Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein the Founder's Chamber is utilized, the gnomon-cenotaph is explained, Dumbledore casts a series of spells on Hermione, Hermione searches for Harry and tells off Dumbledore and McGonagall, the plotters quarrel, Harry purges himself, the Dark Lord summons the plotters, the plotters obey, Hermione is interrogated, the Creeveys sell their first computer, Harry escapes with some unusual assistance, but then doesn't get away, and Hermione finally gets through to Harry.

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 35 - Ground Zero

With an air of nervous expectation, the motley crew of students and professors followed the Headmaster down the stairs. None of the professors - evidently save Dumbledore - had ever seen this mysterious chamber. Only one of the students had even heard of it; that exception being obvious.

"Hermione," Ron whispered as they passed the rear of the massive gargoyle that guarded the usual entrance, "do you have any idea where we're going? What's this Founders' Chamber?"

"You really do need to sit down and read Hogwarts: A History, Ron," she chided.

"Nah," he dismissed the thought, "no reason with you around."

"Considering what's about to happen, you may wish to find another excuse," Luna cut across.

"If Dumbledore lets anything to happen to Hermione," Ron affirmed fiercely, "the last thing in the world I'd ever do is read that book."

"Even in Hogwarts: A History, the description is unusually vague," continued Hermione, smiling just a trace at Ron's declaration of loyalty. "The Founders' Chamber dates back to the beginning of the school, perhaps even before. It's somewhere at the bottom of the lowest foundation. Only the Headmaster can use it, and even then only for matters of cosmic importance."

"I suppose that you being hell-bent to risk your life on the chance that you can reach Harry qualifies as cosmic, then," Ron observed, his voice midway between jealousy and admiration. "It must be nice to be that important."

"Ronald!" Hermione replied, thoroughly put out. "It's not like there's much other choice. Even Dumbledore's out of ideas."

"There is a bloody choice," Ron declared. "You just won't accept it as an option. I'm sorry; I still don't like it, Hermione. You could die in this attempt. If that happened, it wouldn't matter whether you were successful or not."

"That's not true!" Hermione protested. "Think about Harry."

"I am," Ron shot back. "You know him…. You think about him, too."

Hermione opened her mouth, but said nothing - possibly because anything she might have said would have led back to her altercation with Harry, or possibly because Dumbledore chose that moment….

"Please do not delay, Miss Granger," the Headmaster called back over his shoulder. "There can be no dawdling, as we are on an astrologically determined timetable. I shall send the student observers back to their dormitories if they interfere."

Down, down, down they went. Ever since passing the gargoyle the walls had gradually turned rougher, darker, and more ancient. Just as the surrounding stone surprisingly became smooth and light coloured again, the group came to a chiseled exit passage hewn into the wall of the circular stone staircase. Dumbledore awaited at the exit to escort everyone away from the stairs.

Hermione stopped before passing through. Something was peculiar. The account of the Founders' Chamber in Hogwarts: A History, described this passageway as being beneath everything else. The circular stairway, however, plainly continued downwards. Hermione knew that the book was not 100% accurate - it omitted house-elves after all - but the descending staircase looked much more recent than what they had just descended.

She paused at the exit. "Excuse my curiosity, Headmaster," she asked, "but what's down there? The histories don't mention anything."

Dumbledore paused, mulling over the question. "Truly perceptive. I doubt anyone else at the Castle - save perhaps Professor Binns - would even have known to ask. This, you see, is new construction, postdating the most recent publications. It leads to Mister Potter's discovery from your Second Year. Being altogether too significant a find to ignore, it required a much more convenient entrance. I am too old, or perhaps my dignity is too inflated, to be willing to travel by way of the plumbing."

"House-elves?" Hermione asked.

"House-elves," Dumbledore confirmed.

The passage was short - only a few metres until another, identical arched stone doorway. Beyond that portal lay the oddest room any of them, save the Headmaster, had ever seen at Hogwarts. It was round, almost a perfectly hemisphere maybe ten metres in diameter, with a domed ceiling half that in height. Whilst solid stone blocks formed the circular walls, the room had no flooring. Rather, floor was roughhewn and cut directly into the æons-old basalt upon which the Castle had been built. They had reached bedrock.

The precisely spherical dimensions of the room were interrupted by the straight edges of a massive stone cube, some two metres per side. Carved into that stone were the letters CMXCVII and a number of ancient runes - all inlayed with gold.

Four massive ribbed buttresses spaced at precisely perpendicular angles supported the hemispheric ceiling of the chamber.

At the apex of the dome, where the buttresses came together, a pale white light shone, seemingly disconnected from and independent of any external power source.

The chamber itself was impressive enough, but even more extraordinary was what it contained.

On the floor covering the exact centre of room was a striking irregular block of stone not quite three metres in length and slightly less than half that in width and somewhat less in height. The huge solid mass of lapis lazuli was plainly ancient.

From the moment she set eyes upon it, Hermione was captivated. The highly polished stone glowed iridescent royal blue. It was shot through with random opalescent patterns of olive green interspersed with flecks of gold. Its top contained an asymmetrical, saddle-shaped depression.

This was a semiprecious stone of the highest magical power. In both magical and Muggle traditions, lapis lazuli symbolised, among other things, Truth - so much so that a lapis lazuli storage urn cut the maturation time for Veritaserum from a month to a week.

The entire object seemed to radiate magical energy.

The flattened and slightly concave cavity atop the slab was large enough to accommodate a single recumbent adult with ease.

Runes decorated the sides of the massive stone - scores of them - of the most primordial type. Hermione had studied Ancient Runes. With no trouble, she could read those on the granite cornerstone set in the wall. The runes on the sepulchre itself, however, were far beyond her comprehension, much older and, she presumed, more primitive than anything she had ever encountered. She openly gawked and moved closer to examine them.

It was Luna, rather than Hermione, who recognised the stone for what it was. "Headmaster, this has to be the gnomon-cenotaph, which my people believe to have disappeared almost two thousand years ago." She sank to her knees.

Hermione gasped.

"Very good, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore praised. "That will be twenty-five points to Ravenclaw - a good start for the year. May I ask you how you knew?"

"My family has practiced Druidism for many generations," Luna replied, still on her knees. "The lost gnomon-cenotaph is our holiest of holies. Its disappearance is the greatest mystery of my native culture."

"But…. But…. A gnomon casts the shadow for a sundial, and a cenotaph is a grave," Hermione pointed out. "We must be quite a few metres below ground level, and it would be impossible to bury anyone in the solid rock underneath. How could this be either a gnomon or a cenotaph?"

"It no longer serves the same function as it did before it went missing," Professor Flitwick remarked. "Perhaps Miss Lovegood would care to try for some more points for her house?"

She did. "The stone of the gnomon-cenotaph supposedly was found by the original Magiarchs. In Druid folklore, the gnomon-cenotaph was carved from a single block of lapis lazuli obtained in magical trade from the Setem of Seshat - wizard priests of ancient, pre-Dynastic Egypt. The earliest Druids, before the beginning of recorded history, traded the information that became the Book of Gates to the ur-Egyptians in return for the original block of raw blue stone."

"In honour of this stone, Druid warriors traditionally painted themselves blue in preparation for possible death in battle. For over a hundred generations, it graced the precise center of the Stonehenge megalith. When raised vertically, it served as gnomon for astrological purposes. When placed horizontally, as it is now, it served as the altar at which Druidic high priestesses were sanctified, and the cenotaph upon which the bodies of deceased high priestesses were cremated. The high priestesses maintained the Stonehenge structure, and may have built it - the legends are contradictory…."

"Luna, I know this is your field, but that can't be right, can it?" questioned Hermione. "Parts of the stone are inlaid with iron, and iron was unknown at that time - it hadn't been smelted yet."

"Oh, it's iron, all right," Luna agreed. "Take a closer look though."

Hermione squinted at several places on the stone where obviously cold-forged iron had been pounded into carved depressions. "Oh, my, you're right … the interleaved ribbons! This is meteoric iron! To the ancients, this was the most prized mineral of all."

"Take another ten points, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore intoned indulgently, "and five points for Miss Granger for recognition of the iron."

Luna moved forward and touched the azure and gold surface reverently. "How did it find its way here?" she asked.

"The gnomon-cenotaph graced Stonehenge for thousands of years until the Emperor Claudius Britannicus defeated the Druids," Dumbledore answered. "Rather than allow this object of supreme magical power fall into the hands of invading enemies, before her death the last Druid high priestess ordered it removed from Stonehenge and transported north. Here is as far as it went. On this site Pict barbarians massacred the leaderless Druids to the last person. Thereafter, the gnomon-cenotaph was forgotten save a few practitioners of magic who could sense its power. The presence of the gnomon-cenotaph upon this spot long predates Hogwarts. This stone is the reason the Founders built Hogwarts upon this precise location. The Castle was built around it. The other block you see is the cornerstone of the Castle."

Dumbledore's history extended until the conjunction was nigh. He turned to Madam Pomfrey, "Are you ready to proceed?"

"I am prepared to proceed," she responded. "You know my feelings concerning this matter."

"Carry on, then," Dumbledore commanded.

With a wave of her wand, Madam Pomfrey brought forward a carefully wrapped bundle of magical medical supplies. The wrapping was a gauzy blanket, translucent, almost like solidified smoke, through which ran innumerable filigreed golden strands. She flattened the ærogel over the cavity in the gnomon-cenotaph. With a muttered incantation and a twisting movement of her wand, the golden strands began to glow and the gel expanded until it was some ten centimetres thick. At the head of it Madam Pomfrey placed a pillow with several strands extending from the underside. She inserted tapered, transparent crystals into sockets at the ends of these strands. Finally, she placed the crystals in bowls of glowing golden liquid and arranged them in precise locations on the floor.

"In you go, then," she said to Hermione.

Careful to avoid disturbing anything, Hermione turned her wand inward and levitated herself into the cavity. Madam Pomfrey adjusted the pillow slightly and rearranged the girl's arms and legs until they were just so. She turned to Professor McGonagall and asked, "Does that look proper to you?"

Wearily, the professor nodded her head and monosyllabically affirmed that the arrangement was correct.

Madam Pomfrey continued her preparations. Along the imaginary lines extending from Hermione's splayed limbs, she set up a matching series of talismans: open bowls of aromatic oil, intricately carved red stones, wrought yellow gold statuettes, magnetite covered with iron filings, and at the end, purplish amethyst crystals half a metre high. The nurse uttered a spell that caused a small blue flame to erupt from the end of her wand. Magically redirected into a jet, the blue flame circled Hermione and set the bowls of aromatic oil alight.

"All is ready, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey reported.

"Miss Granger, are you ready to begin?" Dumbledore asked the girl in the centre of it all.

"I am," she replied.

"Mister Weasley, stand behind me, as close to the wall as you can," the Headmaster directed. "Miss Weasley, do the same behind Poppy. Miss Lovegood, behind Filius; and Mister Longbottom, behind Minerva. Whatever happens, do not move unless and until I tell you. The magic you are about to witness is complicated and easily disrupted."

Hermione lay still on the incredibly soft cushion, almost as if floating on air. Not wishing to move a muscle or do anything else that might disturb the spellwork, she stared unblinkingly at the soft glowing white light suspended directly above her in the centre of the hemisphere.

She heard Dumbledore intoning the phrases that invoked the Psycho Patefacius spell.

In the periphery of her sight she could barely detect the faint bluish glow from the lapis lazuli altar underneath her.

Once again Luna silently dropped to her knees - this time to bear witness. She stared intently at the Headmaster as he proceeded with the incantation. Just before his magic reached its climax, Dumbledore nodded his head in Luna's direction, and unmistakably winked at her. Luna was surprised he had even noticed. She had taken care to be unobtrusive.

Hermione flinched ever so slightly as a halo of white light passed over her, representing the initiation of the spell. This first part was the most dangerous of all. She closed her eyes. A wave of warmth passed through her brain - as if she had fainted, but not really. In the next instant her mind seemed to expand to infinity. She opened her eyes….

There was nothing there. The ceiling of the chamber, and the entire hundred-metre Hogwarts tower that rose above it had vanished completely. Instead the waning gibbous moon and the brighter stars were visible.

She could still see the four ribs that had supported the ceiling, only they no longer joined at the apex. Now they ended just within of Hermione's field of vision, and from the severed end of each rib emerged a shaft of coloured light. The four beams soared skyward towards the infinite heavens above - rich crimson, golden yellow, deep glowing blue and vivid emerald green.

The beams streaked through the sky and joined at the zenith in a blaze of pure white light. Rather than an orb, however, this light formed a spiral - a luminous, slowly rotating vortex. Hermione was drawn to the indescribably beautiful, three-dimensional image. It resembled nothing so much as a pinwheel galaxy, an island universe in the void of space.

Hermione felt a squeeze on her left hand. Professor McGonagall's urgent voice sounded like a far away echo, "Miss Granger, if you hear me, please, please squeeze back if you can. Don't try to say anything."

Hermione returned the squeeze.

"Oh thank Merlin," Hermione heard McGonagall's voice softly reverberate. "She's survived intact…. Miss Granger, I'm going to let go now, and return to my place," Professor McGonagall told the girl. "It's time for the second stage."

Professor McGonagall's hand fell away, and Hermione refocused on the glowing whorl above her. She heard Dumbledore's voice incanting again in the background. It felt like she was spinning - rotating in synchrony with the slowly turning whirlpool of light. Either she was rising towards its centre, or the vortex was descending upon her. She could not tell which. She and the spinning silver helix approached ever closer….

At the moment they met, everything became black one instant and exploded into a fountain of light in the next.

Hermione closed her eyes, and then opened them again. It hardly mattered. Either way she saw the same lustrous geysers of multi-coloured pixels. Except now she was no longer an observer, but a participant. She had passed into the fountain and become one with it. Everything surged about her chaotically. She swirled around and around, surrounded on all sides by particles of light that pulsated, scintillated, combined, separated, and recombined in infinite patterns. To stabilize herself, she tried concentrating on an individual photon. She could not hold it for long, but it appeared to contain an image of Crookshanks, her cat.

She focused on another pixel flying by. Briefly she made out Agatha Castelreigh, her best friend - practically her only friend - when she was eight years old. Orbiting Hermione like a swarm of fireflies were countless visual snippets from her life, flitting here and zooming there in a cloud of expanded consciousness.

Hermione started to feel dizzy. She was afraid that she would faint, or even become sick, but before either happened, one of the myriad points of light began glowing more brightly than the rest. Hermione concentrated on that point and her vertigo subsided. The brightest point flitted back and forth as Hermione's conscious thoughts pursued it. It circled and began to close upon her.

It resolved into an image of Harry. It was the first time she ever saw him. He was a lost eleven-year-old boy on the train, shocked that everyone seemed to know who he was - everyone save himself, that is. Almost as soon as Hermione realised what she was seeing, the image began to change…. Like a film on fast forward, Harry began to mature before her very eyes.

He was leaving her to go confront Voldemort and save the Philosopher's stone….

He was scared and confused when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin….

He was smiling broadly at her as she raced to him after emerging from the Basilisk's petrifaction….

He was as pale as death after his first encounter with a Dementor….

He was gazing meaningfully into her eyes as she draped the Time Turner around them both….

He had a stunned look on his face just after Dumbledore read his name from a bit of parchment that emerged from the Goblet of Fire….

He was sitting dispiritedly in the Hospital Wing after escaping death at the hands of a newly arisen Voldemort….

He was glaring at her with barely controlled fury at Grimmauld Place….

He was staring down at her in open-mouthed panic as she crumpled to the floor in the Department of Mysteries after being struck by Dolohov's curse….

He was twirling her around and around in the Dursley's front garden, a look of unconscious joy on his face, after she returned from Hong Kong….

He was kissing her in Hyde Park like he really meant it….

He was regarding her with hurt and despair etched into his face as she told him she did not want to see him again….

Hermione cried out - or thought she did, "No, Harry, don't go!"

A blinding pink flash obliterated everything. When it faded, she was back where her journey started - staring up at the four beams of light representing the Founders' houses as they joined together above her in the night sky. All was calm again, except … except that among the stars, softly glowing like its own constellation…. She saw a faint image of Harry. It was an exact rendition of the adult Harry shown to her by the Mirror of Erised.

She once again heard Dumbledore's voice in the background. "Are you back Hermione … er … Miss Granger?"

This time Hermione could speak. "Yes…. At least I think so."

She was now fully conscious. All around her, she heard people exhaling sighs of relief. She heard the soft comment, "Now, that was different," in what sounded like Professor McGonagall's voice.

"It is time for the third, and most difficult, spell," Dumbledore instructed. "If you please, Filius."

Professor Flitwick approached Hermione with the Ma Huang potion in an onyx bowl inlaid with intricate, intertwined runic designs. Hermione looked in the bowl as she received it from the Charms professor. The potion within glowed white. At her touch, however, it changed to a soft pink - the same colour pink as the flash that had ended her journey through the Locus Personum spell.

"Drink it all down, Miss Granger," Dumbledore instructed her. "And when you feel the Mentanarus flow over you, concentrate on Mister Potter's image like your life depends upon it - because it will."

That Ma Huang potion was perhaps the foulest tasting and acrid smelling potion Hermione had ever encountered. It reminded her of petroleum and reeked of sulphur. Avoiding her tongue as much as possible, she poured the gooey substance directly down her throat. Once again she thought she might be sick. The delicate bowl fell from her hands when she finished and shattered on the rough bedrock floor. She immediately flopped back into her supine position.

Dumbledore's latest incantation began ringing in her ears.

Just in time she spotted Harry's ghostly image still suspended in the starry sky. She stared at it as a whooshing sound arose behind her, from the direction of Dumbledore's voice. It grew louder and louder, becoming a full-throated roar. It burst over Hermione with the force of a torrent in full flood and carried her with it helplessly. Over and over she tumbled. She was being dashed hither and yon, colliding erratically with large objects that she could not see.

Through it all she focused on the image of Harry. The more roughly she was battered, the brighter and more distinct the image became.

Hermione now felt the sensation of great speed. She was rushing along with the torrent now, totally out of control. At times she sensed she might suffocate, and that she would drown if she tried to breathe. She consciously willed herself to take each breath, her logic and her research telling her she must - triumphing over her reflexes.

The surrounding clamour rose to a furious climax and then abruptly faded away. Hermione perceived herself flung into space. Beneath her, opposite Harry's image, she saw what looked like a massive waterfall drop away as she hurtled through space beyond it. She was falling, falling, falling…. Below was an immense crowd of people - more people than she had ever seen in one place at the same time. The multitudes stretched away before her, rank upon rank and row upon row, in all directions. There must be millions….

She tumbled towards the crowd. Where was Harry? In her fascination with the crowd before her, she had lost her focus on Harry. She needed Harry to survive. Frantically she looked this way and that. She writhed in midair as she searched for his image. The crowd was rapidly resolving into individuals as she dropped towards it. `Where is Harry? I'll die if I don't find him. He'll die if I don't find him,' she thought.

Desperately, she screamed, "Harry!! Where are you?!? Help me!!"

She was very close to the crowd now - and lost without Harry. The ground was rushing up to meet her. This was the end….

There was Harry in the crowd. Hermione's heart almost burst with a rush of relief and affection. He was going to catch her. He always caught her.

Harry did catch her - the adult Harry of her greatest desire. He was holding her now. She was in his arms. He bent down to kiss her…. She could feel his breath on her cheeks….

The image dissolved. Hermione was back in the Founders' Chamber with a buzz at the edge of her consciousness - the faint babble of an infinite number of voices that she could not make out. It neither overwhelmed her nor felt threatening. The power of the magic kept the cacophony of innumerable other consciousnesses at bay. Her senses were clear, as was her mind. She felt at once a part of everything, yet she remained separate and distinct.

Hermione opened her eyes again. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall's faces hovered over her; their expressions revealing unalloyed worry and concern. The Headmaster had his arms spread straight out, as if blocking something (or someone) behind him.

Both of them whispered to her in pleading voices, "Did you find Mister Potter? Did you stay with him?"

Weakly she nodded.

"Thank Merlin," Dumbledore affirmed in a low rumbling voice, sounding most relieved. "You started convulsing at the end. You shouted his name…. For a moment, I thought we'd lost you."

Hermione smiled for the first time during her ordeal. "Well, you didn't," she replied, "and I think you're going to be stuck with me for another two years."

"At least," McGonagall added. "Are you ready for the easiest part, and then to search?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Hermione replied. "Let's do it."

"You remember your lines for the incantation?" Dumbledore asked her.

"Like I'd forget the most important words I've ever had to say?" Hermione shot back confidently. She had survived the worst.

For the first time this evening, she saw the twinkle reappear in the Headmaster's eyes. "Very well," he said. "We continue."

"Out of the darkness and into the light,

One seeks out the other for all that is right.

There is no tomorrow, no day and no night -"

That was the cue for Hermione to answer.

"The searcher is ready. Her conscience is steady."

Dumbledore continued,

"Triumph of antipathy lasts not forever.

We beseech the Founders to aid this endeavor.

The link of these two no evil can sever."

Hermione recited,

"As long as she lives, the searcher will give."

Dumbledore launched into the final stanza,

"The wheel it has turned, the seeker is sought.

Return of the captive at high price is bought.

No ward can resist, all opposition for naught."

Hermione responded with her final line:

"The searcher replete. The two souls will meet."

She collapsed back into the smoky mattress on which she lay. Now she felt hot. She was sweating profusely. Suddenly her arms, and her legs, lost their form - or so it seemed. Her extremities seemed to extend endlessly in all directions, touching, feeling, and sensing far beyond their previous limits. She had become the searcher. It was time for her to embark upon the mission that had been her obsession since the moment, weeks before, when she had first realised that Harry was still alive.

Hermione became aware of a swirling wind. As before, she started to spin, but this time more gently. Whilst the magic of Hyperanimus Familiaris provided the motive force, Hermione now controlled it. Finally, she could command the magic. It did not control her.

She sensed that she was ascending - rising above the walls of Hogwarts Castle - freed into the immensity of the night. Far in the distance, she heard Dumbledore's parting words, "Go forth and seek him out."

The sensations were at once strange and familiar. Hermione felt like she was flying, but it was not at all the same feeling as being on a broom. Not even the powerful Valkyrie felt anything like this. There was darkness around her, but it shaded into grey, then green. Her surroundings began gleaming, and became prismatic.

Hermione perceived swifter motion, but could not see anything. She found herself enveloped in a polychromatic cloud. Relentlessly, she concentrated on Harry. Using her arms, as if piloting herself, she willed herself into the same pattern she had used on the Valkyrie when tracking Harry's ultimately spurious signal on that fateful night. She circled, tracing an ever-expanding spiral over the hidden countryside.

At last she came across something recognisable. In an unconscious, instinctual act she set her mind's eye upon it and burst forth. Her sensation of speed again increased. The haze that surrounded shredded and started falling away. She was flying over a dark, dimly illuminated landscape. She saw the sky and tried to take her bearings. She was streaking towards whatever it was, and needed to know where she was going.

Something was not quite right. Hermione knew her astronomy. She had been revising much of the summer for the retake of her practical examination. The stars were all there, as were the moon and the planets, but the sky seemed to be in the wrong place. For a frantic moment, she thought she must be over North Africa or some such, but the green and pleasant terrain was still typical for the British Isles.

Then it hit her. The North Star - Polaris - was not at true north. Taking its place, although not as accurately, was brilliant, blue-white Vega. What in Merlin's name was happening? Hermione did not have time to think about the implications. Mentally, she substituted Vega for Polaris and took her bearings. She was hurtling south and west towards something…. Exactly what, she did not know. In her bones she knew it had something to do with Harry.

The beacon she pursued strengthened. She willed herself to greater and greater speed. As she accelerated, the nacreous remnants accompanying her elongated. They stretched into a thin iridescent strand that shone with all the colours of the rainbow. Hermione dove into it and it became her path.

Now Hermione was pelting through a thin translucent tunnel that stretched out before her as far as her eyes could see. At the end was a tiny, flickering green beacon - the colour of Harry's eyes - drawing her in. The sides of her passage were thin and filmy, like a soap bubble. However, before she reached the beacon, it suddenly disappeared without warning, leaving only a black void before her. Instinctively, she veered away and soared through the side of the tunnel.

Bursting through, she encountered first a harsh white light and then bone-chilling cold. She started to tumble, but quickly righted herself. Throwing her arms and legs out, she brought herself to a stop - at least it seemed like a stop. The perception of overwhelming motion was replaced by the more familiar feeling of floating in midair.

Hermione took in the vista that lay before her. She was seaside somewhere. There were crags and cliffs extending towards the horizon in both directions. Dead reckoning from the stars, she thought that the sea was to the west and the land to the east. It was probably the Irish Sea, Hermione guesstimated.

Willing herself forward, once again, Hermione circled the area. She found nothing, only the most indistinct of shadows where there had once been a signal. The beacon had been extinguished. Whilst unfortunate, it was not unexpected. For Hyperanimus Familiaris to succeed, the person being sought had to be conscious. Harry had been conscious only sparingly over the past two weeks.

Was he dead? Hermione did not think so. The sensations she had received over their affinity, even though accentuated by the spellwork, had been basically the same as several times before. In all likelihood Harry had only been stunned. He would wake again in time - and when he did, she would be ready.

"Uhmmm…. Urrrrrgh." After two hours, the linen-clad girl began to stir.

Almost instantly the terrifically relieved onlookers beset her.

"Oh, Hermione, thank Merlin…."

"Miss Granger, at last you're back…."

"Oi, Hermione! Wake up…."

Her eyes flickered open, and above her she saw the concerned faces of the Headmaster, her Head of House, Madam Pomfrey, and - jostling for position - her friends.

A furious look from Madam Pomfrey silenced all the rest, "Miss Granger, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel? Do you know where you are?"

Hermione tried to sit up, but felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and immediately ceased the attempt. She looked up and saw the now familiar stone ceiling of the Founders' Chamber firmly in place. "I'm back. I feel tired, but all here…. I can see, hear and" … sniff … "smell. I'm very hungry…."

Madam Pomfrey sighed deeply. "We've been blessed tonight … she's back, and apparently in one piece."

"Now, we should find out if this great gamble paid off," Dumbledore remarked. "Miss Granger, if you can, please tell us whether you reached Mister Potter."

"I … I sensed him…." the girl answered. "It was definitely him. He's still alive. I know it. I followed him, but he wasn't conscious long enough for me to reach him. I lost his signal before getting all the way there…. I was somewhere along the West Coast, I think along the Irish Sea, when he went missing again."

"We shall concentrate our search on that area, and south," Dumbledore advised. "Now it is time for these students to retire for what little remains of the night."

Professor Flitwick showed Ron, Ginny and Luna out, but Madam Pomfrey had instructions for Hermione. "Miss Granger, Albus has left word with all of your instructors that you are to be excused immediately at any time you desire over the next week…."

"I trust you will not abuse this privilege," Professor McGonagall interrupted.

"Of course not," Hermione replied, some annoyance creeping into her voice.

Ignoring the interruptions, Madam Pomfrey continued. "As soon as you sense that Mister Potter is conscious, come to the Hospital Wing immediately. Here are several special voice-activated Portkeys. Just break the seal and say `infirmary.' I have a special bed already fitted with the talismans and charms necessary for your safety. You can conduct your searches in privacy from there."

"Excellent" answered the girl, as Madam Pomfrey helped her down from the gnomon-cenotaph. However, Hermione had something she needed to say before they left.

"Headmaster, although I'm grateful for your assistance, even if grudging, I want to make sure that we understand each other … about other matters…."

"Yes, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied cautiously. "Is there something you believe that I still do not understand?"

"I believe there is," she continued. "I don't want you to have any illusions that this is over. It is not … not by any measure."

"What do you mean, Miss Granger?" the Headmaster asked.

Trying to find the right words, Hermione explained, "If … WHEN … I find Harry and get him back…. You need to know, I won't let him be led off to die…. I will fight you for him. I mean it."

"I have no intention of fighting you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said perplexedly. Truthfully, it was the farthest thing from his mind.

"I'm sorry…. I … I … I really wish I could believe you, but I can't…. I'm not asking you to tell me Harry's prophecy. I frankly don't give a damn what it says," Hermione declared, finding her voice again. "I will fight you … anyone … who tries to induce Harry to sacrifice his life for the supposed greater good. I will not permit it as long as there is a breath left in my body. There has to be another way…."

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall cut in. "I don't think you know what you're talking about. You don't understand…."

"Don't you tell me I don't understand," Hermione responded fiercely. More than anyone, McGonagall had been responsible for the obstacles that had been put in her path. "I understand more than you think. With all due respect, neither of you is as good at keeping secrets from me as you suppose…. I thought you would have realised that by now."

"Miss Granger, please," Dumbledore interjected. "I shall be certain to have a word with Mister Potter as soon as he is safe and among friends, but I think that you are mistaken…."

"Don't treat me like an ignorant First Year," Hermione warned. "It becomes neither you nor me. Let's see who's mistaken, here. I don't expect you to answer this, and you may be doing it for the best of reasons, I don't know…. But I am almost certain that you are still keeping secrets concerning certain matters relating to Harry that are extremely important to him. He needs the truth. I intend to have a word with him too…."

"But Miss Granger, surely you understand…."

Hermione was not to be denied. Her voice bordered on insolence. "…I believe I do, but Harry's well-being is more important. If you ever want him to trust you again, you simply have to change course. If you don't tell him first, I will, and you know how he will react…."

Just as Hermione thought, Headmaster Dumbledore ultimately said nothing. His face creased in anguish, it briefly appeared that he might actually break his silence. But although his lips quivered, in the end Dumbledore stoically repressed that urge. They settled for staring at one another - in silent affirmation of just what was being concealed, and how. He tried to assess her knowledge, as she did the same with his discomfort.

Another voice spoke. "Miss Granger, this is neither the time nor the place…."

Hermione rounded on Professor McGonagall, "Then the time and place had best be found, and soon," she shot back. "Truth needs to be something more than a last resort…. Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your sister, but that gave you no right to try to take my choice from me…. You can't let your regrets control my decisions."

It was Professor McGonagall's turn to stare dumbfounded at Hermione. Her lips narrowed for a moment, then her stoic countenance shattered. She, too, wore an expression of astonished anguish. Tears welled up in the professor's eyes, and it took all of her ninety years to avoid losing her composure before a student. After a short pause that seemed to go on forever, the Gryffindor Head of House, choked out, "So, you knew that too…. How?"

"You weren't as successful as you thought in suppressing your sister's sacrifice all those years ago," Hermione replied. "The healer did publish - but in Ireland, and not in a medical journal. I found … actually Luna found … the article. You were referenced, but not by name. When I checked your name against the roster of Hogwarts Head Girls in the Trophy Room, I knew. I suppose you meant well, but I need protecting less right now than Harry needs rescuing. Please don't make the same mistake twice. I'll be going now…."

With that Hermione turned, and vanished up the stairs.

Professor McGonagall turned to Headmaster Dumbledore and asked, "What can we possibly do now?"

"Try to rescue Mister Potter, of course," Dumbledore replied. "Nothing is more important. However, assuming that is accomplished, I am afraid I need to have a chat with him. Miss Granger is right. Mister Potter needs to know the truth, even if it creates more complications. Miss Granger needs to know the truth, too."

In a hushed voice, Professor McGonagall asked, "So you're going to inform her of what the prophecy really says?"

"Just as the time came when you needed to know the prophecy, I think the time has come for Miss Granger to know it as well," Dumbledore replied. "But it is Mister Potter's place, not mine, to tell her. I shall recommend just that the next time I see him."

* * * *

Draco Malfoy and the other fugitive members of Potterless Conspiracy spent a forlorn and horrible night in one of the innumerable sea caves pock-marking the southwestern Welsh coast. The hollow was dank, drafty, and reeked of dead fish and sea bird droppings - and those were its good points.

Far worse were the conspirators' inability to use any significant magic to improve their situation. They were well aware that they were undoubtedly the subjects of one of the largest manhunts in modern Ministry history. Thus, Malfoy, Nott, and Crabbe had to avoid using any spells that might attract the slightest attention.

Crabbe had been forced to collect driftwood for a fire rather than use a Warming Charm.

To feed the Thestrals, Nott had to climb to the top of the cliffs, shoot an unfortunate dairy cow with his Muggle pistol, and push it over the side. It would have been so much easier to use a Killing Curse on one of the numerous Grey Seals that frolicked in the nearby Cardigan Bay - but that would have attracted Ministry attention.

Finally, all three of them were forced to gather dried seaweed, bits of Muggle polystyrene, and anything else they could find to kip on for the night. In the early morning hours, Malfoy and Nott were sleeping fitfully in their robes, fighting a losing battle to stay comfortable. Crabbe, who had drawn the graveyard shift for guarding their hostage, had actually found a more comfortable place to sleep - or perhaps he was just a deeper sleeper.

Whatever the reason, the outcome was fortunate for Harry Potter.

"Urrrghhh," Harry groaned as he first stirred. The dreamless aftermath of the latest Stunning Spell to strike him had gradually resolved into troubled sleep. He had been dreaming - something about being chained in the centre of a bull's eye with Voldemort hurling darts at him - when the dream had become too disturbing and jarred him awake.

Remembering his situation, Harry quickly stifled himself. Then he took stock of his surroundings.

Wherever he was, he was certainly not where he had been. Instead of unyielding steel bars forcing him to remain upright, he was now hanging by his wrists and ankles. They were bound together, meaning he was suspended from some sort of bar. Instead of manacles, he was fastened by what felt like magical ropes. He tried to work his bindings, but soon stopped when he realised that movement simply made them tighten. `No surprise there,' he thought, `Death Eaters are like that….'

With great effort Harry raised his head. For the first time in weeks he could see his limbs, particularly since his rude robe flopped away from his calves and forearms, baring them. They looked awful - slashed with suppurating sores. He realised that he must have been flogged within an inch of his life. Now his wounds had become infected.

Harry could scarcely see beyond himself. Somewhere in the distance a fire flickered. He was definitely not inside any manmade structure. What little he could make out looked like natural rock. He was near the ocean. He heard roaring waves that crashed into what had to be a rockbound coast. He smelled salt air amongst far more powerful odours of rot and decay.

He felt terrible - shivering, feverish - yet in important ways he also felt better than at any point since he had been taken. Gone were those horrible strength-sapping shackles that had confined him for weeks. The spells emanating from the charmed ropes were not nearly as powerful. If he could just get his strength back … he might, just might, be able to free himself.

The trouble was, not only was he starving, he was also ill. To have any hope of marshalling his magic for an escape attempt, he first had to rid himself of his enfeebling infection.

`Focus, Harry,' he told himself. `Your life depends upon it.' He tried to recall the Self-Healing Charms he had learned from the Auror training that seemed like forever ago … back before he had lost Hermione….

Hermione. He could not think about her right now. Even without Dementors about to accentuate his every negative feeling, that subject was just too painful….

Everything about his personal life was too painful. Bill was dead. Eliza, too - cut down in front of him. Whoever was tending that fire was probably one of the Death Eaters who had cursed him and killed her. Harry vowed to give them a dose of their own medicine if he could ever get free.

If he loved someone - that person died. It was as simple as that. There was only one way to stop the cycle. It was like the prophecy said. He could not live whilst Voldemort existed….

It was just as well that Hermione was lost to him. At least that minimised her chances of following all the others into death. He grimaced, because it was more than just that. She thought he was good, but the thoughts he was having now were far from that. Beyond her own safety, now Hermione would not be put in a position to see him kill anyone….

That was good.

Even now, he had not resolved how he felt about Eliza; or, because of that Imperius Curse, how she had felt about him. There was no such doubt when it came to his feelings for Hermione. Notwithstanding his asinine behavior the last time he had seen her - would it really be the last - he could not live with himself if she came to harm because of him. He could barely live with himself as it was….

`Focus, dammit,' he berated himself.

First things first.

Harry had to convert his depressing thoughts into something with which he could set about healing his body, if not his soul. He needed to concentrate on the infection - to force his magic inward and use it as a purgative. Knowing what spell to use in the abstract and actually performing it were two different things. Still, without a wand, or even use of his hands, the Heal Thyself Charm was all that was available.

Thankfully, it was silent magic. Harry concentrated, clearing his mind as he had been taught. To do the deed, he seized upon a throbbing beat of despair and desolation. Dudley liked the song, but it was powerful enough, in is current state of mind, to goad his magic against the pestilence within.

Soon enough he could feel the catharsis working. His very blood seemed to pop and hiss with energy as he cleansed himself from the inside out. Purulent, dull yellow pus began pouring off him - thick, sticky, and reeking of decay. Once excreted, this loathsome substance mixed with rivulets of sweat that soaked him to the skin. He could feel the combination ooze down his arms and legs as it slid to their lowest point. From the points of his shoulder blades and the cheeks of his arse, it dripped slowly onto his already filthy robes.

Harry, however, was not the only one who noticed the foul, almost gangrenous odour.

"Stupefy!" Nott cried out. His spell returned Harry to the world of the unconscious. "Crikey, Vince, what's with you, neglecting your watch like that? You have no idea what he might have done if I hadn't awoken and seen that bloody glow."

Crabbe whinged, "Sorry, but it's bloody boring and I'm tired…."

"Bloody Hell, what is it now?" Malfoy asked groggily.

"Goddamn Potter was awake, and Vince wasn't," Nott spat.

"You bloody watch him then," Crabbe groused. "I'm tired, dirty, hungry, and I've had just about enough of this. I just wanna go home…."

"Like you have a home to go to," Malfoy jeered.

"He has a point, though," Nott replied as he rounded on Malfoy. "Just what in blazes do we do now?"

Malfoy answered, "It's always foggy in the morning around here this time of year. I figure, at first light we can take off and cross the bay. We can overnight on the LlÅ·n Peninsula, and then cross into Ireland, where there's bound to be less scrutiny. I know where the old Black property is. I'll bet it's abandoned…."

"And what does that accomplish?" Nott sneered. "I don't know a bloody soul in Ireland, and I doubt you do either…."

"You've got a better idea?" Malfoy sneered back.

"Anything's better than traveling with this bloody scarhead set to explode at any moment," Nott said. He pulled out his pistol and clicked off the safety. "Nobody knows who or where we are. That's the only thing we've got going for us. I say we put him down right now and split up…."

"He's got all this weird magic protecting him," Malfoy protested. "Remember what he did to your stupid blotgun…."

"That's shotgun," Nott corrected. "That happened because he came around without us knowing it, which he almost did again. I don't care how magical he is, with one of these, it will be `hasta la vista, baby.'" Nott thumbed the hammer back.

"He's our only bargaining chip," Malfoy countered. "They have to deal with us … both sides … as long as we've got Potter."

"Who's going to deal with us now?" Nott said, throwing his hands in the air. "Stop all the piss and wind, will you? We don't even have a bloody owl. We can't even make a new demand, let alone make it credible. It's every man for himself…."

"I've still got these," Malfoy said in as calming a fashion as he could. He still wanted to rescue his father, as remote as the chance seemed now.

"Bloody Weasley SAMs?" Nott scoffed. "Planning on sending another love note to the Dark Lord? It figures. He responded so well to the first one…."

Nott had a point. Malfoy could not deny that their first missive had drawn only deafening silence from its recipient. "But what about our fathers?" Malfoy pleaded.

"I love my dad, but I have to look out for number one. They might have been kissed already for all I know." Nott was almost screaming now. He waved his pistol erratically, so Malfoy slipped his wand into his hand behind his back, just in case.

"Here's what we should do!" Nott bellowed. "Waste Potter - NOW! One shot through the temple is all it takes. We split up. You make your way to Durmstrang and do whatever you effing want. I'll take Crabbe to Liverpool. It's not that far and I know some blokes who are into magical smuggling. They'll hire Vince on my say so. Then I'll go find some Death Eaters and take the Mark…."

SCROOOOCH!!

Everyone, even the Thestrals, looked up, turning their heads towards the source of the unexpected booming croak. Dawn was still an hour away, and the cave mouth showed nothing but deep purple mist.

SCROOOOCH!!

There it was again. Squinting into the barely visible haze, the conspirators saw the dark silhouette of a large bird. It was circling them, coming closer. Nott raised his pistol and took a defensive position, but otherwise stood stock still. Malfoy showed his wand.

SCROOOOCH!!

The bird flew low overhead, as if locating them. It was almost solid black, with a yellowish-white throat-patch. Its wingspan approached two metres.

"What do you think?" Malfoy whispered to Nott.

"It's got to be a great black shag," Nott whispered back. "Native to these parts. What it's doing here in this cave I haven't the foggiest…."

SCROOOOCH!!

With a final ear-splitting croak, the bird settled onto a rock just within the edge of the uncertain glow of the firelight. With unblinking dark eyes, the large bird of prey regarded the nervous wizards for several seconds. Then it stuck out its leg at Malfoy.

There was a letter of some sort - in a black envelope edged blood red - attached.

For a long moment, Malfoy just stared at the hook-beaked bird, too stunned to move.

"Go ahead, take it," Nott prodded him. "Might as well face the music. It's been a long time coming."

Malfoy did, and as soon as he finished the huge black bird flew off with a loud parting croak. The letter would not open easily. He struggled with the ribbon encircling it, and cut himself on one of the envelope's unusually sharp corners.

A couple of drops of Malfoy's blood fell on the letter. They sizzled for an instant, and then disappeared - absorbed by the envelope. The sizzling stopped and a web of thin red lines appeared on the previously featureless surface. It was addressed to:

Draco Malfoy

Sea Cave, Above High Tide

Carreg-Gwylan-Fach, Pembrokeshire, Wales

With a final serpentine hiss the envelope opened of its own accord, revealing its contents:

Draco Malfoy:

I have just learned, with considerable interest, that you are not at Durmstrang, as we all were led to believe. Polyjuice Potion is quite effective, particularly when combined with the Imperius Curse. Very clever. I have left that ruse in place for now.

I believe you have something that properly belongs to me. You have acquired it under false pretenses, masquerading as being in my service. I have Cruciated my true followers into insanity for much less.

I will give you one chance. You and your followers will bring my property to me immediately, following the enclosed map. We will discuss appropriate punishments and rewards at that time. For today and today only, I will arrange to disrupt the Ministry's efforts to find you.

Do not ignore this summons. Your fate will be far worse if you do.

Tap your wand to this letter when you have finished reading.

Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord of Britain

Malfoy swallowed hard, and showed the letter to his co-conspirators.

"Well, I'm afraid our race is run," he sighed in defeat.

"What does it say?" Crabbe asked blankly.

"Exactly what it means," Malfoy replied irritated, wondering where he had ever gotten the misimpression that Crabbe was any more intelligent than Goyle. "I assume you can read."

"Actually, we can't read this," Nott observed. "It's probably charmed so only you can."

"Oh," replied Malfoy, feeling stupid as well as defeated. "The Dark Lord knows who we are, that we've impersonated Death Eaters, and that we have Potter…. He's summoned us to him. He'll hunt us down and kill us, no doubt slowly and painfully, if we don't go. He mentions punishment … and reward. What do you think?"

"We go," declared Nott, who had been planning to take the Dark Mark anyway.

"He said there was a map," Malfoy added, examining the letter more closely. "I don't see where…. Oh, right."

Malfoy tapped the letter with his wand. Instantly, it burst into brilliant flame. Just as instantly, Malfoy let go of it. Instead of fluttering to the rock floor of the cave, the burning letter remained suspended in midair. Within a few seconds, the flames burnt themselves out, but the charmed parchment remained instead of crumbling to ashes. It now revealed the glowing orange outlines of a map that all three of them could see.

"Wh-wh-where's that?" asked Malfoy to nobody in particular.

"Scotland, I think," Nott replied after studying it. "Somewhere near Ben Nevis, I reckon."

"Saddle up, then," Malfoy directed.

* * * *

Hermione was mobbed repeatedly the morning after she had absented herself from the Welcoming Feast. Before that, she had made it back to Gryffindor Tower, unseen, by around four-thirty in the morning. She took advantage of Professor McGonagall's oversight. Her Head of House, no doubt shaken by Hermione's revelation, had failed to collect the Time-Turner she had borrowed. Rationalising that, since classes had not yet started, she could use it on one final occasion, the girl had managed some well-deserved sleep, with Crookshanks curled up contentedly at her feet.

But even a well-rested Hermione Granger had trouble coping with the onslaught that awaited her. It started in the Sixth Year girls' dormitory, before she even had a chance to get dressed.

"Where have you been…?"

"What were you doing last night that was so important you missed the feast…?"

"What's that really complicated stuff Dennis was setting up last night in the Common Room? He wouldn't tell, but said you would…."

"What's really going on with Harry? I'm sure we haven't been told the whole…."

"Are you going to continue with the D.A…?"

"Did you hear Madam Hooch's announcement…?"

"Where did you get that wicked broom…?"

Crookshanks let out a hiss as the other Sixth Year girls converged on her master.

"Slow down. Slow down," the harassed girl pleaded. "One at a time, please. If you persist in this racket, I'll have to deduct points. I'm still a Prefect, you know…." She added to herself, `As if that matters a hill of beans.'

Eventually, her roommates settled into an expectant silence.

"Where I was…. You heard about the raid, I assume. I'm told the Ministry announced it. Well, as they said, the raid didn't succeed in rescuing Harry, but encountered Voldemort…."

There were gasps all around when Hermione used the name.

"Honestly," she blurted. "Get used to the name. Didn't you retain anything from the D.A. last year? Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself…."

After that interruption, Hermione continued with her truthful, but incomplete, narrative. "What wasn't said was that I accompanied the raiding party as a Healer. Anyway, there were many casualties. I returned too late to the Castle for the feast…."

Lavender interrupted, "But you were gone much later than the feast. We waited until almost two in the morning for you…. And not just you, Ron, Neville and Ginny were called to the Headmaster's office and didn't return until after then either."

"Yes, there were other things as well," Hermione admitted. "I can't really talk about that…. Not right now anyway…."

"Well, what's Dennis doing that's so hush-hush?" Avvie asked.

"It's not a secret," Hermione explained. "Dennis probably just overreacted. That's the central station for the D.A. this year…."

"Ooooh," Parvati squealed, "so you are planning to continue the D.A! Everybody's been asking about that."

"Well, I hope so. It depends on getting Harry back." Hermione reaffirmed.

"Oh."

"Well, what's this about Madam Hooch?" Hermione asked.

"It's really outstanding," Lavender enthused. "Quidditch! Everyone's going to be flying on Firebolts now. Somebody set up some sort of trust to pay for it all. Odd thing is, it's named after Harry's father."

"So he did it then?" Hermione mused.

"Who did what?" Lavender asked, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

Hermione backtracked. The Prophet had been mercifully quiet about the disposition of the Black fortune after Sirius' exoneration, and she had no desire to suggest otherwise. "I don't know…. I don't know anything about Firebolts…," she sputtered.

"Oh Hermione, you're such a terrible liar," Lavender declared. "It has to be Harry. How else would everything have been named after his father? It stands to reason that he inherited…. Can you believe it? Not only is he famous, a stud muffin … and amazingly powerful … but rich as well…."

BAM!! BAM!! BAM!!

Crookshanks let out a loud yowl and shot under Hermione's bed.

Lavender was saved physical violence - or at least a thorough hexing - by an insistent pounding on the door.

"I know you're in there!" came a familiar voice. "Either you let Hermione out, or all the rest of us are going to come in after her!"

One of the girls opened the door, and the owner of that familiar voice appeared.

"Ginny!" Hermione cried with relief. "How did you end up sounding like Hagrid on steroids?"

"Simple. Try casting a Sonorus Charm on your hand just before pounding on the door. It gets Ron out of the loo at the Burrow every time," Ginny replied with a laugh.

"Out in a bit," Hermione promised her rescuer. Her opinion of the youngest Weasley had just risen several notches.

The respite was short lived. The scrum that Hermione faced in the Common Room was even worse than the ambush sprung by her dormitory mates. Almost every Gryffindor from the Third Year up was waiting for her. Her assembled housemates fired questions at Hermione faster than she could answer them.

Finally, despairing of any other solution, Hermione levitated herself to the top of the table where Dennis and Colin had set up shop and gave an impromptu interview.

"All right, all right," she cried out, simultaneously trying to quiet everyone with arm motions. "As many of you have already guessed, the reason I went missing yesterday has to do with Harry. I tagged along on the Ministry's raid against Malfoy Manor. I'm sure you'll be reading about everything in this morning's Prophet. Beyond that, all I can say is that I'm still involved in ongoing efforts to rescue him…. The rest of that's sort of … well, secret…."

Someone in the back shouted out, "Is it true that, after the rescue failed to free Harry, the Ministry agreed to the Death Eaters' ransom demand?"

"That's way over my head," Hermione said to deflect the question. "Maybe Dumbledore will make some sort of announcement. I know that's been bandied about, but I have no part of it. If it happens, though, I would agree with that decision…."

"Well, I don't," Dean Thomas contradicted her. "It sort of defeats the purpose of what you all went through, don't you think?"

"We can always catch more Death Eaters," Hermione disagreed, echoing the Headmaster. "There's only one Harry Potter."

Before any argument could really develop, Katie Bell changed the subject. "Are you planning to restart the D.A.?"

Hermione caught herself before she blurted anything out. That subject left her profoundly conflicted. "I want to…," she started. "We've received encouragement from Dumbledore and the rest of the staff to continue the … er … Defence Alliance as a recognised school club. But everything's on hold…. I just…. I just don't think that … that I can manage by myself."

Seeing the crestfallen look on Hermione's face, Ginny thought that she was thinking much more generally than the D.A. That girl had already suffered serious emotional problems since Harry's disappearance, and she looked more haggard and disheveled than was her custom.

Harry haunted the D.A., just as he haunted Hermione.

Hearing Hermione's words, Ron rolled his eyes. `They did that alone … just like she went alone,' he thought enviously. Once, they had once been a trio, sharing almost all their experiences. But the D.A. … that had been Harry and Hermione's production. Harry taught it and Hermione ran it. Ron was little more than another one of the students. Then the two of them had trained as Aurors over the summer…. His marks would not allow that. Well, he had Cho, and Quidditch, and that was good enough for him … if need be.

Neville spoke up, "I'll help you in any way I can, Hermione. Just name it, and I'll do it … or at least try," he added.

"You can count on me too," Ginny agreed.

Startled out of his thoughts, Ron could do no less. "I'm in," he hastily added.

Hermione smiled wanly. "Thank you all very much. Then, I guess we need some sign up sheets for each house. We'll need more information this time around…. Owl type. Wand type. Home address, and for those that have it, home Floo connection…. I suppose membership should be limited to Fourth Year and above - except for Dennis, who's more than earned an exception." Hermione nodded at the younger Creevey brother, who was seated at the table she was standing on. He had been fiddling with the connections for the D.A. central station.

"No fair," Natalie McDonald protested. "We have Defence classes too…."

"WAIT JUST ONE MINUTE!" Ron roared, drowning out the disgruntled Third Year. "RECOGNISED SCHOOL CLUB? DOES THAT MEAN WE HAVE TO LET SLYTHERINS IN?"

Hermione did not back down an inch from her purpling friend. "Yes," she declared firmly. "That's already been decided. Both Harry and Dumbledore agree."

As she hoped, her almost defiant response had a bracing effect on Ron, "I don't like it," he said less angrily. "They're all a bunch of Death Eaters in training…. Bloody Death Lickers, they are. S'no good us making bloody Queen Scouts out of them. They'll betray us…. I know it."

"Ron, we were betrayed last year, when there wasn't a single Slytherin in the group," Hermione reminded.

"True," Ron replied, "but … but … I wouldn't go letting Runespoors in my house just because some of them won't bite."

"Ron, I'm nervous too," Hermione admitted. "But it's like the Sorting Hat said last year, we need unity at Hogwarts…."

"Hat said it again this year too," Neville interjected.

"…Anyway, it's decided," Hermione continued. "That's one of the main reasons why we're using `Defence Alliance' this year … to emphasize alliances." This was a bit of a stretch for the girl, as the name change was her idea. Like so much, she never had an opportunity to mention it to Harry before … everything happened.

"Hermione, what's that thing Dennis is working on? He refused to discuss it without you here," Morgan Maryknoll, a Seventh Year girl, asked.

"That's the Central Station for the D.A.," Hermione said proudly. "Let me show you how it works…."

With that Hermione jumped down from the table and Dennis yielded the chair. With some help from the proud inventor, she put the system through its paces, showing how messages and other information could be received, scanned, sent and stored. When she was scabbing about looking for something to scan, Ron helpfully tore out a page from his previous year's History of Magic revision notes. "I'm bloody well never going to look at that again," he commented.

Hermione had just inserted her wand into a wand holster attached to the main memory unit by unicorn hair when she noticed Dennis playing with the dials on a component she had never seen before. "What's that?" she asked.

"A surprise," Dennis grinned. "Old man Honeydukes gave me that old Wizard's Wireless transceiver after Tonks ruined the speaker connections at Harry's party. I just got everything working yesterday whilst you were out. I hope this works."

Leaning over Hermione, Dennis typed a few commands on the keyboard, and tapped Hermione's wand to activate a couple of links that popped up on the screen. Suddenly several brightly coloured images appeared on the screen, as well and writing and various icons.

"All right!" Dennis exclaimed, slapping palms with Colin. "It works." Hermione just stared.

"What in the name of Merlin is that?" Lavender asked.

"Muggle Internet," Dennis replied proudly.

"Mister Creevey," Avalon Danvers addressed him formally. "I'll give you 5,000 Galleons to make me another one just like that."

"So will I," Vickie Frobisher jumped in. "Just the scanning and memory functions will make it marvelous for studying for my N.E.W.T.s."

Dennis was more than a little overwhelmed. He was being offered ten times what the various components had cost - more money than he had ever dreamed of before.

He turned questioningly to the cleverest person he knew, "What do you think, Hermione?"

"It's up to you Dennis," she responded, "but if you choose to do this, I know someone you really ought to talk to first, his name is Blackie Howe…."

Hermione was similarly mobbed when she first appeared in the Great Hall. Ron and Ginny, along with Luna, closed ranks around her so the harassed girl would be able to get time to eat her kippers. Neville helpfully handled routine Prefect duties such as handing out course schedules - including Hermione's.

The N.E.W.T.-level course load was much different than before. The core curriculum of Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Defence all took place in double sessions - two per week, beginning at one and three in the afternoon. Hermione's other courses met two hours a week, in one-hour sessions at various times in the mornings, except for her Muggle Studies and History seminars, which met only once a week for an hour. She had much more free time in the mornings (on Tuesdays, no class until 11:00 a.m.), and much less in the afternoon.

Today, being a Wednesday, she had Heavy Duty Herbology at 10:00 a.m., followed by an hour of free time. Then came her "Interesting Creatures" class (commencing with the Occamy), and then lunch. After lunch the true heavy lifting started - back-to-back double sessions of Advanced Transfiguration and Charms.

There was something attached to her course schedule. Hermione examined it.

"Oh my," she squeaked, "and on my birthday."

The attachment was a notice that the Astronomy redo O.W.L. examination would take place at 11:59 p.m. on 19 September. She remembered the faith Harry had shown in her ability to use this examination to leapfrog Tom Riddle for the highest all-time O.W.L. average.

Hermione resolved that, if she lived so long, she would do it - for Harry's sake more than for her own.

More immediately, however, Sprout had not given much home study over the summer holidays, Hagrid had given none, and Hermione was up to date in Transfiguration and Potions. Still, she would cram in yet more Potions study during the hour-long break. She had no sense of the new instructor, and wished to be fully prepared.

Hermione did precisely that. The morning passed uneventfully, and for once Hagrid's benign view of creatures everyone else thought dangerous was proven correct. Occamies were pleasant - very beautiful, and much less aggressive than their reputation.

Nevertheless, Hermione arrived at her Transfiguration class rather upset. On her way to the class, she had passed the corridor that led away to Ravenclaw Tower. At that junction, as in other prominent places around the Castle, was one of the posters announcing the James Potter Memorial Quidditch Broom Trust and explaining all of the benefits that each house would share equally.

Only this poster had been defaced.

Someone had cut from the front page of the Prophet one of the innumerable headlines Harry had figured in lately. A Sticking Charm affixed that additional word to the poster. Thus, the poster now read:

"Harry James Potter Memorial Quidditch Broom Trust"

This latest unwelcome reminder of the very real possibility that the Death Eaters holding Harry could execute him at any time left Hermione feeling queasy and vulnerable as she entered Professor McGonagall's classroom.

In class, Hermione was almost her old self, however. Two-thirds of the way through the class, she already had won twenty points for Gryffindor with either correct answers or properly performed spells….

Then she felt it - the unmistakable sensation that Harry was regaining consciousness. Not only was he coming about, but the affinity was pulsing with a focus and determination that Hermione had not felt since before he was taken.

The girl did as she had been instructed, and raised her hand.

"Professor, I need to be excused," she recited. "Hospital Wing."

Professor McGonagall's lips pursed just a bit, as she realised what Hermione was telling her. "Very well, to Madam Pomfrey with you."

The rest of the class gawked a bit as Hermione quickly packed her things and left. The girl certainly did not act like she was at all ill.

Hermione dashed out of the classroom and trotted to the nearest reasonably concealed space. She activated the Portkey.

The next instant, she was in the Hospital Wing. She called to Madam Pomfrey, who dropped whatever she was doing and immediately led Hermione to a well-equipped magical bed hidden from the rest of the hall by several mobile partitions. It was the same bed - or at least the same type of bed in the same place - that Luna had occupied when she was convalescing after her close encounter with decapitation.

Large talismans and other magical objects, some of which Hermione recognised from the previous night's session and some of which she did not, surrounded the bed. In a hurried, yet professional manner, Madam Pomfrey bade the girl to make herself comfortable and hooked her up to both a large blue monitoring crystal and an even larger orange protective orb designed to combat harmful magical effects from entering through the enhanced affinity.

The rest was up to Hermione. She recited the verse that reactivated the battery of searching spells she was under, and her consciousness was almost immediately loosed in pursuit of Harry's mind - wherever he might be at that moment.

Even before she had completed her spellwork, Hermione knew that something different was happening.

* * * *

The three conspirators had been trudging over the rough, muddy forest path for over an hour, leading the now almost useless Thestrals between which Harry's stunned body was limply suspended. It had been raining off and on the entire time - and for now the rain was definitely "on" again.

To keep a steady pace, Nott walked in cadence with a bit of doggerel he had picked up somewhere. In sing-song fashion, he recited, "It rained, and rained, and rained, and rained. The average fall was well maintained. And when the tracks were simple bogs, it started…."

"Can't you just shut it?" a churlish-sounding Malfoy interrupted. "It's bad enough…."

"Well, what's it to you, anyway?" Nott growled back. "I think your problem…."

"Bloody freaking Hell," Malfoy complained. "I hate being soaked to the bone like this. How much further? Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"For the last bleeding time, yes," Nott replied, making no attempt to conceal his exasperation. "There's only one way to go - and don't even think about using magic. We're lucky the Dark Lord diverted the ruddy Auror search parties." For emphasis, he waved the still glowing map Voldemort had sent them.

"We need to stop for some sort of lunch soon," Crabbe broke in. "I'm starved, what with all this blasted travel."

"All right, already," Nott bit back. "But I want to get to the top of this hill first. After that, we should come out of the lee of this mountain and the forest will give way to moor. Maybe we can see something then."

Or maybe not.

"Urrgh," Harry was stirring again, trussed beneath a swaying poll like some captured game animal. He was cold. A misty breeze raised goose pimples all over his exposed arms and legs. He was soaking wet. Whilst his raging infection was gone, a fever he could not account for still sapped his strength.

Thwack.

Something odd hit Harry in the right forearm. He saw a patch of gooey beige material, looking for all the world like thoroughly chewed gum arabic, on his arm. Almost immediately it began fading away. He felt an oddly cool sensation as whatever it was oozed into him. It was reminiscent of passing through a protective ward. Within seconds the glob vanished. Just as quickly, Harry started feeling in better condition physically than he had in a very long time.

The bushes rustled in the direction from which the object had come. Turning his head, Harry struggled to see anything without his glasses. He saw nothing but a glacial erratic - an odd greyish boulder lying just off the side of the path.

Furtively examining his surroundings as best he could, Harry realised he was out of doors, being carried along a path in some forest. Whilst the weather was miserable, he was at least exposed to it. For the longest time he had been confined indoors. Comparatively speaking outdoors was good, with no walls or bars in the way of an escape.

Something stank to the skies as the sloven caravan reached a small clearing. The three Death Eaters - Harry presumed they were still the same three Death Eaters that had been his gaolers - tethered the Thestrals by the source of the stench. Their reason was soon very apparent. The smell emanated from the decaying carcass of a red deer. The unfortunate animal probably starved after entangling its antlers in the remains of a larch that had been blown apart by a lightning strike.

The famished Thestrals began feeding on the carrion.

Harry's captors retreated to the relative shelter of some overhanging oak trees for their own meal. The trees looked old, but relatively small, judging from the few nearby specimens he could see clearly. Come to think of it, most of the trees he had passed seemed stunted. Harry suspected that he was either in the far North or high in the mountains - maybe both.

One of the Thestrals stumbled when it stepped in some sort of hole in the course of tearing apart the carcass. Harry's back suddenly scraped against the rough stump of the splintered larch.

"Aarrrgh," Harry groaned involuntarily, before willing himself to be silent despite the pain.

"Dammit," one of the Death Eaters swore. "He might be waking up again. Let him have another Stunner."

Almost immediately a second, somewhat bored sounding voice cried out, "Stupefy!"

For his one stupid lapse, Harry resigned himself to unconsciousness. He was wrong. Before his disbelieving eyes, one of the scattered larch logs seemed to jump of its own accord and intercepted the stunning spell. Harry wondered whether he was hallucinating, but one thing was for sure. He was still conscious.

Squinting his eyes, Harry looked about, but saw nothing that could account for the odd turn of events - just trees, a muddy path, and a couple of boulders that the thin soil of the area failed to cover. Glacial erratics.

For their part, the Death Eaters did not seem to notice anything amiss. They had fallen into a conversation about what to do after delivering Harry to Voldemort. Oddly, they sounded apprehensive about their prospects. Harry could not fathom why, since they were doing their Master a great service. Surely Voldemort would reward them richly.

Voldemort. At that moment Harry sensed another reminder of the Dark Lord in the form of that telltale prickling around the edges of his brain - at least he thought he did. His Occlumency lessons had trained him to associate this slightly off feeling with a prelude to someone's attempted invasion of his brain.

Voldemort had been attacking him mentally for years, although his evil assaults had ordinarily been much rougher. But throughout the course of Harry's Death Eater captivity, Voldemort's attempts at mental penetration had inexplicably become gentler - more like Dumbledore's and Sefu Kung's Legilimency over the summer. Only Snape, the bastard, never changed.

Harry felt fortunate that he could now repel such attacks. He had already twice shut out Voldemort. Once again the boy slammed down his mental defences and cut off the Dark Lord's attempt to muck about inside his brain.

There were more important matters to think about. It was now or never.

The incipient mental attack, not to mention the Death Eaters' discussion of Voldemort, provided an abject reminder that if Harry did not make good his escape now, he might never have another chance. A vision of that Muggle firearm - and what these Death Eaters planned to do with it before his wandless magic eruption had destroyed it - passed before Harry's eyes.

He had to succeed. More than his own life was at stake.

The cold rain fell harder, but Harry felt stronger than he had since his world had fallen apart a few hours before his capture. He was as ready as he would ever be.

He turned his attention to the charmed ropes that bound him. He closed his eyes and performed wandless elemental magic as the Sefu had taught him. The old Chinese sorcerer had suffered on his account. Harry had never learnt if his teacher had survived his grievous injuries suffered on the night of all the attacks….

In short order, Harry could smell the ropes smouldering. Between the rain, and the stinking corpse of the red deer, Harry hoped that the Death Eaters did not detect it - and that seemed to be the case. A little more elemental magic and he could feel the ropes beginning to give way. He stopped, and clutched the ropes with his fists. Resuming, Harry felt the ropes fall away within another thirty seconds.

His arms were free! He was supporting himself solely by his grasp on the severed ends.

It was time to repeat the process with his legs. This would be trickier. He had never practised elemental magic with any part of his body other than his hands and arms.

Harry directed his attention to his ankles, where he remained bound. He could feel the ropes coiling around his anklebones, which protruded markedly and allowed his restraints to catch hold.

That reminded Harry…. If his ankles were any indication, much of him was little more than skin and bones. He had been half starved for a long, if indeterminate, time. During his entire ordeal, he had never once felt ground beneath his feet. Would he even be able to stand, let alone outrun his captors?

These thoughts distracted Harry. His initial attempt at elemental magic through his ankles failed.

`Concentrate!' he berated himself. `There's only one way to find out. If I get caught, I'm no worse off than if I'd never tried.'

An idea suddenly dawned on him. Harry took as good a look as he could as far up the path in front of him as he could see … he also noticed that the Thestrals had shifted position so that one of them prevented him from watching the Death Eaters. That also meant that they could not see him….

Harry banished from his mind all thought that he might be too weak. He tried again, his brow furrowing with the intensity of his effort. Soon his nostrils were rewarded with the smell of burning rope.

The Thestrals behaved skittishly. They could smell the same thing.

Success begat confidence. Harry pulled himself up so he could see his ankles. They were glowing. He could feel the ropes lose their magical grip and begin unraveling. With a soft squelch, his heels dropped to the churned up mud beneath.

He was free!

With a pop, he Disapparated about forty metres up the path - as far as he had been able to see distinctly with his poor eyesight. It was as much distance between himself and his captors as he had been able to manage.

"Bloody hell, what was that?"

"Where did Potter go?"

"There he is, over there!"

"He's trying to escape!"

"Get him!!"

Harry stumbled and fell upon landing his Apparition. With great effort, he scrambled to his feet, and started to run. He staggered, but maintained his balance. With each step he regained confidence - and muscle memory.

His captors began giving chase - and more.

"Stupefy!" one roared.

"Avada Kedavra!" another shouted at almost the same instant.

Things started happening very fast.

The Stunner missed. Something grey rushed past Harry in the other direction. All he could tell is that it was bipedal and quite short. Harry kept running. He never saw the Killing Curse, but heard something thud into the ground behind him. He could not spare a backwards glance; he had to outrun the Death Eaters.

"Where did that come from?"

"Bloody bob-ear. Ran right into the curse…."

Harry was not even listening. He was putting all his effort into running away - into living to fight another day. His heart pounded in his ears as he topped a rise in the path….

A blast of cold wind tore into him, battering his exposed skin with pellet-like raindrops and nasty, biting midges. The scrub oak forest abruptly turned into open moor, brilliantly colourful compared to the dull, dripping forest. The moor was innumerable shades of green and brown, and interspersed with bogs that reflected the leaden grey sky. In early September, the moor was its final glorious bloom of the season, bedecked with purple heather, white meadowsweet, and - of course - the ubiquitous bright yellow gorse.

But natural beauty was not what caused Harry to come skidding to a halt. Through breaks in the low clouds scudding over the highlands, Harry could just make out the silhouette of a dark, squarish castle rising from an indistinct peak on the far side of the moor. The path he was on led to the castle - and on that path, coming towards him, were the foggy outlines of at least two dozen black-robed Death Eaters.

Harry again became aware of that odd tingle around the edges of his brain. Even if not particularly threatening at the moment, it had to be Voldemort, lurking. His captors had no doubt alerted their Master to his escape. Again, Harry raised his mental defences against intrusion.

Curses sizzled by him from behind. His erstwhile captors were catching up to him quickly. The Death Eaters on the path through the moor in front of him also saw him. They were pointing and starting to run in his direction. There was no choice.

Harry lurched into the boggy moor itself, his feet almost instantly being cut and ensnared by the ubiquitous gorse. Grimly, Harry concentrated on maintaining his footing as he tried making his way to a line of trees on his left. Beyond the edge of the forest he could see nothing but clouds and more clouds. If he could just reach those trees, maybe he could elude the Death Eaters in the foggy forest.

Unfortunately, Harry had supposed that the moor would equally impede the pursuing Death Eaters. He was wrong. They had what looked like mini-magic carpets and immediately used them. His black-robed pursuers glided above the entangling vegetation like a squadron of Dementors.

Harry tried to run faster; they were gaining on him. He willed himself to greater exertion, and amazingly it worked. The boy found himself not only picking up speed but positively springing over the entangling gorse bushes.

All the lost strength and poor muscle tone of his captivity seemed to melt away in an instant. Harry suddenly found himself bounding through the moor with inhuman ease. Something incomprehensible had happened. His legs felt sturdier and surer than he could ever remember, even when at peak condition from running with Dudley. His feet were bare, but were somehow immune from the onslaught of spiny gorse.

Briefly tearing his eyes from the targeted tree line, Harry looked down. His feet … his legs … were gone - transformed. In their place were the sinewy, golden-haired hind legs of some sort of large feline. His now clawed and padded feet were making short work of the bogs and gorse bushes.

`Wicked,' Harry thought. `I've somehow become some sort of chimera.'

And so he had. Propelled by the feral strength and endurance of his serendipitous new hindquarters, Harry tore into the tree line still substantially ahead of the small army of pursuing Dark wizards. Harry allowed himself a modicum of hope for the first time. Surely he could now lose them in the forest….

Then the bottom dropped out.

The very earth itself gave way. Harry found himself myopically staring into an abyss yawning beneath his reconstituted feet. He was on the edge of a 200-metre cliff dropping away into a steep-sided valley - mostly forested with a gravel-choked stream running through it. Harry's claws tore up the dirt as he desperately grabbed a tree to keep from plunging over the precipice.

He had been fooled by a microclimate. Over time, the same warmer breezes from the valley that now ruffled his hair had battled the harsher winds from the highland behind him. The resultant climactic stalemate allowed a line of trees - not more than ten metres wide - to grow all along the edge of the abrupt drop off.

Taking advantage of his claws, Harry instinctively scrambled to the top of one of the trees. But in so doing he trapped himself. He was treed. He could not go forward. He could not go back. He could not go up. He could certainly not go down.

Damn. There was that bloody mental tickling again. Voldemort was no doubt coming to gloat. Harry shut it off hurriedly and vowed not to be taken alive. He would not give his foe that satisfaction. Summoning all of his remaining magical energy, Harry raised a wandless Protego Omnibus shield against his attackers - whose spells were already blasting branches loose all around him.

The only way out, Harry decided was to Apparate. He had no idea whether it was even possible to Apparate through his shield, but he had to try. In his condition, long-range Apparition was an invitation to Splinch himself. He decided to Apparate back to where his captors' Thestrals had been left. Maybe he could ride one of them to safety.

He had barely figured out his plan when his shield deflected a powerful Severing Charm. Inside the shield, Harry felt himself lurch from the powerful momentum of the blocked magic. He grabbed the tree trunk … but it did no good….

The Severing Charm ricocheted directly into the tree trunk beneath him, slicing cleanly through and sending Harry and the crown of the tree hurtling into thin air. There was no way he could Apparate now. This was surely the end. Nobody could survive a 200-metre fall onto jagged rock.

Harry screamed.

He let go of the tree remnant and began tumbling as the wind whipped by. At least it would be quick - if not painless.

Then abruptly the tumbling ceased. Harry found himself looking down at the ever-less-fuzzy ground below. But in a not-so-subtle change, he was no longer falling straight down. The rocky base of the cliff was no longer at his nadir. Instead he was over the forest.

Uncertain of everything except his own impending death, Harry thrashed about. He immediately experienced the sensation of rocking back and forth, as if once again suspended from something. He almost shut his eyes in anticipation of the imminent impact when a flash of red caught the corner of his vision.

He saw … feathers - large scarlet feathers comprising a wingtip. The wingtip was attached to a wing that must have been ten metres long. The wing was attached … TO HIM!

Some additional, unintentional, miraculous Transfiguration had taken place. He had wings!

Could he use them? Harry had absolutely no experience with the movements necessary to maintain flight with his own set of wings.

He had less than five seconds to learn. With renewed vigor he flexed what he supposed were the massive muscles through that worked the almost absurdly large appendages affixed to his back. Something was succeeding. He was moving forward more than downward. This was going to be a very close thing….

Harry was betrayed by his own inexperience in autonomous free flight. He miscalculated his approach by less than a metre, but that error was enough that one wing slammed painfully into the uppermost branches of a beech tree.

Harry spun out of control and hit the gravelly alluvium at an awkward angle. His right ankle snap audibly as it fractured. He tumbled over and over, spraying the metalled surface everywhere. Soon he came to a halt, lying by the stream - alive but covered with small cuts from the sharp pebbles. His intact wing was gone. It had disappeared as quickly, and as spontaneously, as it had come. His left wing, broken in three places, hung uselessly by his side.

Above him, at the top of the cliff, the two dozen Death Eaters pursuing him had watched the spectacle with no little amazement. The sight of a brilliantly red-winged Harry Potter gliding towards the valley below had given them pause.

Until they saw him crash.

A Disapparition pop followed almost immediately - followed by another, and another, and another…. Soon the escarpment was empty, except for Harry's three original kidnappers, who had brought up the rear, totally ignored by the real Death Eaters.

"What do we do now?" Nott asked, puffing from all the exertion.

"You said it before. I'd say it's every bloody man for himself at this point," Malfoy replied, even more out of breath. "I figure we've done our duty to the Dark Lord and delivered up Potter, so do what you want to do. I have no great desire to meet the Master himself under these circumstances."

"Well, I'm going down there," Nott declared, gesturing to where the Death Eaters were moving to surround Harry's prone form.

"I-I-I can't Apparate," Crabbe whinged. "Don't leave me here by myself."

"Sorry mate, this is over," Malfoy declared, and in an instant he was gone, Disapparating to who knows where.

Crabbe looked uncertainly at Nott.

"Don't worry," Nott reassured Crabbe. "Deep down, he's always been an arsehole. When the chips are down, Malfoys are loyal to nobody but themselves. Wait here for me. I'll come back for you when this is over."

With that, Nott Disapparated after the Death Eaters.

On the valley floor below, Harry Potter shook off the cobwebs and tried to stand, but his shattered ankle could support no weight, and his broken wing unbalanced him. He sank to his hands and knees as the first Apparition pops signalled the Death Eaters' arrival. With his last remaining strength, Harry re-conjured his shield.

One after another, the Death Eaters began firing curses. Seeing that Harry was shielded, but unmoving, his would-be captors switched to spells, such as the Cruciatus Curse, that they could maintain for an extended period of time. Slowly but surely, Harry's strength was ebbing away under the barrage. His Protego Omnibus shield was collapsing by increments - getting smaller and smaller around him.

It would not be long now…. He had failed … at everything…. He would soon once again be a captive of Voldemort's….

There was that tingling in his brain again. But for once Harry was too weak both to fight it and to maintain his shield. He surrendered his Occlumency.

With an almost audible whoosh, the intruder entered his brain.

"Harry! Oh thank Merlin…."

That voice! It certainly did not belong to Voldemort.

It was Hermione.

And from her very first word - from her very first feeling - it was one hundred percent clear that she did not hate him.

Absolutely and utterly to the contrary….

* * * *

Author's notes: The stairway also now leads to the Chamber of Secrets, a handy piece of knowledge

CMXCVII = 997; the Hogwarts millennium is the Trio's senior year

Lapis lazuli, is accurately described, as its association with truth

Snape once said Veritaserum took a month to mature, but he was dissembling

Magiarchs, the original magical people, lived tens of thousands of years ago

The Setem is an ancient Egyptian priesthood; Seshat was the goddess of knowledge

The Book of Gates is a real ancient Egyptian text, involving death and the underworld

Pre-Roman Druidic Briton warriors painted themselves blue

Meteoric iron forms geometric patterns, and was the most valuable metal in pre-iron age cultures

Claudius Brittanicus conquered what is now England for Rome. Julius Cæsar had only raided it

Picts were barbarian inhabitants of Scotland

Madam Pomfrey opposes risking Hermione's life

Solid smoke is an accurate description of aerogel

Madam Pomfrey's crystals resemble Lex Luthor's in Superman Returns

The Dumbledore/Luna interaction in the first spell is significant

Beams of light pointed skywards can create quite a visual effect

The color pink is symbolic

The Mentanarus waterfall image comes from Rescuers Down Under

McGonagall suggests Hermione will be at Hogwarts for more than two more years

"Let's do it" were Gary Gilmore's last words

The cadence of the Dumbledore/Hermione chant is from Jean Auel's "Mother's Song," only a line shorter

"Green and pleasant" describing England is from William Blake's "Jerusalem"

Vega being the north star indicates how old these spells are - given procession of the equinox

Hermione misunderstands what the prophecy says. Dumbledore's decision to leave telling her to Harry has unfortunate consequences

"Keeping secrets" about matters "relating" to Harry - Hermione has deduced something else

Hermione figured out that the Irish journal article was about McGonagall and her deceased sister

Cardigan Bay and Grey seals are accurate

"Heal thyself" is from the biblical phrase about physicians

Nott's familiarity with Muggle things extends to some movie lines

A black shag is a great cormorant

The Welsh address on the Voldemort letter is real

Objectively, Harry isn't a "stud muffin," but all his other attributes make him attractive

Queen Scouts are the UK equivalent of US Boy and Girl Scouts

The line about snakes not biting is from someone like H. Rap Brown opposing white involvement in the civil rights movement

The Creeveys sell their first wizard computer

Hermione knows that, if you go into business, you need a good lawyer

Nott's poem is the New Zealand rain song, which I first encountered in Westland twenty years ago. It goes: "It rained and rained and rained. The average fall was well maintained. And when the tracks were simple bogs, it started raining cats & dogs. After a drought of half an hour, we had a most refreshing shower. And then most curious thing of all, a gentle rain began to fall. Next day but one was fairly dry. Save for one deluge from the sky, which wetted the party to the skin. And then, at last, the rain set in."

Harry's fever is from a different, much more pernicious, source

The goo on Harry's arms signals the arrival of invisible magical help

The grey boulders are significant

Harry's Occlumency is, of course, unknowingly fighting off Hermione

The moor vegetation is accurately described

In the heat of the moment, Harry undergoes partial Animagus transformations to an obvious form

The source of microclimate is accurate

"Metal" oddly means gravel in the UK

43

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