now - thanks to your dear friend. The tongues will be wagging, and sooner or later, probably sooner, the news will reach those who wish us … well, you … ill. I'm not about to stay on as the next inviting target for another nasty Malfoy court filing. It was a risk that I accepted from the day I met you. I've just decided I'd rather resign rather than wait and get sacked."

"Wha…? What are you going to do now?" Harry asked, flabbergasted by the news.

"I don't know. I'll find something. There aren't many transcriptionists who can work in both magical and Muggle settings like I can," Eliza explained.

"Let me help you," Harry offered. "I can cover your expenses until you…."

"That would only make a bad situation worse, and you know it," Eliza shot back. "What have I told you about giving me money? I won't accept it. I'm not going to be your kept woman…."

Harry's jaw clenched, tightly.

"…Even though we know it's not like that, you're shadowed by a bloody mob of paparazzi and other would-be hangers who won't know and won't care," Eliza finished.

Harry let out a sigh. "At least let me help you find another job, then," he pleaded. "I'm sure I know somebody who.…"

Eliza cut him off. "That might be even worse. Office gossip is deadly. Even if you did that, how could I show my face each day with the rest of my office talking behind my back that I've only been hired because I'm Harry Potter's mistress? No! Any new position I'm going to get will be on my own merits - as paltry as those might seem."

Harry was taken aback. He felt so useless. "Isn't there anything you'll let me do for you?" Harry asked. "This is my fault, after all. If you hadn't met me.…"

"Then I wouldn't have had the most exciting, wonderful month of my life," Eliza interrupted.

Harry replied, "Even with all that's happened…?"

"Yes," Eliza affirmed, "even with everything that's happened I don't regret meeting you for a second. Now, there might be something you could do…."

They spoke for another fifteen minutes. It was finally agreed that Eliza would accept Harry's help in obtaining a new position - in her field of specialty, or close to it - but only indirectly. Harry could open doors for her, but not at any establishment with which he had business. She refused to work at any place where Harry was a major client, customer, or (thinking specifically of Cadbury's) contractor.

Even though Eliza would have been happy for Harry to stay for some snogging, he reluctantly excused himself.

"I'm … I'm sorry. Things…. Well they're just too unsettled, right now." Harry regarded those pouty lips he was losing the opportunity to taste.

"I see you're still sorting things out," she observed.

"I'm afraid so," he replied with a bit of annoyance. "Death has this way of depressing me, you see. All these funerals to attend…. Some not even scheduled yet…. I'm not sure when I'll next be able to see you…."

"I could go with you if you'd like," Eliza unexpectedly offered. "If you'd like moral support, that is."

Harry was surprised to the point of being shocked. "I-I-I … thought you didn't want to … to be seen in public with me. You were quite clear on that…."

Understanding that Harry's statements were really a question, Eliza explained. "Well, the secret's out anyway. So, if we're going to keep seeing each other, there's no use to being dodgy about it anymore. That would only make matters worse. The only thing I don't want is public displays of affection where wizards might see us. I don't want to be that much of a spectacle. No front page pictures in the Prophet…."

Although the appear-in-public issue had been one of his biggest complaints about his relationship with Eliza, this resolution - or at least significant advance - oddly left Harry not feeling as happy as he thought he should. The circumstances that had brought it about were just too ghastly. Harry had a very valid excuse at the ready, however.

"Umm…. That's … that's great. But I'll have to clear something like that with the affected families. With some it might be a stretch for me to be welcome even by myself. You know how those bloody reporters are. If you're with me, there's sure to be a paparazzi feeding frenzy. I don't want to disrupt anything. These are supposed to be … solemn."

Harry returned to Privet Drive around 3:30 in the afternoon. The Dursleys were still at the hospital. There was a short note from Dumbledore acknowledging Harry's stated willingness to attend funerals, congratulating him for it, and inquiring if there were "difficulties" between Harry and the Weasley family. Dumbledore closed by asking Harry to come to Hogwarts for a meeting "as soon as practicable."

Harry frowned. He was not at all sure how to tell Dumbledore about how the Weasleys - and particularly Molly Weasley - blamed him for Ron resigning as a Prefect. He assumed the Headmaster knew at least something about this. It was a Hogwarts matter, after all. However, Dumbledore had never broached this subject with him before.

Harry pondered that situation, and his other situations, and made a couple of decisions. He arranged to meet the next morning with Blackie Howe. His stated reason was to take advantage of an unexpected day off to go over his upcoming testimony at the Malfoy will contest and at the trials of Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge, but there were other reasons as well….

Harry also dashed off a rather painful letter to Professor McGonagall, his Head of House. Quickly, Harry sealed it and gave it to Hedwig to deliver - before he changed his mind.

Only after that did Harry go to Mrs. Figg's and comply with the Headmaster's summons.

Harry quickly made his way to Dumbledore's office after Flooing to Hogwarts. He used his Valkyrie in the halls of the Castle for the first time. Afterwards, he planned to fly - for his sanity. Harry was a little embarrassed to find the Headmaster at the foot of the stairs next to the gargoyle. Obviously, Dumbledore had been alerted to Harry's arrival and was waiting for him. Harry was relieved that the Headmaster said nothing about his unusual mode of travel whilst leading the way to his office.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore began, "did you see today's Prophet?"

"No I haven't," Harry admitted. "After last night, I slept in, more or less by accident, and then there were some things I had to do. I've seen Dudley and…," there was no reason not do use her name now, "…Eliza. I'd like to see Luna."

"In good time, Mister Potter," Dumbledore answered enigmatically. "She very nearly died and she is badly injured. She is under heavy sedation, but if you insist, I shall take you to the Hospital Wing to see her. Poppy will not approve, but it is your choice."

"If not now, when can I see her?" Harry asked.

"I believe on Sunday, at the earliest," Dumbledore replied. "She will probably be recovered physically on Saturday, but she needs some time of her own to accept what has happened. If she is willing to see you earlier, I shall summon you. What you need to know about is the political situation - and how that situation dovetails with your willingness to attend funerals."

Harry was nonplussed. "Political situation? What's that got to do with funerals?"

"Let me start with Cornelius Fudge," Dumbledore explained. "Whilst Mister Fudge is still Minister of Magic, he has essentially been relegated to a caretaker's position. At the moment, he would be lucky to poll ten percent in the Wizengamot if there were a no confidence vote - and he knows it. The only reason Cornelius has retained even his nominal position is that the immediate aftermath of such serious attacks is simply not the most opportune time for a change at the top. That, and the fact that the attacks' effect upon the overall political situation is still quite uncertain…."

Harry was unimpressed. "So what?"

"So this," Dumbledore replied. "You may well hold the political balance."

"Stop having me on," Harry told the Headmaster. "Last year I was a nutter, and everybody around me is a target for Voldemort. That hardly seems bloody politic to me."

"What you think is not particularly important," Dumbledore carried on in an annoyingly sagacious manner. "It is what others think about you. As could be expected, the attacks have generated an enormous amount of public sympathy for you. That sympathy may or may not be transitory. To what extent the public's sympathy would crumble, should an appeal to wizard chauvinism be made in response to your stand on equality of all magical beings is unclear. Both what you did, and what has happened to you, are unprecedented in recent history. That creates uncertainty, and politicians hate uncertainty. Until things sort out, neither of the two major factions is sufficiently sure of its strength to call for a no confidence resolution and thereby bring about new elections."

"How about starting with the basics?" Harry requested. "What factions are those?"

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "One of the factions is mine - and I would like to think of it as yours as well. This is the faction that has publicly embraced equality of all sentient magical beings as essential to prosecute the war against Voldemort. Unfortunately, this faction has previously been a minority, with the support of perhaps 30-35% of the wizard public."

Harry grimaced and made some unintelligible sound.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore responded. "but most wizards - like most people -respond to political messages that would target their fears more than to those that would inspire their hopes. The simple fact is that, since time immemorial, most wizards have preferred to maintain their overlordship with respect to other magical beings rather than ally with them for the greater good. Previously, they have been unwilling to change even to oppose Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"You're right about one thing," Harry spat. "Most people are bloody fools, or worse."

"True enough," Dumbledore concurred. "You saw firsthand how most of the wizard community was manipulated last year by lies about yourself, and about me. But these attacks seem to be a watershed. I have heard reports from all over, through the Order and otherwise, that last evening brought home to practically everyone how hideous the Dark Lord really is. Memories are short. They had been dulled by almost fifteen years of peace. The attacks rekindled the full terror of the First War. I expect that at least 10% of the wizard electorate shifted overnight, driven to our position by the urgency of defeating Voldemort. That fraction may well be even greater, but I try to be conservative in my estimates. If much more than ten percent, Mister Potter, the sympathy factor for you could well be the fulcrum upon which the next election will turn."

Harry was startled and more than a little afraid of the political cup that had just been set before him. "I don't want that any more than the money. I'm … I'm a terrible leader," he protested. "I'm not even Prefect material."

"Will you forget about that?" Dumbledore replied, himself annoyed. "If you had been Prefect, you would have been even more of a target for Madam Umbridge than you were. If you desire a badge, I shall see to it that you get a badge."

"NO!" Harry yelped. That was the last thing he wanted. Not with Ron….

"Well then think about things rationally," the Headmaster scolded. "Just last year, you founded and led that provocatively named army of yours, and that organisation included quite a few Prefects."

Harry dismissed the thought. "Hermione organised that. Left to my own devices I never would have done anything."

"You also brought off a marvelous counterpunch to all the lies by telling your true story to the Quibbler. …An end run worthy of the most seasoned politician."

"I didn't set that up either," Harry frowned. "I was handed that opportunity on a silver platter…. Didn't do anything more than talk."

"You inspired five of your fellow students to storm the Ministry itself, and fight a force of Death Eaters twice their number," Dumbledore reminded.

"I wanted them all to … to let me go alone," Harry admitted. "Except Ron, that is…. Hermione absolutely refused to stay behind, and so did the rest of them. Hardly leadership, I reckon."

"Well, I must say that I disagree completely," Dumbledore admonished. "But that is neither here nor there. At some point in the near future, perhaps you would do well to consider any common threads - positive common threads, that is - in those incidents. But my point at present is simple. You are a leader because you are perceived by others as one."

"All right, all right," Harry replied testily. "So I'm a bloody leader, or at least I do a good enough job of faking it…. But what now?"

Dumbledore continued. "Ironically, Voldemort probably holds the key.… If he were capable of restraining himself, which I doubt…. In the absence of any more provocative Death Eater attacks, the pure-blood faction, which Cornelius has long championed and which is now recoalescing around Rufus Scrimgeour, would probably grow stronger….

"Who is he, anyway?" Harry interrupted.

"Currently the Chief Auror, and quite a politician," Dumbledore explained. "You have never had much to do with him, and that is probably a good thing. He is anti-Death Eater, but just a devious as Minister Fudge, and he is angling to replace him…. Classic man on a white horse…."

"Okay," said Harry glumly. "I don't think I like politicians anyway…. You were saying, about Voldemort….?"

"Yes," remembered Dumbledore. "My point was that, if the urgency of the War diminished in the public mind, so would the desire to reach out to potential non-wizard allies. If Voldemort goes quiet, then that probably happens, but from a political standpoint, if there are additional Death Eater attacks, our war/equality party gains strength."

Harry screwed up his face with that abject reminder of why he hated politics. "So from a `political standpoint,' I'm supposed to root for more attacks, is that it?"

Dumbledore said nothing, but looked extremely uncomfortable. Harry decided that he was not being entirely fair, since the old man had been doing his level best to explain what was going on. Harry remembered what Shak had told him weeks earlier, so he asked a more answerable question. "So who's it going to be, Arthur or Shak?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That was quite percipient, Mister Potter. I think you have been paying more attention than you let on, sometimes. I had hoped it would be Arthur, but that is not in the cards. He has declined to lead our faction into elections. He will not say anything publicly - in order to keep the other side guessing - but he has just informed me of his definitive decision not to stand for higher office. Bill's death brought home to him the possible personal cost of such political ambitions, and I am afraid that tipped the scale."

"That's too bad," Harry commiserated.

"Truer words were never spoken," Dumbledore again agreed. "On one side was Arthur's hatred of Voldemort and everything he represented, as well as his personal loyalty to me. But on the other was Arthur's conviction that he is too old, too penurious, and has too many family involvements to stand for the highest office. When his children's personal safety was added to the mix, Arthur bowed out. He has never said anything, but I feel quite certain that Molly also had a hand in that decision."

"He needn't want for funds," Harry offered. "I'd give him whatever is required."

"Noble but unwise, Harry," Dumbledore disagreed. "More than anything you need to remain above the fray."

"So it's Shak, then?" Harry asked.

"That it is," Dumbledore revealed. "We shall tip him as our faction's choice whenever that choice must be made. But as with everything, there are complications. Rufus has to resign to stand for Minister. Kingsley would be the logical person to succeed him. An overture was made, but it was necessary for him to decline the position. I quite agree with our established, unwritten tradition that it would be subversive of civilian control of the Auror Corps for anyone to stand for Minister of Magic whilst holding the Chief Auror position. Conversely, it would be too disruptive of the Corps, for him to take the job, only to surrender it a short while later to stand for the Ministry. Thus, he turned down the promotion, using as his excuse his commitment to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded quietly.

"I see that you must have known about that, as well," Dumbledore remarked, taking in Harry's lack of reaction to that bit of supposedly closely held news.

"Shak told me a while ago that he was going to be a professor," Harry admitted.

"So you see?" Dumbledore added jocularly. "You have your sources. Soon I shall have no secrets from you."

"The sooner the better," Harry replied pointedly.

Dumbledore again looked uncomfortable after that jab, but he let it pass and continued with his description of the political state of affairs. "Kingsley's refusal left the Chief Auror's job in limbo. Because there is a war on, that's not a situation that could be tolerated for long. Thus Cornelius made a rather striking decision and asked Alastor to come out of retirement and temporarily assume the position. Before last night's events, that appointment would have been unthinkable."

"Moody hates Fudge," Harry observed. "I saw that firsthand the day I burned down the Situation Room."

"True enough," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Indeed, there has never been any love lost between those two. Ever the diplomat, Alastor had told Cornelius to his face that his primary loyalty was, and would always be, to me. He was terribly melodramatic, I am afraid. Amazingly Cornelius persisted. I can only hope that, at this late date, he has decided to atone for his many past mistakes and has chosen to base the final appointments of his waning Ministry solely upon considerations of merit."

"Did Mad-Eye take the job?" Harry asked, genuinely ignorant of this point.

"Indeed," Dumbledore affirmed. "His decision to accept has strengthened the Order's influence within the Ministry immeasurably. On the other hand, it has weakened the Order itself, by subtracting one of its most experienced members."

After finishing his explanation of the political situation, Dumbledore shifted to one of a number of uncomfortable topics - Harry's problems with the Weasleys, specifically with Molly Weasley.

"When I related your offer to attend Bill's funeral to the Weasleys, they accepted - but it was my distinct sense that it was with reluctance - that there is some … shall I say, unpleasantness … afoot between yourself and at least Molly Weasley. Lest nothing mar that occasion, I would appreciate it if you could explain what has happened."

"They.… Well, especially Missus Weasley … blame me for Ron's decision to resign as Prefect," Harry explained with his head down.

Dumbledore regarded Harry intently over his half-moon spectacles. "I am of course well aware of what Ronald has done. Is there any truth to his mother's suspicion?" he inquired.

Harry stiffened. He waited for the tingle of Dumbledore's Legilimency, but the Headmaster refrained. Still, he could scarcely believe that Dumbledore had actually asked that question. Who did the Headmaster think he was?

Harry responded heatedly. "Not on your bloody life.… Sir!"

If Dumbledore was affronted, he never showed it. "I believe you, Mister Potter," he said calmly. "However, since the impression - as wrong as it is - exists, have you given any thought to rectifying the situation? Impressions have a nasty tendency to become reality, when left undisturbed."

"I've already done everything I can do," protested Harry. "It's not a good idea to be on Missus Weasley's bad side. I just hope it works."

"And what is that, if I may ask?" inquired Dumbledore.

"You may not ask," Harry responded annoyedly. "You'll find out soon enough."

That avenue foreclosed, Dumbledore moved on to another sensitive topic. "Mister Potter, the first of the funerals will be on Saturday…."

* * * *

Harry woke early Friday morning. He was still shaking with apprehension. So much death…. And now he had agreed to make more than a passing acquaintance of its aftermath. When he and Dumbledore had finished their discussion, Harry had not known what to do. Even flying did not bring about the hoped-for release.

After about fifteen minutes under Hagrid's nominal supervision, Harry was still feeling morose and distracted. His Valkyrie was a lot of things, but it was not particularly forgiving of rookie-type mistakes in the twilight. So, after one last abrupt lurch to avoid the Whomping Willow, Harry had given up on flying, gone home, and gone straight to bed.

Early to bed, early to rise.

Now it was very early morning in the still deserted house on Privet Drive. Dawn was just breaking, and the scene outside the window was that fuzzy mixture of black and grey present when there is not quite enough light for the eyes to sense colours. What Harry saw reminded him of what he felt. He rose and prepared himself for an extra-long run. It would give him time to think.

Whilst running, Harry kept asking himself what in the world he had been thinking when he had agreed to attend the funerals.

`What have I gotten myself into….?'

`Being Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, I suppose….'

`It's going to be a week under the shadow of death….'

`What's one week out of a whole lifetime…?'

`That depends on how long the lifetime is….'

`Odds aren't good, you know….'

`Need some way to even the odds….'

`No, need somebody to even the odds….'

`Get real.'

After this bit of arguing with himself - and drawing occasional stares from the very occasional Muggle up and about at the hour - Harry came full circle to the funerals themselves.

The first would be the Longbottoms' funeral tomorrow afternoon. It was going to be an Auror's funeral, Dumbledore had told Harry. He supposed that meant lots of dress military robes, elaborate bicorne and tricorne hats and white gloves, magical pipe and drum processions, precision formations, and martial posturing - maybe even wand-spark salutes, flag presentations, fly-bys…. Who could say?

Fudge himself was going to officiate. That was one way to ruin a good funeral.

Harry was of course invited to the ceremony. It would take place at the National Auror's Cemetery on the Black Heath near Enford in Salisbury. He was not being called upon do anything other than be present - a relief, because Harry had never seen a funeral before.

The next day would be harder. That was Bill Weasley's interment. The Weasleys did not believe in fancy funerals - even though they could now afford one. Rather than any programme, the family was holding an open house Sunday afternoon, at which anyone who wanted could come and sit quietly to pay their respects.

Molly would undoubtedly serve something delicious, Potter pâté, perhaps … or maybe Harry Cajun style - seared, of course.

At four in the afternoon there would be a testimonial session at which all comers with something to say could stand in front of the gathering and talk about the deceased. Harry knew, even though Dumbledore never said anything directly, that he would be expected to say a few words. Thick he might be … but not that thick.

Harry also knew (again without having to be told), that he would be seeing the entire Weasley clan for the first time since last Christmas, when Arthur Weasley had almost been killed. His stock had been high then. He had saved the lives of two members of the family.

Unfortunately, stocks have a way of falling as well as rising. Thus it was also true, and of more immediate importance, that he would be seeing senior Weasleys for the first time since Harry had been blamed for Ron's decision not to be a Prefect any more. Harry could only hope that he would be able to make sufficient amends.

Harry shuddered. This would not be easy. Nor did it even feel right, which was sometimes the solace of the harder path.

Bill's body would then be laid to rest in the Weasley family plot behind the Burrow. As family patriarch and matriarch, Arthur and Molly would provide the eulogies. No one else was expected to speak formally at the burial.

Dumbledore had explained that the Weasleys had used a relatively recently created potion-unction that, when applied within 72 hours of death, would demagify Bill's body. For this reason, he could be buried with the family ancestors without worry that Death Eaters might disinter it and use it for nefarious Necromancy. The Order was providing a special tombstone, as had long been customary when a member was killed whilst battling against the Dark Forces.

Xenophilius Lovegood's funeral had not formally been set because Luna, who was still lying incapacitated in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, had to give her assent. Dumbledore anticipated that it would occur on Monday, as the Druidic custom followed by the Lovegood family demanded that the ceremony occur before the new moon on the twelfth, and Monday was the most logical open date.

Druidic ceremonies involved cremation, and the pyre would be ignited precisely at sunset. There would be no speeches, only ritual music and mystic chanting, led by the local High Druid. The funeral would likely take place in an oak grove near Exeter that had been used for these purposes since before Julius Caesar first set foot in Britain.

Dumbledore had also told Harry that later today Madam Pomfrey would make her first attempt at lifting Luna's stasis. Her healing was chancy, and any thrashing about would have placed it in jeopardy. If that attempt went well, the injured girl would be returned to full consciousness the following morning. Luna's physical healing from her awful neck wounds was well advanced, and Dumbledore expected that she should be able to speak.

A specialist brought in from St. Mungo's (which had not yet been reopened, owing to its being a crime scene) had magically reconstructed Luna's severed and crushed larynx cartilage as well as her somewhat less mangled esophagus. If Luna were conscious, and wanted to see Harry immediately, he should expect to be summoned sometime on Saturday, before having to leave for the Longbottom funeral.

"What the…?" Harry was startled by fluttering wings. He recognised a school owl. It was a message from the Headmaster:

Dear Mister Potter:

After our chat, it occurred to me that your calendar will be somewhat hectic. To ease one small aspect of your burden, I have prepared the accompanying schedule of the upcoming funerals. The parchment is charmed and will update itself as matters become clearer.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry looked at the schedule. It reminded him of what he would have rather forgotten. Tuesday was yet another funeral, perhaps the saddest of all. Jenny Fontaine's parents had agreed that he could come to their otherwise private ceremony, as long as his presence was not announced in advance in any way. They were just average wizards, and they would not permit any publicity that could disrupt the ceremony or cause the family to be targeted again by the Death Eaters.

He was distressed, but not particularly surprised, to learn that the other similarly situated family, the Swanages, had refused to have anything to do with him. With some reluctance, Dumbledore told Harry that they blamed him for Johnny's demise. Harry could not really disagree. That attack had been extraordinarily cruel. The boy had been half devoured by a werewolf….

…Or so the Headmaster had said. Thinking about it, Harry was confused. The moon had been nowhere near full last night. Something was bizarre. He would have to ask Dumbledore….

The last of the funerals was the most unnerving proposition of all. Dumbledore told Harry that the French preferred to issue a formal invitation for Harry to attend the state funeral of Maréchal Delacour. That event would take place next Thursday at the great Cathedral in Reims. Since the Maréchal had been killed in an attack by British Death Eaters that had been directed against Harry, the French Ministry intended - hoped - for Harry's presence to bring the two countries closer together. Harry appreciated the political gravity of the situation after Dumbledore explained the deceased's position as the recently retired Marshal of wizarding France - that nation's highest magical military position.

That one he had tried to avoid:

"Headmaster, I know I promised, but that one…. I had no idea I was…. I don't want to create an international incident," Harry pleaded.

"If you only go to one of these events, this is the one you need to attend," Dumbledore insisted.

"But they're going to want me to say something," he protested. "I'm rubbish…."

"I have said it before; I shall say it again," Dumbledore continued, trotting out the same arguments he had used in the context of the Ashrak. "What you say hardly matters. Of paramount importance is symbolism of the event and the morale boost that your mere presence will bring."

"You didn't deny it," Harry observed.

"No, I did not," Dumbledore admitted, "and you will indeed be expected to say a few words to those in attendance. However, you can be sure that the Ministry wants you to succeed as much as I do. You will have help…."

So he had agreed.

Then Dumbledore told him that the Reims cathedral was quite large, and he should expect well over a thousand people to be there - including dignitaries from both the British and French Ministries.

The Headmaster was still a trickster…. Harry got a funny, cold feeling in his gonads just thinking about standing up in a Muggle church and trying to say something coherent in front of all those people.

The Headmaster was still a bloody trickster … a bloody, conniving trickster. The so-called "help" the Ministry was offering, turned out to be the services of Percy Weasley as a speechwriter. Nevertheless he had accepted the offer. Something was better than nothing - he hoped.

There had been other things last night as well, Dumbledore had summoned Madam Malkin to his office, and on the spot she had made Harry a set of formal black mourning robes. These were trimmed discreetly with fabric that changed colour in response to a simple spell. In his mind's eye, Harry could see the robes hanging in his closet, the trim set to deep maroon in anticipation of the Auror's funeral for the Longbottoms.

Then there was the unsettling matter of Harry's once again vacant guardianship. When Dumbledore had raised that subject, Harry had flatly refused to consider any other appointment at all, calling it a "death sentence." Dumbledore insisted, however, explaining that Harry was underage and if he did not select one, someone would be appointed for him - with or without his approval.

Harry was quite surprised to find out that, even with his morbid track record, there were still volunteers. In particular, Rufus Scrimgeour, the presumptive pure-blood candidate for Minister of Magic, had made sure that Dumbledore (and many others) were aware of his willingness to accept the position.

That was unthinkable, and Harry had to strain to avoid a response that was unprintable. "After all this, I'm going to grow up as the son of an effing Minister? I don't think so!"

The result had been that Harry - very reluctantly - had asked Dumbledore to assume the role. Even though Harry hated the idea of giving that man any more power over him than he already had, Harry reckoned that the Headmaster had the best chance of surviving the assignment. That was key. Harry's primary deciding factor was that nobody else get killed on his account.

Nevertheless, Harry was not entirely disappointed (secretly elated was closer to it) when Dumbledore declined, citing conflicts of interest with his Headmaster and Chief Warlock positions.

Professor McGonagall was likewise excluded because she was Head of Harry's House.

Lupin was ineligible because wizard law prohibited werewolves from having any legal responsibility for wizard children.

Whilst no law barred Hagrid, one would probably get passed within days if Harry had tipped him. Besides, Hagrid drank too much.

Of one thing Harry was certain - he would never ask anyone else who had family commitments to risk his or her life. He was never going to put any other family through the grief he knew he had just caused the Weasleys. He needed someone like himself, someone who was alone.

So had arisen Harry's primary excursion for the day. Dumbledore suggested, and he agreed, that it would be best to discuss the guardianship issue with his own lawyer, someone paid to look out solely for his own interests. Harry had then decided to kill two birds with one stone - he would spend the better part of the day meeting with Blackie Howe to go over his upcoming testimony as well. With his training cancelled, Harry thought it would be a good time to get one of his preparation sessions over with.

Mr. Howe had of course agreed, despite the short notice. Having Harry as a client was very prestigious. Harry still found it amazing that someone so important should be at his beck and call.

Harry was naïve.

The last, and to Harry the least important, event at the meeting had been a complete surprise. On behalf of the Order, Dumbledore had asked to borrow a considerable sum of money. Harry had at first refused - as a hoax - to enjoy the expression of surprise and befuddlement on Dumbledore's face before telling the truth. The truth was that Harry had little use for his fortune and was quite happy to be rid of even a chunk of it for a good cause.

Thus Harry told Dumbledore that everything he had was at the Order's disposal in the battle against the Death Eaters. Rather than a loan, Harry made a gift of the requested 600,000 Galleons instead. The Order needed the money to seize a sudden opportunity to purchase a replacement headquarters. The recent events had demonstrated the urgency of that need. However, the opportunity could be lost without fast action. Harry asked only that the new building be dedicated to - and named after - Bill Weasley.

* * * *

Harry had an errand to run first. After carefully disillusioning himself, he took the Floo from Mrs. Figg's to Diagon Alley accompanied by Remus Lupin. Harry visited a witch optometrist, with the arresting name of Clarity Mankiller, to have Charlie's lens blanks turned into a new pair of glasses. Due to the delicacy of fashioning the special lens material to Harry's precise visual specifications, the glasses would not be ready for a week. They would be identical in all other respects to his existing pair. After all that had happened, Harry had no use for a new look - which he considered vanity.

Soon enough, Harry found himself back on Magic Circle in Blackie Howe's office. Most of the session was spent preparing for testimony in the inheritance action. The two prosecutions, of Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge, would be easy by comparison. In those Harry was simply a witness - albeit an important one - in cases controlled by Ministry prosecutors. All he had to do, essentially, was answer questions truthfully (relatively easy), and keep his cool under cross-examination (relatively difficult).

In the inheritance action, by contrast, Harry was a principal, and the outcome would directly affect him. They rehearsed answers to the most intrusive and sarcastic questions that Howe and two of his barrister associates could think of. The barristers plotted amongst themselves when to object, and on what grounds.

The arduous, and at times emotional, session lasted seven hours - with lunch brought in by the always vivacious Isabella Wing. At its close, Harry felt as exhausted as he had ever been after Auror training. It was as if the lawyers had taken him behind a woodshed, beaten the truth out of him, massaged it thoroughly, and replaced it with a carefully prepared script.

After another brief but disconcerting encounter, Howe had given the flirtatious Miss Wing the afternoon off. Harry felt relieved and fortunate for that. He took advantage of his budding elemental magic capability to give himself a brief cold shower in an empty office after that incident was over. Then Harry met alone with Howe to discuss some other things that were salient in his mind.

"Dumbledore says I have to have a legal guardian," Harry stated. "Is he right?"

"Unfortunately, he is," advised Howe. "I can postpone things a bit.… Allow you some time to think whilst maintaining your legal status.… But a month's time at most, is all that I will be able to buy, beg, borrow or steal for you. Soon, you'll have to make an election, or else the Ministry will select for you - and I'm sure you don't want that."

`No, I damn well don't,' Harry silently agreed. Still, there were very few people he would trust with that task. Bill had almost not been up to it at times - or to put it another way, Harry had almost been too much for Bill to handle.

Now, however, death had sobered Harry. This time he wanted a guardian with few other ties - someone whose death, if worse came to worst, would not cause as much grief to as many people as Bill's had. But Harry kept these thoughts private. To Howe, all Harry could do was choke out, "How can you postpone things?"

Now Howe was in his element. "I can ask the goblins for a bereavement dispensation so that you can continue to access your Gringotts accounts. Completely irregular, of course, but if I act as if it's legal, the goblins aren't going to care. They want to help you however they can.… By the way, Bladvak sends his regards - there was good reason to audit the estate."

"Seeing as how I might own veto powers over Gringotts in the near future, I'm hardly surprised," Harry smirked. After all that had happened, cynicism was just about the only kind of humour Harry had left.

"Well, you do need to think about it," Howe admonished.

"Don't worry," Harry replied somewhat flippantly, "I hardly think of anything else."

Somewhat irritated at his recalcitrant client, Howe changed the subject. "Now what else can I help you with?"

"I need to transfer a lot of money to … er … Remus Lupin," Harry instructed, not wanting to bring up the Order. "Six hundred thousand Galleons, and it needs to be done in secret."

The size of the sum startled Blackie Howe. He had, however, been a solicitor long enough to avoid tipping anyone off when he was in a quandary. "That's quite a lot, really, over three million pounds. Why to this Mister Lupin? I know he is an associate of Dumbledore's, but from what little I know, I'd not think him the type to dabble in high finance."

"I have my reasons. They involve the fact that Voldemort wants me and all my friends dead. You don't want or need to know anything more than that. The half-Muggle bastard might come after you," Harry replied, in a tone that made clear that he wanted Howe to confine himself to the "how" of the transaction, rather than the "why."

At that, even Blackstone Howe's suave lawyerly demeanor wavered. He had never before heard H-W-M-N-B-N's name bandied about with such venom and obvious disrespect. "M… M… Mister Potter, are you sure it's wise to refer to You Know Who in those terms?"

"Can't see what the harm of it is," Harry replied. "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Besides, Tom Voldemort Riddle can't really do more to me than he's already trying to do, now can he?"

After getting over the shock of hearing Harry disrespect Lord Voldemort, Howe had to admit that Harry had a point. "No, I suppose not," he conceded. "But that leads me to another subject you probably don't want to think about."

"Try me," Harry shot back.

"You do understand that as your solicitor, it's my responsibility to assist you - my client - in dealing with the unpleasant things of life?" Howe instructed.

"Yeah - I understand that," Harry sulked. "I just don't like the unpleasantness itself. I seem to collect quite enough of that on my own."

"Quite," Howe responded. "Now, Harry, it is my professional opinion - in light of your undoubtedly accurate assessment of the Dark Lord's intentions - that you need to consider making out your own will." Howe closed his eyes and braced for Harry's anticipated tirade. It never came. Howe soon blinked, and saw Harry with his head in his hands.

Finally Harry said something. "I don't even know what I might have.… How can I decide what I want done with it after I'm gone?"

"Well," thought Howe aloud, "you certainly had some ideas about what you wanted to do with at least some of your property the last time you were here. You simply need to decide whom you trust to carry out your intentions if you were to die. Beyond that, it's just a matter of deciding for whom you wish to provide. You don't have to do anything yet, but the sooner the better. If you think your finances are difficult now, just imagine the chaos that would ensue were you to die intestate."

Harry took a deep breath. As much as he wanted to deny it - and to avoid thinking about any more morbid subjects than he absolutely had to - Howe was right. There were not that many people Harry cared about leaving money to….

Remus, for sure.… Harry was surprised Sirius had not taken care of his friend, but Harry had to admit that he had never actually seen, let alone read, his godfather's will….

The Weasleys were also deserving, although their fortunes seemed to be looking up. They would never accept if they knew, however….

Luna, if she needed money to keep The Quibbler going.… But he'd see to that whether or not he died.

Eliza, if she'd let him … but in that case, well, to Hell with it. He would be gone and would never have to face her wrath.

Hermione…. If he had anything to say about it, she would never have to worry about being Muggle-born again.

"All right, I'll think about it," Harry finally said to Howe. "What does it have to look like?"

"Almost any form is acceptable," Howe explained. "You can even do it holographically … umm … that means you could write it out yourself, longhand. Witnesses to your signature are advisable, but also not essential. Orion Black's final will was handwritten and unwitnessed, which in no small part brought about the present morass."

Howe launched into the standard spiel he had developed for clients considering the creation of testamentary instruments. The longer he held forth, the more he appreciated how exhausted he was. Spending almost an entire business day with Harry Potter was enough for anyone. After completing his discussion of wills and bequests, he sighed and asked his client, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually there is," came the voice of a much more subdued Harry. He was looking at his shoes now and nervously crossing and uncrossing his legs. It was as if the boy were having trouble looking Howe in the eye - never previously a problem. "I need a rather different kind of favour…."

Howe's interest was piqued despite his fatigue. "You are my client, Harry," the solicitor spoke gravely, "and I would like to think that you are in some way my friend. If it is legal and ethical, you know I will do my best to bring about whatever you need."

"I … I … I need to help my friend…. No … actually more like my girlfriend…, find another job," Harry stated.

Howe's eyebrows rose imperceptibly. This particular client was rather young to be making such a request, but this was hardly the first time Howe had been asked by substantial clients to find suitable accommodations for lovers and mistresses - present or former. "Tell me what you think I need to know, and no more," Howe advised.

"Because of me, she doesn't think she can keep her current job much longer, since she's… she's rather in a conflict of interest situation," stumbled Harry.

"Indeed," responded Howe noncommittally. "Does the woman have any particular training?"

"She's a transcriptionist … a court reporter," Harry explained. "I've heard her say that she's she can do both wizard and Muggle events."

Howe relaxed a bit. This might not be a difficult placement - except for one thing. "You heard her say…," Howe thought out loud. "Does she know you're doing this?"

Harry thought for a minute. That seemingly simple question was hardly simple. "Er…. Sort of," Harry began. "She's very independent. She was reluctant even for me to make inquiry on her behalf. But she agreed that I could ask around - as long as it wasn't a job at anyplace with which I do business. She's adamant that she be hired on her own merit."

"Well, that complicates things a bit," Howe observed. "The D'Israeli firm can always use qualified transcriptionists and legal assistants. But it sounds like she would never consent to work for us because you're my client. Let me make some calls…. See what I can do.…"

"Should I wait?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Most certainly not," Howe instructed. "This may take a while.… And more than that, you really don't need to know some things. It's like sausages and statutes; it's best that you not observe too carefully how either are made…."

"Very well," Harry replied. He got up to leave.

Howe rose as well, "Oh, Harry," he spoke in his soft but urgent voice. "You did say she could perform Muggle reporting?"

"Yes," Harry affirmed, wondering what Howe was on about.

"Does she attend Muggle events?" Howe asked.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Well it just so happens that I've got two tickets to Royal Philharmonic at the Albert Hall for tomorrow night," Howe offered. "They're purchased for client entertainment, and you are a client. Good location, in the firm's box." Howe looked at the tickets, "Prokofiev and Ravel, a delightful juxtapose, and one I'd wager you and your lady friend would appreciate."

"Sure…." Harry grinned for the first time all day. "Thanks." He pocketed the tickets and left.

Howe watched him leave. "He really has so much to be going on with," the lawyer mumbled to himself. "Let him find his pleasures where he can."

Howe sat back in his leather-upholstered chair for a long moment, contemplating his telephone through his steepled fingertips, pressed against one another just in front of his face. Then he reached for the phone and dialled….

"Cadbury Chocolates, Flodden speaking."

"Husky," Howe began, "Blackstone Howe here. I've got a bit of an unusual favour to ask on behalf of my client and your endorser, Harry Potter…."

"Blackie, what is it?" Husqvarna Flodden said with just a shiver of apprehension. "If Mister Potter wants a better deal, that can be arranged. Sales have been phenomenal, you know."

"He doesn't want a better deal for himself," Howe replied. "That's not Harry, and you know it. Actually, he's looking for a position for his … er … well, if he were my age I'd call her a mistress, but frankly with Harry I'm not sure of anything. This is hush-hush, of course…. No, it can't be with you or me. That's rather complicated to explain…. What I'd like to know from you is what firm is Cadbury's largest outside counsellor? Muggle or wizard, doesn't matter."

Flodden told him.

"Excellent," Howe responded. "Just around the corner, and I have several friends there. Can I use your name, and … you know…?"

* * * *

Saturday - the day of the first of all too many funerals - dawned grey and leaden on Privet Drive. Harry had just come back from his run when the Communicator sprung to life with a message from Dumbledore. Harry was to Floo to Hogwarts as quickly as he could. Luna was conscious and wanted to see him. Harry was to bring along his mourning robes. Dumbledore expected that Harry would be leaving for the Longbottom funeral directly from Hogwarts.

Barely pausing to say hello to his relatives, who had brought Dudley home from the hospital the night before, Harry headed for Mrs. Figg's house at a trot. Lupin was present to accompany him to Hogwarts, but after that, the man had to resume his work for the Order. He bid Harry a reluctant adieu.

Harry had no idea from which fireplace he would emerge. It turned out to be Professor McGonagall's office. Harry barely had time to dust himself off from a rather awkward landing when his Head of House was leading him away.

"Reasonably expeditious, Potter," she said in her usual succinct tone of voice. "Still, the others are already here. This way."

"Others?" Harry asked, as they began stepping quickly down the stone corridors. He did not need to pay attention to where they were going, as he had paid all too many visits to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

"Yes, others," Professor McGonagall said rather archly. "You're not Miss Lovegood's only friend, or even her best friend."

"But I'm the reason that she's…."

Professor McGonagall cut Harry off abruptly. "I'll have none of that nonsense. Everyone knows whose fault it is, and it's not yours. If I hear such talk when the Term starts, there will be points off, Potter."

The rest of their quick walk was spent in not entirely comfortable silence, as Harry debated what he would say next. The opportunity to see his Head of House face to face was unexpected, and Harry had to walk a fine line. For her part, Professor McGonagall saw fit to say nothing at all. That might have been ordinary McGonagall behaviour, or she might be peeved at him. It was hard to tell.

They reached the solid oaken doors of the Hospital Wing, and Professor McGonagall gave it two solid raps. Footsteps could be heard approaching from the other side. As Madam Pomfrey creaked open the door, the older witch turned to go.

Over her shoulder, Professor McGonagall said to Harry, "Ordinarily, I do not permit student requests to alter the decisions I make for my House. However, I have taken yours into account - somewhat.… Quite a pity, though. You are not thinking of quitting the team, I hope? I have grown rather fond of the Quidditch Cup decorating my office."

"No ma'am," Harry responded to the unexpected question. "I promise I'll play…. I'm just … not ready for that responsibility … on top of everything else."

"Very well," McGonagall replied, her voice very clipped. "I shall respect your wishes, misguided though they may be. There's another year left, after all…." With that, she was gone.

Madam Pomfrey greeted Harry, placed his robes next to some similar bundles, and led him to the bed nearest the windows at the far end of the room. The destination was obvious, as it was cordoned off by several movable cloth partitions. Harry could hear the murmur of low voices. Rounding the corner, Harry encountered Hermione and Ginny, seated in chairs on either side of Luna, who was propped up in bed on several pillows. A visitors' register floated in mid-air at the foot of the bed.

The bandages were off and the poultices had been removed, so prominent on Luna's neck was an angry red slash of frighteningly large proportion. It extended completely across her neck so that neither end was visible. It neatly bisected what would have been her Adams apple, if she had had one. Feeling guilty for staring at the scar, but unable to look at anything else, Harry collided with the floating register, knocking his glasses askew.

He hardly noticed as he blurted out, "Oh, Luna, I'm so sorry. If only you hadn't come with us, none of this would have happened…."

"The past is prologue," Luna responded. Her voice was unnaturally ragged, and she occasionally had to gasp for breath. "And this isn't about you. I was where I was because I wanted to be there. And I was ready the other night…. Daddy wasn't though, that's the supreme irony. But the Snorkack protects its young with its life, too."

Luna stopped speaking, and Harry noticed that the usual faraway look in her large eyes was even further away than usual. A tear streaked Luna's cheek, and Hermione attentively daubed it with a handkerchief.

"Ready?" Harry asked, "How could you have been ready for a Death Eater attack? I've been training all summer, and it took me completely by surprise…."

"Death Eater, Schmeath Eater. I was ready to die for you, Harry," Luna corrected dreamily. "If I had been decapitated by that paper cutter, I would have gone to meet my Mum gladly, knowing that I had been ready…. But Daddy…. Huhayee…."

Luna stopped initially because she coughed up some bloody phlegm. That stop became a full-blown pause as she heard Hermione and Ginny gasp audibly - and because of the stricken expression on Harry's face. "I suppose you don't know how it happened, do you?" Luna inquired. Nobody replied, but the perturbed looks Luna saw were enough to answer her question. "Very well," she said.

"Daddy and I were working late. After we finished cutting and sizing the latest edition, we decided to complete the typesetting for an upcoming Quibbler editorial. It took rather longer than we hoped, since the equipment was old," Luna whispered.

"You didn't use magic?" Hermione asked, looking slightly scandalised.

Luna answered calmly. "No. Thanks to the Ministry's interference, most of our equipment is Muggle, including the bindery press, because Fudge's Heliopaths can't trace our Muggle suppliers."

Luna paused. She was obviously very weak. Presently she returned to her story. "Two Death Eaters confronted us and relieved us of our wands." Luna's eyes hardened. "However, Expelliarmus does not affect Muggle weapons, as they found out."

"You mean firearms?" Hermione asked. She was definitely scandalised now. She associated firearms with her father, and such associations were no longer happy ones.

"We have had problems being vandalised by Muggle hooligans," Luna explained. "Many in the neighborhood thought Daddy queer. For protection Daddy kept a sawn off under/over shotgun beneath the press table…." Luna stopped to cough again.

Ginny looked at her blankly, with uncomprehending eyes. Harry had some idea what Luna was talking about, from one of the Auror training sessions. Hermione knew exactly what Luna meant.

Luna gathered what strength she had and continued. "A blast from it disembowelled one of the Death Eaters. But the other one was quicker. Daddy couldn't squeeze off another shot before that one caught me by the arm and flung me under the blade of the electrical paper cutter. They must have been watching us for quite some time, because that one knew to press the start button."

All three friends gasped. Harry clenched his wand so tightly, that it emitted a steady stream of angry orange sparks.

"Careful, Harry, you might set the bedclothes alight," Hermione warned. "You wouldn't want to cause any worse injuries."

Harry looked down, frowned in embarrassment, and expertly sheathed his wand in his wrist holster. He could not remember when he had taken it out in the first place.

With a deep breath, Luna continued. "I could feel the blade slicing through. Oddly, it didn't hurt much. There was blood running down my throat. Practically all at once there was a loud scream, another blast from the shotgun, and a flash of green light. The blade stopped. That's the last thing I remember before losing consciousness."

"Oh sweet Merlin," Ginny muttered audibly.

"Yesterday, when I first awoke, the Headmaster told me what the Aurors and Muggle police concluded had happened," Luna said hoarsely. She coughed once, but seemed determined to finish the story. "Daddy had one last shot. He used it to destroy the fuse box in the print shop - to save me - rather than to kill the last Death Eater. That Death Eater, who has escaped, killed Daddy."

Hermione started crying softly.

From his previously assigned reading concerning electricity, Harry understood what had happened. Ginny had no experience with electricity, so Harry had to explain that Luna's father's last living act had been to interrupt the power to save Luna's life rather than to save his own by shooting the second Death Eater.

Harry and Hermione were too shocked by Luna's story to say anything else for a moment. At the sight of Hermione's sobbing, Ginny also broke into tears.

Luna did not cry. Instead, she slumped back into the pillows, exhausted from the effort. She covered her eyes with her hands and started humming some melody that Harry did not know.

Soon Hermione had joined in, surprising Harry even more. She hummed more or less the same tune, but in harmony. Hermione laid her hands on Luna's forehead, and motioned the other two to follow suit. Harry felt clumsy, but did as requested. Soon Luna had fallen asleep.

Wordlessly, Hermione beckoned Harry and Ginny to leave Luna in peace. They tiptoed out. Hermione had a few words with Madam Pomfrey in the Charge Nurse's office, then the three friends left the Hospital Wing.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"A wizard therapeutic calming technique," Hermione replied. "It's one of the things I've studied for my special project. I don't know where Luna learned about it, though. She was using music - Verdi's `Requiem' to be exact - to focus and calm her aura, and thus herself. Telling us what happened took a lot out of her. She's only been conscious for about three hours, and she's had a lot to absorb."

"Do you know whether she wants us to go to the funeral?" Harry asked.

Ginny spoke, "Yes, she does. That's what we'd been discussing before you arrived. Unfortunately, I don't know yet if Ron and I will be allowed, because Mum and Dad are quite upset about Bill, and the family is going to have a private mourning day after his funeral."

"Where is Ron, anyway?" Harry asked.

The words were barely out of Harry's mouth when Ginny's venomous expression let Harry know that he had misspoken. He should have chosen some other topic for his first question to Ginny after barely seeing her for almost two months.

"I'm quite well, thank you very much," Ginny responded. Without saying another word, Ginny stood, turned on her heel, and stalked off down the corridor in the direction of the Great Hall.

Slack-jawed at what had just happened, Harry turned to Hermione, who was eyeing him with a rather quizzical look on her face. "Not the best question, I reckon," he mumbled.

"Hardly," Hermione responded pointedly. "The next time you see someone for the first time in weeks, particularly after traumatic events, it might be a good idea to ask after that person first - especially someone like Ginny."

"Right," Harry grunted noncommittally, running his hands through his hair. Even though he felt rather stupid, he still thought that Ginny had wildly overreacted. "But why did she go so spare on me just for that? I mean…. Both of you know how thick I can be."

Hermione sighed. Harry was partially right. "All right, Harry," Hermione began, "there is more at work here. Ginny and Ron are not exactly on the best of terms at the moment. Ron insisted that one of them had to stay in Denmark and play in some Quidditch game being held today, or else the Hogwarts team might lose. Ginny was appalled that Ron would even think of putting Quidditch before being with the family as quickly as possible after Bill's death. Ron, the wart, was adamant. He even asked her to draw straws, but she decided that, if Ron wanted to stay, she would be the one to come home early."

"What!?" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "He's going to miss his own brother's funeral for some bloody game?"

"Oh no," Hermione corrected. "He'll make the funeral all right, unless something else happens. The match is tomorrow, and the funeral's on Sunday."

Harry relaxed, some faith in his friend restored. "That's different then," he declared.

"Not really," Hermione said crossly. "In my book it's still awfully insensitive not to support your own family in a time of great need. What is it about boys anyway? It's like what you just did to Ginny…."

"Just what in blazes did I do?" whined Harry.

"Can't you see?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. "You haven't seen her in over a month. So what do you do? You ask after Ron without even the courtesy of a `how do you do' for Ginny herself. I also.… Well, I'm sure that.… Anyway…. No, just forget it. That's bad enough."

Ordinarily Hermione was not one to stammer, and Harry knew it. "There's something else, isn't there?" he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. Her own cloudy expression was hard to read. "Yes, I suppose that Ginny was hoping … well … wondering if you might just have developed some small degree of feelings for her."

Hermione could have knocked Harry over with a feather. "But…. But…. She's going with Dean. She said she was over me." Perhaps Harry protested a bit too loudly, given how his last Floo conversation with the girl in question had ended.

Hermione eyed Harry carefully. The link was, of course, open. It always was - but all she was receiving was pure, unadulterated confusion.

Somehow she thought that she should have felt worse about what had just happened than she did. Hermione had had several conversations with Ginny since that girl had arrived back in England the day before. In some sense she had to view her as a rival. It was an uncomfortable situation, because Ginny was also a good friend. Sighing, Hermione thought, `there, but for the grace of Fate, go I.'

What Hermione said, of course, was hardly what she had been thinking.

"One out of two - par for the course," she said. "You're quite wrong about Ginny and Dean. That was over very quickly, and became a lie she told solely for Ron's benefit. But I think it's safe to say now that Ginny is indeed over you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find her."

Hermione jogged off in the same direction Ginny had gone, leaving a rather bewildered Harry behind. Slowly he trudged towards Dumbledore's office, deep in thought about the inherent insanity of the female gender.

* * * *

Author's notes: In his agony, Harry is less than tightlipped about the essence of the prophecy

Danger to self or others is the legal standard for involuntary commitment

The Grangers' changed circumstances become apparent in future chapters

Needing a bridge - I didn't want to get too hokey, but I was thinking of Bridge Over Troubled Waters at that moment

"Dull, aching pain, " from the Stones' "Wild Horses. " That song will recur

"Don't need to be forgiven," from "Baba O'Reilly, " AKA "Teenage Wasteland"

TGV = Train à Grande Vitesse, the name of the French bullet trains

Find it within yourself - at least I didn't follow with "There's no place like home"

Sitting on the bed … shaking his head … fairy tales - from the Who's "Trick of the Light"

The inadequacy of DADA instruction at Beauxbatons will arise again

Frimley Park Hospital is an actual hospital in Surrey

"Heart tunes to stone" is a Foreigner song

Wagga Wagga is a real town in Australia

Lips … would love to taste, from "If You Can't Rock Me, Somebody Will," Stones

Cup set before him, is a biblical reference to the Last Supper

The first "man on a white horse" in politics was nationalist French politician from the 1800s named Chauvin, from which comes the word chauvinism

Some of you might know what else is on the Black Heath at Salisbury. We will see it again

Demagification of Bill's body, that's a hint

As will be developed, the Reims Cathedral is an important place in French Muggle and Magical history

Marshal of France is a real position

There's an Amerindian chief by the name of Mankiller

Woodshedding is a lawyer's term for intensive witness preparation

The description of the Royal Philharmonic is accurate, right down to the music; lawyers do this sort of client entertainment all the time

An under/over shotgun has two barrels situated vertically

60

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