Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry gets a hidden note, reads the transcript, meditates, has goblin encounters, talks with Ron and Neville, runs a D.A. meeting, receives an invitation, learns about a song, realizes Hermione's problem, watches Americans practice healing, decides to rescue Hermione, has a talk with his head of school and of house, prepares for the rescue effort, and begins to undertake it

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 41 - Being A Hero

Once he finally escaped Slughorn, Harry was so excited he practically ran through the corridors. Reaching the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room, he stopped to compose himself. "I haven't seen you so excited since you returned," the Fat Lady commented. "Something good, I hope."

"I hope," said Harry, waiting. "Oh…. The password. Far, far better thing."

The new password had been Hermione's idea - practically her final act before the fateful day she tried to come for Harry.

Waving off all attempts at conversation from his housemates, Harry swiftly made his way to the Sixth-Year dormitory and closeted himself behind the curtains surrounding his bed - and behind a strong Silencing Charm. He pulled out Hermione's living will, conjured some sort of tabletop, and summoned the bottle of Farmer's reducer Hlr. Huxley had given him. After reading the directions, he performed the Bubble-Head Charm he had learnt during underwater training. Noxious gas was a possibility.

Soaking a serviette in the chemical, he started by laying it across the back of the first page and pressing. Nothing much - just some numbers adding up to 42. He repeated the process on the back of the second page. This time there was absolutely nothing. He swallowed hard, and pressed the serviette into the blank space underneath Luna's signature, taking care not to do anything that might smear any message.

The wave of disappointment Harry felt when nothing immediately happened was soon replaced by a thrill of hope as bluish lines gradually began to form. He added more of the pinkish liquid to the serviette and gave the area a thorough soaking.

The bluish lines first revealed what looked like a tracing of a hand - Hermione's right hand, Harry surmised. Inside the tracing he could make out her tiny, well-formed handwriting:

Harry:

Your reading this means that you survived and for all intents and purposes I did not. You truly are the Boy Who Lived. I know you, and I know that, no matter what happened, you will find a way to blame yourself for what's become of me. Don't. I forbid it. I did everything of my own free will to try to save you. Don't blame anyone but me, because I forced everyone else to go along with my plan - MY PLAN - not yours. Respect my free will. Nothing could have stopped me, not even you, because this was for you.

I know what you have to do. If it will help you succeed, you should know that every word of my testimony was true. My greatest regret in life, and in death, is that I could never muster the strength or courage to tell you face to face. You were always the Gryffindor. I should have been in Ravenclaw. My fondest hope is that, somehow, I'll see you again after you've saved the world.

When finished, put your hand over mine.

All my love forever,

Hermione

"All my love forever." Harry felt the need to cry. Almost instinctively, he began applying Occlumency to deaden his emotions, but upon reflection decided against it. His tears fell freely, and left splotches on Hermione's message. Once again though, no sign appeared of the great, ill-controlled power he apparently possessed. He generated neither glow nor sparks because he felt no anger, no pain - only grief. For some reason, grief in its purest, unalloyed form did not activate his barely understood Fifth Element powers.

Harry wept for almost a quarter hour. When he finally cried himself out, he followed Hermione's instructions and placed his own hand over the somewhat smaller outline of hers. The jolt from the sensation that ensued almost knocked him over.

It was the same wonderful, amorous feeling he had experienced once before.

Only this time he could enjoy it.

From the parchment warmth flowed through him, blushing his cheeks, making his breath catch in his throat, and causing him to break out in a feverish sweat. His legs felt as if he sat on them too long and put them to sleep. And all the while, this throbbing sensation in his bits just would not go away.

Once again he was on the receiving end of that deep, almost velvety, ardor he experienced the moment she reached out to him when he was on the verge of being overwhelmed by Death Eaters. This time was stronger and more immediate. Through some amazing spell that she had learnt somewhere, this amazing girl had imbued the parchment with her emotions.

In less than a minute it faded, and with it her handwritten note. Harry's hormones ran wild. His emotions had been knocked off kilter and he was not thinking straight. He was obsessed with that wonderful - practically orgasmic - sensation. Immediately, he tried pressing his hand to the parchment again - and then again, but with more Farmer's reducer. Nothing happened. Again, and once more.

Harry almost screamed out in frustration.

A few minutes later, with rationality returning, Harry concluded that Hermione had been wise in her choice of magic. His yearning for more of that feeling had been almost mindless in its intensity. If he had been able to continue feeling that way, he would never have given it up. He would have become addicted to it, just like he had once been to the images shown by the Mirror of Erised.

He carefully rolled up the living will and stowed it in a safe place. Then he drew his wand, "Accio transcripts." Out from their banishment beneath his bed zoomed the jumble of legal transcripts that the Headmaster had given him when he first returned from captivity. He had never been willing to read them for Dumbledore.

But he would do anything for Hermione.

There were days and days of transcripts - all dry, and dull, and official looking. There no longer seemed to be any order to them. He tossed aside all of the ones before his kidnapping. From an index on the inside cover, he located the one that listed her as a witness.

Clutching that softbound volume like a drowning man holding a lifeline, Harry once again made for the Hospital Wing. Now on his own private mission, he paid no attention to anyone, except to acknowledge that, yes, he remembered that he had called a D.A. meeting for this evening. If, however, if he found what he now hoped and expected he might come across in the transcript, he wondered whether he would be in much of a condition to run anything - let alone the inaugural D.A. meeting of the Term.

Harry had always been more of a doer than a thinker - the latter had been Hermione's role - but right now, doing was secondary. He was annoyed with himself for even agreeing to lead the D.A., since that seemed so secondary at the moment. Hermione's well-being hung in the balance, and would be spending his time supervising Fifth Years trying to hex one another. Harry wondered if he had his priorities straight.

Thankfully Hermione had no other visitors at the moment. The novelty of her condition was quickly wearing off as the new Term got fully underway. Most other students had more immediate things to do. To Harry's knowledge, only Luna (early morning and late evening) and Ron (usually just before dinner) continued to pay regular visits to Hermione's sickbed.

Harry slid into his customary chair next to her. Squeezing Hermione's inert hand he said, "I'm doing this for you, so I wanted to do it with you."

He read and he read. As he reached the key point of her testimony, he found himself putting the transcript aside and gazing at the girl in disbelief. She brought a condom to Privet Drive? She had wanted to shag him right then and there? She certainly used the right type of spells….

She loved him since Third Year?

The ardent urges - along the lines of what Hermione had provided with her note - returned as he read. Almost involuntarily, Harry found himself thinking thoughts about Hermione that were entirely inappropriate to be feeling for someone in her state. As he reached the end of the brilliant unicorn riposte to Malfoy's lawyers, Harry realised that it was not a good idea to stay any longer or to read any more.

He left the unfinished transcript under Hermione's bed.

Thus Harry staggered out of Hermione's cubicle, feeling very warm and with his head spinning from strong, contradictory impulses. He felt wonderfully lightheaded knowing that she was every bit as in love with him as he was with her. At the same time, he was wallowing in self-reproach because his uncontrolled magic - his, and his alone - had left her in a state that hovered somewhere between life and death.

Presciently, Hermione had prohibited just this reaction from Harry, but to no avail. She could not know what, precisely, had brought her to this state. Harry did. Harry knew that his power had been the engine of her destruction.

This was no fairy tale, Harry forcefully reminded himself. He was not Prince Charming, and she was not Sleeping Beauty. He had grown up since Second Year.

He also had to leave because he badly needed to think more clearly. Right now, in Hermione's presence, he found that impossible. He had to turn off his Occlumency to decide what to do. He could not do that within sight of her.

Every time he looked at her, he strongly wanted to harm himself - for being so incredibly stupid, clueless, and just plain mean to her.

Beyond that, he wanted to annihilate Voldemort and his Death Eaters for their role in killing Eliza and driving Hermione to this.

Finally, he wanted to reach out and choke the life out of Malfoy and his slimy solicitors for what they had put her through at the hearing. No one should be forced to admit such things in public. Even if Harry was incredibly glad to know….

Not even bothering with his Invisibility Cloak, Harry headed for the rear entrance of the Castle. He walked faster and faster until he broke into a trot. As soon as he reached the broad back garden, he began to run as hard as he could. He had been cooped up in a mental prison for a week, struggling to keep his emotions in check, and he needed to do something, almost anything, flat out to the max.

He had not run for exercise since before he was kidnapped. He had not run at all since his escape from the Death Eaters. No matter. Soon he was pelting towards the steep walkway that led to Hagrid's hut and the lake beyond. Suddenly he skidded to a halt. It was not because he had lost his wind, although he had. Rather, his feet were starting to scream with pain. He looked down and saw that they were transforming again - inside his shoes, which were now crushing a set of leonine paws.

When he stopped, the transformation vanished almost immediately, leaving only his shoes somewhat worse for wear.

Harry pushed on, ignoring the growing stitch in his side, desperately seeking solitude. As he hit the lower plain, he briefly contemplated visiting Hagrid. He should thank the Creatures professor for the marvelous defence of Hermione's honour he had pulled off using the unicorn foal. But that would reveal that he had read the transcript…. Which would undoubtedly lead to a discussion of how he felt about her…. He was not ready for that discussion just yet.

Not just with Hagrid - with anyone. Not with a soul would he discuss the uncomfortable combination of heartbreak and rapture that was driving him to distraction, until he had first discussed it with Hermione. Once right with her, he would take on the world.

At the moment, though, he was about as far from being right with Hermione as it was physically possible to be. She lay dead to the world in the Hospital Wing because he could not control his infernal magic.

Harry erupted with an anguished scream, loud enough he thought to be heard back at the Castle. Casting his trainers aside, he sprinted for the back shore of the lake at top speed. He decided to visit the secluded spot where he had had his man-to-man talk with Bill all those weeks earlier - whilst in the midst of bollixing up things with Hermione so royally.

As a result, one girl who had almost been his lover was dead, and the other who should have been was hardly better off.

After bolting down the shore path at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry skittered to a stop at the small sandy opening. He waited a minute for the spontaneous Animagus transformation of his feet again to disappear. Then he jumped atop the large flat rock. Thankfully, the huge fallen oak still hid it from prying eyes. He dropped into his lotus position, intending to meditate as Sefu Kung had taught him. Meditation offered a chance to free his mind from the tyranny of constant Occlumency….

Harry looked up. He thought he heard panting - no longer his own breathing, he was sure of that.

He saw nothing. To be sure, he used his wand to illuminate the nearby area with a strong beam of light. Still nothing.

He began concentrating on his meditation. Rather than his previous mantra, Harry thought of the first word that came to mind:

Desolation.

Suddenly, a major disturbance flared just behind the adjacent bushes. THUMP!! THUD!! "OOOF!!" THUD!! THUD!! "OWWW!!" RRRIIIIPPP. Flashes of light indicated that spells were being cast. In response, Harry's wand flew into his hands - his brand new one combining the remains of his father's and Sirius' wands.

Within seconds a writhing mass of bodies broke through the hedges at the edge of Harry's dell. Four fierce-looking goblin warriors, their sharp teeth plainly visible, were roughly restraining some unfortunate wizard who was face down in the sand.

"Please, let him up," Harry asked. Not knowing the phrase in Gobbledygook, he made a hand gesture.

One of the goblins grabbed a handful of the unfortunate's hair and jerked his head up - revealing a familiar face.

"Mannock! What in Merlin's name…?" Harry blurted.

No sooner had he said this than the goblin shoved the man's face back into the sand.

"I know him," Harry declared sharply. "Let him get up." He repeated the hand gesture.

The goblins instantly if not altogether willingly obeyed their prince. Mannock was allowed to struggle to his knees. The four goblins surrounded him; all brandishing very sharp looking dirks and short swords.

"What on Earth are you doing lurking about?" Harry asked, keeping his wand trained on the man. "Why aren't you with your squadron?"

"Actually, you've mistaken me for my twin brother Alphonse," the captive wizard corrected. "I'm Gaston Mannock, from the Auror Office. I'm honoured to meet you - although not like this."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Harry pressed. "Why were you hiding in the bushes spying on me?"

"I've been detailed to Hogwarts for the past several weeks," Gaston Mannock replied, still panting. "My brother was here whilst you were missing, and the two of us served as guinea pigs for some experiments Dumbledore conducted … er … secret experiments…."

Twin experiments could only mean one thing. "On affinities," Harry finished the Auror's sentence.

Harry almost enjoyed the disbelieving look that comment prompted. "Yeah, on affinities," Mannock confirmed. "Since you've been back, I've been detailed to watch you."

"Watch me!?" Harry said, a bit of anger bubbling out before he shut it down with Occlumency. "Why?"

"Owww," Mannock protested, as one of the goblins roughly yanked his arms behind his back. Spying on the prince was lèse majesté. "Dumbledore's orders. You've been under constant suicide watch - what with the girl…. Owww!" The goblin jerked again.

That was enough for Harry. "Let him go! Arak!" he commanded. "He means me no harm. You may go. Bor arak."

The goblins obeyed - not entirely happily, but they obeyed.

"You may go, too," Harry added. "I assure you that I'm in no mood to commit suicide at the moment. I've actually just learnt something that could be quite wonderful. I just need some private time - to think - because it's not wonderful yet."

"I can't just leave. I have my orders," Mannock replied with regret. "But I can give you your privacy." With that, he picked up his wand, left behind when the goblins retreated. Ending a Shrinking Charm on his broom, Mannock alighted immediately to a new position about fifty metres above Harry's private place.

With the brief excitement, it took a little more effort for Harry to regain his Zen state - but he was determined. Soon he was back to meditating on a string of similar sounding words.

Desolation

Isolation

Separation

Desperation

Tribulation

Mitigation

Consolation

Realisation

Invocation

Revelation

Reclamation

Liberation

Transformation

Extrication

Propitiation

Restoration

Jubilation

Exultation

Our salvation

Adoration

Culmination

Consummation….

Harry had probably gone through dozens, if not hundreds, of words ending in "ation" when another bustle in the surrounding hedgerow brought him back to the here and now.

"Harry?" Ron had found him.

Harry's eyes flew open. Then, "owww," an impact started his backside aching. He must have been levitating half a metre off the ground when, concentration broken, gravity dropped him onto the hard rock in his lotus position.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said softly. "Nobody knew where you were, but Neville said he thought he saw you running towards the Forbidden Forest as he was coming back from Herbology. You weren't there when I went to see Hermione, and I started worrying."

"No problem, Ron," Harry replied, rubbing his tailbone. "But how did you know I was here?"

"Luna suggested that you might be behind the lake somewhere," Ron replied. "She's a right strange one, but she just seems to know things sometimes. Once I got in the vicinity, you weren't hard to spot - what with that eerie glow you were giving off and being suspended in midair. You looked like one of the funny pictures in those Hairy Christmas pamphlets Dad used to bring home after trips to Muggle areas."

Harry smiled at his friend, "Thanks, Ron, for caring enough to look."

"Umm … I brought you these as well," Ron said, holding out Harry's trainers. "I found them on the way down here. They looked like yours, and now that I see you barefoot, I'm sure of it."

Ron magicked Harry's shoes over to him as Harry said, "Thanks again. Saves me the job of Summoning them."

Ron gestured in the direction of the Castle. "Anyway, we've got to get back to the Castle. Dinner's started by now, and then you have to lead the D.A. It's so much bigger now, that could be quite a job."

"She loves me," Harry declared.

"Dinner can wait," Ron remarked as he instantly made what was, for him, a supreme sacrifice. He plopped down next to Harry on the smooth, somewhat sandy rock. "So you finally figured that out?"

"I read her testimony," Harry continued. "You should have heard the things she said about me under Veritaserum."

"I did," Ron answered. "I was there."

Harry's eyes grew big. "You were? Why didn't … didn't you tell me?"

"Listen, Harry, we all knew," Ron admitted. "We deliberately decided not to say anything, for several reasons. Most importantly, we didn't know how you would take it, especially after you told Neville and me how she got hurt. We reckoned that it was something Dumbledore would want to deal with."

"Well, I guess…," Harry began, flustered, before Ron had finished.

"…Also it was so bloody obvious that some of us thought you probably already knew. I didn't agree with that last one, since most of the obviousness was after you were taken. But, for me - basically, there are some things you just have to figure out for yourself, and this was one of them."

Harry impulsively embraced his friend. "Thanks, Ron … you were right, you know."

"Think nothing of it, mate," Ron answered. "Just trying to expand my emotional depth, that's all. Anyway, now that you know, how do you feel … you know … about things?"

Harry was not expecting such a question from Ron. His best mate usually did not do touchy-feely. He furrowed his brow as he tried to explain.

"I … I feel wonderful, but terrible at the same time," Harry admitted. "I don't know what to do, but I think I just have to do something. I'd give anything … I'd give my life, just to see her smile at me one more time. But I don't know what to do."

"Whoa, cue the violins," Ron remarked at Harry's answer.

If it were a joke, it fell flat. Harry scowled a bit. His thoughts grew darker. "It's my own bloody fault. I caused all this, you know. I still can't believe I was so damn stupid. I'm so afraid that I've killed her.

"Well, I see we were all right about something else, too," Ron answered dryly. "Your first reaction is to feel guilty and blame yourself for everything…."

"Hermione thought so too," Harry observed. Seeing Ron's incredulous look, he added. "She left me a note on that medical thing she signed - in Muggle invisible ink. She forbade me from feeling guilty, but I can't not feel guilty. She didn't know how this would end."

"Look, only you can stop beating yourself up," Ron advised. "I've done a right huge share of it myself, since I didn't want her to go through with it…. But I can tell you this, because I was there. She was bloody possessed - driven. She knew it was dangerous, life-threatening-type dangerous, from the beginning. She drove the rest of us, and outsmarted both Dumbledore and McGonagall to try to find you."

"You had the right instinct, Ron," Harry answered sadly. "I wish you had…. Better me than her…. Better anything than this."

"You know, mate, she felt every bit as guilty then as you do now," Ron commented. "I don't know what went on between you just before … that night…. She wouldn't tell, and since she felt so strongly, I don't want to know. But whatever it was, mark my words, she doesn't hold it against you anymore."

"Thanks Ron." Harry was relieved - especially that Ron was not interested in learning what caused his fight with Hermione. Never in this life would he tell Ron what he had learned. That madness with Cho had already cost him his best female friend, and (now, it seemed) quite a bit more. He would not let it cost him his best male friend as well.

As Ron watched Harry's expression grow thoughtful, a sly smile appeared on his own face. "In fact, I think there's only one thing that Hermione would hold against you right now."

Harry blanched. "Wha…. What's that?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice.

"Herself," Ron replied. "Now you also know that she badly wants to shag you…. They made her tell that to the whole bloody courtroom."

"Umm…. Er…." Harry stumbled about.

"Just another reason to want to get her back," Ron deadpanned. Then, more seriously, he added, "But really, mate, before you go charging off to try to save her somehow, talk to Dumbledore. I don't mind you knowing that I didn't want her risking herself going after you, and I don't want you chancing death trying to save her. I know you would if you thought it would help. But I need my friends, too, you know."

"I don't know what to do, Ron, that's the problem," Harry admitted sadly.

"Well, when you figure it out, mate, you know where I am," Ron replied, standing up and stretching his legs. "I can still play a mean game of chess, and my wand doesn't backfire anymore. Now, let's get back to the Castle before those nasty looking goblins over there get any more nervous."

* * * *

Unfortunately, the D.A. meeting did not come off as smoothly as Harry had hoped. With everything else going on that day, he had little time to prepare, and it showed. He gave a little off-the-cuff speech about the purpose of the Defence Association, its history (he did receive a spontaneous ovation when he described its origin as being to oppose the universally reviled Umbridge), and his hope for interhouse unity in the face of the war that had broken out.

Then Harry had showed off his Patronus, which was always good for impressing a crowd. To conjure it, he used a very powerful, very recent image - when he first laid eyes on the transcript where Hermione revealed her feelings for him. However, the emotions it generated were just as powerfully mixed.

Maybe that was why his Patronus came out … odd.… That was the best way he could prescribe it. It did not seem quite as corporeal as many of his previous efforts. Rather it was more transparent. The Patronus also emerged quite off-white, with a distinct yellowish tinge. Ron told him later that it looked rather like he had when meditating. To top it off, this Patronus lingered much longer than they usually did. Its persistence distracted Harry when he tried to teach. It took a full quarter hour to dissipate.

Stuck without a lesson plan worthy of the name, Harry decided on the spur of the moment to begin with Disorientation Hexes, just like his Auror training had at the beginning of the summer. As the Aurors had said, these spells were the easiest to learn. The spells also lived up to their name, which was what ultimately caused Harry's next problem.

"No, it's `Occulus Dextrous,' not `Occulo Dextrous,'" Harry said with a touch of frustration creeping into his voice. He was attempting to instruct a quite perturbed Fifth-Year Hufflepuff. The misspoken spell had just forced Harry to call on Katie Bell for Healing assistance. This one's duelling partner's eye had been deposited in his right ear by the erroneously recited hex, and restoring it to its proper location was beyond Harry's limited Healing skills.

"It's really important to be precise with these, to avoid bizarre results like that…," Harry continued.

All around him, paired off duellers were attempting to cast the several directional Disorientation Hexes Harry had showed them - all in uncomfortably close quarters. The D.A. was quite popular this year. The large crowd of interested students was taxing even the capacity of the ever-magical Room of Requirement to expand its dimensions.

Then somebody - Harry never did find out who - accidentally hit him with an ill-aimed spell that reversed his perception of forwards and backwards. Whilst teaching he had let his Protego lapse.

Suddenly disoriented, Harry turned around, and took two big steps in precisely the opposite direction from where he thought he was going. He stepped on somebody's dropped wand, took a purler, and fell right into - Daphne Greengrass, one of only three Slytherins who had turned out. The two of them collapsed in a heap.

"Finite," Daphne ended the spell that was disorienting Harry. She suppressed a giggle as she readjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew. "We've got to stop meeting like his, people will start to talk…."

Harry ruefully realised that history was repeating itself. After all, the first time they had spoken, he had introduced himself to her with a pratfall at his birthday party. Considerable colour came to his cheeks and ears. Today, she was still every bit as pretty in her green trimmed robes as she had been on that day. Then, he had asked her to dance.

"Er … sorry," Harry apologised. "Just being a prat today, I guess."

"Don't be, I'm not," Daphne replied, fixing him with eyes just as green as his. "Sorry, that is…. I'd been meaning to thank you anyway for that nice little impromptu speech about how the houses should stand together more often."

"Umm … you're welcome," Harry answered, tongue-tied as usual in any conversation with a very pretty girl.

"I haven't thanked you yet," she replied enigmatically. "So, did you really mean it?"

"Mean what…? You mean about interhouse unity and all?" Harry was more than a little confused until Daphne nodded. "Of course I did."

"Then how would you like to go to the ball with me?" Daphne asked. "Interhouse unity and all that."

Harry froze, blushing furiously and at a loss for words.

"That's how I wanted to thank you," Daphne continued as Harry's dumbstruck condition persisted. "Now we're even - I've asked you to dance, too. You may speak, Harry. I don't bite - much."

By this point, half the room had stopped trying to hex one another and were watching the two of them. Two people, in particular, were regarding the scene with ill-concealed fury: Ron, with his anti-Slytherin prejudice, and Fleur Delacour, whose invitation to the ball Harry had just turned down. Fleur moved to the far side of the room when her eyes met Harry's. Ron just glared back.

Harry hardly knew what he was saying. "Umm … I'm sorry, Daphne. I might not even go. I'm just not … ready. Too much going on. Thanks anyway, though. It's not you - it's me…."

Before he had even finished, Daphne had lithely regained her feet. If disappointed or affronted, she hid it well. "Too bad, then…. Ciao." She sashayed off, leaving Harry to stare after her. For the second time in two conversations, she had left him tingling all over - and quite emotionally confused.

"Bloody Hell," Ron whispered in Harry's ear as he helped his friend up. "Did she just do what I think she did?"

"She…. She asked me - to the ball," Harry answered, as if he still had trouble believing it.

"And you said `no,' I gather," Ron whispered back.

"Yeah," Harry answered, "I've been down that road before. I'm not going there again. I've already almost ruined my life. And that's not the worst of it."

"Good for you," spoke up Neville's voice from his other side. Neville gave him a hearty pat on the back.

"Not only is she Slytherin, but probably tapped for Sisters of the Moon on top of it," Ron added. "I'd watch myself around her."

"Wha…?" Harry shook his head to clear the feminine-induced cobwebs, "What's this Sisters of the Moon bit all about?"

Ron leaned forward, very close to Harry's ear. "Kabbalah. Female Kabbalah at that. Very hush-hush - and very powerful…," he whispered.

"Er … what's Kabbalah?" Harry whispered back. Once again he had stumbled into something new to him.

"I don't know much, but it's some sort of secret Jewish magical society," Ron muttered. "They're seers, I think. Maybe more…. Mum once called them a succubi society…. Not sure why."

"What does being Jewish have anything to do with anything?" Harry hissed back. "It's all a bunch of myths anyway. Hell, Marona's Jewish too."

"Well, for one thing, Marona's not a Slytherin - and for another, she's not after you," Ron pointed out. "A word to the wise…."

Harry had little familiarity with, and even less interest in, Muggle religions - so he changed the subject. "Second time this week it's happened," he mentioned.

"Oh really?" Ron leered. "Who was the other one? Not Ginny, I hope. Er … sorry Neville."

Neville bit his tongue and said nothing. Ginny was his girlfriend, not Harry's - he reminded himself.

"Nope - Fleur," Harry answered softly.

"Naw…. You're just having me on - trying to make me jealous again," Ron said with disbelief.

"Merlin's truth," Harry reaffirmed. "She even tried to use Veela powers on me. She wants to help me beat the Death Eaters that killed Bill and her dad."

"Some folks have all the luck," Ron muttered darkly. "Anyway, we're all standing around. You'd better tell us what you want to do next."

After some indecision, Harry climbed onto a table and proposed that the group practice the Flambus Hex next because of the rumours that Voldemort was using Inferi. He was halfway through telling everyone what to do when a Seventh-Year Ravenclaw, Rhiannon Buckingham, spoke up.

"Mister Potter, I'm learning about Inferi right now in my Demonic Quasi-Human Creatures seminar, and from your description of Flambus, I don't think it would work."

Harry was more than a little flustered. Aside from a couple of very short conversations with Dumbledore and Hermione, he knew nothing about those evil creatures - only that they were like zombies and that fire warded them off. "Er.… Okay, why don't you tell me where I've gone wrongheaded?"

"Well, Flambus sounds like imitation fire…. Another disorientation spell," Rhiannon pointed out. "And to fend off Inferi, I'm sure Professor Hagrid said we had to use the real thing. So do you know any real fire magic?"

Harry was more than a little embarrassed, because Rhiannon was absolutely right about Flambus. Worse, he was about to come off looking like a fool. Some damage control was in order. "Well, I can do this," he responded. Using the elemental magic Sefu Kung had taught him, he shot a 3-metre long jet of fire out his empty left hand over the heads of the crowd.

That brought quite a few "oohs" and "ahs," but Harry knew that his demonstration, whilst impressive, failed to address Rhiannon's point, which concerned magic that the rest of them could do. Practical elemental magic was post-N.E.W.T., not anything taught in Hogwarts. Nor was it something D.A. members could realistically expect to learn. Even with Lao Kung as his personal magical trainer for most of the summer, Harry had only learned the rudiments - and he had already been well beyond his peers in this sort of skill. His Defence marks had shown that.

"Er … there are several fire charms," he went on. "Almost all of you know Incendio, and some of you I'm sure know Flagrate. I don't think I should teach Hellas Infernum because, frankly, I don't know how to put it out. So I guess that leaves Enflagrate, which is strong enough that, when mastered, it will do what is necessary."

At least he hoped it would.

Harry proceeded to explain the spell, and soon his audience was again paired off and squaring off.

Unfortunately, the same problems that plagued use of the disorientation spells recurred. The Room - even with its magic fully engaged - was just not large enough to accommodate this many duellers safely. After another half-hour of having to extinguish somebody's robe every five minutes or so, Harry called a halt to the proceedings for the night.

As everyone was leaving, Harry had to deal with Fleur again. This time, however, she was complimentary, rather than aggressive. Once that distraction ended, he, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Luna cleaned up the Room. They discussed the logistical problems that had become all too apparent.

A few stragglers remained, searching for course books and other personal items they had unwisely brought along. During all the somewhat confused duelling, not a few things had been kicked hither and yon.

"…And I don't think we can train everyone at once," Harry was complaining.

"But where in blazes are we going to find the time for a second day a week of D.A. meetings," Ron groused in response. "I'm not planning on working all that hard this year - thanks to the Prince."

"I'll sub for you Ron," Ginny offered, "if you'll let me borrow the Prince for my own Potions homework."

"Well, maybe…. Let me think about it," Ron replied. "I wouldn't want Sluggie finding out, though."

"I wish Hermione were here," Luna said out of the blue. "She'd know what to do."

As they were leaving, they passed a couple of younger Hufflepuff witches, one of whom was reloading a Muggle backpack after finally having located her wayward books. She was not paying attention to Harry's group, and was whistling….

Just as he was leaving the door, Harry's ears perked up. That tune was familiar - too familiar…. Could it be…?

It was.

"Why don't the rest of you go on?" Harry told them. "I just remembered that I have to talk to Healer Huxley, so I need to stop by the Room again in one of its other forms. I'll see you later."

Once he had finished telling this convenient lie, Harry turned around, and went back in the way he had come. Almost immediately, he asked, "Excuse me, what's that song you're whistling, if you don't mind."

The young witch whirled around, and found herself face to face with … "Harry Potter!" she squeaked, holding one remaining book tightly to her chest.

"That's me," Harry replied, not happy that he was having this effect even upon some members of the D.A. "And you are?"

"Virginia Valentine, sir," she replied, "but everyone calls me `Ginny' - like your friend."

"Please don't call me `sir,' I'm Harry - just plain Harry," he requested.

"Yes sir … er … Harry, sir," the overtly flustered girl replied.

Inwardly, Harry groaned. "What was that song you were whistling?"

At that, the girl seemed to get even more nervous, not meeting his eyes and shifting one of her feet back and forth across the floor in front of her. "Er … that … well, I'm Muggle-born, sir. But I'm not the first magical in the family - my older brother just finished Auror training…."

None of this seemed to have anything to do with the song - a tune that he had heard so many times before as a violin arrangement. "I'm sorry," Harry persisted, "…Er … congratulations to your brother and all, but what's the song?"

"Er … it's a Muggle song sir," she answered. "It's called `Billy Don't Be A Hero'."

Jackpot.

The same song was on the CD Hermione had cut for him. He would know the tune anywhere. That song was so … different … from all the classical music on the disc that he had meant to ask his friend about it. But like so many other things, he had never gotten around to it, and then everything had happened.

Hermione had personally selected all the music on that disc.

Its inclusion had to mean something. Hermione was not the type to include something so dissonant without a good reason.

Now that he finally knew she loved him fully as much as he loved her, he needed to find out the reason.

The girl was still anxiously standing in front of Harry, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"Oh … sorry," Harry apologised when he realised he had been zoning out. "What's it about? Does it have words?"

"Umm … I'm sorry, sir … er, Harry. I probably shouldn't have been thinking about it here, with what the D.A.'s all about and all."

"Don't worry about it," Harry dismissed that thought, a little impatient at all the hemming and hawing. "What's it about?"

"I'm so frightened for my brother," she answered, seemingly off on another tangent. "It's rather an antiwar song, you see. I'm sorry…. Just like the girl in the song. I don't want him to get killed."

"I hate the war," Harry replied with stark honesty. "I hate it more than anything. Don't you think for a moment that I like having to do any of this. I don't enjoy fighting. Not at all. I've lost so much…." He stopped himself, and forced the conversation back on track. "What's it about exactly?"

For the first time this Ginny seemed to get over her nervousness. "Well, there's this girl, who loves this boy. He has to go off to war. She begs him not to be a hero, and to come back and marry her. He acts the hero anyway and dies…."

The last phrase caught him like a fist to the gut. Harry struggled to end the conversation. "Er … thanks. Thanks Ginny, you've been a big help. Gotta go. Bye."

Harry sped away from the Room of Requirement as fast as his shaky knees could carry him. It was starting to make sense. He needed - really needed - to try finding these lyrics on the Internet. He learnt over the summer that Hermione was a connoisseur of song lyrics - as indeed she was of music in general. That song had to be intended as a message to him.

But before he could do that, or anything, he had to see the girl herself. It was time for the American Healers to have their go at curing Hermione.

* * * *

It was past three in the morning when a drained and depressed Harry Potter eased the door to the Hospital Wing shut behind him. An evening that began with such high hopes had ended in failure and discord.

The Americans had arrived, as Yanks often do, with confident talk and huge amounts of equipment. They were full of the "New World coming to the rescue of the Old" mentality - but for the sake of helping Hermione, Harry was quite prepared to bear their condescension cheerfully.

They brought plenty of magic - very powerful magic. The Yanks tried Magical Activation Analysis and Charmonium Chelation. They surrounded Hermione with a wall of multi-coloured crystals and looked for positron emissions. They poked and prodded, and scanned and sampled.

The only problem was the same old thing. Nothing seemed to work. None of the dials and needles moved, and neither did Hermione. As one dead end followed another, the Americans began muttering darkly amongst themselves about resistance - that this patient somehow did not want to be cured.

Worst of all, the Yanks did what came naturally to them when encountering resistance. They upped the power of their magic to try to overcome it - to bulldoze right through it to the objective.

The result was just shy of disastrous.

A megadose of Wit-Sharpening Potion caused Hermione to go into convulsions - and even then all the Americans had wanted to do was to add still more spells. A shouting match ensued between Hlr. Huxley and the head of the Yank team, in which he accused the visitors of behaving more like Muggle physicians than true Healers. The spectacle of Hlr. Huxley losing his temper made Harry intervene. Using the legal authority Hermione had vested in him, Harry called a halt to the proceedings.

The Americans left in a huff.

What they left behind was worse. Hermione's temperature spiked at over 40°C, and Hlr. Huxley had to apply emergency Cooling Charms to stop the rise. The convulsions had also dislocated her shoulder. For about fifteen minutes, Harry could only watch in mute terror as Hlr. Huxley, aided by Madam Pomfrey and a couple of stray Yanks who stayed behind, worked frantically to save Hermione's life once again. They did, and in her restabilised condition she seemed no worse afterwards than before.

But she was no better, either.

It all came as quite a shock to Harry, who had entered the Hospital Wing daring to hope for a cure. He left drained and demoralised. To avoid untoward incidents, he had been forced to employ a great deal of very heavy duty Occlumency that evening.

Utterly spent and with his head still spinning, Harry trudged back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room - not even bothering with his Invisibility Cloak.

He soon heard a familiar voice saying unfamiliar things.

"Hey, Potter!"

"Oh, hi Neville," Harry said wanly. He tried unsuccessfully to force a smile. "Sorry about not having a pass and all. It's been a rough night, and I guess I forgot. I'm getting pretty useless about that kind of thing, unfortunately."

"Potter, right now House Points are the least of your problems. You and I, we need to talk," Neville insisted, leading Harry into a deserted, out-of-the-way alcove just past the staircases.

"Er…, alright Neville," Harry agreed, "but what's with this `Potter' business? You're one of my best friends … that's left anyway…." His voice trailed off.

Neville looked not at all like himself. His face purpled with barely repressed anger.

"Potter, we've talked plenty as friends before, and we'll do it again, but what I have to say right now isn't friendly," Neville glowered. "Right now, just think of me as … I don't know … your beaten rival, or some such. And I'm plenty pissed about things."

Harry stared at Neville, hardly believing his ears. "What are you on about?" he protested. "Whatever you think I did, I'm sorry. I'm not all here right now."

"You haven't done a damn thing," Neville spat. "And right now that's the bloody problem."

Harry's ire started to rise as well. "Well excuse me for living, then," he growled back. "I've got a lot on my mind, as I'm sure you know. The Americans failed tonight."

"Oh, sod the bloody Yanks," Neville broke in, "and don't go on with that `poor little Harry Potter' routine. That won't cut the mustard anymore - not with me! Harry, you're just about the luckiest man on earth."

Harry interrupted right back. "Stuff it, Neville. You of all people know better. You want to be in my shoes? Everybody who's ever loved me has died or worse. Try that on for bleeding size!!"

"Believe me, I have," Neville declared, "but you're still wrong."

"What would you know?" Harry spat back. "You still got…."

"Not everybody who loved you is dead!" Neville practically shouted. Surreptitiously he cast an Imperturbable Charm across the hallway behind him. "She's not dead - not yet, anyway."

Harry was shocked. "Neville, have you gone around the twist?"

"Not hardly. You should try imagining yourself in someone else's shoes once in a while," Neville pressed. "Bloody Dumbledore hardly lets the rest of us know what's going on. We only get to see her during very limited visiting hours, and you know what? She just lies there waiting for something to happen. You get to sit shiva for her anytime you bloody well please, but that's all you do. You're not the only one who loves her, you know…." Neville looked like he was about to explode - or else break down completely.

Harry spluttered. "But I've never had the chance. You don't…. You're with Ginny, Neville - you're not making sense!"

"Aren't I now…? You're damn right I'm with Ginny," Neville growled. "She's the only thing that's saved my sanity these last few days. But just so you can't claim any more bleeding ignorance, before I found Ginny, there were few things that I'd ever wanted as much in my life as I once wanted Hermione to be interested in me. Well, except for my parents…."

Harry was dumbfounded at what he was hearing. He stared mutely at a Neville Longbottom he had never seen before.

"...But she only had eyes for you. You, dammit! Don't tell me you never had a bloody chance, Potter," Neville's harsh voice cut the air. "You're the only one who does - and you're wasting it!"

"What the bloody Hell is it to you anyway, then?" Harry shouted, his fists clenched and on the verge of seriously throwing a wobbly, Occlumency or no Occlumency. "You're right about one thing, though, she never had eyes for you!"

Neville quailed a bit at Harry's anger, but refused to back down.

"Right in one, but right now that'll be the death of her. Because if you don't get off your ruddy arse and do something, Hermione's going to die!!" roared Neville just as loudly. "This time it really is all about you!"

"No it's not," Harry protested again. "Dumbledore and Huxley are handling her care, I wouldn't have the foggiest.…"

"Dumbledore can't reach her, Harry. He's tried." Neville replied in cold anger. "You're the only one who has a chance to move her now. Whatever you did, only you can undo it, and you bloody well ought to know that."

Harry resisted. "But if Dumbledore can't cure her, how can I?"

Neville cut him off again. "You're asking me? You're Harry `Boy-Who-Lived' Potter. You can use Gryffindor's own sword, for Merlin's sake. You could duel the Dark Lord to a draw at age fourteen. When you get off your duff, things start to happen - good things mostly. Think of something…. Do something, dammit!!"

Neville had that look in his eye that Harry hadn't seen since First Year - just before Hermione petrified him the night they went out for the Stone. Harry was concerned that Neville just might try taking a swing at him. So he backed down, because Harry knew that, as in First Year, Neville was right.

"All right, dammit, you win, Neville," Harry grudgingly conceded. "I'll do something - that's a promise. I just have to figure out what."

Neville exhaled visibly and audibly. "Okay, that's settled then. Now get out of here before I do something that'll give you even more of an excuse to put me in the Hospital Wing right next to her."

Harry turned to go, a new sense of purpose in his stride.

Then Neville zinged him. "Oh, and one more thing - ten points from Gryffindor for being out and about after hours."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Have to keep up appearances," Neville replied with a wink. "I'll award you double - Hell, quadruple - back as soon as I see her up and about."

Harry may have been irate about Neville's upbraiding, but their shouting match had left him feeling more clear-headed, determined, and focussed than at any time since he had been brought back to Hogwarts. Without another word to - or from - Neville, Harry stalked off.

Neville watched Harry climb the stairs until his footsteps were no longer audible. He exhaled loudly and started shaking. In the shadows something - someone - moved.

"H- H- How was I, Ginny?" Neville gasped as his redheaded girlfriend - and fellow Gryffindor Prefect - stepped into view.

"Shhh…. Now take this," she hushed as she handed him a Draught of Peace. "That bright idea of yours to mix Strengthening Solution with Hate Potion might have worked, but it could have just as easily have put you in a world of hurt."

Neville drank it greedily. "You're right," he told her when finished. "Harry's right scary when he's riled, and I've never made him that mad at me before, even back in First Year. Then it was Hermione who petrified me."

"Nevertheless, you … were … magnificent," Ginny affirmed. "You said what had to be said. I think you saved both of their lives just then." Ginny put her arms around Neville and kissed him properly.

* * * *

In the half-light of the deserted Common Room, Harry resolutely repeated the spell Dennis had taught him to activate the D.A. central station. He intended to find out for sure the message Hermione had tried to send him. She had arranged "Billy Don't Be A Hero" for the violin - in a minor key - and included it on a CD of otherwise exclusively classical pieces by the greatest composers who ever lived. Hermione rarely left things to chance. She certainly would not have done that by accident.

`Thank you Dudley, wherever you are, for teaching me how to do this,' Harry thought as he opened up the Internet connection on the hybrid machine. `You have no idea how important this could be.'

He typed in the AltaVista URL and then the words "Billy Don't Be A Hero," just like his cousin had showed him. The Internet was amazing; proof positive that Muggles were not without their own forms of magic.

A couple of clicks and he found it. The lyrics displayed on the screen - and a tinny melody dispelled the silence of the Common Room at four in the morning. It was Hermione's song all right, only sounding a hundred times worse.

That it sounded at all surprised him. Harry wanted to keep his doing this a secret - for now, anyway. He looked around urgently; trying to find a button or switch to shut off that infernal noise. Neither Denis nor Colin had mentioned sound, however. Giving up, Harry hit the print button. As soon as a bluish light signified that Mad-Eye's old eyeball was on the job, he hurriedly clicked away from the site, and the infernal music stopped.

Harry read the lyrics, and he understood.

The girl pleaded with the boy not to get himself killed by being a hero - but rather to "come back and make me your wife." The boy went off to war and died a hero. The army sent the girl a commendation letter, saying that she should be "proud of how he died." In her grief, she threw the letter away.

Unlike the hearing transcript, which Harry never could bring himself to read until the previous morning, he had read and reread Luna's Quik Quotes Quill notes of Hermione's final minutes before the - his - magical explosion. That piece of parchment was dog-eared; he had gone over it so many times. He knew what she had screamed at him in her last moment of consciousness.

"HARRY!!! DOOONNN'TTTTT BEEEEEEEAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

And now he knew what she meant.

She was begging him not to be a hero - not to die battling Voldemort.

But it was more than that, he realised. Far, far more than that.

Hermione thought he was dead.

She must have thought that. She knew he was confronting Voldemort. With their link wide open, his pain and desperation had merged with hers in that fateful moment when his power exploded. The last thing that she had ever learnt - or thought she had learnt - was that Voldemort had killed him.

Hermione thought he was dead.

But on some level, she was still conscious - Hlr. Huxley's amplified readings showed that.

"She still must think I'm dead," Harry muttered out loud to nobody in particular.

"Er … what was that, mate?"

Harry looked up and saw Ron standing in the doorway to the boys' dormitory looking disheveled in his scarlet and gold Gryffindor pyjamas. His friend was vaguely frowning and squinting at him through sleep-filled eyes. Ron awkwardly scratched some itch in his very mussed up Weasley red hair.

"Ron."

"…Thought I heard music. Must have been a dream, though. You coming to bed?"

"Ron! It was no dream," Harry told him. "There was music from the D.A. computer. I did it. Hermione thinks I'm dead."

Ron had been following along as best he could, but Harry's last blew the cobwebs from his mind. "Oh, all right…. WHAT!? What do you mean Hermione thinks you're dead?! How can she think anything?"

"Over here," Harry gestured, hardly wanting to say what he had to say out loud. When Ron got close enough for a conspiratorial whisper, Harry cast an Imperturbable Charm and continued. "Ron, it's not exactly like everybody's been told," he hissed. "She's conscious on some level; I've seen proof. It's very faint and very far away."

"And she thinks you're dead?" Ron asked, still not entirely comprehending. "I don't think so. She did once, but then she realised you weren't. That affinity had some use."

"No," Harry cut across. "Not then, later. Her last words to me. She pleaded for me not to be a hero and get killed by Voldemort," Harry continued, talking very rapidly. "She felt whatever it was I did, and I'm sure she thinks I died - there was so much pain…."

"But she can't sense you now," Ron realised. "You told us that you had Dumbledore cut the link."

"I did." A cold shudder passed through him. "I can't reach her anymore…. Bollocks."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron - both confused and quite concerned.

"I can't reach her from here to let her know I'm alive. But if I…." Harry's voice trailed off as his brain kicked into high gear, despite his exhaustion.

"But if you what?" Ron asked after the silence between them became oppressive.

"That's it," Harry suddenly blurted out. "I have to go in after her."

"Go where?" Ron asked. "Not into her head. You don't know how."

"I do too know how," Harry replied firmly. "I learned some Chinese Legilimency over the summer. Not a lot, but it'll have to do. I can learn more. I still have the book."

"No, Harry, it's too damn dangerous to try something like that," Ron warned. "Hermione - she risked all to rescue you, and look where it's left her. Now you want to do the same thing. Who knows how you'll end up?"

"I have to do it, Ron. There's no other way," Harry maintained. "Nobody else can convince her that I'm not dead. Those bloody Yanks were right, I think. She's thinks I'm dead, and she doesn't want to come out."

"Can I come, then?" Ron asked. "You'll need to train. I can train with you."

"Ron, there's not time," Harry answered. "I'm sorry…."

Ron grabbed his friend around the shoulders, "Why isn't there time? She's stable isn't she? The Yanks…. They didn't bollix things up worse, did they?"

"No, Ron," Harry corrected. "It's not that. It's … It's her mum. That living will Hermione signed - it's no good because she was underage. Some bloody solicitor is going to point that out to her mum any day, and she'll try to take Hermione away to some Muggle hospital where they'll drill holes in her head or something like that. I'm on borrowed time. I've got to go study. Sorry I can't take you with me, but I have to go right away."

Harry bolted to his feet and practically ran to the stairs. In so doing he passed right through his own Imperturbable Charm, which sizzled briefly and fell away.

"At least talk to Dumbledore first," Ron called after him.

"Oh, I'm talking to the Headmaster, all right," Harry's retreating voice replied. "I'm not letting him stop me!"

* * * *

Minerva McGonagall's sharp eyes regarded the anxious, and frankly rather ripe, young man who could barely stand still - Harry was such a bundle of nerves. He had Flooed ahead to set up this meeting, saying it was urgent. She was sitting at her desk in her office as he stood before her, trembling.

She had been teaching at Hogwarts for over three decades, and this was the first time a student had ever Flooed her in such an impertinent fashion.

It was also the first time she had allowed it.

"Mister Potter, have you had any sleep?" she asked through pursed lips.

"Yes … just not lately," Harry admitted. "I need to see Dumbledore."

"As I have informed the entire school - and you privately at least twice - the Headmaster is not available. He is traveling, and will not be back until next week."

"I need to talk to him. It's urgent and it can't wait," Harry pressed. Then he added, "Hermione thinks I'm dead."

"What?" the Deputy Headmistress asked in a shocked voice. "How can that be?"

"It was the last thing she did. What she was trying to do when it happened. She was begging me not to play hero and not to let Voldemort kill me. Like in the song she played for me…. Hlr. Huxley showed me. She's still conscious in some way deep inside. She doesn't want to come out because like the…." Harry's frantic flow of words ground to a screeching halt.

Professor McGonagall had been having enough trouble following as it was, "What is like what?" she asked.

Harry took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. He was stuck, and he did not know how much the woman knew. "It's like the transcript said," he told her slowly, "you know what she said about me. She sacrificed herself. Now she thinks I'm dead, and I'm afraid she doesn't want to come out from wherever she is."

Harry's Head of House also took a mental step back. She remembered Dumbledore's plea for her assistance in just such an affair of the heart. The circumstances were hardly as anticipated, but her superior's request still applied….

"I can reach the Headmaster," she replied slowly. "It is highly irregular, going against his express instructions, but everything about the present state of affairs is irregular. What do you wish to propose that he do?"

"I don't propose that he do anything," Harry replied. "There's not much time. I just want you to tell him that I have to go in after her. Only I can convince her I'm alive. I learned some Chinese Legilimency over the summer. I've been up all night brushing up on it. I'm going to go into her mind, find her, and convince her to come back."

Try as hard as she could to fight it, a scandalised look spread over Professor McGonagall's face. "You're no trained Legilimens," she observed accurately. "What you're proposing is exceedingly dangerous - almost as dangerous as Miss Granger's original scheme to find you."

Harry tensed. "I understand that," he answered as gravely as he could. "But there's no choice. I - I - I can't go on like this … with her suspended halfway between life and death. Her mum will take her away, and that will kill her."

Professor McGonagall started to say something, but stopped. She tightened her lips, tented her fingers, and thought whilst the boy fidgeted. Perhaps the Headmaster's wish could be fulfilled after all - just not in any way that he could foresee. He had been presumptuous to ask her to intervene in such matters in the first instance.

"I shall inform the Headmaster of the situation and what you propose to do," she said. "Although there are no guarantees, I expect that he will wish to speak with you directly. Please refrain from doing anything rash until he has his say."

"He has six hours," Harry replied firmly. "This is not a request for permission. I am simply requesting his advice about something I am determined to do." His voice dropped practically to a whisper as he added, "I - I can't live without her."

"You are making a highly impertinent demand, Mister Potter. You know that, don't you?" the Deputy Headmaster chided coldly.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "but really … I'm beyond caring at this point. This really doesn't have anything to do with Hogwarts - this is personal."

"I shall relay that as well," McGonagall sighed. "…Provided I get a satisfactory answer to one question."

"What?"

McGonagall regarded him sternly. "Earlier, in connection with a transcript, you mentioned Miss Granger's confessed feelings. Are those feelings reciprocated?"

At that, Harry stopped his nervous fidgeting and stood stock-still. "You really need to ask me that question?" he returned. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You came here for a reason, Potter," McGonagall pressed. "I must make absolutely certain that you - yes, you - understand precisely what that reason is."

For a moment Professor McGonagall was afraid she had gone too far - that the boy in front of her was just going to leave. But whilst his face flushed, he stood his ground. Finally, he said, in a low and even voice, "Yes - Merlin, yes. More than reciprocated … and I'm proud of that."

"Were more to be possible," she commented softly as she stood up, turned away from him, and reached into a glass cabinet behind her. "Very well, you may go, but take this. You will need some sleep. It is important to keep your wits about you."

She handed him a delicate glass Time-Turner on a golden chain. It was the same one she had entrusted to Hermione almost exactly three years before.

Harry really smiled for the first time in a week as he took it from her.

"You do know how to use it?" she asked.

"Yes," he affirmed, "Hermione taught me how."

"Seven twists should be sufficient," she instructed. "And use it for nothing except sleep. Otherwise it could lead to dangerous paradoxes."

"You … You have my word," Harry replied hesitantly. "And thank you."

"Very well," McGonagall acknowledged, "but beyond your word - you should also know that its maximum capacity is twenty-four hours."

Harry nodded to show he understood, but thought, `damn.'

* * * *

Harry's eyes flew open at the sound of a knock on the door to his dormitory. The door opened of its own accord before he had a chance to do more than find his glasses. Headmaster Dumbledore, still in his heavy travelling cape, strode into the room, followed by his deputy.

"Do not bother to rise, Mister Potter," the Headmaster greeted Harry. "After all, you asked to see me." Headmaster Dumbledore waved his hand and a squashy armchair appeared, then another. The two senior Hogwarts staff members settled into them - as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a student to summon the Headmaster of the school and demand that he break off whatever else he was doing.

"Do … Do you have any news?" Harry asked.

"I do indeed, but that can wait, because it is not about the matter that prompted your summons to me - and that caused me to comply with it. Minerva tells me that you have finally reviewed the transcript of Miss Granger's testimony. Something I recommended some time ago, I believe."

"She's right," Harry replied, letting the Headmaster's gentle (and deserved) chastisement pass. "I know now why she did it."

"And the lesson you have drawn from all this is?" Dumbledore asked.

"She thinks I'm dead," Harry said flatly. "The Yanks, as wrong as they were about everything else, were right about one thing - she's resisting. She doesn't want to come back. I'm sure of it."

Dumbledore asked no questions about this series of extraordinary deductions. He merely prompted, "Minerva tells me that you have a proposal."

Harry stared back. Choosing his words carefully, he answered, "No, no proposal."

For the first time, surprise showed in the Headmaster's eyes. "But, I thought…?"

"No proposal," Harry cut him off, "just a course of action. I'm going to use the Chinese Legilimency I learned over the summer to enter Hermione's mind, find whatever there is to find of her wherever she is, and convince her I'm not dead. That's what I'm going to do. I'm not proposing anything."

Dumbledore regarded Harry's steely eyes and firmly set jaw. "And I am not proposing to stop you," he demurred.

"I knew you'd want to try something like…," Harry began angrily, before his mind processed what the Headmaster had actually said. "What?"

Harry had been certain that the old man would try to invoke the prophecy and forbid him from trying. He was half right.

"Mister Potter - Harry," Dumbledore responded, "Minerva is one of the few to whom I have chosen to entrust the full prophecy. Knowing full well the significance of your destiny, we both agree that you should do what you propose."

Harry could not believe his ears. He had been preparing for Dumbledore's resistance ever since he had decided what he had to do.

"In whatever fashion you must ultimately do what the prophecy calls upon you to do," Professor McGonagall began, "there is no requirement that it be done alone. Indeed, I am not at all confident that it can be accomplished all by oneself."

"I agree," Dumbledore joined in, "and I understand the dangers. However, when there is no other preferable choice, then whatever choice remains necessarily becomes the most reasonable course of action. I made that assessment previously with Miss Granger's quest to find you, and I have made it presently in connection with your own equivalent quest. I only ask that you give me twenty-four hours…."

At the Headmaster's request for more time, Harry's suspicions flared. "Why? I'm as ready as I'll ever be right now. Any minute, Hermione's mum could come bursting through the Castle doors, a bloody barrister in tow."

"There are two reasons," Dumbledore replied. "First, I need to inform both your guardian and the goblins of your decision. The goblins have been quite cross with me in the recent past for not consulting them concerning yourself."

"All right," Harry agreed, "but why should that take so long? They're in the Forbidden Forest. I saw them this afternoon."

"Most of the time is required by my second reason - because I disagree that you are as ready as you could be," Dumbledore continued.

"I'm not waiting for more training," Harry declared testily. "There's no time for that."

"But you could use supervision," Dumbledore answered, his eyes twinkling for the first time in the conversation. "It will take that long for Sefu Kung to get here from China. He is not well enough for intercontinental Apparition, I'm afraid, and he has been staying in a rather isolated area."

Harry's spirits lifted, almost soared. Lao Kung was one person - perhaps the only person - who could truly help him with the task he envisioned. "You … You think he would do that in his - condition?"

"He's already on his way," Dumbledore replied happily. "When Minerva explained to me what you had decided, and why, I immediately contacted him - and he immediately agreed."

* * * *

Somewhat incongruously dressed - wearing nothing but his Speedo bathing costume beneath his long school robes - Harry pulled at the grey material that covered both his wrists. Finally, one of the two goblins attending him asked permission in his somewhat broken English to assist the most unusual goblin prince.

"Assist allow me, Impratraxis Potter?"

The goblin tailors, unused to his more robust human physique, had plainly made the arakkilli - goblin wrist coverings that obscured his tladimax and channelled its powers- too tight. "Yes, please," Harry moaned in frustration.

The goblins discussed the matter amongst themselves in Gobbledegook spoken far too quickly for Harry to understand. They then ran their hands over the offending fabric. It gave off a brief white glow and resized itself to fit Harry's arms perfectly.

"Gradnuk," Harry said gratefully.

"Thanks need not be given, Impratraxis," one of them said. "To serve you our purpose is in your time of need."

"Wear your manmak, you must," the senior goblin instructed Harry.

Harry was somewhat confused. "You mean, the ring?" he asked. "I - I don't even have it with me."

"Then obtained it must be," the goblin insisted. "Without manmak, not function won't the magic."

Fortunately for everyone, Dobby was present. With a little description and a bit of direction, the house-elf was able to retrieve the goblin signet ring for Harry in short order. Whilst he was gone, the goblin representatives attempted, with only moderate success, to explain how goblin magic operated on a different plane than that of wizards. However, Harry did not need to understand this divergent form of magic for it to protect him. It was enough that he wear the ring that symbolised his membership in the goblin royal family.

"Ready you are, presently," the other goblin told Harry, after both his ring and his arakkilli had been checked one final time and pronounced satisfactory.

Harry bowed to the two retainers sent by his adoptive father - the Goblin king. In response, the two goblins prostrated themselves, making Harry most uncomfortable. After all, he had quite an audience in the Hospital Wing.

"Please get up," he asked, but they did not.

Harry walked over to Dumbledore. "I anticipated that the goblins would prove to be of assistance," the Headmaster observed, maintaining his façade of imperturbability as the moment of truth approached.

"What did you tell them?" Harry asked.

"I told them the truth about what you were planning to do," Dumbledore replied. "They drew their own conclusions from that. They quite reasonably see parallels between your decision to project yourself into Miss Granger's mind through Legilimency and their own Epic of Hsemaglig - the story of Impatok Rakazag's descent into the Netherworld to rescue his soon-to-be queen Ilina."

"Isn't that a little much?" Harry protested feebly. "This is just Legilimency, after all."

"Perhaps it is excessive," Dumbledore agreed, "since from their union was sired the current ruling dynasty. But what you or I think doesn't matter. It provides them with what I am sure they consider to be good reason."

"Such as what?" Harry asked, wondering what additional detail the Headmaster might have learned.

"Whilst you were being held, there were times when you were thought dead," Dumbledore revealed. "You gave the goblins a copy of your Last Will and Testament, which they had occasion to review. Thus, they are quite aware that you left almost everything you possessed to Miss Granger, and they drew their own conclusions from that."

"Oh," Harry responded dully, not knowing what more to say.

"In light of that, it is hardly unreasonable for them to draw their own inferences concerning the nature of the relationship that exists between the two of you," Dumbledore expounded, "especially since you are about to risk your life."

"No less than she did. Maybe by the time I've come out, I'll have proven something," Harry alluded.

"I assure you, you need prove nothing to the goblins," Dumbledore told him.

"Maybe I wasn't talking about them," Harry replied sharply. He knew it was purposeless for him to deny anything now.

"There is more, though," Dumbledore continued. "They profoundly appreciate that you charged her with carrying out your solemn obligations to the Goblin Nation. Your obvious expectation that she was capable of shouldering that role produces their considerable interest in her. Putting aside your own situation, it is a matter the goblins naturally consider to be of utmost national importance. Hence their support."

"No matter what happens," Harry requested, "please pass along my gratitude to Impatok Ragnok."

"I shall indeed, although I have no doubt that he knows already," Dumbledore agreed. "By the way, the goblins have something they state belongs to you as the `victor' in your recent encounter with Voldemort. They were unwilling to tell me what it was, however."

"That will just have to wait," Harry replied. "I've got something far more important to do now. I just hope that - when I find her - that I'll know what to say. I'm miserable with that kind of thing, you know."

"I am sure you will do splendidly," Dumbledore reassured.

"That's easy for you to say," Harry grumbled. "There's a lot of…. Well, let's just say that there's a lot I have to overcome."

"Doubtless that is true," Dumbledore counselled, "but do not underestimate your advantages. They are many. You would do well, for example, to examine your ring closely."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Trust me," Dumbledore replied.

Harry did as he was told - slipping the Auror partner ring from his finger and examining it carefully. In very little time, his eyes went wide.

"It's … It's not mine! It's Hermione's," Harry said as he fingered the band almost reverently.

"And?" Dumbledore prompted.

"That - that must mean…. That she's been wearing mine. I just assumed…." Harry's voice trailed off into thought. Unbeknownst to him they were wearing each other's Auror rings.

"Yours was retrieved the night you were taken," Dumbledore explained. "Tonks gave it to Miss Granger. She's worn it ever since. Given the charms, only she - or you - could remove it. It should, of course, give you some sense of her feelings."

"That's for sure," Harry agreed, once again startled by how much the old man seemed to know. "But - why didn't you tell me?"

The Headmaster regarded him sadly. "I was hoping that … somehow, she would," he answered, with a wistful look in his eye. "I believed that would be - more appropriate. There are some things in which even I am hesitant to meddle. Regrettably, that never happened, and meddlesome or not, I thought you should know before you attempted this."

The explanation mollified Harry. "All right," he replied. Then he looked over to Lao Kung, recumbent on a rug that floated in midair next to the enlarged bed that held Hermione's still comatose body. The elderly wizard bowed slightly, indicating that he was prepared to commence whenever Harry was ready.

"I think it's time," Harry told the Headmaster. "I'd like to see my friends first, though."

"I thought you would," Dumbledore said sagely. "They await. I shall usher them in. But one more thing - please feel free to tell her anything that you feel is appropriate under the circumstances. You have been asked, by myself and others, to keep certain things to yourself. This is more important, so do not feel bound by any of that."

"You mean…?" Harry gawked at the Headmaster.

"Precisely. I fear that she may have misunderstood," Dumbledore answered, looking Harry straight in the eye. "Do what you think is right."

Before beginning what would be a perilous and quite possibly fatal journey through Hermione's mind, Harry took his leave of his friends - who had all trooped to the Hospital Wing to pay their respects.

First he embraced Ron. "Ron, I know you have - mixed feelings - about this, but I have to do it…," Harry choked out. "I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

Ron clapped him firmly on the back, "I only wish I could go too. Good luck, mate. You'll need it. We'll have a party - just the three of us - when you bring her back."

Cho, who was standing just behind Ron, frowned just a bit at that remark, but said nothing. When the time came, she also briefly wished Harry, "Good luck and Godspeed."

"Thank you, Harry," Luna said when the departing boy turned to her. "This means a great deal. Far more than you could know. In finding her, you also find yourself. Now be the Seeker…. Go and get her, Harry."

Neville wrung Harry's hand emotionally when it was his turn. "I glad to see you thought of something - something typically brave and dangerous," he said. "Anyway, you deserve her. You're a better man than I am."

"No he's not," Ginny observed from Neville's right-hand side, "but he sure is close. Good luck, Harry. Hermione doesn't know how lucky she is."

"I - I hope to tell her that when I find her," Harry affirmed. "… and a lot more."

"I'm sure you'll do that, Harry," Ginny replied, her shoulders slumping just a bit. As much as Ginny cared for Neville, she could not avoid a twinge of jealousy. The boy for whom she had so long carried a torch was ready to risk everything for the sake of another witch - the same witch for whom her current boyfriend had also once had romantic feelings.

Some people have all the luck.

Unless they're comatose.

Ginny smiled wistfully at Harry, and he smiled back.

With that he turned and strode to Lao Kung.

"You are prepared, Hahli?" the elderly Chinese master asked. He was missing the better part of an arm and a leg - the consequence of the Death Eater attack on Dudley's gym some weeks before. Despite still being convalescent, he had immediately travelled halfway around the world at Dumbledore's request, once he learnt what Harry was planning. For most of the previous six hours he had been closeted with Harry going over the finer points of Chinese Legilimency.

"I'm ready," Harry declared. "As ready as - as I'll ever be." His voice faltered just a bit at the end.

"You have eaten and drunk your fill?" Lao Kung checked.

"Yes, Sefu, I have," Harry confirmed. "As you directed - as much as I could without creating any causing discomfort by stuffing myself."

"Remember, because you can take neither food nor drink once your consciousness separates from your body, you have three days, at the most, to complete your journey. Once you are inside, use the vermilion thread to guide you. It will help you retrace your steps and escape if you are unsuccessful. And remember - only the lightest levels of magic when you are inside. The mind is extraordinarily delicate. No magic beyond yourself or your immediate surroundings. Absolutely nothing elemental. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded.

"Then begin … and maintain physical contact," the Sefu instructed. "Tell me when you are situated. Everyone else, please exit the room at this time so we can concentrate."

Harry shed his robes as everyone except himself, Lao Kung - and Hermione, of course - shuffled out. Before allowing his robes to fall to the floor, Harry took out a small object from one of the pockets and clutched it in his right hand. He had made a gift of it once before, as a token of his feelings. Tragedy had returned it to him. He had refurbished it with a new message, and fully intended to repeat the process a second time.

His feelings were much deeper this time - and, correspondingly - so was the meaning of the message. He knew that now. It was knowledge that he had won at an exceedingly high cost. Too high a cost.

Lao Kung made a hand gesture. The single white sheet that covered Hermione rippled and billowed upward, and the girl's body rolled onto its side.

Crookshanks had been watching everything intently from under a nearby table. At the sight of Hermione's motion, the ginger cat yowled loudly and jumped up on his mistress' bed. The cat sniffed the girl's face, but obtained no reaction. He skulked to the foot of the bed and plopped himself down at Hermione's feet, curling up into a large orangish ball. He fixed his yellow-green eyes on Harry.

Harry moved to shoo the cat away.

"Let him be," Lao Kung advised softly. "The feng shui is positive."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. Refocussing on the task at hand, he moved toward the magically billowing sheet. Hermione was clad in a brand new white hospital type gown and was now on her side, facing away from him. Her hair cascaded to the mattress and pooled behind her. Whilst it was still the same colour, he could not get over how much softer and thinner it was than before.

He took a deep breath and slipped into the bed beside Hermione. Almost at once the sheet deflated and dropped down to cover them both. As Lao Kung had directed, he spooned the girl for maximum physical contact. Greater contact made for more efficacious Legilimency, especially for a virtual novice such as Harry.

This would not be easy. On the one hand, he was nearly naked, emotionally on edge, and very attracted to her. On the other hand, she was comatose, and for that reason his urges disgusted him. It was quite a bit more - intimate - than Harry was comfortable with (yet), but anything that improved the chances of success he would do. He would deal with these roiling intimacy issues in due time.

For now he had to banish such thoughts. He needed to concentrate on what she had called his "saving people thing."

He snaked his right arm underneath and across Hermione until he found her left hand. As he grasped it, he felt his/her Auror ring on her finger. He ran two fingers along either side of it, hoping he would get a chance to discuss this with her. He took her hand fully so that the object he clasped in his own settled neatly between their adjoining palms and intertwined fingers. His left arm he rested gently on Hermione's side, with that hand spread broadly across her forehead. Like her hand, Hermione's forehead was cool to the touch and slightly clammy.

He adjusted his hand slightly so that his own ring did not press as much into her forehead.

He whispered into Hermione's ear, "I love you. I'm coming for you. I hope you'll have me." With light pressure, he pushed the back of her head into his own forehead. Again, this was the position Lao Kung had described as most effective.

Harry buried his face in her ample, just shampooed hair. Surrounded by her scent, he began to meditate upon an image of Hermione. He had quite a number of choices. He selected her appearance when he first saw her on his doorstep after she had returned from Hong Kong.

It had been as close to pure joy as she could get.

In the firmest voice he could command, Harry called out, "I'm ready now."

"Very well, Hahli," Lao Kung replied. "Repeat after me…."

Lao Kung began a sonorous chant in Chinese, which Harry carefully repeated. Gradually, his surroundings began to fade into obscurity. First he lost sight of his surroundings. As he had learnt from Lao Kung, he closed his eyes as this happened. Then he began to feel a floating sensation as he lost touch with the outside world and his consciousness began infusing into the girl's mind. The sense of smell likewise vanished imperceptibly, by degrees.

The last sense to disappear was Harry's hearing. He kept repeating the unfamiliarly tonal Chinese incantation as the Sefu's voice faded farther and farther into the background. Eventually, he could hear his Legilimency instructor no more.

Harry kept chanting and chanting. He lost track of time. He no longer knew whether the chant he heard himself reciting was even audible, or merely a figment of his own mind.

Finally, he heard the chant begin to echo as he repeated it. That was the key. It had happened, with Lao Kung's considerably greater assistance, when he had entered the Sefu's own mind during training. It was happening again.

He was in. Briefly he wondered what Hermione's mind would resemble. Lao Kung's had been a busy, crowded city - like Hong Kong. His own mind, he had been told, looked like a desolate battlefield after combat had ceased.

Harry opened his eyes. He saw nothing. Everything was pitch black.

* * * *

Author's notes: Far, far better thing is from Dickens' Tale of Two Cities, spoken by Carton, who chooses to give up life for another

Under certain conditions, potassium ferricyanide yields cyanide gas as a decomposition product

42 has specific meaning; it is not from Hitchhiker's Guide

The colored reaction product in this invisible ink is cobalt chloride, which is blue

Hermione put only a single-use charm on the parchment so Harry wouldn't end up like a rat pushing a lever to get a drug hit over and over again

Luna has her own reasons for tending Hermione

What happened in Second Year will be revealed later

I'm using the PoA movie Hogwarts topography

A dirk is a long Scottish knife

Alphonse and Gaston are characters from a famous comic strip

Mannock's presence in the castle during Hermione's search is explained

Lèse majesté = an offense against the person of royalty

The recitation of "ation" words comes from U-2's "Bad"

Bustle in the hedgerow is from "Stairway to Heaven"

"Hairy Christmas" = Hare Krishna

The odd Patronus is a precursor

There's a limit to what even the Room of Requirement can accommodate

We'll meet a real Sister of the Moon in a few chapters - the name has already been mentioned

Kabbalah is Jewish mysticism, which involves numerology and divination, among many things

Succubi society - a touch of old-time blood libel

Rhiannon Buckingham arises from Fleetwood Mac, as does "Sister of the Moon"

Billy Don't Be A Hero gives important insight into Hermione's thought process

New World to the rescue of the old is another Churchillian paraphrase

Magical activation analysis is a play on neutron activation analysis, which is a form of full-body tomographic scan

Chelation is a chemical way of purging the body of contaminates

Positron emission is another form of tomography

Sitting Shiva is slightly misused (Neville's not the best about Muggles) as it's a Jewish mourning ritual

My betas thought Neville was too OOC, so I added the potions bit

AltaVista - 1996 is pre-Google

The goblins speak English like Yoda

Hsemaglig is Gilgamesh spelled backwards; the Epic of Gilgamesh is the oldest piece of human literature to survive to the present day

Harry's spoils will be revealed

Luna's found her … now go and get her line is a reprise of "Hey Jude"

Vermilion - the color of Chinese emperors

The object Harry put in his hand should be obvious

Chinese is a tonal language, which is why it sounds so different to Western speakers

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