Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry attends an Auror funeral, gets Hermione's help with his speech, goes to the Philharmonic at the Albert Hall with Eliza, engages in Royal watching, gets bored, has an idea, gets roughed up a bit, sends a mysterious note to the goblins, drafts a mysterious document, has pangs of regret, attends Bill's funeral, makes a false confession to save his friend, delivers a eulogy, receives an apology, has a long talk with Ron, gets to see Ron's marks, goes to Luna's father's funeral, and has a fainting spell.

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 25 - Departures and Arrivals

For all of Harry's repeated protestations that he wanted only to be left alone and not treated as if he were someone special, he was not at all happy when that actually happened. Alone was precisely how he found himself after Shak deposited him in a well-situated private box and left to prepare for his own role in the Longbottoms' funeral. Morose eyes staring over his pyramided fingers, Harry observed the arriving mourners in desultory fashion. Having no part to play in the Longbottom double Auror funeral, he would just be watching it from his prime location - one row back, on the main aisle, across from and slightly behind the Longbottoms' honours box.

On that day there were more active-duty Aurors at the National Aurors' Cemetery on Salisbury Plain than anywhere else in Britain. A Muggle Royal Army training base with secret wizarding connections was also close at hand. Thus, Shak had not bothered to assign Harry any bodyguards after escorting him from Hogwarts. Nor was Dumbledore anywhere to be found. The Headmaster had not even been in his own office when Harry arrived at Hogwarts that morning. Instead, Harry had encountered Shak waiting to bring him to the funeral.

Black clad wizards and witches in nearly identical mourning garb were filling up the boxes of seats, which stretched for a dozen or more metres on either side of the main aisle. Occasionally, one of them would acknowledge Harry, but mostly his glances were not returned. This was a solemn occasion, run by adults for adults, and Harry felt like an outsider. Boredom and malaise competed for primacy among Harry's emotions.

To pass the time, Harry absent-mindedly thumbed through an event programme that he found on the adjacent vacant chair. There was going to be a 21-wand salute, a flyby, a speech by Fudge ("wuuuuuuunderful," Harry moaned), and a tombstone presentation by Dumbledore on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix.

The programme was rather damp. Everything was insufferably damp. It was a misty day on the Black Heath. The fog obscured the tumuli that stood in silent testament to the rampant magic that had suffused this place for millennia. One of the few things Harry remembered from History of Magic was how the great monument - already ancient - had once been the Nemeton at the centre of the Druidic magical culture and religion. That had been before the invading Romans had destroyed the Druids' power.

"Well, if it isn't Harry Potter," came a voice behind him. A beefy arm, not unlike Uncle Vernon's, clapped him on the shoulder, although in a much more friendly fashion than his uncle had ever done. Harry dropped the programme, whirled around, and found the other beefy hand - outstretched - in front of his face, awaiting a shake.

Knowing he should be on his best behavior, Harry grasped the wizard's hand rather limply. "Delighted. Horace Slughorn, but my friends call me Slug," the man introduced himself. "Cornelius has told me so much about you," he continued, ostentatiously dropping the Minister's name. "I would certainly like to get to know you better…. If you'd like, I could introduce you around to Rufus and some of the other senior staff who are here…."

Harry gawked. Whoever this … this "Slug" … was, this man did not seem to be the type of person he had any great desire to spend time with. "Slug" was relatively short and incredibly fat. His girth showed even under his voluminous mourning robes. He had a balding head with the greying remnants of blonde hair on the sides. His massive sideburns merged smoothly with a walrus-like moustache, all flecked with grey. These more than made up for the lack of hair higher up.

His hands were soft, indicating unfamiliarity with manual labour. His robes were trimmed with green and silver, indicating he was a Slytherin - hardly a recommendation, that.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Kingsley Shacklebolt - he's a high ranking Auror and my escort for the day - said I was to remain here," Harry lied. He had no desire to be paraded about as "The Boy Who Lived," or worse as "The Chosen One," by this overbearing stranger.

"Oh I'm sure he'd make an exception for Rufus," said "Slug," gesturing again to Harry's right, "since the man is his superior officer. I would think that, by all means, the Head Auror is someone you should meet. He can help you, as can I."

Harry looked in that direction. "Slug" had been pointing to an older, almost leonine-looking man with somewhat wild hair only partially contained by his black pointed hat. The man's casually fierce expression bespoke someone well accustomed to both action and command….

"Wait a minute…," Harry said aloud. He had seen that man before…. He had been with Minister Fudge the day of Harry's "accident" in the Situation Room. Given what Fudge had been up to, any invitee of his was no real friend of Harry's. And if he was that Rufus - the one Dumbledore had mentioned - Harry definitely did not want to be seen with him….

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry lied some more, "but I'm expecting the rest of my party at any moment. They won't know where to sit if I'm not here."

A frown of frustration ever so briefly flashed across the portly wizard's face, but was gone a quickly as it came. "Oh, very well, then, maybe some other time," he said ingratiatingly. "But if you ever need anything, remember to ask for Horace Slughorn. I probably will be able to see that you get what you need." With that the man turned away, spotted somebody else, and with his beefy hand once again outstretched, went off in search of new prey.

Preoccupied with watching the overweight wizard waddle off, Harry failed to hear the soft clicks of her high-heeled shoes on the temporary flagstone walk until she was almost upon him. Belatedly aware of the quicker footsteps of youth, Harry whipped his head around just in time to see Ginny Weasley. Her severe expression was only partially visible behind the black fishnet of her mourning veil. There was, however, no mistaking her flaming orange-red Weasley hair. No veil could obscure that. Only partly due to his worry that "Slugman" might return, Harry made a gesture of greeting. Ginny entirely ignored him - not even slowing her pace, let alone throwing a glance in his direction.

Confused as to where Ginny could possibly be going, Harry followed her with his eyes. His eyebrows both raised and (he had to admit afterwards) narrowed as she stopped at the honours box and tapped Neville Longbottom on the shoulder. Neville rose and stumbled just a bit as his bulky robes caught briefly on an adjacent chair. With a grateful look on his face, Neville gently took one of Ginny's black-gloved hands, ushered her into the box, and made introductions all around. Ginny occupied the chair immediately to Neville's right.

Watching Neville, Harry was once again forcibly reminded of just how alone he really was in the wizarding world - and he hated it. Even though Neville was burying his parents this day, family and friends nonetheless surrounded him. Harry had neither family nor, so it seemed, friends. "Proper and fitting," Harry thought to himself, as he slumped forward. Harry's chin dropped to his crossed arms as he leaned forward to rest them on the back of a chair in front of him.

Was it just sour grapes? He had barely given Ginny the time of day before, so why was he begrudging Neville? Isolation was better for him, the bloody "Chosen One." For the umpteenth time Harry reminded himself that anyone he let close to him, he placed in grave and mortal danger. He was, after all, the reason for this funeral.… For a week of funerals.… For who knows how many funerals to come?

Harry thought dark and depressing thoughts.

He was lost in those thoughts when a new voice beside him spoke hesitantly, "You look like you could … umm … use a little … companionship."

"Huh…?" Harry jerked upwards and abruptly straightened his body, bruising his knee on the underside of the chair in front of him for his troubles. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he turned and faced Hermione. Unlike almost everyone else, she was wearing a black Muggle-cut suit featuring an ankle-length skirt. The mandatory black net veil somewhat obscured her face, but she had obviously used Sleekeasy's Hair Potion (or something similar) to manage her very much un-bushy hair. It hung in neat ochre waves down her back, restrained by a black ribbon.

Harry could not help but remember her hair being much like that on a happier occasion - at the Yule Ball two years previous. Happier for Viktor Krum anyway…. Ron had spent what seemed like the entire dance scowling at Krum. Harry had spent the entire dance wishing he was with Cho Chang. Now Ron was with Cho … and Harry had … well, not Hermione. That was for sure….

Perhaps Hermione was thinking similar thoughts, because an awkward silence developed. She and Harry stared at each other, like Cecil and Claude, each politely waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Hermione began, "Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"

Harry felt so stupid. He started to his feet and staggered just a bit as his mourning robes entangled in the armrest. Pulling himself free, he appreciatively grasped Hermione's proffered hand and guided her to the chair on his left.

Tonks was escorting Hermione. All things considered, Tonks looked downright normal in dress Auror's robes trimmed in black. Her hair was black today, cut straight with no spikes so that it hung just above her shoulders. There was just enough of a forward curl to keep the young Auror's hair close to her head. Harry half expected her to join them, and was making room in the box, but Tonks made her excuses and hurried off to find her place in the formal funeral procession.

"Auror's funerals are supposed to be magnificent," Hermione commented.

"`Spose so," Harry grunted.

"It's the way they'd want to have us remember them, Harry," Hermione reminded him, her hand barely brushing his wrist. She was pained (but not surprised) to see, and feel, him depressed yet again.

"I'm sorry, but I don't like going to funerals," Harry responded. "Not ones I'm responsible for at any rate."

"Harry, you know this is not your fault," Hermione hissed.

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied dispiritedly, "but what I know and what I feel are two different things."

"That's very true," she observed.

The opening roll from an unseen assemblage of muffled drums caused further conversation to cease. The first six bars of "God Save the Queen," performed by a fife and bagpipe detachment, pealed surprisingly mournfully across the landscape. There followed a melody that Harry did not recognise. Everybody else stood up, and Hermione's hand deftly snaked under Harry's armpit, giving him a yank that told him to rise as well. Seeing Harry's blank look Hermione whispered, "That's `Pride of Magic,' the Ministry's anthem."

The drummers, pipers, and flautists paraded past - fortunately the fog appeared to be lifting. A lone trumpeter played a fanfare, and two flag-draped caskets glided into view. Union Jacks (technically, Union Flags) covered the head of the caskets, and Ministry flags of silver, black, gold, and green graced the foot. On each coffin, resting atop its flags, were what Harry presumed to be the deceased's pointed dress hat, a wand, and a number of medals and other decorations.

Above the caskets hovered misty, three-dimensional images of the deceased Aurors. These were not the frail and disheveled Longbottoms Harry had seen at St. Mungo's. Rather, they were portrayed in their prime and in uniform, no doubt from photographs in the Auror archives. The misty portraits were bordered in black.

Two lily-white, pink-eyed Thestrals pulled each of the two caskets forward. Harry did a double-take. He had never seen any but black Thestrals before. All four of the Thestrals were saddled, but only the ones on the left-hand side bore riders. Trailing behind each casket were riderless caparisoned black Thestrals with ornamental tack, saddles, and blankets - all in matching black leather and polished silver. There were boots reversed in the stirrups. The caparisoned Thestrals symbolically declared that these two Ministry warriors would ride no more.

Harry turned to Hermione, only to see her face pale and her hands gripping the sides of her chair. She was fighting back tears.

"The coffins…," Harry whispered, "they're not moving by themselves, they're being pulled by.…"

Hermione's own hoarse whisper broke in. "Thestrals…. I know. I can see them now. I just … don't like being reminded why that's so. It's too … raw."

Harry had difficulty swallowing. Hermione had had a much-too-close encounter with death that horrible night - seeing it for the first time. Wordlessly, he reached down and placed his hand over Hermione's clenched fist that was gripping the armrest of her chair. He was relieved to feel her fingers relax underneath his. `She can see the Thestrals,' Harry thought. `Because of me.'

She formed a fist again, this time clenching Harry's fingers in a determined grip. "It's. Not. Your. Fault." Hermione firmly Legilimenced back, startling Harry, whilst giving his hand a squeeze with each word.

He turned towards her, only to find her fiercely possessive gaze already fixed on him. It was, he thought, as if she can see into my soul. `I wonder how she can stand what she sees?' Harry wondered, amazed and gratified at the remarkable attitude of the girl looking so intently at him.

Harry sighed, and looked back to the funeral itself.

So did Hermione. She was not happy with Harry's attitude, but her options were limited.

Shak, Mad-Eye Moody, and four other pallbearers Harry did not recognise (all bearing Order of the Phoenix insignia) were escorting the two caskets. The Longbottom family had pointedly selected them for this role - choosing them over more senior figures like Slugman's friend, Harry duly noted. There followed a phalanx of several dozen maroon uniformed Aurors, their uniforms likewise bordered in black.

The procession halted. Commands were shouted, and the Auror phalanx resolved into two lines marching smartly in parallel formation. The parallel lines halted. The pallbearers simultaneously unsheathed their wands. With coordinated flourish they pointed them at the ground. There was a flash of light, a loud report, and a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, Harry could see two newly excavated gravesites. The portraits had disappeared.

The Thestral drivers halted their mounts, and the pallbearers levitated the caskets forward with their wands, so that the coffins came to a halt directly over the open graves. The traces were magically slipped, and the Thestrals flew off at a rapid pace.

Harry could follow the animals' progress. Amazingly, given the weather earlier, the sun was now showing some signs of breaking through.

Somehow Albus Dumbledore was there - as if from thin air. His laconic remarks explained that both of the fallen were members of the Order of the Phoenix and that the Order provided tombstones for all members killed by Death Eaters.

"We are gathered here to bury two of the finest examples of what is the best in our magical community. Tragically, they were murdered in their hospital room by corresponding examples of what is our worst. We mourn them, but let us turn our mourning into something affirmative - a new determination to prevail over the Dark forces that confront us and threaten the well-being of us all. That is what Frank and Alice would have wanted above all else."

"It is with profound sorrow, but also with the greatest pride, that on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix, I present these two tombstones so that their ultimate sacrifice will always be remembered."

With those brief words, Dumbledore waved his wand. Two identical smooth Botticino limestone memorials, each shaped as a rising phoenix, appeared. As his last act, Dumbledore intoned the dedicatory inscription that the family had chosen: "So That Virtue May Prevail." With an almost imperceptible flick of his wand, Dumbledore vanished in a flash of red phoenix fire, leaving only phoenix song behind. This was not the uplifting song Harry had heard before in times of need. Rather the music this time was haunting, moving, and mournful.

Shak and Mad-Eye held the procession still until the music faded away. Then they made a hand gesture, and the remaining pallbearers stepped forward in unison. They removed the personal effects, and then the flags, from the caskets and solemnly folded the flags. The four Aurors marched the deceaseds' effects, and four triangularly folded flags, to Shak and Mad-Eye. Salutes were exchanged, as the two accepted the offerings. Shak and Mad-Eye in turn approached the honours box, where they saluted Neville. He returned the salute nervously but firmly, and they presented him with his parents' things, and the ceremonial flags.

The caskets were slowly sinking from sight into their final resting-places. Neville fumbled a bit with his burden, and handed all but his parents' wands and one of the flags to his grandmother and Ginny. Neville exchanged formalities with the senior Aurors that Harry could not hear.

"What's Ginny doing there?" Harry Legilimenced to Hermione.

"Oh…" Hermione paused. "…They've… They've been … corresponding … most of the summer.… Since the announcement of the Order of Merlin awards…. Neville asked her to come. As much as anything, that's why she agreed to let Ron stay on for the extra couple of days in Denmark."

Harry was nonplussed. "Ginny and, and … Neville…? Are they…?"

"Seeing each other?" Hermione anticipated. "I wouldn't call it that. At least not yet.… But after your performance yesterday, I'd say that the odds in favour have significantly increased." She smiled at Harry knowingly.

Harry winced. He had been a bit of an oaf, he knew. But it was all for the best. Even though Ginny had become quite … shapely … he thought he would always think of her as Ron's little sister. Hermione had seemed to be scolding him, but she was smiling…. At least she did not seem upset….

Before Harry could reply, another resounding report brought his attention back to the reason they were there. After receiving a final salute from Neville, Shak and Mad-Eye had turned on their heels, and bellowed commands to the two lines of Aurors flanking the graves. A third of the Aurors had drawn their wands. Simultaneously, they let loose a deafening salvo of crimson magic that produced a stupendous display of red crisscrossed light. When silence returned, another group repeated the process with bright blue jets of magic and another roar. The command was given a third and final time, and a forest of white spells shot towards the heavens.

As the final fountain of white light faded away, the crowd heard a soft whistling sound in the distance to the east. More and more of the attendees craned their heads and looked. The sound grew more insistent, and on the horizon Harry saw a line of broom riders hurtling towards the cemetery at little more than treetop height. They were moving at a speed that Harry would not have thought possible before encountering the Valkyrie. Their brooms were trailing some sort of smoke.

In almost no time, the riders were upon them. Abruptly their horizontal course turned vertical, and they shot upwards. They were, indeed, Valkyrie riders. Harry could now make out their precise formations - the guarding formation that the Order had approximated whilst escorting Harry to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place last year. Here, however, the formation was executed with absolute precision.

Fourteen riders were arrayed in two seven-person formations, one rider in the middle, one in front, one behind, and four circling regularly around the axis of flight spaced ninety degrees apart. In each formation, each rider trailed a different colour smoke: the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack; and the additional silver, black, gold/yellow, and green hues of the Ministry.

Suddenly, the middle rider in each formation peeled away diagonally, creating two "Missing Man" formations. The other riders continued upwards until they were lost from sight. Trailing black smoke, the two "missing" riders traced gigantic arcs and curved back towards the crowd of mourners. Slowing to a more sedate speed, the riders crossed paths with one another and fired off identical spells. The spells resolved into gold-covered boxes floating gently to earth beneath golden parachutes.

One box went promptly to Neville. That was not surprising.

The other parachute, however, floated just as unerringly to Harry. Rather than reach for it, Harry drew back. This was not his ceremony. Since he did not move to take it, the unbidden parcel conked Harry on the forehead, knocking his glasses halfway off. It kept insistently tapping Harry about the head until Hermione grasped the box, confirmed the rather obvious fact that it was indeed addressed to Harry, and handed it to him.

"I don't want it," Harry hissed to Hermione.

"Obviously," Hermione whispered back. "However, it seems to want you, so the fastest way to get this over with is to take it."

Uncomfortably aware that all eyes were now on him, Harry fumbled with the box before prising it open. There was a small scroll inside. It said. "I know what happened. I've got your back. We all do." It was signed simply "Mannock." Wordlessly, Harry showed it to Hermione. They both nodded. Then Harry stuffed the note of encouragement into his pocket, tried to return to being inconspicuous, and waited for the ceremonies to continue.

The playing of four drum ruffles and trumpet flourishes announced the arrival of the Minister of Magic, which was followed inexorably by Fudge's windy speech. It was more of the same mixture of platitudes and self-congratulatory statements that Harry had come to expect from the Minister. He Legilimenced to Hermione, "I'm going to have to do that, and I'm scared to death."

"Have to do what?" Hermione Legilimenced back.

"Give a speech," Harry responded slowly. "Dumbledore says the French want me to say something at Mister Delacour's funeral next Thursday. I haven't the foggiest what to say … or to do…. I'm afraid I'll come a cropper and embarrass the whole ruddy country."

"Didn't Dumbledore give you any help?" Hermione asked.

"The Ministry gave me Percy, but I can't just do what that pompous plonker tells me," Harry answered bitterly. "I got the draft text of a speech from him last night by owl. It's horrible. It's more of the waffle we're listening to right now. I'm going to be awful if I try to sound just like Fudge."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Hermione soothed. "We'll just have to redo what Percy writes until it's to your liking," Hermione suggested smoothly. "Remember, you're in charge. They invited you, not Percy. You've already learnt that, if you're firm enough - and underhanded enough - nobody can make you say anything you don't want to say. Percy's draft may be poor, but at least it's a starting point."

Harry was quite relieved to have some help that he could trust. "That's great Hermione, you're a lifesaver," he Legilimenced.

"So are you, Harry - in every sense of the word," replied Hermione. "How soon can I get a copy?"

Fudge droned on. "…and in our brotherhood of magic, under the fatherhood of God…"

"I don't know…." Then Harry smiled. "Wait, I learnt that spell of yours." Flicking out his wand and hunkering down, Harry tried to be as quiet as possible. It was not a dueling spell, so he had not practiced casting it silently. "Aparecium chez Harry Percy's draft speech." He said in a muted voice.

"…And in response to He Who Must Not Be Named, we declare, `We fear no fear but fear itself….'"

Harry was greatly relieved when the small role of parchment appeared. He was not sure how audibly that spell had to be pronounced in order to work. Magic could be funny that way. Hermione had always performed it loudly and clearly. He handed the parchment to Hermione, who equally surreptitiously duplicated it, handed the original to Harry, and pocketed the copy.

"I'll let you know what I think, as soon as I can. Oh! And why don't you say something in French?" Hermione Legilimenced.

"French?" Harry gawked at Hermione. "I don't know any French."

"Well, you can learn," Hermione stated.

Harry looked shocked. "In a bloody week?" he questioned.

"Haven't you ever stopped to think what else your Aural Pensieve can be good for?" Hermione responded rhetorically.

"…so that government of wizards, by wizards, and for wizards shall not perish…."

Fudge was truly grating on his nerves. Harry sincerely hoped that he could do better than that in France. As for now, he could not wait for the last act listed in the programme - the Auror bugler sounding "Last Post" and "Taps."

* * * *

"…And remember, Dung, no picking pockets, I don't want anything to embarrass me tonight."

Mundungus Fletcher looked somewhat mutinously at Harry. It had been his own fault though. When he learnt where he was going to watch over his charge, he should not have wiggled his fingers in anticipation - at least not where the boy could see him do it.

Harry's date with Eliza to see the Philharmonic at the Royal Albert Hall could only be described as an exercise in contradictions. On the one hand, it had all the ingredients of a wonderful outing. Eliza had been thrilled to accept Harry's invitation. He wore his fancy Muggle suit for the first time since the disaster at Hermione's house, and he was undeniably rakish with his hair combed back from a middle-of-the-forehead part. That style emphasized rather than concealed Harry's distinctive scar. Unless he wanted to be mobbed, it was a look he could only use whilst attending Muggle events with Eliza.

For her part, Eliza was positively radiant (not to mention absurdly attractive) in her "Ravenclaw" dress - a dark blue strapless evening gown with iridescent bronzed sequins in the décolletage. In all the right places, her dress appeared to Harry to have been painted on. He wondered if she had used magic to make if fit like that, yet stay completely wrinkle, stretch, and panty-line free. She had layered her long blond hair, teasing it just enough so that it fell in a mane. It surrounded her practically-perfect-in-every-way face like a golden halo. When Harry gave Eliza the opportunity, that face showered him with kisses.

"Now, if we could just drop from the sky on that flying motorcycle of yours, that would be perfect," Eliza joked as they headed for the taxi rank. "The grandest entrance of all."

"I would if you would," Harry joked back. "And I'll wear your Potter's Marauders jacket to underscore the point."

"You wouldn't," she gasped.

"I would," he affirmed.

"Well I won't," she put her foot down, not sure whether he was still joking. "I'm not having you sent to Azkaban for a gross breach of secrecy. I like having you around too much…."

Eliza looked so beautiful that it made Harry uneasy. Entering the hall, Harry became intensely aware that other men were ogling his date. That was a novel sensation for him, and it was unnerving. Maybe something similar had happened at the Docklands amusement park, but on that occasion he had been too busy with his own ogling to notice. This time, however, Harry had seen Eliza in her finery beforehand, and he was duly captivated. His own eyes never wandered.

The seating was outstanding. The D'Israeli firm was a long-time, top-drawer donor to the Philharmonic. Its loggia-level box was so close to the orchestra that, if Harry had known how to read music, he might have been able to follow the score over the musicians' shoulders. The box was situated directly opposite the Royal Box, occupied that night by the estranged Princess of Wales and her entourage. Although aware that many of his professors detested the Royals, Harry could not help but engage in the guilty pleasures of Royal watching.

Those were the good parts.

The contradictions arose because Royal watching was just about the most interesting thing that he did all evening. To a classical music neophyte such as Harry, the composers Prokofiev and Ravel meant next to nothing. Nor did it take much conversation for him to discover that Eliza was no more knowledgeable.

"So what do you know about this Prokofiev bloke?" Harry asked Eliza, making conversation once they were seated. "I reckon he's from Russia or something."

"Well, it says here…." Eliza replied haltingly whilst squinting at the programme in the half-light, "that he's `neoclassical influenced,' whatever that's about…. `…his sheer wilfulness is to be contrasted with a warm, Romantic, nostalgic lyricism….' What do you think that means?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry replied truthfully.

"Me neither."

Eliza had never even been to the Albert Hall before for any of the proms - one of the reasons she had been so thrilled by the invitation.

Thus the music was rather puzzling, and there was little else for Harry and Eliza to talk about. Nor were other activities available - the box's prime location eliminated all possibility of privacy, and Harry had left his Invisibility Cloak at home.

After a very short while Harry got bored. He began to regret not offering the tickets to Hermione instead. The Yule Ball notwithstanding, Hermione would never draw the sorts of stares that Eliza did, but she was far more interesting to be with. Hermione not only would have known everything about these composers and their music, but she would have maintained a running (albeit silent) commentary answering all of his questions.

The music was entrancing. Harry could almost see the notes exploding in colourful bursts on the back of his eyelids, which were steadily drooping.

One thing for sure, Harry was never bored with Hermione…. He loved just listening to her talk…. She knew so much about so many things. She could always figure out…. Harry was on the verge of nodding off when a flash of inspiration came to him. He sat upright, blinking his eyes furiously and wiggling his fingers to restore the blood flow.

It was brilliant! He had just figured out how to ensure a satisfactory resolution to one of the many knotty problems that his violently changing circumstances had created. Not only that, he would have to act quickly if he wanted to kill two birds with one stone tomorrow at Bill's funeral.

Awkwardly excusing himself from Eliza just as the second movement of "Daphnis and Chloe" was beginning, Harry strode quickly to the loo.

What a loo. He gawked as he entered through double swinging doors. `This is twice the size of my uncle's house,' Harry thought. `And not only that, but much more than twice as posh as well.' Harry had never seen so much cut glass and mosaic tile in a lowly toilet before. These Muggles were as bad as any wizards were when it came to showing off.

He found an empty stall and Transfigured a roll of toilet paper into a notepad. The Transfiguration was not perfect - Harry's biro tended to tear the paper overly much - but it would have to do in a pinch.

Harry exited the loo right into the middle of a situation. There were flashes of light. People were yelling and shoving. Harry found himself roughly slammed against the wall by several burly Muggles. He reacted reflexively as he had with Dudley. The man who had been restraining him let him loose like he had grabbed a live wire, almost turfing him as a result. That man, who had the largest forearms Harry had ever seen on somebody without a giant in his gene pool, regarded the boy with the distinctive scar through narrowed and suspicious eyes….

Harry's attention was elsewhere. For a brief moment, Harry saw her - Princess Di - and for an even briefer moment he thought that they made eye contact. Then it was over. The entourage swept past, trailed by hyena-like paparazzi. Harry last saw the Princess berating one of her bodyguards. There was too much noise to hear anything, even if he had brought Extendable Ears.

Harry smiled. Getting jostled in the hall would probably be the most noteworthy thing to happen all night. His being within a few metres of the Princess of Wales would be enough to turn the status-conscious Dursleys green with envy. However, for now he had work to do.

After dusting himself off, Harry returned to his box. He hardly paid attention to the rest of the performance; he was so absorbed in jotting down various thoughts on the notepad. Eliza asked what he was doing. He told her it was another of those things that she was better off not knowing. He added mysteriously that it would only aggravate the conflict of interest problems that had forced her to change jobs.

Eliza pouted.

Harry felt he had no time to lose. To his date's great disappointment, he begged off going back to her flat after the show.

Eliza pouted even more.

To assuage Eliza, Harry promised that nothing would detract from their "special date" planned for Tuesday evening. That was a major concession because Harry was still in the dark about exactly what she had planned. He asked her again.

"Since I've promised now to come along peaceably, can't you at least tell me what you've got planned?" Harry persisted.

"But that would spoil the surprise," she responded coquettishly.

"Oh, come on," Harry pleaded. "You know that me and surprises don't mix very well."

She cryptically replied, "All I'll tell you is that it's another one of those simple Muggle things that you've apparently never done."

Plainly, she was not about to offer any specifics.

The vague description of the upcoming date made Harry uneasy. Although not his primary intent, Harry's hasty exit allowed him to avoid further awkwardness over the S-E-X question. Harry was strongly conflicted. On the one hand, Eliza was physically almost irresistible. On the other hand, something about the prospect gnawed at Harry, although he had never quite been able to articulate (even to himself) exactly what that "something" was.

Hailing a black cab, Harry tipped the driver excessively and had the visibly annoyed Eliza driven home. Then, pausing only long enough to inform a rather confused Mundungus Fletcher of his intention, Harry found a secluded place and Apparated to Mrs Figg's.

Ugh. Whilst he enjoyed the convenience of this mode of travel, he thought he would never get used to the feeling of being squeezed, which always seemed to resemble an overly crowded telephone box.

Harry was likewise curt with the Dursleys after his return. That posed less of a problem, since the more nattily he dressed, the more restrained his relatives became in his presence. After only a few pleasantries, such as inquiring how long Dudley had to wear the cast on his arm, Harry bolted upstairs.

His first act was to give Hedwig something to do. As he tied a note to her leg, Harry urged, "Don't know if you can even find a goblin, but give it your best, won't you girl? And please hurry." Hedwig soon soared off into the night.

Harry next noticed the green light shining on his Communicator, signifying some post from Dumbledore. Harry quickly read it. Apparently one of Moody's first acts as acting Head Auror (after deep-sixing the Voldometer) was to designate Harry and Hermione's training as a matter of utmost importance. Training would recommence on Tuesday. That complicated things a bit because of Eliza's date, but not irrevocably.

Turning to the task at hand, Harry crankily pored over the papers on his desk, looking for the forms that Blackie Howe had given him.

"Dammit, where are those," he cursed under his breath. "Not there…. Not there…. Not here, either…."

Harry haphazardly stacked the various papers and other clutter on his desk on top of one another and moved the stacks out of the way until he finally located what he wanted.

"There you are, you bugger!" he exclaimed when he finally unearthed the envelope with the D'Israeli law firm name and logo (the "I" in D'Israeli took the form of a wand which changed colours randomly) engraved in the upper left corner.

Harry grabbed a roll of fresh parchment and his Quick Quotes Quill. Setting the quill to its "correct grammar" setting, Harry began transcribing his scrawled notes and shaping them into coherent sentences. For once Harry regretted not knowing how to type. Otherwise he would have been pleased to use the Muggle computer that the Dursleys had given him.

Harry worked diligently. He was just finishing up at 2:15 in the morning when Hedwig returned, bearing a note. Reading it, he pumped the air with his fist. His gamble had paid off, and he would be able to complete matters tomorrow. After that Harry fervently hoped to be done with the whole morbid subject.

Harry duplicated the documents, signed each copy, and to underscore his seriousness, imprinted them with his Manmak signet ring. Carefully, he sealed both copies with magical wax and ribbon. He gave one sealed copy to Hedwig and instructed her to take it to Blackie Howe. Harry placed the other copy under his glasses as he prepared for sleep. For the first time since the attacks, Harry activated his Aural Pensieve.

Tomorrow, Harry thought, would be a very hard day. He had to go to the Burrow for Bill's funeral. Burying Bill would be bad enough. He earnestly hoped that his reunion with the surviving Weasleys would not prove to be worse.

Breeee…. Breee…. Fwump! Harry's alarm clock exploded into bits that turned into multi-coloured confetti and streamers before they hit the floor.

The long-suffering clock paid the price for awakening Harry from a vivid dream involving Hermione, Eliza, a river and a beach. One moment he had been snogging on a riverbank with Eliza, who had been dressed in tight blue denim Capri pants. The next moment, he was dancing on the strand with Hermione, who might not have been wearing anything at all. She had been surrounded by prismatic light, whilst she turned churning sea foam into sparkling gemstones. Muggle rock and roll (a song from a Yank band whose name he forgot for Eliza, and "Angelsea" for Hermione) played in the background. It had been quite pleasant…. Reality was so much worse.

Harry rose early to run by himself, as Dudley still nursed a couple of nasty leg burns in addition to the big, clumsy cast on his forearm. Today was going to be all about death, so he was feeling depressed. Depression loves company, so he threw "We Sold Our Souls for Rock `N Roll" (one of Dudley's) into his Muggle CD player and let it repeat over and over.

After running, Harry had hoped to go to Hogwarts for some flying, but he received bad news when he arrived, his miniaturised Valkyrie in hand, at Mrs. Figg's.

"Good morning," Harry greeted the elderly Squib. "I'm here for my morning fly."

"Sorry, I just received word from Hogwarts, not ten minutes ago that it's been cancelled," Mrs. Figg said through the screen door.

"Oh oh," Harry replied, "I don't like the sound of that. Did something happen?"

"Nothing serious," Mrs. Figg hastened to reply. "It's just that Hagrid, the great lush, went three sheets to the wind after returning from the Longbottom ceremony."

"That bad, eh," Harry replied sadly.

"If anything worse," the Squib confirmed. "Even Professor McGonagall's Sobering Charm had no effect. There's nobody else available, and Dumbledore doesn't want you flying unsupervised. You're too much of a target, even at Hogwarts."

"But, if I just stay within the grounds and don't fly any higher than…."

"No buts, Sonny," Mrs. Figg cut over him. "You'll just have to go home." Then she smiled and looked at the boy more softly. "I know you've got an incredibly hard day ahead of you…."

Reprising the night before, Harry's relatives continued ignoring him after he returned from Mrs. Figg's. In the basement, Dudley was working out as best he could on improvised equipment, following a training regimen designed to keep him as decently conditioned as possible whilst he healed. Uncle Vernon was closeted in his home office reviewing papers in preparation for a meeting with a barrister. Aunt Petunia was out shopping.

The snub from his relatives turned out to be a good thing, as Harry received not one, but two unexpected owls. Other than the Daily Prophet, Harry was not used to owl deliveries at that hour of the morning. The first owl bore a package, but would not let Harry near it until he read the accompanying C.O.D. note and deposited 35 Galleons in the owl's pouch. Harry did not recognise the sender - some outfit called BerlitzMagical - but since the message had referenced Hermione, Harry paid.

Inside Harry found three French language instructional lessons for his Aural Pensieve and the directions how to use them. Harry felt a piercing pang of regret.

"Damn, I'm a ruddy git, aren't I," he muttered to himself.

Hermione had once again taken it on herself to help him with a serious problem. Harry had repaid her by throwing her over in favor of Eliza on something involving classical music - an area that was obviously far closer to Hermione's heart than Eliza's. He felt he had made a spectacularly inappropriate choice. Even Dumbledore would have a hard time placing the blame for that choice anywhere but squarely upon Harry's shoulders.

The second owl made Harry feel even worse. Athena, Harry's present to Hermione, fluttered in through the trapdoor with a revised text of Percy's draft speech. Calling it a "revision" failed to do Hermione's effort justice. The text was almost totally rewritten. Gone were Percy's stock platitudes and windy phrasing. In their place were apt historical references and propositions that passed the test of reason. Instead of the defensive self-justifications characteristic of Ministry politicians, there was a resolute call to arms.

Hermione had even indicated what parts of the speech Harry might want to say in French. Little blinking tricolours flashed next to those parts, and the text switched every ten seconds or so from English to French and back again.

Yet he had taken Eliza rather than her to the symphony last night. Hermione had to know that. The strange link they shared meant that she could sense his feelings. Harry realised that she must have worked on this speech despite full awareness that all the while he had been with Eliza - maybe even at the exact same time. Harry felt lower than dirt. Not for the first time in his life, he was unsure what to do next. But now, he had nobody left in whom he could confide.

Harry made some comparatively minor revisions to the speech and sent them back via Athena, who had waited patiently for him. He read the BerlitzMagical directions and, with his alarm clock set for noon, went back to bed to learn if the Aural Pensieve taught French as effectively as it did spells. Harry silently vowed that he would not bollocks up this speech - not just for his sake, but for Hermione's. He owed her that much.

A sombre George Weasley - no Face Freezing Potion necessary - came to collect Harry at the appointed time.

"Okay," Harry began, "Where did the money come from that I loaned you and Fred?"

"Triwizard winnings," George answered. "Now me. What bloody excuse did Ronniekins give you for quitting as Prefect?"

Harry had never discussed the details of this problem with the Twins, although he assumed that, as members of the Weasley family, they knew the outline of what had happened. "You…? You really want to know about that?" Harry answered.

"Not really," George admitted. "It's enough that you know that we know."

"Ron's going to be there, isn't he?" Harry asked. "I'm really eager to see him. It's been such a long time, and so much has happened."

George remarked sternly, "After Mum's finished with him, Dear Ronald may wish he'd never met you."

That comment badly jolted Harry. "What do you mean by that? It's bad enough that she's upset with me. I can't stand having Ron blaming me for what's happened as well."

"Sorry, this is a private Weasley matter," George answered a bit testily. "Little brother has had this coming to him, and now the bloody day of reckoning is at hand."

Harry was worried sick. His last doubts over his chosen course of action disappeared.

Heightened post-attack security was not allowing anyone to Apparate directly to the "Weasley Compound," as the Ministry operatives had taken to calling the Burrow. George and Harry Portkeyed to a checkpoint several dozen yards down the driveway. It was manned by a bored witch and wizard in nondescript robes bearing Department of Magical Transportation insignia.

Even though George was recognisably a Weasley, and Harry was Harry, the DMT wizards rotely followed standard procedure and put them both through inspection. Harry had to empty his pockets, turn over his wand, and submit to a full-body scan with Probity Probes.

Harry complained, but the wizard checking him was having none of it. "You'll take the bloody check and be happy with it. It's this or a manual body cavity search. Your choice." He leered as his witch companion cackled.

Just when Harry thought everything was over, he was asked to take off - of all things - his shoes. Harry had had enough. He let the DMT wizards keep the shoes, and simply Transfigured a couple of nearby pinecones into another pair. Taking his cue from Harry, George did the same, except George could not resist also putting a nasty delayed Transfiguration on the shoes he left behind. In fifteen minutes they would change into Dungbombs and go off.

The Burrow was hardly recognisable. There was nary a chicken nor a rusty cauldron in sight.

The oddly constructed, somewhat tumbledown structure that Harry had known was now overshadowed by a solid two-storey brick "new wing" that halfway surrounded the Weasleys' back garden. To Harry it looked as if a chunk of Hermione's house had been torn free and set down in Ottery St. Catchpole. The new wing looked as imposing as the old Burrow had appeared homey. He did not particularly care for the addition.

Harry gulped as he and George approached the new front entrance. All the living members of the Weasley family, except Ginny, were waiting for him in their black mourning robes. Arthur Weasley looked sad and world-weary, as if he would rather be anywhere else. Molly Weasley was stolid and stone-faced - determined to steer her brood through their present torment. What struck Harry about Mrs. Weasley's appearance was her hair. No longer vibrant red, it was now well streaked with grey. She looked like she had aged twenty years since Harry had last seen her in Kings Cross Station.

Charley was there, appearing slightly out of place in black robes that struggled to cover his muscular frame. He now bore all of the responsibilities that came with being the eldest son of a pure-blood family. Somewhat to Harry's surprise, Percy was also present, elegantly dressed but somewhat detached. Fred as usual looked just like George, which in this context meant there was a frown on his face. Fred flashed some sort of hand signal to George that, because George was behind him, Harry did not know whether George returned.

Ron was somewhat squashed between his mother and Fred. Just looking at his friend revealed to Harry how much the past weeks of hard Quidditch training had agreed with Ron. He was almost as tall as Percy now, but was growing into Bill's robust physique instead of Percy's more gangling frame.

Never had Harry seen such a contrast between Ron's physical and mental states. From all appearances, being back home did not agree with Ron at all. His expression was like death warmed over - that of a condemned man facing execution. Harry realised that he had given Ginny's complaints entirely too much credence. It was plain for anyone to see that Ron cared, and cared deeply, about what had happened to Bill.

Ron's distraught face brought home to Harry that, no matter how desolate he felt, Bill's loss had affected the Weasley family far worse than it had him. He had been in Bill's charge for only a few weeks. That was nothing. Bill had been the first Head Boy in his family - the brightest hope of the Weasley clan - for well over a decade.

From losing his own parents, and Sirius, Harry could sense the Weasleys' loss, but not entirely fathom it. Harry had no real recollection of his parents, and had known Sirius all too briefly. Bill, on the other hand, had been a strong thread running through the fabric of the Weasleys' entire lives, a fabric now tragically rent asunder.

Only Harry's sense of duty kept him from giving into the impulse to run away - to leave a Wizard world that had become overfull of sorrow and death. But Gryffindors do not run away. They stay the course and go forward. Harry gulped and pinched himself. He had been over and over what he was now going to say. He only wished for a smaller audience, especially for Ron not to be there at this moment.

Banishing the tears that threatened to flow, Harry addressed the elder Weasleys - both of them, although Molly Weasley was the primary recipient. "I'm … I'm so sorry. I'd do anything to bring Bill back, but there's … there's nothing I can do…."

After a few more sentences about Bill, Harry got to the point he needed most to make - the point that he hoped would close the developing rift.

"I can't set that right, but I can make amends to the living. It was wrong…. It was wrong for me … to try for Prefect at Ron's expense. I can't take back what I did, and what Ron did, but I want you to know that I've written Professor McGonagall. I-I-I told her that I don't want to be either Prefect or Quidditch captain, and … that if she tipped me, I wouldn't accept. I hope that means that Ron gets both.…"

Then Harry waited, for whatever would follow from his not altogether true confession. Mrs. Weasley allowed a slight smile to cross her lips before pronouncing, "That's quite alright, dear."

Mr. Weasley, looking lost, simply said, "Right-o."

Charlie was bewildered; news of the Prefect affair had never reached Romania.

Percy looked scandalised, as if he could not believe that Harry would do such a thing.

Fred and George looked furious, as did Ginny, who had chosen that instant to poke her head into the doorway.

Ron had gone even paler than before, and was openly gaping at Harry. It was if he were having trouble comprehending what Harry had just said.

The Weasleys offered Harry their hospitality. The episode appeared forgotten, or at least completely displaced by the more recent traumatic events. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shepherded Harry through the crowd of wizards and witches paying their last respects to Bill. They introduced Harry to various relatives and coworkers, taking pains to ensure that he was subjected to as little hero worship as possible.

There were more Weasley relatives than Harry could keep track of. He knew that pure-blood wizard families were interrelated, but this was ridiculous. Every redhead in Britain seemed to be there. He was starting to get nervous. He hoped he had not missed them….

Finally, Harry spotted the goblin contingent, and more specifically Bladvak, who was talking to a ruddy-haired wizard and witch who were undoubtedly also Weasley relatives. Subtly Harry began steering the Weasleys (who thought they were steering him) in that direction. Five minutes later, Harry was being introduced to Arthur Weasley's somewhat elderly second cousin, Horace, who was an accountant, and Horace's daughter, Mafalda Hopkirk, who headed the Improper Use of Magic office.

Both were pleased to remind Harry of their rather remote ties to him. Horace pronounced himself chuffed to be "working for" Harry, but was immediately silenced by an annoyed snort from Bladvak. Hopkirk regretted her harsh letters to Harry, which she said were "unfortunately" mandated by office policy. She told Harry that his juvenile records had been sealed by direct order of the Minister of Magic and, barring "some other incident," they would be expunged when he reached majority.

Bladvak saved Harry the trouble of excusing himself from the pair by bluntly declaring that he needed to discuss something with Harry in private. They walked to an unused cloakroom.

"It you have, Your Excellency?" Bladvak asked in accented but reasonably grammatical English.

Ignoring his embarrassment at being addressed as goblin royalty, Harry produced the sealed parchment from an inside pocket. "Yes. It is signed and sealed as you directed. To be opened only on occasion of my death."

"I direct you not, only inform," Bladvak replied as he inspected the seal, nodded, and slipped the document inside his goblin greatcoat.

"Gradnuk, Bladvak," Harry thanked the goblin in his tourist phrasebook-level Gobbledegook.

"Alama," Bladvak responded, "I hope never to see what there is written."

That task accomplished, Harry made his way to the location of the funeral - or more accurately the leaving ceremony - in the Weasleys' back garden. Slipping behind a large tree, Harry brandished his wand and uttered, "Liliaceous." A large bouquet of white lilies appeared. Harry was relieved. He was not at all sure such a spell existed, but he had followed the principles of magical syntax that were the subject of Tuesday's lesson. Rule number one: Similar spells almost always have similar morphologies.

Largely due to Neville's skill in Herbology (and the new wand Harry had given him) the Weasleys' back garden had been completely transformed. The somewhat chaotic and bedraggled scenery familiar to Harry was gone. In its place there was a shady glen with a koi-stocked pond under one of several weeping willows. There were no gnomes in sight.

Near the house, amongst a welter of large amau ferns, was the bier upon which Bill's coffin (closed, given the manner of Bill's death) rested. Surrounding it was a shrine to Bill's life. Harry saw things that he recognised, such as Bill's 1989 Head Boy badge and graduation robes. He also saw things that were new and unexpected, such as a metre-high carved onyx ankh, with an eye that followed the viewer, and other less recognisable objects that Bill had accumulated during his career as a curse breaker for Gringotts.

The lump in Harry's throat grew larger as he saw that the most recent portion of Bill's life was also represented. There were several photographs of Bill with Harry, mostly from the night of the Ashrak. Bill's Ashrak robes hung opposite his Hogwarts Head Boy graduation robes - the only two outfits displayed. There was a matchbook from the Gordon Ramsay restaurant. Next to that was a never-to-be-finished printer's proof of the card that would have formally announced Bill's engagement to Fleur Delacour.

Mourners came and went all day. They could sit anywhere they pleased using a simple spell to conjure plain Muggle-style wooden folding chairs anywhere in the garden. The ceremony itself resembled a Quaker Meeting for Worship. A small podium was placed about two metres in front of the bier. Anyone could use the podium to address whoever was present at the time with whatever came to mind.

Harry waited until the goblin contingent had departed. Since he was nominally a general in the goblin army, Harry did not want the goblins to think him weak if they heard what he might say. For about ten minutes, Harry sat levitated a discreet half inch above one of folding chairs whilst he practiced Chinese Occlumency - taught to him by another victim of the Death Eaters' recent rampage. Then he looked about, making sure that nobody like Fudge, or that Slugman or Rufus whoever-he-was was present.

About thirty people were in the glen when Harry approached the unadorned podium.

Harry had no notes, no prepared text. He did the only thing that would be honest to both him and his audience. He spoke from his heart about what he felt.

The eulogy began haltingly. "Bill…. Bill died…. Bill died because he tried to be the father I never knew. He didn't have to do that. He could have refused when I asked him…. He should have refused when I asked him."

"I'm afraid I wasn't a very good son. I ran away. Disobeyed. Talked back. Caused him grief. Caused everybody who cared about me grief. Now all I've got left is grief…."

"Actually, that's not true. I've got memories. Good ones. More than anything else, what I'll always remember about Bill is his honesty. He could be brutally honest. He tried to teach me about life.… That was real to me.… And about love.… That's so unreal.…"

"His guiding principle was always be honest. If I didn't feel that I could tell the truth, I should just be quiet - or better yet, I shouldn't get myself into situations where lying seemed like an acceptable choice. …And he taught me not to take advantage of others. No manipulation or false pretenses…. I'm afraid my shabby reality hasn't always lived up to Bill's ideals."

"But that's not surprising, really. I'll never be half the man he was. For the rest of my life, however short it may be, I just hope I can practice what Bill preached."

"Those were great life lessons. Bill was so full of life. He taught me to ride a flying motorcycle. He was a great flyer. Made it seem effortless. But that was Bill. He was great at everything he decided to try."

"He made a great father. I only wish he could have been mine a lot longer … and that I had been a better son. I was so selfish…. I only thought about what I wanted. Bill was just the opposite. He gave of himself to others … to me…."

"It was selfish of me to ask him to try to be my dad in the first place.… To even think I had the right to ask."

Harry addressed his Weasley classmates and friends. "Ron … Ginny… I've tried to be your friend ... even thought of myself as almost family. Some friend I turned out to be…. My unfulfilled needs…. Unfulfillable needs…. They cost you your brother…. And for what? He tried to give me what's just not mine to have, I guess. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I should have known better."

Harry was once again on the verge of tears, but never crossed the brink of an unprecedented public cry. To fight them off, he stopped and looked around.

Then he saw her.

Harry had not noticed when she had entered the garden. He had been so wrapped up in trying to speak intelligibly and to say things that at least approximated what he felt. Even in mourning garb, the flaxen haired half-Veela beauty who had captured Bill's heart radiated elegance.

"…And Fleur," Harry rasped, "I've wronged you most of all… You're like me now. Well, almost. Orphaned. It's horrible. I know. I've lived that way all my life."

"I-I-I had no claim.… I had no right … to ask Bill to try to be my father. That was … an imposition … on you. He should have been the father of your children … children that will never be…. All because of me…. Because I had to go and make him a target of that madman…. Voldemort."

"Someday, though … I'll make it up to you. I'll make it up to all of you … or die trying…."

Harry realised he was rambling - rambling perilously close to the prophecy. He glanced at Hermione, who was white as a ghost. He wanted to say something to her, but words failed him. Harry did the only thing he could think of. He sat down and shut up.

Harry had no idea how long he had stayed slumped his plain wooden chair in the Weasleys' back garden, biting his lips to keep from crying. It felt like hours, but probably was less than five minutes. Harry wondered if he should just Apparate away.

"Harry?" The voice barely registered.

"HARRY?!" It registered that time. Harry remembered the Howler. Molly Weasley was a person not to be crossed, and surely she had not appreciated Harry's creating a scene at her family's solemn gathering.

Harry slowly raised his head. He felt he would be lucky not to be tossed out on his bum after a eulogy like that.

"That was … so … beautiful. Welcome home!!!" Mrs. Weasley gathered Harry into a bone-crushing embrace.

As he was being swarmed by the Weasleys, Harry felt a warm sensation. He had exorcised the grief, at least for a while. He felt happiness for the first time since the Death Eater attack. Even Fleur comforted him, stating emphatically that Bill had never been happier than during the last weeks of his life.

After a few minutes, most of the Weasley family excused themselves to return to their grim duties, but Fred, George, and Ron walked Harry down a hallway, through a couple of doors, and into the old Burrow that Harry recognised.

Ron now occupied what had been his parents' master bedroom in the old Burrow. Whilst the main colour was still Chudley Canons orange, there was more than a smattering of Gryffindor red and gold. Ron had several pictures of himself in action on the pitch at Elsinore.

Thankfully, Ron had not taken to autographing his pictures.

In the place of honour above the headboard of Ron's bed was a large wizard photograph of Cho in what Harry supposed was a very skimpy outfit. She pulled a towel over herself (well, most of herself) when the others entered.

Ron clapped Harry on the back and gave him a great hug. "Harry! It's bloody great to see you again. Even considering the circumstances.…" Ron's face fell a bit.

Fred interrupted before Ron could resume his previous thought. His voice was surprisingly harsh. "Now, Ron. Do it now. You dodged the mother of all hexes out there - not that you deserved it - when Harry decided to fall on his wand for you."

George picked up where Fred left off. "Don't think yourself out of the woods, dear younger brother." He then made the same threat to Ron that Hermione had once directed at him. "If you even think of doing anything like that again to our partner, Mum will know everything."

Ron sighed deeply. "Harry…. Mate…. I'm sorry I did that to you - make Mum think giving up my badge was at all your idea. You know how she is. Once she found out, I was scared of what she'd do … pull me out of camp. Once it got started, things just kept getting worse. I didn't know how to end it.… Then Fred and George…." Ron glanced at the Twins, who glowered back at him. "They made me see that I had to face the consequences.…"

"Only after blowing the bloody whistle on you," George snorted.

"By getting a copy of your incriminating letter to McGonagall," Fred added. "Duly logged in `received at Hogwarts' before your little chat with Harry, here."

Smiling wanly at Harry, Ron continued. "And, then Bill was.… Well, you know mate, none of us wanted to upset Mum more than she already was. Sometimes it seemed she ready to go around the twist as it was. Anyway, it got put off…. Today was going to be the day. Then, crikey, from out of the blue you go all noble on me and take the blame for something you didn't even do…. Why, Harry? Even when I mess up, do you have to bloody rescue me?"

Harry smiled wanly at Ron. "You're a friend, Ron. As good a friend as anyone could ask for. You…. You…. You only have to go downstairs to see what can happen to my friends." Harry gestured towards the back garden. "Yet here you are. I need all the friends I can get right now."

"Well, you've got me," Ron affirmed, wrapping Harry in a trademark Weasley hug of his own.

Harry asked the Twins for some privacy with Ron. Their mission to force an apology out of their younger brother accomplished, the Twins readily agreed - or so it seemed.

Harry had learnt to cast Surveillius Revelato silently. An incriminating green glow revealed two pairs of Extendable Ears.

"Your call," Harry told Ron.

Ron did not need to be asked twice. There was a large metal laundry hamper in the corner. Ron silently emptied its contents. Grabbing a Beater's bat that lay on a chest of drawers, Ron inverted the hamper, slammed it over the ears, and made an unholy racket bashing the hamper with the bat as hard as he could.

After about thirty seconds, Ron released the ears. In wobbly fashion they slowly slipped out of sight.

"Good one. Now what really happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, it all goes back to Cho," Ron started.

"I thought it might," said Harry evenly, "but I have no idea how."

"We were discussing next year at Hogwarts," Ron explained. "I was complaining about everything I had to do … everything that would keep me from spending time with her. She told me to stop complaining if I wasn't man enough to do anything about it."

"Ouch," commented Harry. "So she doesn't just cry; she can be tough when she wants to."

"You got that right," Ron confirmed. "Well, that put me to thinking, and I brought up what I thought was a mad idea of resigning as Prefect. Cho was shocked, actually, but after we kicked the idea around, she couldn't think of any convincing reason why I shouldn't."

"Except that's it a great honour," Harry observed. "One that runs in your family, I might add."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But having Cho's honour is even better. So I immediately wrote to Professor McGonagall, turning in the badge. I owled the letter straightaway, before I could get cold feet and change my mind. I thought it was a done deal."

"Wasn't it?" Harry asked. Here was something he had not guessed.

"Oh it was done all right," Ron growled, "except for that bloody McGonagall. She sent a confirmatory letter here - to the Burrow - which meant my parents received it. Well, you can just guess what happened next. Mum positively went ballistic. She sends me a Howler…."

"Yeah," Harry commiserated. "I know what her Howlers are like, you know."

Ron looked uncomfortable. He had forgotten, or perhaps never really appreciated, the collateral damage he had inflicted on his best mate. "Right…. Well, anyway, she threatened to bring me home from Denmark - right away. It was `Quidditch be damned' and `you won't be seeing her any more either.'"

"So that's when you decided to do it?" Harry asked. He was surprised, but there were limits, it appeared, even to Ron's courage.

"I'm not ruddy proud of it, looking back, but yeah, that's when," Ron confessed. "Mum was going to do everything but hang me from the rafters by thumbscrews if I couldn't give her a good reason for why I quit. I was desperate."

"So you deflected her onto me…." Harry said. His voice was accusatory but not angry.

"Harry, I said I was sorry. I meant it, and I'm telling you the truth because I'm tired of lies." Ron fervently pleaded.

"Except for mine, earlier today," Harry observed in the same flat voice.

"Harry, you're bloody stronger than me," Ron protested. "It's true…. You always have been. And you've more resources. You've got her to come up with brilliant solutions to all your problems. I'm just stupid old Ron, and the best I was able to come up with on my own was that we had a deal to swap my Prefect badge for a Quidditch captain's badge."

"I'm not captain, and probably never was," Harry said stiffly. "You can't assume such things…."

"Maybe you don't," Ron replied emotionally. "But I do. It's been a lock since you were the only Gryffindor First Year starter in I don't know how many years - and at Seeker no less. And Head Boy too, I reckon…. And you get the girl. You're a bloody triple first, Harry…."

Harry scowled. Had his relationship with Eliza somehow become a topic of conversation as far away as Denmark? "What girl?" he asked.

"Hermione."

"Hold on," Harry commanded, extending his hand for emphasis. Ron fell silent. Harry flicked his wand from his concealed wrist holster (at which Ron went wide-eyed), and again silently cast Surveillius Revelato. Not one, not two - but three - pairs of Extendable Ears eerily glowed green.

"The bastards," Ron muttered. He reached for the laundry basket again, but Harry stopped him.

"My turn this time." After a slight pause he said aloud, so Ron could hear, "Surveillius Confundus."

"What was that?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Spells Hermione taught me," Harry said a little smugly. "That first one, which I can now cast silently, was how you got caught trying to listen in on my Floo talk with Ginny."

"Sorry about that, too, mate," Ron broke in. "She was writing someone regularly, and wouldn't tell me who. I thought it might be you."

"Not I," Harry protested, not mentioning what Ginny had said at the end of the conversation Ron had initially tried to overhear. "It was Neville…."

"I know that now, so I won't have to kill you," Ron said smiling. Then he groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Saw them together this morning whilst finishing the preparations - holding hands so bloody sweetly. With Bill not even cold, too.… If he thinks that the bloody Order of Merlin gives him license to shag my sister, I'll … I'll strangle him with his own bloody ribbon."

Ron was getting a murderous look in his eye. To save Neville from possible bodily harm, Harry changed the subject. "Anyway, the second of Hermione's spells confuses would-be spies. Right now they think we're talking about Quidditch."

"Oh," replied Ron, "so it's safe now?" Harry nodded. Ron grinned, and asked, "and just how are you two `widely rumoured paramours' getting on, anyway?"

Harry grimaced. "That's what I was trying to tell you before we were interrupted," Harry responded, a little more sharply than he had intended. "There is no me and Hermione - no `us' - not like that, anyway. Everybody seems to think so…. Her parents seem to think so…. They were set to take her out of Hogwarts to get her away from me."

"NO!" exclaimed Ron, genuinely shocked.

"Yes," declared Harry. "But to make a long story short, Dumbledore put a stop to that…. For which I am eternally grateful."

"So am I," declared Ron. "I'd fail half my classes if I couldn't copy her notes."

Harry frowned, but let the remark pass. "Anyway, then her parents invite me to dinner. I didn't have a clue why, but it turned out they wanted to ask the same question you just did … to find out my `intentions' towards Hermione. It was a big fancy meal in their big fancy house, and right in the middle of it, in came this owl with the Howler from your mum. That right well set the tone for the whole disastrous evening."

Harry was looking ominous. Ron knew that look. It often presaged some kind of adventure that got one or the other of them hurt. "Wha…? What happened?"

Harry scowled. "Well, the owl arrives the middle of the meal, and I have to explain about Quidditch captains and Prefects and things like that…."

"That's good then," Ron commented, "you could impress her folks."

"No, that's not good," Harry insisted. "Maybe it encouraged them, but her father, he asks this stupid question about my `intentions,' that I don't understand. I try to explain, but I botch the job, so he asks me directly - about `romantic intentions.' And I tell him the truth…."

"And he throws you out on ear?" Ron asks, rather surprised. "The ruddy Chosen One gets the bum's rush. That's rich."

"No, you don't understand," Harry replied testily. "We had had this talk earlier … Hermione and me … about, well … us. She told me that I was too bloody rich and too bloody famous, and that she wanted to make her own way, and how she wouldn't stand for everybody thinking her accomplishments were because of me…. There, are you satisfied?"

Ron gawked at Harry with wide eyes. "Bloody Hell! I don't believe it. The two of you…. You're the perfect pair. I mean, if she can't handle you, then nobody…."

"You haven't heard the half of it," Harry interrupted angrily. "That's what I told her father. Once he finds out I've got all this stupid money, then he just can't wait to throw her at me. They leave me sitting there - by myself - in their own damn house whilst they have some sort of family powwow about me. We'd been drinking champagne, so nature calls whilst everyone else is still away. I go looking for the ruddy loo, get lost, and I overheard her screaming at them when her father suggested outright that, because I'm likely to be rich, maybe she should date me after all."

Harry concluded bitterly, "You know Hermione. You know how she is when she feels pressured to do something that isn't right … that she doesn't want…? If I ever had a chance with her, that killed it. After something like that, it's like trying to stick butter up a Hippogriff's arse with a red-hot poker - can't be done." He emitted a morose laugh.

"Tell me about it," Ron commiserated. "You should have seen us row when I thought I fancied her…."

"I think I did, Ron," Harry observed evenly.

"No you didn't," Ron replied. "Not the worst of it, anyway. You hadn't come to Grimmauld yet. Anyway, she was like Our Lady of Perpetual PMT. Now, I'm just glad that she put me out of my misery by giving me the old thumbs down. So you got it too…."

Harry was not entirely sure what Ron meant, but said nothing.

"…Well, don't you be coming back to Cho because you can't have Hermione," Ron warned (mostly) jokingly.

"Don't worry, you're safe," Harry grunted. "Actually, there is someone else."

Ron's eyes got big. He clapped Harry on the back. "All right Harry!! I knew you had it in you. Of course, being the great Harry Potter gives you the pick of the litter, I daresay!"

Harry tried to smile at his overly enthusiastic friend. "I don't want the pick of the litter."

Ron continued. "Who is it? Parvati? She went with you to that ball in fourth year. She's gotten pretty hot. Lavender? She's really hot, and she might just jump you if given half a chance - or so I've heard from Cho. Some of the younger ones too … they're right feral. They'd probably hold a rainbow party in your honor if you'd let them."

Harry was not really listening. "I can't tell you who it is, Ron," he said softly. "She doesn't want our relationship known - at least not yet. All you need to know is that she's not at Hogwarts."

Taking that in, Ron glanced at Harry slyly. "Older woman, then. Gotten any yet?"

"Any what?" Harry replied blankly.

"Don't be daft," Ron laughed, making a rude hand gesture consisting of his right forefinger inserted into a circle formed by his left thumb and forefinger.

Harry blushed furiously. "Oh.… We're close.… But not quite."

"Well I hope you do, and soon - for your own sake," Ron enthused with a faraway look in his eye. "It's the most wonderful, fantastic feeling in the world. She's so soft and warm and wet. Then she starts rocking, and moaning, and even screaming…. And then she sort of grabs you and pulls you in more deeply, until you don't want to hold anything back. And then.… Oh, wow! It's indescribable! A million times better than I could ever do myself."

Harry was getting more embarrassed by the minute. "Well, if you say so," he offered noncommittally.

"I don't say so - I know so!" Ron almost shouted. "She makes me strong, Harry. So strong that when I'm away from her I feel sort of - weaker, less alive. Look, I'll give you some advice.…" Ron had an impish look on his face.

Harry was not at all sure he wanted Ron's advice on this subject. He said nothing.

"Just ask her," Ron declared.

Harry stared at Ron blankly, waiting for him to continue. When he did not, Harry inquired, "Ask her what?"

"Ask her … you know … `Fancy a quick shag?' or some such. It's not as difficult as all that - especially for you."

"Yeah, right," Harry groaned. He thought of Hermione. Say something like that to her, and he would be lucky to retain his human form. "So that's how Casanova Ron got Cho Chang, with a question like that?"

"Not really, actually," Ron admitted.

"Thought so," Harry shot back, looking triumphant.

"Actually she asked me that question," Ron revealed, with a sly look on his face.

"No she didn't," Harry shot back, looking shocked. "Not in a million years."

"Yes, she did," Ron reaffirmed. "We were talking about Quidditch - and you, actually. I'll never forget it as long as I live. She out and out asks me if I want to try what you, Harry, she meant you, `weren't man enough to try.' And that's Merlin's truth."

"Swear?" Harry asked.

"I swear on our friendship, and that means as much to me as anything in the world - except maybe Cho's body," Ron declared.

Harry flopped back on Ron's bed and stared at the ceiling. Ron might actually be right, if the way Eliza approached sexual matters was any indication. He sighed, and looked at the large picture of Cho. She was giggling and making motions like she was going to drop her towel. Mercifully she never followed through.

"So you must think I'm the world's biggest prat, then," Harry asked his best friend.

"Hardly," Ron replied seriously. "A prat wouldn't have done what you did for me down there in front of my whole family - those that are left, that is. You're a stand up guy, Harry…. It's just … with sex.… I just think you're making the same fool mistake I did. Thinking things are so difficult when they're not…. Look whether it's Hermione or this other bird, or somebody else, if you can't get up the nerve to just ask, try humour, then."

"What?" chirped Harry sceptically.

"Humour. Whoever it is, just ask her if she'd sleep with a guy for a million Galleons. When she says `yes,' ask her if she'd sleep with you for fifty Galleons. When she says something like, `What do you think I am,' tell her that's already been established and you're only haggling over the price…." Ron finished with a snigger.

That seemed like spectacularly bad advice to Harry. Eliza would garrote him for such a remark. Hermione too - or worse - if he were ever so bold. When Harry started to get upset, Ron protested that it was "only a bloody joke"

Harry did not see the humour, but cracked a smile anyway. "Okay, remind me to tell that to Neville."

Touché. It was Ron's turn to glower. "If you did, Ginny wouldn't be satisfied with a Bat Bogey Hex. She's show you her Severing Charm, and you'll never have an heir."

"Now you understand why I didn't find it funny," Harry replied coolly.

Red faced, Ron changed the subject back to Cho. "Seriously, she's a miracle worker." Ron's voice dropped, "You know, Harry, ever since the Ministry I've had nightmares of horrible, unspeakable things happening to me. I think it's that bloody brain, although I can't get anyone to give me straight answers. She takes those away. I don't have nightmares when I've been with her.… I just want to thank you, Harry."

"Thank me for what?" asked Harry.

"For giving Cho up," Ron responded guilelessly. "For setting her free so she could come to me."

"Cho was never mine to give up," said Harry, annoyed at the underlying assumption that girls were property. "Our relationship barely left the starting blocks."

"Wake up, Harry," Ron spat. "You're the `Git Who Lived.' You're not only famous, but now it seems you're going to be filthy rich as well. What else do you need? Hell, Cho would have waited for you - she told me that straight out. They'd all wait for you, Harry, if you gave them the slightest encouragement. Even Ginny would have waited…."

"GIVE ME A BREAK WITH THE BLOODY `BOY WHO LIVED' CRAP, WILL YOU!!" Harry shouted. "You have no idea how hard I have to try … and how little I have to show for it."

"I know," protested Ron, "but you can't deny that your position comes with great fringe benefits."

"LIKE FREE TRANSPORTATION TO ALL THE DAMN FUNERALS I CAN HANDLE!!" Harry roared in anguish.

Ron drew back. "Whoa, Harry…. Chill. Let's not go back to last year. I'm completely cool with it. Even if I wasn't Cho's first choice, I'm her last choice, and that's all I want."

Harry growled, "Just don't go telling me that because I'm the effing rich and famous Harry Potter I can get any girl I want, because it's not true!"

Ron replied sulkily, "All right, I won't.…" Then he added, mostly to himself, "But it's true and you know it."

Harry just glared. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "Watch this." Harry held out his right hand and concentrated. Icy tendrils emerged and extended outwards, gradually attaining a length of half a metre. Water vapour in the affected air condensed and fell as snow.

"Wicked," exclaimed Ron. "What's that?"

"Elemental magic," Harry answered, with just the hint of a grin returning. "It's one of the things that I've been trained in whilst you've been playing Quidditch."

Ron's face fell. Harry did not know why until Ron grumbled. "That's great, Harry, but I'm afraid that you … you and Hermione both, really … well … you're leaving me behind. I mean, how can good old `average' Ron expect to be part of a Trio with you two headline makers?"

"Because. We. Want. You. To." replied Harry, drawing out each word. "That's all we care about. Your marks can't be that bad, can they?"

Wordlessly, Ron got up, strode to his desk, pushed some papers around, grabbed one, and shoved it in Harry's face.

Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry

1996 O.W.L. Report

Student: Ronald Bilius Weasley

O.W.L.s Passed: 11*

O.W.L.s Failed 3*

Total O.W.L.s 8*

*Astronomy practical O.W.L. ruled "incomplete" due to external interference; make-up scheduled for Autumn 1996

You are _19th__ of 40 in your class.

You are _150th_ of 302 in the Western and Northern European Region.

"Eight O.W.L.s," Harry commented. "Nothing wrong with that. It tops Fred and George put together… And you're ranked right in the middle of the class. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Don't condescend me, Harry," Ron warned. "It's nothing compared to my best mates both being out there making history. You've raised the bar for the Trio pretty damn high."

"Ron, you know that my friendship … and Hermione's too … doesn't depend on your marks. We're friends with you because of who and what you are - not because of coloured numbers on a piece of parchment. Besides, you've apparently set the bar pretty high yourself in Quidditch lately."

With that Harry steered the conversation with his moody friend to the other activity that boosted his ego. The Quidditch talk that followed defused the situation. Ron discussed how they had barely won the match that Ginny missed, and invited Harry to the final next Saturday - if Harry could find some way to get to Denmark.

They decided to ask Mr. Weasley to talk to Dumbledore about getting Harry to Denmark. That game was more important than Harry thought. If Hogwarts won, the planned international Quidditch tour would play a match at the Castle sometime near the end of the term - the international all stars against Hogwarts' best.

Harry even ended the Surveillius Confundus Charm because it was no longer necessary. They really were talking Quidditch now.

* * * *

To an outside observer, it appeared that Harry spent his rare Monday without training relaxing (or recuperating, as the case may be) in bed. In reality, he was using his Aural Pensieve in what he hoped would be a successful effort to learn enough French to give a creditable speech. He had yet to tell anyone, even Hermione, but his new goal was to give the entire speech in French. Harry also exchanged more revisions with Hermione, whilst falsely telling Percy that his draft was fine. Once again, Harry honoured Bill's aphorisms about truth and honesty mostly in the breech.

The sun was painting fiery streaks in the western sky when Dumbledore himself arrived to take Harry to the Druidic funeral for Xenophilius Lovegood. The funeral was scheduled to begin at sundown at the Ravenshayes Nemeton. Dumbledore had come out of "natural curiosity" because he had never attended a Druid ceremony of this sort.

Given the opportunity, Harry personally asked Dumbledore to go to Denmark to see Hogwarts play for the championships. Somewhat to his surprise, Dumbledore agreed - probably, Harry thought, because he had heard about Harry's depressed eulogy to Bill from someone (there were plenty of suspects). Dumbledore remarked that, "if it takes a battalion of Aurors," he would set something up. Harry was to be ready early Saturday morning.

There were far fewer attendees at the Lovegood cremation than at the other funerals. Neville and Ginny were there, and they had in tow a rather peevish Ron, who would have preferred to be somewhere else. Hermione was also present - typically fascinated at the prospect of seeing something new - in the company of Tonks, her usual minder. Also there were a couple of Fifth-Year Ravenclaws that Harry hardly knew. Eight or so odd (some very odd) adult friends of Mr. Lovegood rounded out the non-Druid attendees. Some two dozen long-robed Druids were also in attendance.

Everyone had to negotiate a winding path through thick oak-dominated woods to reach the Nemeton. No magic - other than ancient Druidic magic - was being used, not even so much as a Lumos spell to light the path in the gathering gloom.

The pyre upon which Mr. Lovegood's body lay had been constructed in the northwest quadrant of the circular Nemeton - at the point on the compass where the sun had set not long ago. A senior Druid priest led Luna - the "Descendant" - into the Nemeton to the spooky beat of hollowed out wooden percussion instruments played by shadowy musicians. Additional robed and hooded Druids followed, leading the attendees to the opposite side of the Nemeton, where they sat on bare ground beneath huge, ancient oak trees.

The large trees looming in the increasing darkness strongly reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest. He half expected Aragog, Grawp, or a band of angry Centaurs to come bounding out of the forest at any moment. However, outside of the Nemeton, beyond the range of torchlight, all was quiet.

The senior Druid priest spoke, "We are here to honour the life of Xenophilius Lovegood and commemorate his journey into the Summerland. Lo, an Ancestor is made!"

Raggedly at first, but with increasing intensity, the audience chanted, "An Ancestor is made!" Imitating the chanters, Harry began to understand what was expected of him and the other outside visitors.

Taking their cues from the Druid adepts, the audience linked hands and raised their joined arms over their heads. A singsong interaction between the senior Druid Priest and the audience followed, with chants of "Hail to our Ancestors," "Hail to our Kindred," and "Hail to the Mysteries." The drumming grew wilder. Hooded figures passed through the attendees burning various herbs and incense.

Fresh sprigs of mistletoe, no doubt harvested from nearby oaks, were tossed onto an altar. Other flammable items were added. Another Priest, the Grove Seer, wailed out an incantation, "Fires of Creation come forth within us, within our Nemeton! Sacred Fire be a beacon for Xenophilius, guiding him to Tech Duinn, the house of the Dead, the resting-place of souls on their journey to the Summerland. Sacred Fire awaken!"

Harry sensed the presence of powerful Elemental Magic as he and the others returned the call, "Sacred Fire awaken! Burn in remembrance of the absent High Priestess and the lost stone." The Grove Seer bent down and abruptly raised both arms towards the heavens. The altar flared with flames. Even Harry had to admit that it was an impressive performance - much like Lao Kung.

Another Druid Priest, the Grove Bard, stepped forward and performed a similar elemental ceremony causing water to gush forth magically from a ceremonial well. He hurled several hazelnuts into the well. Yet another Druid summoned a wind to fill the sails of the deceased as he passed into the Summerland. Finally, the senior Druid planted an acorn in the earth and summoned forth an oak sapling to symbolise the strong roots of the Lovegood family within the Druidic community.

All four elements were thus represented.

Luna was called forward. She seemed to be in a trance. In a much louder voice than Harry had ever heard her use, she eulogised her father in formal Druid canto. "Daddy - Xenophilius - hear me! I thank you for the time our souls shared together. You are not gone, but live in my memory eternal. You created my life. The world has been richer for your presence. Journey well into the Summerland oh Xenophilius, and take your place among the Ancestors in the Otherworld…."

Her stylised eulogy complete, Luna approached the senior Druid and gracefully sank into the lotus position at his feet. The Druid Priest raised a jet-black stone bowl over his head and chanted something in some incomprehensible language. He offered Luna the bowl, which Harry could now see contained a milky liquid. She took it and drank it.

Luna sat quietly for several minutes as the drumming approached another crescendo. Somewhat unsteadily she rose. The Grove Seer handed her an unlit torch. Luna's large eyes seemed to protrude even farther than usual, and her forehead glistened with sweat. Holding the torch in front of her, she approached Ron and tried to persuade him to take it. Ron was having none of it, and shrank from her.

Shrugging her shoulders, Luna abandoned the attempt and turned towards Harry instead. As she drew near to him, she said, in an unnaturally low voice, "You and I both need closure, Harry. Please take it. The fire cleanses what it consumes."

There was an unpleasant, but vaguely familiar, odour to Luna's breath. At first, Harry had trouble placing it, but then he remembered the herbs he had studied in his survival lesson several weeks earlier. He could almost hear Hermione's voice instructing him, "Thorn apple, otherwise known as datura or Jimsonweed, is used in small doses as an anesthetic, painkiller, and soporific, and in larger doses to stimulate the heart and to remedy … er … feminine disorders. If used to excess, it can produce trances, hallucinations, and even death."

Somebody - either Hermione or Dumbledore - kicked Harry in the shin. He lurched forward. Smiling broadly now, but with strange, unfocused eyes, Luna pushed the unlit torch into Harry's hands.

Harry was confused about what was expected of him until he saw Luna glance first at the burning altar, and then at her father's pyre. She wanted him to do the honours of sending her father to the next world.

Harry once again felt required to play a more central part than he deserved in a funeral. For Luna's sake, however, he resolved that would play this unwanted part to the hilt. Spurning the altar, Harry raised the torch with his left hand, cupped his right hand near it, and concentrated. Almost at once it burst into flames. Many of the attendees gasped, and even the Druid priests were startled. Harry took the fiery brand and thrust it into the pyre.

The fire took almost immediately. From the shadows a horn sounded three times, accompanied by rapid deep bass drumming. The Druids started a wailing chant, which the rest of the attendees soon joined. The flames climbed higher into the night, casting a ruddy sacrificial glow. The Nemeton seemed to start spinning. One or more of the Druid priests started invoking the image of the ferryman guiding the Ancestor to the Otherworld….

Blackness closed in. Harry passed out.

When he regained consciousness, Harry found himself on the edge of the Nemeton, with his head in Hermione's lap. Her hand, cool to the touch, rested lightly on his forehead. From somewhere in the background he could hear the concluding remarks of the senior Druid priest, "…As Xenophilius is departed from the world of the Folk, so let us close the gates between the Otherworld. Let the Tree recede into the realm of the Other, let the Well now be only water and let the Fire now be only smoke and ash. Let all be as it was before. Let the gates be closed…."

"Wha… What happened?" Harry mumbled.

"You fainted, now hush," directed Hermione's gentle voice. "Eat this, Dumbledore says it will help." She brought a large chunk of chocolate to his lips.

Harry broke off a piece with his teeth and chewed it until it was gooey. He began feeling better almost immediately.

"Did you see anything?" Hermione asked with concern in his voice. "Were there any visions?"

She daubed Harry's forehead with a cool wet cloth. He could remember very little.

He tried to answer, "It felt like … like an alternative universe … but there was very little in it … only a few blasted trees - nobody there as far as I could see. There was … twilight. I felt … no pleasure, no pain, only a desire to explore. I could feel magic though - very strong magic, and quite close by."

Hermione smiled at him and sighed, "I think you're overtaxing yourself, Harry. Three funerals in three days, and lessons restart tomorrow. You need a break."

"This weekend, when I go to Denmark to watch Ron and Ginny play Quidditch, I'll have a break," Harry replied. "I'm over half-way done. Only two more funerals - tomorrow and then Thursday in France."

"What's tomorrow? I hadn't heard of anything," Hermione asked.

Harry could have kicked himself. "The funeral of a kid who wrote to me," he explained sadly. "A very small, private affair. The parents almost wouldn't let me come."

"But you're mentally exhausted," Hermione scolded. "You just fainted. I don't know how many more dead bodies you can take. At least let me come with you - if something like this happens again.…"

"I'd really, really rather that you not come," Harry groaned. There was no escape.

"Why not," Hermione replied, somewhat affronted.

Harry was trapped. He would not lie about this to Hermione. He sighed loudly, "Because I've already invited Eliza, and I'd rather not have the two of you in the same room if I can avoid it."

"Oh," was all Hermione could say to that news, to which she silently appended, `damn.' That was not supposed to happen - not in public.

* * * *

Author notes: The Black Heath of Salisbury Plain is a real, rather famous, place that Harry will revisit

There is actually a military base on the Salisbury Plain

Just a bit of jealousy/loneliness for Mr. Potter once Ginny so quickly turns elsewhere - soon to be forgotten

Cecil & Claude are the English equivalent of Alphonse & Gaston

Harry's reaction to Hermione parallels Neville's reaction to Ginny

My Tonks is made of stronger stuff than the character in HBP

The British military funeral details are as accurate as possible, as I could not find a manual

What most call the "Union Jack" is technically the "Union Flag." The Jack is a navy usage

Combined, the Union Flag and the Ministry Flag incorporate the colors of all four Hogwarts houses (yellow and gold being considered the same thing)

Whilst all canon Thestrals have been black, they, like other animals, are affected by albinism

Boots reversed in stirrups is classic funeral symbolism

Military pallbearers are normally from the same unit as the deceased; here that role is filled by the Order

Botticino limestone is real - a thin grained, light tan stone. The War Graves Commission uses it for headstones

The missing man formation is used in military flybys. I've invented a wizard equivalent

The parachuting package behaves like the magic glasses at the Dursleys' in HBP

Brotherhood of magic…. This parallels the original BOMFOG - a sarcastic description of similar Nelson Rockefeller's similarly windy rhetoric. Elsewhere Fudge's speech steals from FDR's first inaugural speech and the Gettysburg Address

The London Philharmonic does play at the Royal Albert Hall. This is a real musical selection from one of the proms

Harry's enjoyment of listening to Hermione talk about "things" will figure later on, as the Fifth Element is explained

A biro is a British brand of ballpoint pen

The songs supplying both music and images in Harry's dream are Journey's "Stone in Love" and Cat Stevens' "Angelsea"

We Sold Our Souls for Rock `N Roll is a Black Sabbath greatest hits album

Berlitz is a well-known language training service

At the Weasleys' I spoof airport security

The Horace/Hopkirk relationship is canon

Expungement is a typical Muggle way of dealing with old juvenile offenses

The mysterious document will be revealed when Harry is thought dead (greatly exaggerated)

Bill's funeral has distinct Quaker overtones

Amau ferns are very large, and native of Hawaii

Love as unreal to Harry - Black Sabbath "Paranoid"

Harry's eulogy only reinforces Hermione's impression of the prophecy

Mother of all hexes is a double entendre

Triple first usually refers to academics, but it accurately explains how Harry appears to Ron

"Bloody Order of Merlin" will recur

In America, it's "stick butter up a polecat's ass with a red-hot poker"

In America, PMT is known as PMS

If you don't know what a rainbow party is, look it up

Ron tells Harry an old joke

The international Quidditch tour's Hogwarts match triggers the conclusion of this year's story

A nemeton is a Druid place of worship

The details of the Druid funeral are accurate, although some details are influenced by Jean Auel

Both the absent high priestess and the lost stone will eventually be revealed

The bowl of milky liquid and thorn apple are derived from "Clan of the Cave Bear"

Flames climbing high into the night is from American Pie

Harry will revisit the twilight zone of blasted trees

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch25 departures and arrivals.doc 10/21/04

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