Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein the match is cancelled, McGonagall makes an offer, Harry accepts but at first not Hermione, they talk, but Hermione has a relapse, the remaining Weasleys survive, Neville and Luna arrange their summers, differences are partially resolved, physical therapy is conducted, funerals are held, 7th year plotting begins, a Horcrux is destroyed, and an exile starts a new life.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, Mathiasgranger, and Chris Backus.

Only one more after this.

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 87 - Casualties Of War

The Death Eaters' Fiendfyre, before being extinguished, came perilously close to undermining Gryffindor tower. Whilst the tower itself remained intact, Fiendfyre had scorched and inevitably weakened the nearby floor joists. No longer capable of bearing the weight of the sagging and now immobile staircase, the flagstones tilted downwards. The partially depressed flooring was awash in water from the firefighting effort.

It was a bit past three in the morning when, at that sad, sodden scene, the trio separated. To Ron, though, this sorry mess was providential. To ride out tomorrow's - no, today's now - inevitable Mum-plosion, he intended to seek sanctuary in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey would surely consign him once again into traction, all the while berating his further abuse of his gimpy, now thrice-injured ankle. She would undoubtedly ask Ron how he had managed to soak his leg so badly as to disable her Restraint spell. The deep puddle at the tower's base provided just the excuse he needed.

With luck he would be administered some potion that would leave him fast asleep when Hurricane Molly came ashore.

Once Ron splashed off, Harry and Hermione trudged up the steps to Gryffindor Tower and a few hours of richly deserved sleep. But with all of the night's disruptions, and their Fiendfyre-enforced isolation from the fighting, Harry's fellow Gryffindors were mostly wide-awake. Their epinephrine rush of fear had not been offset by the exhaustion of battle.

Harry's housemates stared at his unfamiliar battle-scarred goblin armour. They gawked at the mere sight of Hermione, after her daylong absence and plethora of rumored fates. The weary pair responded to queries only to state that, yes, the danger was past; Dumbledore really was dead; and Ginny was missing and had done some bad things they did not care to discuss. Totally knackered from too many hours of cheating death, they retired to their respective dormitories.

Hermione shared some Dreamless Sleep Potion "borrowed" from the Hospital Wing. They both needed it.

As befit this singular situation, Harry did not set his alarm clock for the first time in months. He was unlikely to be disturbed, between the goblin guard at the door and the goblin Cloaking spell he cast over his four-poster….

* * * *

As the sun rose over Hogwarts Castle on 6 June, 1997, its late spring rays caressed ground thoroughly soaked by the overnight rain. As it warmed, the soil willingly surrendered its moisture. Early risers in the vicinity encountered an almost impenetrable blanket of ground fog - an all-enveloping mist that concealed chaotic scenes.

Thousands of wizards converged upon the Castle, the largest magical sports crowd since the World Cup, most intent upon rooting for the British underdogs in their widely publicised Challenge Match. The Hogwarts all-House team were competing against long odds - a barnstorming bunch of professional Quidditch all-stars led by World Cup hero Viktor Krum and captained by the Irish champions' chaser Mervin Troy.

It was not to be.

Most would-be spectators never ventured closer to Hogwarts than the Hogsmeade train station. On the platform, they encountered a rather haggard Minister Scrimgeour. He sent the great bulk of them on their way back to London with the terse explanation that, because of an overnight Death Eater attack on the Castle, "for security reasons" the match was cancelled.

The Minister was in poor spirits. He could sense his political position evaporating faster than the fog as one influential wizard after another learnt of the latest Death Eater fiasco. Coming so soon after the Beauxbatons massacre, this attack made a mockery of the Ministry's claims of superior security. The numerous Aurors charged with guarding the now defunct match were reassigned to investigate the previous night's events.

Adding insult to injury, everyone with the clout to access Hogwarts Castle could tell immediately that goblins, not Aurors, were handling the Castle's security.

Whilst the Quidditch crowd had no chance to disturb Harry, the number of cups in his cauldron was such that his slumber was inevitably interrupted. He awoke to a scratching on his bed curtains. "Impratraxis. Impratraxis, sir."

Harry groaned. Maybe after he stayed in bed for a week, things would not be so … unsettled.

"Impratraxis…?"

Shaking cobwebs from his mind, Harry reluctantly eased back the hangings. "What is it?" he asked wearily.

"My apologies, Impratraxis." The contrite goblin shuffled his clawed feet anxiously. "But insist does Savini … er … Jistiri."

Seeing the pained expression crossing Harry's face, the goblin was an instant away from prostrating himself when Harry anticipated him. "Anyor," he sighed, shaking his head. "Can't but hope you were right the first time…. Anyway, what's up?"

"A message received has Jistiri Hermione," the goblin offered. "A secret. With you, in private, to speak wishes she. Send in her may I? Or to her will go you?"

Moodily, Harry shambled out of bed. What he really wanted to do, first thing, was grab his Valkyrie (which the goblins had helpfully returned) and fly the hell out of it until he had come to grips with Dumbledore's death, Hermione's near death, and all the other misery of the last day or so.

Then, he figured, he would be ready to face Hermione.

In equal parts he dreaded and desired their inevitable full and frank discussion. Everything revealed last night - from Ginny's confession, from Snape, and most strikingly from the depths of his own heart - pointed in the same direction. He badly needed to reconcile with Hermione. But his two actual encounters with her had been calamitous. In a span of six hours, she had nearly been killed twice in his presence.

On neither occasion had he successfully saved her.

Hermione displayed no such doubts. Did she mean for their talk to be here and now?

The goblin waited patiently for his answer.

Maybe the sooner the better. Harry looked around the dorm room and noticed he was quite alone. Dean and Seamus not only were absent but also their trunks were missing, and their beds had been stripped…. Odd….

Ron was in the Hospital Wing, and Neville … was wherever he had asked goblins to take him - but definitely not in the Castle.

In short, the sixth year boys' dormitory was deserted, and likely to remain that way.

To hell with the Valkyrie.

"Yeah," Harry decided. "She can come … if she wants."

She inevitably did.

Less than thirty seconds later, Harry heard her footsteps on the stairway. He knew Hermione well enough to recognise her from her gait's cadence.

"Harry, are you decent?" she asked from the threshold.

"Fully clothed, anyway," he responded. "You're welcome to come in."

"Please see that we're not disturbed," he requested unseen goblins whom he knew were posted just outside the door.

Not surprisingly his quondam lover looked troubled. She shut the door and with a squelch sealed it.

"Hermione," Harry began quickly, before she had the chance to hit her stride. "I know I've messed things up in so many ways, great and small…." He put a finger gently on her lips to forestall her immediate response. "No, please just listen for a second. You've good reason not to trust me, but I ask you, beg you, to believe two things. First, can you accept that what you felt came from me, not Krum? Second, please believe me - please - that those were honest feelings because they were … how I really feel…."

Looking anguished, he let his finger trail down her chin as he finished.

Hermione was surprised, but pleasantly so, by his declaration. She had chatted with Luna after Harry had left the Château for Hogwarts. The Ravenclaw had strenuously confirmed Harry's role in what Luna had described as "calling her home." Hermione's rationalist mind also knew, and accepted, that Viktor was several hours dead by the time of Harry's calling. Still, Harry's opening plea prompted something similar from Hermione.

"Harry, I do believe you, and I trust you more than you might think, but in the same vein, please … please - take me off your pedestal. I'm not perfect, but you seem to think I am, that I can handle anything. Your expectations for me force me to try, and when I inevitably fail…. Well, I've found my breaking point…."

"I'll try, Hermione, but you're the most amazing person I've ever met - and that includes Dumbledore…. Rest his soul."

Hermione winced. "There you go again, Harry. Anyway, I was hoping to let you sleep, but I have some good news and some bad news."

"Merlin, I could use some good news right now." Having spoken his opening piece, Harry now let her lead their conversation. "What's happened?"

"Neville contacted me earlier, on my D.A. Mirror," Hermione recounted. "He convinced You Know Her. He kept what we did secret. Apparently she thinks it was you - because what happened was impossible, or so she believes. And impossible rescues, well, that's what you do…."

"I wish."

Hermione shook her head. With a sad smile, she added. "She's right about that one thing, I guess…."

Harry's smile was just as sad. "Well … sometimes. I try, anyway…."

Before Harry could follow with some remark about blind pigs and truffles, Hermione continued. "As for helping Death Eaters, Neville says she absolutely denies anything of the sort and that the ghost in the loo can confirm. I'm assuming that means Moaning Myrtle…."

"I'll go see Myrtle, then," Harry voiced his continuing suspicion. "Nev may believe her, but I don't trust anything she says - not without confirmation."

Hermione mentioned, slightly more upbeat, "And apparently she's agreed to exile, Neville didn't say where, but he'd like you to send for McAllister at once. Nev also has something for you, but wouldn't tell exactly what. It's probably important. Maybe he and Dumbledore found what they went looking for…."

Harry genuinely smiled. "Well, at least that's good news. If that's it, maybe we can destroy them both at once. And the sooner and farther she's away from us, the better. We should send an owl - no, better, a goblin - to Jerry ASAP. Umm … what's the bad news?"

"Professor McGonagall wants to see you, in her office, also ASAP."

Harry groaned. Once again, outside events were interfering with their heart-to-heart. He wearily opened his now neatly packed trunk (house-elves were amazing) and removed a fresh set of school robes. "Well, let's go."

"She didn't ask for me, Harry, just you," Hermione demurred.

"Don't care," Harry responded, clearly unhappy. "I just invited you." He fastened the robes without changing clothes.

"I'm sure there's a reason…."

From his wand, Harry squirted shaving cream on his face. "And I don't care what it is. I'd rather stay here with you, frankly. Raz-me!"

Hermione's expression was not encouraging. "With all that's happened, Harry, I don't think you should keep the acting Headmistress of Hogwarts waiting."

"I agree," Harry replied. "We should not keep her waiting." He swung his arm in an ambiguous motion, either an "after you" gesture at the door or an offer of his hand.

"Oh, all right," Hermione gave in. With a show of exasperation, she stepped through the door he was holding, not attempting to take Harry's hand.

* * * *

They took a slight detour, attempting to visit Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. No luck. That loo was an Auror crime scene - off limits even to them. Myrtle was nowhere to be found.

Stymied, Harry turned to one of Roxtar's goblins (overnight, the nine-fingered goblin had assumed command - under Harry's suzerainty, of course - from Māktrax) to inform McAllister when and where his vow-casting services were needed.

Shortly, the pair presented themselves to the Acting Headmistress.

Harry started. "You asked to see us, Professor? I'd say `good morning,' but I know it isn't."

"I asked to see you, Potter," Professor McGonagall answered curtly. She did look awful; surely she had been awake all night. "Granger may return later. My business with you is more urgent…."

"I asked her to come with me," Harry refused to be intimidated. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of her."

McGonagall rubbed her eyes. She had indeed not slept a wink, and that tiredness, combined with the wrenching loss of Albus Dumbledore, meant she had little patience right now for any impertinence. "Not this, Potter, I'm afraid," the Acting Headmistress insisted. "It would not be advisable for this discussion to occur in Granger's presence."

"I said that…."

`It's Ginny. If you want this to work, start acting now like you don't know….' Hermione's silent voice echoed in his mind. Aloud, she stated, "I don't mind. I'll wait in the classroom next door. I'm expecting a private owl." She stood and left.

The professor stared after her, aware of something passing between them, but not what.

Once the door closed, Professor McGonagall went straight to the point. "Potter, there's no way to sugarcoat it. I wish to offer you my condolences. Ginny Weasley is dead…."

Harry had given some thought to his reply. "Oh fu - … Merlin! We, Ginny and I, damn, we basically broke up yesterday. She didn't want me to leave when I found out where Hermione was … something happened, and I knew it was over…. But I never…. I hope she died a hero…."

It sounded trite and staged, even to his own ears.

Professor McGonagall's initial show of interest - how had he learnt about Granger? - rapidly hardened into a stony frown. She had worse to tell him.

"Not exactly, Potter. She committed suicide." McGonagall stated with grim finality. "Something convinced her that … this is not easy … Voldemort had possessed her again…. Given yesterday's events, frankly we cannot rule that out…."

Whilst Harry's face reddened, he did not react as furiously as Professor McGonagall had feared.

"So that's it…. I think she's been giving me some kind of love potion," Harry revealed sullenly. "I burnt it out of myself, more or less, yesterday. I'd done something like that before … when I was kidnapped. Then I told her to leave, and I left for Hermione…."

"Love potion, Potter?" McGonagall did not seem fazed at this unexpected turn.

"Think so. Later, when I duelled Snape on the roof of Hogwarts, that's what he said."

That fazed her. "Snape? You? On the Castle's roof?" McGonagall babbled, sounding shocked. She was only aware of Snape's traitorous role in the Headmaster's death. "How would he know anything like that?"

"Malfoy told him, and Snape said … er … some things that sort of confirmed it … for me …." Harry almost revealed more than he intended and hoped not to be pressed on the point.

For once he thought he had been lucky. Professor McGonagall was not only knackered but also had more consequential matters weighing on her ordinarily perceptive mind.

Very thin-lipped, the Acting Headmistress responded. "Then the worst apparently did happen. Weasley admitted as much before she died. She left a note, which I have read, confessing to using love potions on you and … something else on Granger as well…."

`Here goes,' Harry thought. "On Hermione…?" he growled, trying successfully to make his voice sound threatening.

"Yes, a very dangerous potion," Professor McGonagall responded calmly. "Draught of Despair, but I wonder…."

"Shouldn't she be here to hear this, then?"

"…does `Half-Blood Prince' mean anything to you?"

That drew Harry up short, but only for a moment.

"Umm … yeah. That's something else Snape said … he claimed he was something called the Half-Blood Prince. There was this book…."

His answer drew Professor McGonagall up short, but again only for a moment.

"Well … Weasley also mentioned that in her farewell note…."

"At this point, Hermione definitely should be here to hear this along with me," Harry once again suggested, this time more insistently. "This plainly concerns her." He crossed his arms, striking a pose that indicated he would not utter another word without her.

Professor McGonagall was overtly frustrated at Harry's insistence. "Oh, very well," she huffed. "I was planning to summon her later - on matters that concerned her." She stood and released her tabby cat Patronus. Within a few seconds the office door opened and in stepped Hermione, looking preoccupied and upset. She tossed an empty bottle in the professor's paper bin, where it immediately vanished.

"Hermione, did something happen?" Harry asked, seeing her face.

"Granger, have you received disturbing news?" Professor McGonagall joined, having spotted parchments in one of her hands and a fat envelope in the other.

"No! Er … yes! Oh, bother!" Hermione was uncharacteristically ruffled. "Here!" She thrust the top page at Harry.

Whilst Harry read, Hermione attempted to explain. "It's from Healer Huxley. He promised to test the extracted potion residue. These are the results of his tests…."

"For the Draught of Despair?" Professor McGonagall inquired.

Hermione paused. She knew how McGonagall knew, but was not supposed to. "Umm … yes, but how…."

"She tried to kill you," Harry broke in, his voice authentically low and dangerous.

"I know what it says, Harry. I just … I still can't believe she…. Anyway, I think it was an accident," Hermione finally offered the benefit of doubt.

"These levels…, if I'm reading this right, were high enough to cause a suicide attempt in 98% of the cases…."

"That's only an estimate."

"According to Healer Huxley, a bloody conservative one…."

"Potter, language!"

"Harry, calm down," Hermione insisted. She did not want an emotional Harry saying something that gave the game away. "It must have been at the Bake Off. Her Japanese food…. I ate so much of it…."

"She risked it, not you! Don't blame yourself, dammit!"

"It no longer matters," Professor McGonagall broke into their argument. "The Weasley girl is dead - a suicide."

Hermione took a deep breath before responding, knowing that her reply would be closely scrutinised. "She must have known she was looking at Azkaban, then." Hermione looked furious but kept her anger in check. "If she potioned me, I suppose she did the same to Harry…."

"She claimed to be possessed by Voldemort," McGonagall interjected.

"Then she's definitely better off dead," Hermione stated with clipped finality. "If that's right, she'd be Kissed. There's no other way."

"Probably correct, but entirely irrelevant," Professor McGonagall moved to retake control of the conversation. "Many things are competing for my limited time at the moment. I have the Headmaster, two of the staff, and several students dead. Our Minister will be launching an inquiry into our security. The Bulgarian Minister is up in arms about his star Seeker going missing. An emergency session of the Board of Governors will convene shortly to decide whether and under what auspices Hogwarts will reopen for the next Term, so please allow me to get through this. I have for you…."

"I can help you with one of those," Harry responded grimly. "Viktor Krum is dead. He became a marked Death Eater. He was killed last night at Château Blackwalls."

"By Voldemort," Hermione added. "I saw it. Oh, and I don't think the Board can simply close Hogwarts unilaterally."

"What? Are you sure?" Professor McGonagall openly shocked. Either of Hermione's revelations could have done that.

They took one thing at a time - Krum first.

Harry revealed angrily that the late Bulgarian Seeker was actually a fully-fledged, tattooed-on-the-arm Death Eater who had kidnapped Hermione and ultimately took her to the Château. There, Krum connived in Hermione's blood becoming a main ingredient in the restoration of Bellatrix Lestrange to something that passed for human, all facts that caused McGonagall's complexion to become even more ashen.

Hermione explained more patiently that Viktor still carried a torch for her, and thought the alternative was her certain death at Voldemort's hands. So motivated, he had reintroduced himself in spectacularly inopportune fashion. In the end, Voldemort killed him for his efforts.

Neither explained exactly how Krum died or, for that matter, how Hermione escaped. The Acting Headmistress was too busy to pry for details. Her shoulders slumping upon receipt of yet more bad news, Professor McGonagall responded. "Very well, I shall inform the Minister. The last thing we need is a diplomatic incident over a corpse. We will need the body returned as soon as possible…."

"After you left, Harry, I asked Roxtar to preserve Viktor's body," Hermione revealed. "You know how the goblins are…."

Harry most certainly did. Still, Hermione's solicitude for the Bulgarian's remains did not particularly help his morale.

"Indeed, I am certain that Minister Stambolev will appreciate the courtesy," Professor McGonagall commented dryly. "And I suppose I should return the favour by explaining what happened here at about the same time…."

Professor McGonagall revealed upsetting details of last night's Death Eater attack. Three students were known dead. Ginny's suicide they had discussed, and now they learnt that Molly Weasley was currently under sedation in the Hospital Wing. Harry, but not Hermione, had been aware of the death of Megan Jones. The other fatality was Stephen Cornfoot, the first Ravenclaw who doubled back to assist Cho.

Draco Malfoy had fled with the Death Eaters.

Of the staff, Filch had lost a leg to a snake bite. Hagrid and several others had been injured fighting either Death Eaters or desperately battling some of the Dark magic the attack had unleashed. They were either out of danger or had been moved to St. Mungo's.

Three staff members had not been so lucky. Dumbledore, of course, everyone knew about. Hermione had been on hand when Professor Vector, struck by a variety of curses, lost two limbs and bled to death in the Hospital Wing. She had attempted to stop the Death Eaters in the main hall near the stairway to the Headmaster's office and paid for it with her life.

The third casualty was something of a surprise. Professor Slughorn had been incinerated in his office. It had all the hallmarks of a targeted assassination. Not content with merely killing him, the Death Eaters used Fiendfyre after trapping the Potions master. Against a conflagration that consumed magic for fuel, Slughorn's feeble camouflage abilities provided virtually no protection.

The Death Eaters must have wanted Professor Slughorn dead badly - badly enough to endanger their own children. They must have known that Slughorn's office was directly above Slytherin House. Whilst the Gryffindors, in their tower, were also isolated by the blaze, at least they could (the older ones, anyway) Apparate away once the Castle's wards were inoperable. Anyone trying the same from Slytherin would have passed through the Fiendfyre and been consumed in its magic-devouring maw.

The pair looked at each other. The Slytherins would never give them credit, but indirectly, their liquid nitrogen spell had prevented the immolation of everyone in Slytherin House.

Dumbledore, before his death, had never revealed that Professor McGonagall was entrusted with the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Nor did Professor McGonagall give any independent indication of knowing. All she said about Slughorn was that he had been "in hiding." Harry and Hermione kept mum about their suspicions as to the Death Eaters' motive for targeting Professor Slughorn.

Not so Hermione's blurt-out concerning the possible closure of Hogwarts.

In due course, Professor McGonagall returned to that subject. "Granger, kindly explain your comment that the Board of Governors lacks power to close Hogwarts. They're meeting in emergency session, even as we speak, and I fear precisely that will be proposed. The Castle's reputation as the safest place in Britain is obviously shattered."

"In my third year, I did a huge amount of legal research to defend the Hippogriff that purportedly gored Malfoy…."

"Too bad Buckbeak wasn't really as vicious as Malfoy claimed," Harry muttered darkly.

"…Yes, Buckbeak. Whilst trying to stop his execution," Hermione pressed on. "I read the entire Hogwarts Charter, unsuccessfully looking for some loophole…."

"Your skills would stand you in fine stead as a barrister," Professor McGonagall commented.

At Harry's uncomprehending glance, Hermione began, for his benefit, "After Slytherin left and Gryffindor died, the two remaining Founders created and empowered what is now the Board of Governors to administer Hogwarts. This Charter establishes the Board's rights, powers, and responsibilities in respect of Hogwarts as an educational institution."

This was old news to the harried Acting Headmistress. "Yes, yes, please go on," she prodded.

"Maintaining Hogwarts as an educational institution is fundamental to the Board's existence. The Founders obligated that as a condition of the Board's continuation," Hermione explained. "Were the Board ever unable to carry out this existential function, they must offer the Castle and its grounds for sale to anybody in magical Britain upon proof that the buyer can perpetuate the school's educational mission…."

Having never had occasion to read the entire Charter, Professor McGonagall was following closely. "Prove? To whom?"

"I believe that committee would include the Headmaster, the heads of the four Hogwarts Houses and a - it would now be the Ministry's delegate, the Head of the Department of Magical Education…."

"With Albus and Horace deceased, that means, that what you call…."

"Not me, the Charter," Hermione corrected. "I'm sure you have a copy handy…."

"Not here. Albus kept one in his office, but unless and until I am formally named his successor, I cannot exercise the Headmaster's perquisites of office," Professor McGonagall explained. "That's the other reason for the meeting. Only the new headmaster can restore the main wards. We're on backup for now, so I haven't objected to the goblins' presence."

"Anyway, for the time being, anyway, assume I'm right," Hermione moved on.

"I always do," Harry commented, drawing a withering glance from Hermione.

"With the vacancies, that suggests that a committee consisting of yourself, Mister Tarbert…."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry's Education head," Hermione paused only briefly, "…and Professors Flitwick and Sprout would evaluate the sufficiency of any such proposal. Should the Governors default, the committee's majority vote would approve any outside offer of continuation…."

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"I mean, nobody's made any offer," Harry clarified.

He had company. "I must agree with Potter. This is Thestralspotting … pointless," Professor McGonagall concurred. "We should…."

"I don't think so," Hermione disagreed. "If the Board were to close Hogwarts…."

"Who this side of Malfoy could even think about…?"

"You." Hermione's one-word answer was simple and direct, and utterly wasted Harry.

"Me, what?"

"Harry, you could offer to buy Hogwarts," Hermione drove the point home, resisting an urge to roll her eyes at his cluelessness. "You have the means, you don't care about the money, and we already know you're quite capable of teaching…."

Professor McGonagall stood in shock. "Granger, you know that's … that's … not at all … preposterous…."

`Harry, say yes,' Hermione Legilimenced.

"If I have to, and Hermione will help me do it, I'll do it," Harry declared. He would gladly buy Hogwarts if that would keep Hermione involved with him.

"Of course, the Board … would never allow it," Professor McGonagall cautioned. "You're still a student. Besides, your reputation … they'd be afraid you'd admit goblins … or something."

"Or something." Hermione winked at Harry and added; "True, and if the Board of Governors were informed of Harry as the alternative, then I rather doubt they would vote to close down Hogwarts…."

Professor McGonagall cracked her first smile since this meeting began. "Granger, that is a brilliant suggestion, although as worthy of a Slytherin as a Gryffindor. I shall ensure that the Board is informed…."

Hermione responded by returning her favourite professor's smile. Harry thought Hermione even looked rather satisfied with herself - a good thing after her being so depressed for so long.

"…This brings me to the final matter, which I had planned to discuss later with you both. Assuming that Hogwarts remains open, I fear we will find it difficult to attract a full complement of students after what has happened - the Headmaster and several students killed by Death Eaters within these walls. Several parents have already informed me that they are ill-inclined to return their children next Term."

"Who," Harry asked reflexively.

"It really doesn't matter, Potter," Professor McGonagall turned his question aside. "What does matter is unless you two - particularly you, Potter - return; I doubt we will have enough students for the school to be viable. Hence, I'm acting somewhat earlier than Albus would have, and despite it being technically ultra vires…."

Once Harry uttered the inevitable, "ultra what?" the Acting Headmistress reached into her robes, withdrew her hand, and placed the Head Boy and Head Girl badges, gleaming, side by side on the desktop.

"I have no doubt, and I am certain Albus would concur, that both of you deserve these."

Harry snatched up his eagerly. "Head Boy, really?"

"Yes, Potter," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "All you need do is return for your final year…. Granger?"

Hermione said and did nothing. That alone surprised Harry. He had always considered Hermione the odds-on, prohibitive favourite for Head Girl - virtually since the day they were sorted into Gryffindor. Even her initials, H.G., matched the position.

But now, with one of her life's ambitions there for the taking, Hermione was not taking.

"Granger, is there a problem?"

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I - I don't know if I can do this," she sniffled, struggling to keep most un-Gryffindor-like tears from falling. "I just don't know…. I'm not sure that I can make the commitment, to … to this…."

"Granger - Hermione - I assure you that the Heads' duties are not at all onerous," Professor McGonagall resorted to her most soothing voice. "I am sure you will have plenty of time for your studies, and for…" The old professor glanced at Harry. "…for any other activities that you may seek to undertake."

Harry winced. He admired Professor McGonagall, not the least because Hermione saw her as a role model. But for once, the woman was definitively out of sync with their situations.

"No!" Hermione wailed. "I mean I don't know that I want to do this," she waved her arms in a sweeping fashion.

"Hermione…." Harry tried to intervene.

He was unsuccessful.

"I - I mean, I'm not sure I want to be a witch anymore," Hermione could no longer stem her tears. "I'm seventeen, dammit; I shouldn't have to worry about being poisoned, killed, or worse, every other day. Can't I be happy and safe? Don't I have that right - or is that too much for a mere `Mudblood' to expect? Why should I stay here, fearing for my life, when I should be applying to uni's?"

Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

"Hermione, whatever…."

Professor McGonagall was not often rendered speechless, but Hermione's tearful declaration brought her close. "But … I was sure … the internship … Healer Huxley said…."

The internship only reminded Hermione of something else to feel guilty about. "I know I accepted his offer," she almost sobbed, "but I haven't let any premises … made any arrangements. I can't make up my mind…. I don't even know where I'm going when I leave here…."

"Grang … Hermione, I'm sure something…."

What that something might have been was never expressed, because Harry was on his feet. He had to do something; something that would affect the rest of his life - and hers - profoundly. "I'm sorry, Professor, but Hermione and I need to have a talk … really need … right now. I'm sure you've plenty of other things that need doing…."

He took Hermione, gently but firmly, by the shoulders, and began steering his weeping best friend from the room. She did not resist him.

"Potter, you're right," Professor McGonagall acceded, "but please, before you go, take these…."

Harry turned and looked at his Head of House, who rummaged through her desk's top drawer and pulled out some papers. "The Headmaster left you some things…."

Harry lost it. "I don't need another bloody inheritance!" he bellowed. "Damn his money, anyway!"

Hermione only wailed more loudly.

Professor McGonagall raised her voice in response. "NO! It's not that. Albus bequeathed his wealth to the school. He simply left you this…."

She offered a worn black-and-white mottled composition book. "It details the status of certain things - I don't know what - that he apparently was `working on' with you."

"T-t-ake it, Harry," he heard Hermione mumble. "Y-y-ou'll need to know what's going on."

Harry did.

"And these tickets, this Muggle passport, I know he promised them to you," Professor McGonagall held out an unsealed white Muggle envelope with papers, some turquoise, visible.

Harry hesitated only a moment before snatching what was offered and shoving them into an outer pocket. Not seeing Professor McGonagall holding her breath, with a second sweeping motion, Harry snatched the two Heads' badges from the desk.

Professor McGonagall exhaled with profound relief.

The Acting Headmistress had no choice but to place her faith in Harry Potter.

* * * *

Hermione shuffled out, willing for once to be led. Harry, doing the leading, had no idea where to go - except that they needed privacy. They finished where they started - in the deserted Gryffindor sixth-year boys' dormitory.

The goblins were instructed that no visitors were allowed - not McGonagall, not Scrimgeour, not Ron. Nothing short of Voldemort leading a full scale Death Eater attack or the second coming of Albus Dumbledore was to disturb them.

After adding soundproofing and locking charms of his own, Harry turned to Hermione. She hunched disconsolately on his bed - a bed where, at least before she reduced it to splinters, they had made passionate love to each other more than once.

"Hermione," Harry began as he sat down beside her - neither too close nor too far away - "I had no idea things had gone this far. I'm - I'm sorrier than you have any right to believe."

"Don't be sorry, Harry," Hermione sighed back at him. "This, at least, isn't your fault. It sort of comes with the territory, I guess…. Being dosed with Draught of Despair until it runs out of my ears…."

"Hermione, that's over now…." Harry tried reassuring. "She can't hurt you, hurt us, anymore."

Hermione did not seem to hear him. "Still, beats the alternative, I guess…. With a 98% suicide rate…."

"And you're stronger than that," Harry tried again, taking a somewhat firmer tone. "You're no 98% - you're far more unique, special than that!"

"Pedestal, Harry."

"…You did not kill yourself. Instead, you aced a couple of N.E.W.T.s and learnt the phoenix transformation … a damn sight more than I accomplished."

"How do you know, Harry?" Hermione shot him a pained look. N.E.W.T. scores were not released until the third week in June, and during Charms….

But Harry was not concerned with grade point averages.

"If you'd tried to commit suicide, believe me, I'd have known … somehow," Harry declared, sounding rather more confident starting out than finishing.

He watched Hermione like a hawk. Her look was almost pitying - of him, or of herself, he could not say. When she replied, she shocked him almost beyond words.

"Knowing full well what could happen, I turned for comfort to the Mirror of Erised, Harry. That's slow suicide. Fortunately, Luna - and Cho - intervened, and the staff moved it…."

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione, why?"

"Why do you think, Harry?"

"Your greatest desire…."

"…Was to have you fully and gloriously in love with me."

"I hope more than anything that it still is."

Hermione's eyes rose and stared, unblinking, at the underside of his canopy. Her body sagged. "I just don't know, Harry, and that scares me more than anything else. My heart feels like a limp dishrag wrung out with a Twisting Charm. Is anything left inside? The Death Eaters used Viktor to get to me. Voldemort told him personally that unless he brought me for that resurrection ritual, I would die…."

"All because of me, I suppose."

"If only I could blame it on you, Harry. That would be so easy. I could just pack up and leave, without regrets." Hermione shook her head. "But it's his fault, really. Even if I'd told him the truth, why I didn't want him writing, he'd probably still have come back after you were with…." Hermione trailed off, not trusting herself to mention her betrayer's name.

"Can you really blame him? Merlin, Hermione, you're the most brilliant witch I know - hell, that anybody knows. And it's not just me. I can't believe…." The Head Girl badge was in his pocket.

"Harry, I guess I've just tired of playing a game I can't win; that the best I can do is break even; and if I lose the consequences are so horrible that death would be a relief."

"Hermione, you're the strongest…."

"Take me off the goddamn pedestal, Harry, please." Hermione demanded, again on the verge of tears. "It used to be such a grand thing, you and Ron thinking I was bloody perfect. And me - I was so damn conceited I thought maybe I could do even better. But none of that seemed to matter. When … when I saw you with… that harlot that night, something inside me just broke. I'm not sure I know how to fix it…."

"Let me help you try, please," Harry echoed her plea. "Doesn't that blasted potion she fed me mean anything…?"

"Harry, it means everything," Hermione reacted. "Without it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. After what happened yesterday, I'd have already left - screaming - and you'd never see me again."

"I'd come for you. You know that," Harry declared.

"You could try," she snarked. "I know a lot more about the Muggle world than you. My damn father vanished from the face of the earth pretty effectively, and…."

"He had years to prepare and a prison cell for motivation," Harry growled. He could not help it. He detested Hermione's father.

"I've had weeks; I'm cleverer than he is…."

"True, but who's….?"

"…and what Voldemort came within an instant of doing to me makes a prison cell look like the grand bedroom of your château." She played a trump card.

Why did Hermione always have to be right - so indisputably right? "Merlin, Hermione, please don't run," Harry wrung his hands. "I don't know what I'd do."

"You're stronger than that." Hermione looked at him fiercely. "You'll go out there and finish that bastard Voldemort, like you and I both know you will. What you won't be doing is jumping in front of any more Killing Curses with my name on them. You're too important. I don't matter…."

"You matter to me, more than anything!" Harry jumped in equally fiercely, but he could not maintain the pose. "…I need a reason to go on," he confessed.

"So do I, Harry."

"I need you to go on."

"Oh, Harry," she regarded him tragically. "I can't be responsible for every aspect of your life and happiness. I'll crack under that pressure. I'm afraid I already have…."

"Then let me support you for a while, when you need it," he rasped a bit shakily.

"Like you supported me when that bitch decided she wanted you for herself?"

Cut to the quick, Harry stumbled. "Hermione, please…."

"You have no idea what that was like! Here I was pleased and happy with arrangements for us to shag, and there you were, being serviced by that little bint…."

"Hermione…."

"Just, just let me get this out of my system, okay? That slag's kneeling before you like you're some kind of god. Is that what you want from a woman…?"

"Umm …nuu…" Harry finally decided just to shut up, as Hermione asked. Fighting with her - even to defend himself - would only aggravate things. And, frankly, he knew how richly he deserved each and every rebuke she had in store.

"Yes, I know - the potion. Ginevra Weasley is a dreadful, backstabbing hag. Hell, even hags have more morals. But let's put Ginny-dear aside. Yes, she potioned you, and me. But she didn't potion Daphne Greengrass. I know you shagged her. Ginny screamed loud enough to make damn sure everybody in the Castle bloody well knew. Thank Merlin you could keep Rita quiet."

Several seconds of icy silence passed before Hermione added more ammunition to her argument. "Daphne…."

That name rolled off her tongue like a Cutting Curse.

"A pretty, hell - beautiful - face. And blonde, with an amazing, thin, beautiful body. Like that Eliza," she recalled resentfully. "And a Slytherin through and through. But no potioner, of that I'm sure. The moment she got you alone, resistance was futile, I suppose."

"Hermione, I can't…."

"And what about Fleur? I don't know what exactly happened between you - I don't want to - but I know she was into your robes somehow. Veela-power, maybe? But then she stops, or did she? Maybe she was just using me to wreck your relationship with dear, sweet You Know Her so she could take you for herself. Another blonde; another beautiful body. And you came running…."

Hermione's grievances had her worked up so badly that she could barely see. She plainly did not see Harry, slack jawed and eyes wide in surprise. He had told nobody - not a soul, and certainly not Ginny - about his near-orgasmic encounter with Fleur Delacour at Beauxbatons.

Somehow - amazingly, appallingly, and typically - Hermione knew about that, too.

Hermione ranted on. "And then what? Once you defeat Voldemort. And you will, not the least because sweet, gormless Hermione will never let you die…."

"Not letting me die means staying," Harry muttered glumly.

"Staying. Yes, staying…. Then what happens to Hermione? Every witch in Britain will want a piece of Harry the Conqueror. Love Potions. Compulsion Charms. Pigmy Puff musk. Flying knickers. Pretty, shapely blondes batting pretty, shapely eyelashes. You name it, they'll do it. Merlin, you've got Diana bloody Spencer after you! How can Hermione Plain-Jane Granger possibly compete with any of that!? I'll be left alone - again! I'll be fodder for the Mirror of Erised, again!! I'll be … I'LL BE DOSED WITH DRAUGHT OF DESPAIR, AGAIN!!"

Hermione's eyes were wild; her nostrils flared in agitation. Her left hand clutched her right wrist so tightly that her thumbnail cracked and drew blood. Harry could feel magic - Dark feelings he was ashamed to have triggered - surging in waves from the increasingly distraught witch sitting on one end of his bed. Warily he checked his wrist holder for his wand.

"OH, WHY!! MAYBE I SHOULDN'T BOTHER WAITING FOR THE DRAUGHT…!! Draught … oh, Merlin … Harry, please, a Cheering Charm, please…!"

In an instant, Hermione's voice went from screaming to strangulated.

"Please?"

Harry asked no questions. With a practised flick, his wand was in his hand. The next instant, "Buenis animus!" he complied with her almost frantic request.

As the faintly puce-coloured spell enveloped her, every aspect of Hermione's form relaxed. From sitting rigidly, she toppled to one side, ending on all fours, panting as she shook her long-haired head, trying to regain an even keel.

Harry was shocked. He had never, ever seen his friend rave like that. Standing beside her, on the floor along his bed, he placed a hand tentatively, and ever so gently, on her heaving shoulders. "Hermione, what just happened?"

"Flashback," she gurgled. "Umm … I'm just glad I recognised it before I drove you away forever … I was so miserable…. That, or I might have jumped out the tower window…."

"What?"

"Healer Huxley's prognosis warned about these," Hermione spoke a little more coherently.

She sat up. Harry sat down again, facing her, on the bed. He badly wanted to take her hands in his, but was afraid. "Hermione, let me help you…."

"You can't - I can't…. Hah!" Her laugh was bitter. "Nice and clinical … one can't ingest that much of a powerful, borderline Dark potion and expect to recover just like that. These flashbacks, they could go on for quite some time…."

"Do you … what sets them off? What did I do just then?" Harry struggled to understand.

Hermione did not answer right away. Rather, she let Harry's Cheering Charm flow through her. Gradually, her thought processes and pulse rate approached normal - at least post-Draught normal. Finally, after a couple of very long minutes, Hermione was calm enough to give voice to her worst fears - the moving force behind her recent flashback.

"Harry, I'm okay with … hell, I'm anything but okay with, but at least I can understand what the Love Potion did … but Daphne and Fleur - them I simply don't get. They didn't… well Fleur probably did her Veela thing, but you betrayed, umm…, You Know Her, so quickly. That really scares me, because I just don't see what happened…. How can I expect that it won't happen again … and so easily, it seems…?"

Harry felt his heart breaking, because in that heart, he had no good answer to her question. "Hermione, me neither. If I understood it, understood me, I'd do anything to stop it. I don't know. I … well, both times I was a long way from home, feeling lonely and out of sorts. Then I was with them, and they were, you know - well, more than willing…. I just wasn't thinking straight…."

"More like you weren't thinking with the proper head, I'd say…. You weren't alone at the ball, Harry," Hermione archly reminded him.

"Well, this head, anyway," Harry pointed at his skull, "thinks you're more beautiful than any of them - and it isn't even a contest."

Hermione had to smile, but Harry's declaration was still just that. She could not accept what amounted to a non-explanation. "Thank you, Harry, but that sentiment still doesn't account for what you did."

Harry exhaled and wrung his hands. He had nothing, except…. Could he believe that slimy snake bastard Snape?

He had little to lose and everything to gain.

Wariness and reproach coloured her stare. Harry flashed Hermione a sad smile and started again.

"Yeah, I know, but assuming I can believe anything she said, she got drunk and had to sleep it off…. I can't truthfully ask you to trust me, because right now I don't trust myself. I…. I don't…."

She did not like seeing him flounder. "Harry…."

"Well, the only other thing sounds too much like an excuse, and I don't like them any more than you. Not only that but … well, it isn't exactly from the most … umm … I can't really say I believe him myself…. So I don't know…." His voice trailed off in incoherent mumbling.

"Harry, what are you on about now?"

He took a deep breath. "Well … Snape - he seemed to know something."

"Snape?" Her incredulity was manifest.

"Well, yeah, like I … you already know, I duelled Snape on the Castle's roof," Harry reminded her.

Hermione knew about that duel, but not this. "You said he admitted being the Half-Blood Prince," she accurately recalled.

"Yeah, that's what he claimed, and it made some sense, I mean knowing potions and all. But he was trying to distract me, I'm sure. He also said that … that Ginny's Love Potion was his own special brew…. But he's such a hateful bastard, I'm not inclined…."

"I can check that out," Hermione interrupted, the cogs of her brain turning once more. "It would have to be in that wretched book. I sent it to Healer Huxley. If it's not there, that means Snape's a liar, and if he lied about that…."

"Then the scumbag probably lied about everything," Harry finished the thought. "Why would he tell the truth?"

"Well, Dumbledore trusted him," Hermione reminded Harry.

"And Dumbledore's dead," Harry pointed out. "Lotta good that did him. Nev said Snape was right there when it happened."

Hermione winced at the undeniable truth of Harry's response. "Still, what did he say?" she asked.

"Here's what I remember. Snape said that his potion worked poorly. So he gave it up. The potion supposedly failed away from Hogwarts, and in other places it … it, well … it made me … he said `peckish,' and I'm sure he didn't mean food. Then he said `nostalgia'…. I wouldn't even mention it except, dammit, it was exactly how I felt. I think I wanted you … and since I couldn't have you, I just wanted somebody…."

"And Daphne and Fleur were available," Hermione closed the loop.

Harry shook his head. "Available doesn't begin to describe it. Daphne didn't wear anything but…."

Hermione cut him off. "That detail I don't need to know."

"I don't claim to be an expert, Hermione, but I've never heard anything about a potion working, or not, depending on where it is brewed, or used, or whatever…. You know I'm the last person to trust Snape, but dammit, he described how I felt better than I could…. Does any of this make any sense? How could a potion do what Snape said…?"

Hermione's breath hitched whilst Harry was asking his questions, and she started feeling warm all over.

Actually, a potion just might act that way, at least if initially used at Hogwarts - she had even discovered the reason.

The Castle and its environs were the focus of some sort of ley line spiral. A potion administered at Hogwarts could, at least theoretically, have limited geographic scope … if it … especially with magnetic ingredients, she surmised. The spiral's axis aligned with the earth's magnetic field.

More than logic prompted her physical reaction, something stronger and more personal. Hermione wanted - no, needed, with all her being - to believe Harry. Here, finally, was a plausible basis for behaviour that still seemed incomprehensible. Harry had offered an explanation, something verifiable, for his repeated, inexcusable, and heretofore inexplicable (she believed) sexual misconduct.

If that were so, then….

All things were possible.

Before, when he told the truth about Chang's pornography, and that Brookings woman, she had not believed him…. Disaster resulted. After that experience she had promised herself always to hear him out.

She was feeling very warm now. Hermione wondered if Harry noticed her blushing.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

Nope, Harry was not that clueless.

"You've heard, I'm sure, about all the ambient magic at Hogwarts," she began, trying to stay calm, speak slowly (always a problem for her), and neither overstate nor understate the facts. "Harry, it's not generally known, but it has a physical basis. It's at the centre of … I guess you could call it a magical vortex. Ley lines from all over Europe converge at the Castle in a fashion that approximates the Golden Ratio quite closely."

"What does that mean?" Harry reacted with his usual incomprehension when Hermione spoke of matters of this sort.

"It means that Snape might well be telling the truth, Harry, even if he doesn't know why it happened. I discovered this vortex by using polar coordinates on my Arithmancy N.E.W.T. - neither Vector, nor McGonagall, nor even Dumbledore, knew about this."

"And if Snape's telling the truth…?"

"Then, a flawed, Hogwarts-specific Love Potion could generate exactly the symptoms you've described," Hermione declared. She kept a straight face, but just saying it somehow made it more real.

Beyond warmth, Hermione started feeling tingly all over, almost lightheaded. She reached a decision. She had underestimated this man before. She would not make the same mistake again.

Harry's information, combined with her own ley line discovery, convinced Hermione that he deserved the benefit of the doubt. Irony of ironies - second-hand information from a hated Death Eater, a conniver in Dumbledore's murder - played a greater role in her decision than anything else.

It certainly played a greater role than anything Harry could say on his own behalf.

Ignorant of the workings of Hermione's mind, Harry could only watch. They had been talking for quite a while without her exactly rejecting him, which he counted as progress.

But would Hermione carry through her threat to leave? If she did, he might as well return to that cupboard under the stairs.

With Hermione seemingly hesitating, Harry took his turn - and a deep breath. He needed her to answer that question - an answer that, for better or worse, would chart the course of both their futures.

He offered her a tentative smile. She had, after all, been raging at him not long ago. "I do know something else, too."

"That is?"

"I want you to stay."

"Harry, I think we…."

For once, Harry talked over her. "No, hear me out - please. You've had your say, so please give me the same chance. I promise not to be as loud, either."

She started out looking exasperated. Reference to her recent loss of control was a low blow. But the look on his face was so earnest that her pique faded. Harry was at his cutest trying to be earnest.

"Everything you said - just then - well, it scares the hell out of me, too. Hermione, that bastard Malfoy got to me through a Weasley … a Weasley, dammit. If I can't trust the Weasleys, who can I trust…?"

"I hope…."

"You, that's who. You and maybe nobody else. Hermione, what you just said…. It's just as bad for me. I don't want to be love potioned, Veelaed, ambushed in a hotel room, hit with a Compulsion Charm, or by some slag's knickers. But you sussed it exactly. After what's happened, how am I supposed to trust any woman again…?"

Hermione could not help herself. "Well, there's Luna, and after last night I think we can both trust Jazzy with our lives…."

Her interruption annoyed Harry. "Fine, Hermione. But you know bl… full well what I mean. If either of them started acting like more than just friends, then I doubt I'd trust them either. But don't you see? The point is I can't really trust anyone now. They're either after my stupid money or my stupider fame…. That is, if I'm lucky and they aren't trying to haul me off to Voldemort like Krum did to you. And it would only … Merlin how much worse would it get if I beat Voldemort…?"

"When you beat Voldemort," Hermione interrupted grimly, not caring if Harry glared at her. "I have to believe that, or I would never stay."

Harry flinched at her last remark. "Okay, when I beat that sonuvawitch it's only going to get worse. I mean, you told me yourself that Lady Di's alliance offer was only a ploy to get at me…."

"I didn't say that," Hermione corrected, trying to make this conversation more of a conversation. "I only said she might. Even if she is interested, you can say no - that's the point."

"Ginny didn't let me say no…. Fleur neither, well, pretty damn close. Why would she? I mean Muggles have stuff that does the same sort of thing don't they…?"

Hermione almost had to smile at the image of Princess, no Lady, Diana slipping a roofie into Harry's drink. "Yes, they do, but I seriously doubt that's the Royals' style…."

Being on another tangent annoyed Harry. "Fine, but…. That's not really the point. The point is: I love you. I'll always love you. I don't want to love anybody else, and I don't…."

"Harry…."

"Please, let me finish. I know what you'll say, but my `if' stands little chance of becoming your `when' unless you stay. Please, Hermione. If you just trust me again - just enough to stay - I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I did to you. You don't, you know, have to do anything you don't want to…. I mean, I'll make sure you have your own bedroom and all at the Château, or if you don't like that, somewhere else. You're hurting, Hermione. You know it. I know it. We both just saw it. Let me help you…."

Harry's offer suddenly simplified things for Hermione, although Harry had no way of knowing that - yet. "Harry, my recovery could take longer than you think," she warned him. "Luna probably saved my life, but her beginner's luck couldn't possibly have removed all of that potion."

"I said, I'll help you."

"I'll need potions and durable medical equipment. Healer Huxley gave me a list."

"I'll brew them." That comment drew a stern glare from Hermione. "All right, I'll have Jerry get them from an apothecary, and I'll help you take them - I'll manage your schedule."

"I may have to bathe in some of them."

"Umm … I'll draw your water…."

"I'll need physical therapy."

"I'll be your personal trainer."

"You promise? You don't even know what that entails…."

"Absolutely. We'll run together, if that's what needed. Calisthenics. Cycling. Spell-casting. Swimming. We can do everything together … promise - on my honour."

Hermione gave him a knowing smile. "Deal, then…. But Healer Huxley states that I might need sweating."

"The Château has a sauna, and I'll personally cut your wood."

"Harry … pedestal."

"No, Hermione, it's exactly what you'd do for me if the cauldron were turned, and you know it."

Hermione had to admit that Harry was one hundred percent correct. "Point, that."

"Look, more than anything else, I want you back … that is, to recover," Harry emphasised. "But if you have to go, tell me where, and I'll go with you."

"You can't."

"You can't stop me, at least from looking for you. If you've had it, so have I."

"Harry, I can't put you to that choice."

"It's no choice, Hermione," Harry spoke quickly, as sweat broke on his brow. "Look, Neville may be a git sometimes, but what he said last night was true. I do love you - always. I came for you rather than stay with Ginny. Without you, I don't know who I am. I need you to stay with me…."

"Harry, stop, I will."

"…but if you don't, then seriously I want to go with…." His brain finally caught up with his tongue. "You will?" Harry's green eyes lit up like a traffic light on "go." "Oh, Merlin, thank you!"

Harry looked for all the world like he wanted to grab her in his arms and never let go, but he hesitated, unsure if his touch would offend her.

"Oh, Harry, of course you can still do that!" she declared and gave him a patented Hermione hug.

Harry relaxed, and for the first time since yesterday - since learning that Hermione had gone missing - he had hope that things might ultimately be okay. Life is for learning, after all….

…Until Hermione told him that she needed to pick up the potions Healer Huxley had prescribed.

In the Hospital Wing.

Where the Weasleys undoubtedly were.

"Harry, they've been like family to the both of us. We need closure on this."

* * * *

The Castle seemed forlornly vacant by the time the pair made their way to the Hospital Wing. On the way, Harry sent Hermione's owl Athena to the Château with instructions to turn Krum's body - not mutilated, they (or at least Hermione) hoped - over to the Aurors. Then they stopped by Professor McGonagall's office, where they found the professor in the midst of magically packing her things to move upstairs. She informed them that the Board of Governors had met, and after fairly heated debate, decided tentatively to keep the school open with her as Headmistress.

Hermione told the new Headmistress that she would come back as Head Girl.

Their decisions to return to Hogwarts as Head Boy and Girl made Headmistress McGonagall's first assigned task from the Governors considerably easier - within the month she was to prepare a feasibility study concerning Hogwarts' continuing operation.

Beyond that, Professor McGonagall's next official act as Headmistress was an unhappy one. She cancelled the graduation ceremony and sent the entire student body home as soon as their families could make arrangements. The Hogwarts' Express would make an unscheduled run south, with the Headmistress and the Aurors coordinating security arrangements both en route and at King's Cross.

Like the rest of the Castle, the Hospital Wing had emptied since the night before. Privacy screens hid the few patients who remained, except for Ron's bed. Ron's parents looked like they had not slept since arriving, which was probably accurate. They also had company. Tonks, clad in her maroon Auror's robes, was present, holding an international-grade Quidditch broom with part of the handle sheared off.

On a side table lay a copy of this morning's Prophet, its lead story a preview of the now-cancelled Quidditch match. A column below the fold overflowed with second-hand speculation, hearsay, and innuendo concerning Hermione's sudden absence. Another gush of purple prose concerned her supposed affinity for star Seekers. Hermione spared the fishwrap but a glance. Never had the Prophet's front page been so thoroughly out-of-date by the time it was delivered.

Everything else stopped when the Weasleys espied Harry and Hermione.

After a long moment when one could have heard an owl's feather drop, Molly's wails of grief and pain shattered the silence. "Oh, Merlin, why did she have to get involved with all that? Why couldn't she just get over you! Why didn't I try harder to stop her?! And what she did to you … awful … oh, I'm so sorry!"

Tears in her eyes, Molly rushed towards Harry, arms apart. Harry braced himself for a full-bore, bone-crushing hug, but she suddenly stopped short, uncertain whether Harry would welcome an embrace after what her daughter's perfidy. She looked to Harry, and he looked back, startled.

Harry knew exactly how she felt. "I can't blame you for anything," he muttered.

"Oh, Harry, you don't know. I suspected," Molly choked out as she gathered him in her arms.

She burst into tears.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

Molly's state was such that she could neither continue a conversation nor let go of Harry. Resignedly, Arthur rose from his seat beside his son's bed and almost prised his bawling wife off of Harry.

For different reasons, both Tonks and Hermione felt extremely embarrassed at the scene unfolding in front of them.

Tonks' response was to leave. "Umm … we'll be continuing our investigation into this, and let you know whatever else develops." The young Auror headed for the door.

Hermione's response was to change the subject. "What happened to that broom?" she asked nobody in particular, hoping futilely that Tonks would stay. She did not.

"Seems they were out to kill me, too," Ron answered bitterly. "Troy's done a runner. That's his broom. The Aurors think that bastard…."

"Ronald, language," Hermione tutted reflexively.

"…was a Death Eater, and had his broom charmed to break off during the match so he could kill someone. Merlin knows, I'm the most likely target out there - for a Chaser, anyway." He reached for a goblet of steaming potion on the nightstand next to his bed. "Anyway, Pomfrey's revenge … I have to take this rancid stuff; I hope this is the last time. It's gonna knock me out, but I've heard most of this before, I think."

Ron downed the potion with unusual relish. For a moment he looked like he was about to spew, but he went unconscious almost immediately.

Whilst Ron explained the broom, Arthur tenderly led his still weeping wife to a nearby vacant bed. Molly lay down without protest. "I'm sorry, too, dear," He sighed. Moving behind her, once she could not see, he drew his wand. "Somnius." He softly incanted a Sleeping Spell.

Then he turned back to Harry and Hermione - the pair his daughter had so grievously wronged.

Taking the Re'em by the horns, a gaunt but grim-faced Arthur Weasley looked first Harry, and then Hermione, straight in the eye. "Harry, Hermione, I know you must be incensed, to put it mildly. How much do you know about…?"

His voice wavered and tears glistened at the corners of his eyes.

"…Ginny and what she did?"

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

Hermione Legilimenced, `Careful, Harry.'

Harry gritted his teeth. "Enough," he replied. "I've been told about the note - the potions … possession by Voldemort."

"You saw Tonks. The Aurors have been updating me on their investigation," Arthur continued in a tone of enforced calm. "It probably won't change how you feel, but would you like to know more?"

"Okay," Harry grunted. "Can't hurt now."

Arthur spoke in barely audible tones. "Then can I trouble you for a Security Charm or two?"

Hermione immediately cast Muffliato. Harry then made them all literally vanish with his goblin Cloaking magic.

Arthur told Harry that Death Eaters had penetrated the Castle through the original Chamber of Secrets entrance, which meant connivance by someone on the inside - someone who spoke Parseltongue.

The only known (albeit former) Parselmouth at Hogwarts was Harry, who had the most ironclad alibi imaginable. Draco Malfoy was essentially the sole suspect.

Hermione shuddered - Harry's Parseltongue had been tied to a Horcrux, could Ginny…?

Arthur continued, assuming that Hermione had gone pale in response to his information. Splintered remnants of a demolished Vanishing Cabinet were found in the lower tunnel. That was presumably the Death Eaters' means of ingress. Destroying the cabinet prevented its twin from being traced.

More importantly from Harry's perspective, investigating Aurors had done precisely what Neville recommended - interview Moaning Myrtle. Although ghost testimony was judicially inadmissible, Myrtle had readily fingered Draco Malfoy and his two sidekicks, Cambo and Spott.

Malfoy, of course, had fled with the Death Eaters after personally murdering the Headmaster.

Under Veritaserum, Cambo and Spott both confessed to relatively minor roles. They had been Malfoy's lookouts, without knowing what he was planning. Still, that did not exonerate them, at least from charges of aiding and abetting.

Myrtle's and Malfoy's minions' statements completely exonerated Ginny of any Death Eater collaboration. After Cambo mistakenly Stunned her, he and Spott had shoved her unconscious body into a stall. The Stunner was poor and Myrtle revived her. Ginny then surprised the two Slytherins and bested them in a short duel. She was in turn surprised by the Death Eaters. She even tried to fight them - one of whom was surely Snape - but Draco did something that caused Ginny to collapse screaming.

Hermione relaxed as the eyewitness account essentially ended. Cambo and Spott fled to Slytherin House. Moaning Myrtle had a long-standing and well-founded aversion to large snakes, and when one appeared she retreated to the depths of the lake.

A couple of second-years later noticed Ginny enter Gryffindor Tower. She had appeared unsteady, but in the uproar that followed, nobody gave her much thought - save Jazzy, who came across her suicide note.

Once debris blocking the new entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was cleared away, Ginny's body was found. The Horcrux's destruction had … well, it had not been a pretty sight.

Harry winced. The goblins had supplied the debris, but Hermione had been rather … umm … overenthusiastic when preparing the faked body. She claimed it was to discourage anyone from examining it too closely, but he suspected that her motives were rather more mixed.

He did not really blame her.

Spott and Cambo had also known that Malfoy was peer tutoring Ginny in Potions, further corroborating Ginny's suicide note. The actual Potions assignment records were gone - incinerated along with Professor Slughorn in the Death Eaters' Fiendfyre.

"…and that's all I know," Arthur concluded. "My only daughter is dead, and as much as that hurts, it's probably a good thing. Permanent possession by Voldemort…." He did not finish that sentence and did not need to. Instead, he dropped his face into his hands.

Harry had never seen Arthur Weasley cry - not even at Bill's funeral.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

It was brief. Arthur pulled himself together impressively quickly. He looked first at Harry and then, briefly, at Hermione. "I have only one question for you, if I could…."

Hermione's fingertips lightly brushed the back of Harry's hand - a "be careful" gesture not requiring Legilimency.

"…You were with her more than anyone else. Was there anything, anything at all, suggesting her possession? We've racked our brains and can't come up with a thing…."

"No," Harry was able to answer totally truthfully. "I've asked myself that same question, and I can't think of anything. She seemed herself to me." Harry did not bring up that, with his mind partly addled by Love Potion, he had not been himself, and thus was less likely to spot any aberrant behaviour.

"That doesn't surprise me," Arthur sighed. "Somehow she was manipulated, but I doubt we'll ever find out how."

Hermione stood, looking towards the exit. Talk of manipulation made her skin crawl. "Harry, I need to get my potions from Madam Pomfrey. You can stay if you want…."

"Harry, if you never want to speak to any of us again, I'll understand," Arthur said, shaking his head. "What Ginny did was inexcusable, and we should have paid closer attention. But I want you to know that I've offered my resignation to Rufus…. He didn't accept it."

Hermione had stopped when Arthur mentioned his own situation. "Would we get anything better if this Ministry fell?" It was a safe, non-Ginny question.

"Don't think so, no," Arthur answered, adding another head shake. "After a successful Death Eater attack on Hogwarts, I don't think Kingsley could beat Thicknesse. Kingsley would get blamed, simply for being here…."

"Then the Minister was right," Hermione pronounced. "You shouldn't resign. I don't blame you."

Arthur almost smiled. "Evidently, the Minister agrees with you. If you want to come, and we won't blame you in the slightest if you don't, we're having a small, family-only service on Wednesday…."

"No slight intended, but I think I'll pass," Hermione demurred. Harry did as well.

"Again, can't say that I blame you," Arthur replied solemnly. "One last thing. The Aurors will probably need to debrief you both about the Death Eater invasion of Château Blackwalls, since it's undoubtedly related to the attack here. Where can they contact you?"

"Umm … the Château, probably," Harry said. "All students have to be gone after tomorrow. I don't know about … Hermione…." He looked at her hopefully, almost pleadingly.

"I'll let you know," Hermione answered noncommittally.

They left, relieved that things had gone as smoothly as they had.

"Hermione…."

"Come," she grabbed his arm. "I saw Neville stick his head in. He's outside the door. Go get him whilst I see Madam Pomfrey about my potions and treatment."

Hermione was right. Harry left the Hospital Wing and saw Neville and Jerry McAllister cooling their heels, obviously waiting for him.

"Are you both ready?" As to McAllister, the question was rhetorical. Neville nodded his assent. "Yeah. The other half's already done."

No classrooms were in use, so they walked a ways down the hall and entered the first one with no window in the door. Once the room was secured, the first order of business was the content of the Unbreakable Vow.

Harry had not specified any particular terms, so McAllister suggested using the formulation that he had used for Neville and Ginny. Identical vows would be both cleaner and safer for the vow takers.

Harry agreed after reading Neville's terms, which his friend had helpfully written out in long hand. They provided, first, that Ginny would never reveal what happened to anyone without Harry's consent. As to her whereabouts, as long as Harry and Hermione lived, she could not return to Britain without both of their express written consents, delivered in advance to Neville. Under the same terms, she was also forbidden to be in any other country where Harry or Hermione happened to be.

That also meant that Ginny needed a British passport - fast. McAllister offered to "handle" it, as magically faked passports needed a lot less time than real ones. A passport for Harry, issued through proper channels, had been inching through the Muggle bureaucracy for weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, with the Vow firmly in place and tested, Jerry McAllister broached another subject, the condition of the Château. "Sir, I know Mister Longbottom wishes to speak with you alone, and I don't want to hold anyone up, but could I have some instructions in respect of your return so the Château can be as repaired as thoroughly as possible for your arrival?"

"We have to be out of here by midday tomorrow," Harry informed him.

"Well, that doesn't leave much time doesn't it?" Jerry remarked dryly.

"No, but I don't have any instructions, save one."

"Yes sir."

"When you rebuild the side that collapsed, put the new elves' quarters there. No more basement rooms. Without the elves, very little of the Château would still be standing."

"You're … you're sure about that - I, I mean they're still elves?" Jerry stuttered.

Harry was adamant. "Absolutely. The elves' new quarters will be above ground, and the staff can deal with it or leave."

"Then it will be so…. Will anyone be accompanying you to the Château?"

That question was harder than Mr. McAllister could possibly have imagined.

"Umm … I'm pretty sure Jazzy - the younger girl who likes to fly - will. So make sure she can get in. Nev…?"

"Not me - not anytime soon," Neville declined. "For the first part of the summer, I have to supervise completion of a new manor house that'll be a lot more practical than old Longbottom Castle. During those weeks, I've also agreed to look after my Uncle Algie. He's gone rather barmy, I'm afraid."

"Later, then?"

"Probably not," Neville shrugged. "Professor Sprout arranged for an internship over the second half of the hols, helping categorise and taking samples of endangered magical plants in Madagascar. Some other time, I guess."

"Anybody else?" McAllister asked.

"I don't know about Luna…."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Neville chided.

"All right," Harry growled rather testily. "I'm hoping that Hermione comes, too, but I don't yet know for sure, okay?"

"Sir, I've found that more planning, rather than less, avoids problems," McAllister observed. "In the event that Miss Granger decides to grace us with her presence, what accommodations would you prefer?"

"Hermione will be working at St. Mungo's over the summer. You need to arrange that she can take the splixit from the Château to Gringotts. It's a short walk, and even shorter Floo, to the hospital from there. The goblins can provide whatever security is needed."

"That's well and good, sir," McAllister followed up. "With the redesign you've ordered, and the elves under strength, we must prioritise our repairs. Should I configure the Proprietor's Suite for one or two bedrooms?"

"Two, I think," Harry sighed. "Like you say, better safe than sorry."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Neville repeated. "Have a little faith, will you?"

Mr. McAllister had the direction he needed. What he did not need was any part of this new conversation. "I'll be off, then," he bade farewell.

Harry now gave full attention to his friend. "What is it, Neville?"

"Just … don't sell Hermione short, okay?" Neville demanded. "I'm sure she's ready to forgive you, now that she knows what really happened. Hell, even I am."

"I never sell her short," Harry responded.

"Bullshit, Harry. You just did with McAllister - twice."

"Seriously, Neville. I'm pretty sure she's forgiven me as a friend, but I'm not at all sure she wants me for anything else…."

"Oh, really?" Neville scoffed. "Mind if I try, then?"

"Bullshit, Neville."

"Anyway, I'm still here because I don't know who's safe to tell about Horcruxes, and I want you to have the bloody miserable results of the trip that ended up killing Dumbledore."

"Shite," Harry realised. "No Horcrux?"

"No Horcrux," Neville confirmed. Reaching into his robes he pulled out a gold locket and handed it to Harry. "Just this useless fake."

"How do you know?"

"Go ahead, open it," Neville directed. "It's not hard."

Harry did. "What's this?" He pulled out a piece of paper.

"A note telling anyone and everyone that it's a bloody fake."

"Who's R.A.B.?" Harry asked, his spirits sinking further than he thought possible - at least now that Hermione was staying.

"No idea, but not selling Hermione short, I'll bet with a couple of days to poke around, she'll be able to tell you," Neville speculated. "Don't know what good it'll do, though, since this is a fake and the mysterious R.A.B. is almost certainly dead."

"So it was a bloody trap, then?" Harry asked. Dumbledore, a bishop if not the king, sacrificed for nothing….

"Seemed like it from everything I saw," Neville allowed.

Harry kicked at the ground. "Umm … sorry, Nev. I think so, too. Can't see how it could've been anything else, with all that happened whilst Dumbledore was conveniently out of the way."

Neville sympathised. "Damn…. He's really dead."

Harry shook his head, "Yup, can hardly believe it myself." He pocketed the locket. "Just to make sure, I'll toss this thing in with Ginny's scarf when we destroy that one tonight. You're welcome to come."

"Ordinarily I would, but I'm trying to act as normal as possible until the worst of this blows over," Neville politely turned Harry down. "I'm going to her memorial at the Burrow. You coming…?"

"Sorry, I really don't want to be around lots of Weasleys right now," Harry admitted. "Hermione's right, I'm not a good liar. I survived my one visit by saying as close to nothing as possible - that and Molly … umm … left."

"Okay, what really happened to her?" Neville asked. "You are pants at lying."

"She went hysterical when she saw me. Arthur had to cast a Sleeping Spell on her," Harry admitted.

"Anyway, I'm assuming you don't care to know about … the travel plans," Neville inquired. "Should be overseas already."

"No," Harry concurred. "The less I know, the better. Here, you'll want this, I suppose."

Harry reached inside his robes, extracted Ginny's wand from the back pocket of his Muggle jeans (Mad-Eye must have turned over in his grave), unrolled the scrap of Demiguise cloth that made it invisible, and offered it to Neville.

"Gee … thanks Harry. I wondered where it had gone off to," Neville accepted the proffer. "Umm … the owner will be pleased - not having to be a Squib after all."

"I've heard enough from certain sources that I'm comfortable giving it back," Harry revealed. "Just make sure I never see it again."

Harry was ready to leave. He had been closeted in this room a lot longer than he had expected, and he wanted to find Hermione. "There's one other thing," Neville stopped him. "I'd like to join the Order. I've talked it over with Gran. She approves, and I think it's time…."

"You've got my vote, Nev," Harry assured him.

"Then will you propose me?" Neville requested. "I know some of the older members surely think I'm pathetic…."

"Nev, you have two Orders of Merlin. Most members don't have any," Harry reminded him.

"I know, but there's also jealousy over that. Gran says that members proposed by the leader of the Order always get voted in." That nugget prompted a quick response.

"What?" Harry looked incredulous, and more than a little displeased. "Since when?"

"Since Dumbledore's death, of course," Neville easily parried that question. "Gran was once in the Order, when it fought Grindelwald. She says the previous leader was some Frenchman, but not long after the Fall of France, Fawkes left him and chose Dumbledore. Whoever the Phoenix chooses leads the Order, even if you might not know it."

Harry had had his fill of leadership positions. "Well, you're asking the wrong person, then. That means Hermione's the leader of the Order - but I'm sure she'll propose you."

"Not so, Harry," Neville resisted. "I was there, remember. It happened less than a metre from where I stood. Fawkes didn't choose Hermione. Fawkes is Hermione now, and vice versa. Now that she's successfully mastered the transformation, that clinches it."

"But, then…."

"Hermione will always choose you, Harry," Neville told him. "Provided you let her."

"But…."

"Don't be stupid, Harry…. Bye, for now."

Neville might have given him an unexpected talking to, but Harry still felt a lot better afterwards. He used the Marauders' Map (don't leave home without it) to locate Hermione, whom he knew must have left the Hospital Wing by now.

He saw her dot in the hallway outside the Ceremonial Library. Luna's dot was next to her, and one with a vaguely familiar name Harry could not quite place. He picked up the pace.

Harry met Hermione walking in the opposite direction, looking for him - an enigmatic smile on her face.

"I'm done, Hermione. How about some supper - last night of the year. Too bad the Leaving Feast was cancelled, though…."

"Yeah," Hermione signed. "Too bad about that. Gryffindor had the House Cup locked up for another year - even before any Quidditch points were counted."

"Umm … where've you been?"

"Sorry," Hermione apologised. "Waiting for you took longer than I thought, and after I finished with Madam Pomfrey, I received a Patronus message asking me to meet with Luna…."

"Really? That's quite advanced. I didn't know she could it - I sure couldn't use a Patronus like that when I was a Fifth Year."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but the Patronus belonged to Elder Dromit," Hermione disabused him.

"Oh…. I saw his name on the Map when I finally finished with Neville - everything's okay on that front, by the way…."

"Good," Hermione told an anxious Harry. "But there's news - I've just learnt that things are better than okay with Luna."

"I could use some good news right now," Harry replied, looking a little sad. "Who's this Dromit wizard? He seems to have slipped my mind…."

"That's part of the news. He's the Senior Druid of Luna's grove. He came to run some magical tests - originally on me, but then on Luna. I'm not Druid High Priestess anymore … Luna is. Thank my lucky stars for that!"

Harry was almost dumbfounded, but happy. Hermione had never been comfortable with her involuntary involvement in a religion she did not believe in. "Well, good on you. Luna's a much better choice…. But how?"

Hermione grimaced. If anything would stimulate Harry's robust guilt feelings, this was it. But he needed to know. "As far as Druid Magicks are concerned, I died when the Killing Curse hit me. Phoenixes hadn't yet come to Britain when Druids created the ancient spells involved in all that."

Harry was still dumfounded, but no longer happy. "You … you actually died?"

"Only as to the Druids," Hermione hastened to clarify. "As explained to me, the fancy consecration spell is only essential when a new High Priestess is raised - essentially from nothing. In the pre-Roman days, however, a laying on of hands between a dying High Priestess and the chosen acolyte was a rather common means of transferring the powers of the office."

The colour drained from Harry's face, just as Hermione had feared. "Yeah, Luna jumped on you after you'd … you'd…. Hermione, I really would rather talk about your living than your dying…. Can we change the subject, please?"

"All right," Hermione sighed. She was happy to get the whole Druid complication out of her already overly complex life. "But Luna will be in training all summer. She promises a more thoroughgoing effort at removing any remaining potion from my system once next Term begins. Just don't expect to see her at the Château. She's serious about her new role."

"No problem, but I do hope to see you," he invited her obliquely. "Let me tell you about the arrangements I've made. The Château's getting some remodeling…."

"Let's do it at dinner, Harry," Hermione suggested. "I need something to eat before I start my therapy…. Last time to back out - some of it is strenuous."

"Hermione, I'll take on Voldemort for you any day of the week. A little workout doesn't bother me."

* * * *

The Term's last evening meal was a subdued affair. Well over half of the student body had already left. With many extra seats available, Headmistress McGonagall issued a rare invitation for parents to attend. Adult attendance deterred any boisterous conduct all the more.

All remaining students were invited to attend a memorial for Albus Dumbledore, tomorrow, on the Castle's grounds. In accordance with his final instructions, Dumbledore would be buried (after his corpse was demagified) privately in his family's cemetery plot at Godric's Hollow - beneath the same simple marker that commemorated the rest of his family. The Headmaster's accomplishments spoke for themselves and did not require ornate marble remembrance.

Harry and Hermione had just selected their afters when a house-elf delivered a message from the Headmistress. It was a request to announce their Head Boy and Head Girl appointments. Neither of them was in any mood to draw more attention to themselves. Hermione, in particular, had barely assented to accept her appointment at all. They turned the publicity request down - flat.

The Headmistress' note included an interesting addendum that was emphatically not to be made public. Aided by a late Draught of Despair-driven surge, Hermione had accounted for an astounding thirty nine percent of Gryffindor's non-Quidditch House Points. The previous record had been slightly more than thirty three percent, amassed by Tom Riddle in the year of his award for Special Services to the School.

Some similar awards were probably in the offing for next Term - perhaps even a Medal for Magical Merit, or three.

Harry easily persuaded Hermione that the Room of Requirement would be more appropriate for her physical and magical therapy, given its ability to adjust for its occupants' needs at any particular moment. Upon their arrival, the Room helpfully provided a privacy screen. "I'm going to change into my workout clothes, now, Harry. Here, why don't you read Healer Huxley's physical therapy instructions whilst I'm busy…?"

Hermione slipped out of sight, counting to herself, `One … two … three … four….'

"Hermione!" Harry's shocked explosion came just when anticipated. "These instructions…. They're mostly talking about … shagging…!"

"Yes, `vigorous sexual intercourse to orgasm is the optimal therapy for the chronic hypo-endorphinism and bouts of acute dopamine deprivation that are characteristic sequelæ of extreme overexposure to Draught of Despair.' I've memorised it…."

"Hermione, you mean to tell me you're asking me to have sex … make love … with you as physical therapy?" Harry sounded disbelieving.

She had expected as much. "You volunteered. Would you rather I ask someone else?" Hermione retorted from behind the screen.

"NO!" Harry spluttered. "It's just that … I thought … something like this … you would have told me directly…."

"Would that have changed your mind? If it would then I…."

"NO! Nothing would ever make me change my mind about you! I love you!"

"Then what's your problem with shagging? Healer's orders after all."

"That's just it," Harry tried again. "I don't just want to shag you. I've never wanted that, well, just that…." After a moment's hesitation he continued in lower but still desperate tones. "I want you … well you know what I want, you know where it is, and it's yours whenever you want it. Hermione, what the hell do you want?"

Hermione did not want to be separated from Harry any longer.

The Room of Requirement must have sensed that the privacy screen was no longer desired, because it vanished. Hermione stood facing Harry.

Without a stitch on.

And not the least bit shy about it.

When Eliza had done that, Harry had felt … he had been stoned out of his gourd.

When Ginny had done that, Harry had felt … he had been under in thrall of a strong Love Potion.

When Daphne had done that, Harry had felt … he had been overcome by lust - due to the bizarre influence of that strong Love Potion.

When Fleur had done that, Harry had felt … he had been Veelaed within an inch of his life.

When Hermione did it, Harry felt … voluntarily yet totally captivated. She was a dream come true.

"What do I want? I want you, Harry. I've been badly hurt - I'm still hurting. That's why Healer Huxley says I need this therapy. But you … you've never hurt me physically…. I trust you with my body, and what I need right now is to be shagged senseless on a regular basis. It's been a month…."

"But Hermione, you deserve more…."

"Harry … pedestal," Hermione reminded him. "I have needs; accept them, please. You should know. I didn't think I could ever trust you with my heart again, but once you … Daphne and Fleur, you could explain them, I decided to chance it. I don't know anyone else who could possibly make me feel the way you make me feel, Harry. And that's both good and bad…. I've decided to try…."

"Hermione…."

She was not done. "I know full well, I'm putting myself in a position where you could hurt me again." She took a deep breath. "I'm just praying that you won't. I know you respect me, so I'm asking you, please take what I can give you. Let's shag, Harry."

"Forever, Hermione," Harry declared, softly but firmly. "That's how long I'll love you - till the end of time. For me it'll never be shagging, I want you to know that."

Hermione was impatient with Harry's latest Gryffindor grand gesture. "I can't … just can't … deal with forever right now, Harry. Let's sleep on it - on each other - for a while and see what happens? Can't you at least try? I'm randy, dammit."

"Okay, Luv, so am I." Having made his position clear, Harry accepted Hermione's terms. He could scarcely do otherwise.

"Oh, my!" Hermione squeaked. Harry turned and saw something black and a little tangled beside him, hanging from the Room's ceiling.

"What's that?"

"I … umm … apparently wasn't exaggerating when I said I was randy - well, for you," Hermione blushed. Her sudden embarrassment spoke volumes, as she had been parading about in the altogether for several minutes. "That's a, well, a swing … the kind used for shagging…." She had seen one once before, at Samson's Option in Hogsmeade.

To Harry it all seemed surreal. "You use a swing for shagging…?"

"Yes, Harry. Here, let me show you." She hurried to the swing and pushed a few of its numerous straps this way and that. Then she settled in, looking more comfortable and giving Harry a truly stupendous view of her arousal. "Please, Harry, I really need you right now…."

Dear Merlin! Harry thought he was in heaven - that Voldemort must have killed him after all.

Harry never did figure out whether he, or she, or the Room, removed his clothes. It hardly mattered. With a minimum of talking, thinking, or analysing, the pair sought to recreate what they had enjoyed before Death Eater perfidy, and Ginny Weasley's outsized ambitions, had sundered it.

An hour or so later, one thing was clear. For both Harry and Hermione, their bodies had been better attuned to their hearts than had their minds. Thinking could be overrated. Overthinking a litany of errors and omissions certainly was.

Hermione's first session of physical therapy was a success by almost any measure. She vociferously approved as her endorphin levels received one boost after another. Fortunately, this part of the Castle was virtually deserted.

Only once did they have an issue. Harry was in the swing, and Hermione sought to service him as he repeatedly had her. He objected; as long as he was her personal trainer, his job was to pleasure her - full stop. Hermione, taken aback, protested that it made her feel powerful, but Harry would not budge.

Hermione's solution that they proceed with mutuality settled the problem, so she climbed on top. One thing led to another, and eventually Hermione was straddling him - giving the swing's stirrups (which magically appeared when needed) a strenuous workout.

Their bodies embraced what their minds - or at least Hermione's - was not yet prepared to acknowledge. Hermione was too far gone, howling too loudly, to notice when a telltale pink flash illuminated the Room and tested Hogwarts' newly rebuilt wards.

Their combined passions produced a Harmonic Convergence, something Harry had missed during his entire month with Ginny. He would tell Hermione that, eventually, but not just yet….

The Harmonic Convergence could not be reached chemically. It required genuine love.

Finally, their energies spent, they lay together in blissful post-coital languor - as boneless as they were painless.

"Merlin, Harry, you were brilliant…. But then you always are…."

"Me? Brilliant? That's you, not me. I just reflect whatever you're able to allow me."

"Harry, you've helped me … immensely. With all the endorphins I've just produced, I seriously doubt I'll have any flashbacks for the rest of the month. But you know, I'd love to be able to help you."

"Well, you could always…. No, that's for you, not me, to decide. But … well you do help me."

"I'm glad. How am I - I mean apart from the obvious?"

"It's … well, your just being here keeps me…." Harry failed to complete the sentence.

"Keeps you what? You can tell me, Harry. You can tell me anything. I want you to."

Hermione could hear Harry exhale. "All right. Well, you keep me from going Dark."

"Dark? Harry, you're not Dark, and you never could be."

"I don't know about that. The other night, for the first time in my life, I … well intentionally wanted to kill someone. Not stop them, not catch them - kill them…."

"You saw Bellatrix hit me with the Killing Curse, didn't you?"

"Yes, and I tried my dead level best to end her life, except she Disapparated first."

"Harry, I frankly can't say I blame you. I'd have done the same thing if the tables had been turned," Hermione said soothingly. "Wanting someone like her, or Voldemort, dead hardly qualifies you for turning Dark."

"Wanting and doing are two different things," Harry pointed out. "And besides, she wasn't the only one."

"Harry, you can't kill Voldemort - yet," Hermione warned.

"No, Ima Hogg, and every other Death Eater still in the Château after you'd been…. I would have burnt it to the ground just to kill them, but Dobby and the free elves beat me to it. The Château survived, but all the freed elves save Dobby died … threw themselves out windows knowing they couldn't use magic…."

"Free elves can be just as loyal as enslaved ones … and more powerful." Hermione returned to one of her favorite refrains.

"Still, I hate how I felt," Harry moaned. "It's one step closer to going Dark."

"You won't go Dark, Harry. I won't allow it."

"Hold me. Let me tell you something about the Château…."

"Don't worry. I'll come with you…."

After they had exhausted each other, if not the swing's many possibilities (Harry promised to owl-order one for the Château under the guise of durable medical equipment), they spent their most restful night in months in a featherbed provided by the Room of Requirement.

* * * *

Perhaps twelve hundred kilometres to the south, on an almost five-hundred year old balcony overlooking an eternal city, two similar men chanced upon one another. Both were similarly aged and overweight. Both wore similar red robes and white skullcaps. Both worried about the same things. If chance had not brought them together that evening, soon enough design would have.

"It is true, then? The wizard Dumbledore is dead."

"It is true."

"May his soul find redemption. That is indeed an unfortunate development."

"It is. Although he was a nonbeliever, and drove a hard bargain, when he finally committed, his word could be trusted."

"And what of the heretical Gospel of Truth?"

"It remains in the hands of the two children. Another ancient work, represented as from the same collection, has been confirmed as genuine."

"Also unfortunate. We must act on the assumption that it, too, is genuine. What do we know of these children?"

"Harry Potter, the possessor, to whom we addressed our correspondence, is sixteen years old, underaged, and from all evidence a non-believer. According to Dumbledore, he is also the most dangerous adversary of the demonic wizard Voldemort."

"The one whose essence is imbued in the chalice?"

"The same. Our exorcists have tested the chalice. Its demonic possession is confirmed."

"And has the demon been cast out?"

"Unfortunately not. For the first time, our International Association of Exorcists lost a member in the line of duty."

"And these … children…. Can they do better?"

"So Dumbledore believed - and he was rarely wrong on such matters."

"This is indeed serious - on several levels. What about the other … the girl?"

"The girl is seventeen, extremely intelligent, and we believe highly dangerous to the Church."

"On what do you base this extremely disturbing assessment?"

"According to our confidential investigators, the girl is not merely a non-believer; she is apparently affiliated with pagan remnants in Britain … Druids…."

"Is it your conclusion that she could influence the boy to make the heretical work public, or something similar?"

"Nothing is certain; a distinct possibility exists."

"That risk could, as a worst case, destroy the Church."

"As long as the heretical gospel exists, so does that risk, yes."

"That settles it. They already know too much. Offer the chalice in exchange for the heresy. Invite them here…. Do anything and everything necessary to protect the rock and end the risk. Leave nothing to chance. Exodus twenty-two, eighteen."

"It shall be done."

* * * *

After Dumbledore's quite private (no politicians, not even the Minister) memorial service, Harry and Hermione left Hogwarts in a sombre mood. For all his maddening manipulations, Dumbledore had been a true mentor to Harry. Although Shak remained Harry's legal guardian, emotionally and practically, he was now on his own, except for one huge exception - Hermione.

As Harry's coach flew them to Château Blackwalls, their sombre mood turned distinctly grim. Their next task was to destroy, once and for all, the Horcrux that had twice possessed Ginny Weasley. This time, they would leave nothing to chance.

To distract them temporarily from that unpleasant, yet inexorable, task, Hermione suggested that they go through the notebook Dumbledore had left for Harry.

They found an incomplete agenda - a litany of half finished tasks.

Looming largest, as it directly affected Harry's ability to finish Voldemort, was the status of negotiations with Church authorities concerning the Hufflepuff Cup. A swap - the ancient manuscript known as the Gospel of Truth for the Cup - had been agreed to in principle. Dumbledore had sent Blackie Howe's report on the authenticity of the Basilides manuscript to the Prelature as requested. Receipt had been acknowledged. Dumbledore's last notation was that, in all likelihood, Harry would have to complete the transaction in person.

The Church was pushing for a meeting in Rome. Dumbledore's notes suggested a more neutral site. Avignon perhaps…?

"It's necessary, but I still don't like this," Hermione complained. "It's history, and they will destroy it, because it's inconvenient history."

"It's not really our problem, is it?" Harry questioned. "We need to destroy the Horcrux, or I'm history."

"Perhaps we could at least make a copy - to save for posterity?" Hermione mused. "I'm pretty sure I could duplicate the parchment and the ink. You could save it, hide it away someplace, with instructions to make it public after your death, which I trust will be many decades from now."

"But that's why they want it badly enough to give us the Cup, innit? So it never sees the light of day, and they can claim it never really existed," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, and that's just wrong," Hermione insisted. "But they'd still claim it's a fake anyway, since the carbon ratio wouldn't match."

"What's that?" Harry asked, as much in hope of touching off one of her factfests as for any other reason.

He succeeded. "The earth's atmosphere is constantly bombarded by high energy cosmic radiation. Some of it strikes carbon atoms in carbon dioxide, creating a radioactive type of carbon. It's chemically identical, so all living things absorb it equally. As a result, there's a percentage, of carbon 14 to carbon 16, that gradually shifts towards the 16 isotope after things die and the carbon 14 disintegrates…."

"Wait a minute," Harry broke in. "There's a spell for that."

"What?" Hermione countered, incredulously. She was not accustomed to Harry knowing a spell she did not.

"The Sisters have one," Harry insisted. "They used it on the wood and paper that they put with the Nazi gold. They tinkered with something carbon to get some ratio right so it really looked abandoned for fifty years. That has to be the same thing, so you think…?"

"Almost certainly, Harry," Hermione finished the thought. "Not to mention, Jewish witches like the Sisters undoubtedly have a long history with noxious Catholic anti-Semitism."

"Hmmm," Harry thought. "Payback could be a bitch. Lilithu acknowledged the Sisters' debt. I'll bet she'll help us…."

Talk turned to other unfinished business. Harry's training in France, set to start at the beginning of July, was high on that agenda.

The training was not a problem. Harry's living arrangements whilst in France were. Dumbledore initially had favoured an invitation from Fleur Delacour; the same invitation that Fleur had made - personally, very personally - to Harry at the Beauxbatons Ball.

Both Harry and Hermione now reacted poorly to that option. Fleur's questionable behaviour at the Beauxbatons Ball remained of paramount concern to them both.

But almost on the eve of his death, Dumbledore had written an addendum.

Recently - after the Beauxbatons ball, - Fleur had attached a new condition to her invitation. Harry could only stay at Château Delacour if Hermione accompanied him.

That condition forced them both to consider reassessing Fleur's motives. Could she possibly be acting altruistically?

But regardless of Fleur's motives, her invitation remained implausible. Hermione had her own internship with Healer Huxley at St. Mungo's. Commuting from Central France to Central London would be impractical, if not impossible.

Harry resigned himself to living in the Groupe d'Intervention's barracks.

Compared to that dicey situation, preparations for the Acromantula hunt were simple enough. Dumbledore had parlayed with the centaurs, who were pleased (to the extent that anything humans did could please them) at the prospect of being rid of those eight-legged menaces. Their one non-negotiable item was for the hunt not to take place until the second half of August, so this year's foals would be old enough to migrate to a safe location whilst the hunt occurred.

Dumbledore's views were also more aligned with Harry's concerning the ex-Princess of Wales' alliance proposal. Due to the strong potential for extensive Muggle entanglements and repercussions, the late Headmaster recommended Muggle legal counsel with knowledge of the Wizard World. He provided three names and recommended that Kinglsey vet them, with input from Hermione.

Although the Headmaster's notes did not ascribe reasons, Harry wondered if he had entertained any of the same concerns that troubled Hermione. His strong recommendation that Hermione be involved all negotiations suggested as much, but was inconclusive.

Unwanted and premature publicity could endanger Lady Diana at least as much as Harry. Dumbledore therefore suggested that the negotiations be conducted in an out-of-the way venue. The provincial city of Limoges, where Harry was already scheduled to be working with the French elite Aurors, would be an excellent choice.

That clinched it. They would speak to the goblins about transportation. Some way had to be found for Hermione to travel quickly between London and Limoges.

The Dursleys.

Finally, Dumbledore had accomplished something significant.

The Order had made firm arrangements for their sanctuary upon Harry turning seventeen - after which the magicks that had protected them from Voldemort, not perfectly but adequately, for all these years, would expire.

No, they had not been exiled to Coober Pedy. Dumbledore had vetoed that, and even Hermione admitted that, perhaps, she had been a tad vindictive in suggesting that locale.

Australia, yes, but not the middle of the Outback. Instead, they would receive new identities and be moved to Erinsborough, some Melbourne suburb.

The Order had offered to Obliviate them - so they would not remember Harry at all. Vernon had readily accepted that offer, but Dudley, and surprisingly Petunia had declined.

Dumbledore's notes mentioned that Vernon had requested a mutual Obliviation - that Harry's memories also be altered to forget his uncle.

Hermione's response was caustic. "He's worried about you, Harry, when he should really be worried about someone else - me."

Harry was curious. "What's that about?"

"That fat pig has more to hide than you know," Hermione spat. "He was one of those who bribed my father, Harry, I'm sure of it."

Harry had not heard this before. "You're sure…? You know this for a fact?"

Not yet, but we can find out," she answered confidently. "I'll wager you galleons to gobstones that, somewhere on that computer he gave you - supposedly as a birthday present - is the evidence tying Grunnings, and him, to payoffs to my father. He gave that thing to you, I think, so the Muggle police couldn't find it…."

"We'll have to take a look, then," Harry agreed, not at all happy about being used in this fashion. "It's probably still in my trunk, since the elves cleaned up after me when I tossed everything…."

"That's not a problem, Harry," Hermione tried to get Harry to relax. She knew he was recalling that horrible period when her life had hung in the balance. "There's no rush."

Hermione was right. Details could wait until after the Pacific Magical Gathering of the Polynesian Confederation of Covens was concluded.

The Covens' Gathering.

To be held in Hawai'i, on the comparatively ancient island of Kauai, at the ancient magical location of Honopu - also known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribes."

As they finished reading Dumbledore's notes on the subject, a Hogwarts envelope slid out of the back of the Headmaster's notebook and plopped into Harry's lap, almost as if magically prompted.

It contained two sets of tickets, for both Harry and Hermione. One set was magical, consisting of two turquoise VIP passes for the Gathering. The other set was thoroughly Muggle - a set of first-class Air Canada tickets, with a change of planes in Vancouver, from Heathrow to Honolulu.

Two tickets to paradise.

International Apparition, even if within these two invitees' capacity (both were novices unable to Apparate anywhere they had never been), was a bureaucratic hassle. Portkeys could not jump across oceans. Compared to any other magical means, Muggle airliners were both faster and far more comfortable.

They were travelling - now quite literally - in Dumbledore's stead as representatives of the recently deceased Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. This assignment, however, was purely pretextual. Harry and Hermione had no official duties to distract or distress them.

For all intents and purposes, the Headmaster had arranged, for want of a better word, a much-deserved vacation for the pair of them.

Was Dumbledore omniscient? Probably not - otherwise he would still be alive. But on abnormally frequently, his powers of anticipation did seem uncanny.

* * * *

The time drew nigh for a task that Harry viewed with equal parts dread and determination. He had never before, deliberately and intentionally, set out to destroy a Horcrux.

From the Château, the goblins efficiently escorted them both - Hermione was not about to let Harry do this alone - into their territory through the splixit. The lava damage to the tunnel was largely repaired, with only cosmetic remnants uncompleted, those being some about fifteen metres of rough, unpolished floors and walls.

The splixit delivered them to an equally roughhewn corridor somewhere deep within the goblins' underground catacombs. One door in the hallway stood open. The room it accessed was probably originally a cave. It had been dug out and otherwise modified until now it was approximately oblong with a ceiling that peaked in the centre at about five metres.

This room was utterly barren save for two things. Near the back wall was the white polystyrene chest containing the cryogenically imprisoned Horcrux. In the middle gleamed a cauldron that was a bit more than a metre across and almost that in depth. Although neither Harry nor Hermione were so gauche as to inquire, they both assumed that the great basin was cast entirely from solid gold. It had the colour and, as they found when checking it for tipping, the weight.

In short order, a crew of goblins using self turning rollers brought in one massive stone block after another - Easter Island style. They created a barricade by stacking end-to-end between the cauldron and the door. Their redoubt reminded Harry of a similar structure built by the Order on the day he and Hermione were awarded their first Orders of Merlin.

Hermione worked through the remaining details with the goblins. At Savini's direction (Harry was relieved that she did not contradict the goblins' resumed use of that term), the goblins filled the cauldron with a solution of nine parts hydrofluoric acid to one part distilled water. She then conjured a hot fire that burnt with almost painful, blue-white intensity. When the cauldron's contents began bubbling, she urged Harry forward with the admonition to "leave nothing to chance."

By that, she wanted him to use all of the crystallised Basilisk venom. Perhaps a lesser amount would destroy the Horcrux, but with their magic being both improvised and untested, Hermione was not interested in skimping on the most essential ingredient.

They would deal with additional Horcruxes in due course.

The crystals hissed, snakelike, when Harry emptied the precious phial into the simmering cistern. Meticulously, the goblins wheeled in a gigantic stone lid that they elevated using a counterweight attached to a ten-metre long bar. When they cut the weight loose, the lid would slam down atop the cauldron, isolating its contents.

All that remained was the Horcrux itself. Moving with Hermione behind the barricade, Harry trained his wand on the polystyrene chest, as two goblin volunteers warily removed the top. Hermione Levitated the ice-encased shawl as beside her Harry dialed his Freezing Charm to maximum strength.

The two goblins, acting now as forward observation officers, stayed near the vessel until they verified that the evil iceball hovered directly above the cauldron. That task complete, one of them tossed the fake Horcrux into the cauldron. Then they quickly retreated to safety.

In unison, Harry and Hermione incanted "Finite." At the splash of the object striking the liquid's surface, a goblin Asterlisk whirred through the air, neatly severing the rope connected to the counterweight. The huge stone lid slammed down upon the golden cauldron, visibly bending its sides. Everyone ducked behind the bulwark.

Almost immediately, the cauldron began giving off a low hum. At first Harry thought the goblins' Shielding Charms were responsible, but as it rapidly rose in pitch and volume, its connexion to Voldemort's Horcrux became almost painfully evident.

Hermione covered her ears. Just as Harry was about to emulate her, a loud THUMP rumbled through the room, feeling like a stiff breeze. With its passage, the intolerable whine abruptly ceased.

Besides their breathing, the only sound in the room was the quiet hissing and popping of the fire beneath the cauldron.

Conjuring Protego Shields, Harry and Hermione cautiously raised their heads above the wall.

Very little met their gazes. The stone lid was intact and still covered the cauldron. But the vessel itself was totally transformed. Instead of glittering gold, it barely reflected anything at all.

What had been gold was now lead.

The Horcrux - the soul fragment that had twice possessed Ginny Weasley - was no more.

* * * *

A bleary-eyed woman had just deplaned into the bustling Jo'burg International Airport from her early morning SAA flight from Madrid. With a change of planes in Dakar, Graciana Ferers had been travelling almost twenty-four straight hours. This was her first long-distance plane flight, and her first with her newly-minted Spanish passport. Her first flight ever - a few days ago from London to Barcelona - had been a puddle jumper by comparison.

Slipping into an institutional restroom that could just as easily have been in Dublin, Djakarta, or Delhi, she still had trouble recognising her appearance. Her skin was two shades darker, her face thinner, her eyes hazel, and above all her hair was brown and fell no farther than her shoulders. Her entirely new look took more getting used to than her new identity.

But neither was nearly as disorienting as her new circumstances. She had no choice in the matter. Her formal magical education had come to an abrupt end. She would never become a fully accredited witch. Instead, her new occupation required her to pass for a Muggle most of the time.

It could have been worse. For two depressing days, hiding out near Zaragoza, she had resigned herself to a Squib's existence. Then she had received an unexpected package containing her beloved wand.

She could scarcely believe it. Neville had made the terms of her future starkly clear - go abroad or face almost certain execution to ensure destruction of Voldemort's Horcrux. Nobody would believe her that, once (actually, twice) possessed by a Horcrux, she no longer was, but still lived. Death was the only known outcome of Horcrux possession. Her life would be as good as forfeit should the UK (or any) ministry discover her true background.

Her magic was a small price to pay for her life. And now, even that price had been discounted. She did not deserve Harry - or, she had to admit, Hermione. Harry would not have taken such a step without his better half's consent. Had their roles been reversed…? She doubted that she was that good a person.

Only one more flight to go, a regional flight to Gaborone. At that destination, the goblins would meet her, and she would commence her new life as their intermediary - selling gold and diamonds to the Muggles. Goblins and Muggle colonialists had both come to this place at about the same time. The goblins allowed the Muggles some reasonably decent deposits, Witwatersrand and Kimberley being two, but goblins being goblins, they kept the richest sites for themselves. Whatever production the goblins' own uses did not require, they sold to the Muggles.

This sales function was her new job - in Botswana. The goblins were quite used to caching away inconvenient mistresses.

She faced a two-hour layover. Here it was mid-winter; too cold outside to leave the terminal. Spotting an honour box for the Engineering and Mining Journal - only in Jo'burg, she imagined - she thought she might as well start getting acquainted with her new line of work.

The headline on the weekly broadsheet brought her up short - SEVEN TONNE NAZI GOLD FIND COULD DEPRESS MARKET. The story discussed the largest discovery of missing Nazi gold since just after the big Muggle war. An avalanche had uncovered the trove, and the amazingly honest spelunkers discovering it had contacted the Simon Wiesenthal Center after noticing the swastikas.

She recognised the cover story immediately. This had to be the end result of Harry's trip to Bavaria. Having excluded herself, she was not terribly familiar with what had transpired - except in that damned castle - but this article corroborated what little she knew. With the furore that undoubtedly followed the Death Eaters' murder of Headmaster Dumbledore, this relatively minor, seemingly Muggle, event would surely pass unnoticed back in wizarding England.

She sighed, accepting her fate but nonetheless wishing everything could have been different. Even here, near the bottom of a completely different continent, she could not totally escape the influence of Harry Potter.

* * * *

Author's notes: It's hurricane season in the US, at landfall they are most dangerous

Diplomatic shouting matches are described as "full and frank"

"There you go again" - Reagan quote

Harry's other incident was in Ch. 35

The Bake Off was Ch. 78

Slughorn knew too much about Horcruxes, see Ch. 62

"Looking for a loophole" - description of Richard Nixon reading the US constitution

Demetrius Tarbert was mentioned in Ch. 4

Thestralspotting = trainspotting

Ultra vires = beyond one's legal power

In Ch. 7, Hermione decided to stop writing Victor as it seemed to bother Harry

Best can do is a tie - the expectations for Lew Alcindor at UCLA

Ch. 52 mentioned Hermione's striving to be better than perfect

Lodestone as an ingredient in the love potion is mentioned in Ch. 58

Roofie = Rohypnol, a "date rape" drug

Durable medical equipment is more Medicare than NHS

Drawing water/cutting ("hewing") wood - a description of menial duties (Joshua 9:21/23)

Don't know who I am/Life is for learning - CSNY's "Woodstock"

The broom plot against Ron was in Ch. 78

Owl feathers specially evolved to be quiet

House elves this way is more radical than freeing them

Jazzy will need a way in

Neville has a good job location

R.A.B. are faked initials; see Ch. 54

France fell in late spring 1940

Dromit met Hermione in Ch. 74

I never liked Dumbledore's ostentatious tomb

Demagification was discussed in Ch. 38

The lack of publicity will help both H/Hr and McGonagall

Eliza, Ch. 27; Ginny, Ch. 79; Daphne, Ch. 81; Fleur, Ch. 82

Till the end of time/sleep on it; from Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" but with sex roles reversed

The sex swing was seen in Ch. 52

St Peter's was built between 1506 and 1626

The Gospel of Truth was discovered in Ch. 58

The International Association of Exorcists actually exists; its leader denounced the Potter series, so in this fic H/Hr are better at exorcism

Exodus 22:18 - thou shalt not suffer a witch to live

The Basilides manuscript was discussed in Ch. 73

Carbon 14 dating is accurately described

The carbon altering spell was used in Ch. 81

Coober Pedy is from Ch. 74

Erinsborough is from the Australian TV show "Neighbours"

Harry got the computer in Ch. 23; bribery investigators mentioned Vernon in Ch. 65

Harry was invited to the Hawai'i meeting in Ch. 47

Honopu is real, and is known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribes"

"Two Tickets to Paradise" is an Eddie Money song

Wooden rollers for moving massive Easter Island statues contributed to disastrous deforestation

The earlier barrier was in Ch. 56

This concentration is more effectively acidic than pure HF

Harry obtained crytallised venom in Ch. 54

A British Forward Observation Officer ("FOO") targets artillery fire, at considerable risk

Reverse alchemy, turning gold to lead, is appropriate for a Horcrux

SAA = South African Airlines

Graciana begins with a "G"; Ferers is close to "ferret"

Witwatersrand and Kimberley are two very rich mining areas

There is an Engineering and Mining Journal, but it might not circulate in South Africa

The Simon Wiesenthal Center exists, and deals with Shoah-related matters

63

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