Off Balance by InsaneTrollLogic

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 22/05/2006
Last Updated: 25/08/2007
Status: Completed

Thrown together by a mutual desire to do what’s right (and not what’s easy) in a war of secrets
and deception, Harry and Hermione cling to each other as the world around them falls apart. Can
true love, once buried by lust and tension, win out in the end? Plus: Voldemort’s end game, why
Ginny isn’t Harry’s equal, the importance of Severus Snape and more H/Hr subtext than you could
shake a hippogriff at. Follows HBP, but occasionally sneers at it. Other Portkey ships may emerge
as the story sails on.




1. Chapter 1: Back in Black
---------------------------

Well, this is my first Portkey fic. I considered writing some one-shots to break the ice, but
I'm kind of in love with this story right now, so I couldn't keep it shelved any longer. I
hope it's to your liking.

Chapter 1: Back in Black

The dingy street on which 12 Grimmauld Place stood was almost exactly as Harry Potter remembered
it. The windows in many of the houses along the way remained broken and rubbish was strewn about
the sidewalks, giving the neighbourhood a distinctly run-down look. It made it seem as though Harry
was strolling through a dodgy slum rather than paying a visit to what had technically been his
house for the last year. The movement of shadows through the alleyways surrounding him made him
jump slightly and he swiftly withdrew his wand from the hip pocket of his jeans. The sense of
foreboding he had felt ever since deciding to come here alone was suddenly heightened. He hadn’t
told anyone where he was going and the world was now a very dangerous place with Albus Dumbledore
no longer in it. Anything could happen to him out here with no one the wiser.

“You have to do this alone,” a soft voice of determination spoke inside Harry’s mind. “There’s no
need to put anyone else in danger just because you have a hunch.”

Harry nodded his head slightly, as if in agreement with the voice. Ron and Hermione were still
staying with him at the Dursleys’, as they had all summer. It had been nearly a week since his
seventeenth birthday, which meant that he was now ‘of age’, at least as the wizarding world
determined such things. That in turn meant that he no longer needed to stay with his relatives at
Number 4 Privet Drive. However, the Trio had been unwilling to relocate to the Burrow with Bill and
Fleur’s upcoming wedding making things unbearable there and they really had nowhere else to go. Of
course, it was also a bit of a lark to give the Dursleys some grief now that all three of them
could legally use magic.

His best friends would likely be angry with him when they found that he had gone out looking for a
horcrux while leaving them alone with his wizard-hating relatives, but since his break up with
Ginny Harry had been reluctant to put anyone else he cared about in danger if he didn’t have to. He
wouldn’t let Ron or Hermione get hurt unnecessarily, not after what had happened to Dumbledore. If
Harry had to watch as someone else he knew and loved was murdered while he stood there helpless to
do anything about it, he wasn’t sure that he could live with himself. ‘Besides,’ he thought, ‘it’s
only information I’m after. If that information happens to lead me to a horcrux, so much the
better.’

Harry had apparated here in the middle of the night, hoping that the cover of darkness and the lack
of people about at this late hour would make him unlikely to be spotted. It appeared to have
worked, as the streets were empty and the houses surrounding Number 12 had never seemed so
desolate. Deciding not to take any chances, Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders
and then over his head, taking special care that his legs and feet weren’t showing. With the cloak
firmly clutched in one hand and his wand in the other, he stealthily approached the home he had
inherited from his godfather, Sirius Black.

Ascending the small stone staircase in front of the house, Harry gripped the cloak tighter around
his shoulders, making certain that a gust of wind wouldn’t make it look as though he had suddenly
appeared from nowhere. The fingers of his left hand reached out through the cloak, grasped the
silver handle that resembled a twisted serpent and rapped it firmly against the weathered black
door. After waiting for a minute to see if anyone would answer, he finally saw the door crack open
slightly. A large house elf eye scanned the outside. Harry could just make out the sound of angry
muttering before the door began to close in front of him.

Harry sighed softly. He was only mildly surprised that Kreacher had taken the opportunity of
Hogwarts’ closing to come back to the Black ancestral home. Now that the curmudgeonly old house elf
had returned here, Harry had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, Kreacher knew more about
Grimmauld Place and the history of the Black family than anyone else. On the other, Kreacher
loathed Harry and still felt a perverse loyalty to the pureblood wizarding family who had abused
him all of his life. Even though he was technically Kreacher’s master, Harry knew he had to be
careful around him. The house elf would cause his new master problems if he could.

Harry stuck his head out from underneath his invisibility cloak. “Kreacher,” he whispered as loudly
as he dared. “Kreacher, it’s…me.” It still didn’t feel quite right for Harry to address Kreacher as
the house elf’s master. Perhaps Hermione’s efforts in S.P.E.W. were not wasted after all. “Let me
in.”

Kreacher once again came to the door, although he took longer than necessary to do so. “Master?”
Kreacher spoke in a voice that belied both disbelief and disgust. “Kreacher was not expecting
visitors, no one has been here for months, the house is unfit…for you…lucky brat…” The last few
words were muttered under the elderly house elf’s breath, although Harry could hear them
clearly.

“The ‘lucky brat’ doesn’t much care what kind of shape the house is in,” Harry replied insistently.
“Now let me through.” Kreacher’s utterances might set his teeth on edge, but if what he suspected
was true, then he would need Kreacher’s help to find Slytherin’s locket, the horcrux that he and
Dumbledore had been searching for on the night the elder wizard was murdered. Unfortunately, what
they had found had only been a decoy, while the real item containing one-seventh of Voldemort’s
soul had been taken by someone who identified himself in an accompanying note only as
‘R.A.B.’

Kreacher moved slowly to allow Harry entrance, eyeing him with loathing as he entered and removed
his cloak. “I didn’t come here for a friendly visit. I need your help with something.”

The malfeasant house elf cringed at the thought. “Kreacher will help Master,” he rasped. “But
Kreacher will not like it, not one bit…” he muttered, taking care to clumsily hang Harry’s
invisibility cloak on a nearby coat rack.

“Kreacher, I need you to tell me the full name of Sirius’ brother, Regulus,” Harry said
commandingly, stooping slightly so he could look straight into the house elf’s eyes.

“Why would Master be wanting to know that?” Kreacher asked, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying
to see something at the end of a dimly lit tunnel.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry snapped back. “Just tell me.”

“Young Master Potter already knows his first and last names,” Kreacher said, clearly hoping to
stall as long as he could. “His middle name was not used much; Kreacher has to think of it…” Harry
gritted his teeth as Kreacher stood there torturing him for a few painfully long moments. “Adhara.
Adhara it was. So many star names in the family of Black…a grand tradition…sullied by the young
masters…oh yes…”

“Regulus Adhara Black,” Harry said aloud, ignoring the house elf’s rambling. “R.A.B.” Kreacher
winced, perhaps knowing somehow that he had given Harry an important clue. “Kreacher, do you
remember a locket that some members of the Order found two years ago? The one we could never
open?”

“Many precious items in this house,” the wrinkled blue house elf replied wistfully. “Befouled by
mudbloods and traitors…oh, how Mistress would have wept…”

“What happened to the locket?” Harry asked slowly, attempting to feign only casual interest.

Kreacher cleared his throat to cover a slight growl in his voice. “Kreacher hid it away, to keep it
from filthy, thieving hands.”

Harry nodded, figuring out who Kreacher meant in an instant. He had caught Mundungus Fletcher
filching many of Sirius’ old family heirlooms last year. A rare item such as Slytherin’s locket
would be hard for the most disreputable member of the Order of the Phoenix to pass up. For once,
Kreacher’s tendency to squirrel things away was working to his advantage. “I need you to give me
that locket, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bowed slightly in contrition, although an evil smile began to spread across his face.
“Kreacher regrets to inform Master that the locket is no longer where Kreacher hid it.”

Harry fought down a sigh of exasperation. “Do you know where it is now?”

A fearful expression emanated from his bulbous eyes. “Kreacher is not certain…”

Harry saw through the ambivalent demeanor of the malevolent house elf. “But you have some idea,
don’t you?” Kreacher said nothing, preferring simply to gape at Harry as though he had gone mad.
“Take me to the locket, Kreacher. No more stalling.”

Muttering all the way, Kreacher led Harry up the stairs as slowly as possible. They walked past the
bedrooms where he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had stayed over the summer before his fifth year. Harry
took the time to appreciate the fact that the Order must have resumed their cleaning efforts over
the last year. The walls and banisters were far from spotless, but the interior no longer had that
pallor of gloom that he had felt so strongly when he had last been here.

Finally, Kreacher stopped in front of a wall just beyond Buckbeak’s old room. The blue house elf
muttered something in such a low voice that Harry had to ask him to repeat it. “This is the
Master’s study,” Kreacher said begrudgingly. As he spoke the words, Harry watched a large mahogany
door appear where only a blank wall had been before, completely filling the space from the floor to
the ceiling. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched it take shape. A large golden handle in
the form of two intertwining snakes sparkled incandescently, seemingly inviting him to enter. Harry
felt strongly compelled to do just that and shot his misbegotten house elf an expectant look.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Harry asked Kreacher a bit snappishly. “Open it up.”

“Kreacher…Kreacher cannot,” the house elf replied in a strangled voice. Then Kreacher did something
Harry had never seen him do before. He punished himself. Unlike Dobby, who usually pounded his head
with something blunt, Kreacher raked his own sharpened fingernails down his face. Harry watched in
disgust as blood began trickling down either side of his wrinkly blue cheeks. “Only the Master of
the House can enter, Kreacher is unworthy…young master is unworthy, too, but Kreacher cannot do
anything about that…”

Harry eyed the house elf suspiciously. “Is this a trap, Kreacher? Is there something dangerous in
there, waiting for me?”

Kreacher returned Harry’s gaze with a contemptuous one of his own. “Young master wanted the
location of the locket. Kreacher can only guess this is where it lies. If Harry Potter is not ready
to face the power of real magic…”

Harry let out a growl of frustration. “Fine. Stand back, Kreacher.” The elderly house elf complied,
moving a few meters away from the newly materialized entrance. Harry wrapped his fingers around the
gold handle and was somewhat surprised when the door opened easily as he pulled it toward
him.

Inside, the room was cavernous, pitch dark and lined with surprisingly few cobwebs, given how long
it must have gone without use. There was also quite a bit of antique furniture that appeared to be
untouched by dust. ‘It must be charmed to stay clean,’ Harry thought to himself, ‘because no house
elves can enter.’ The question of why the family would need a house elf if it could afford such
luxuries was answered quickly in Harry’s mind. ‘Status. Or cruelty. Or both. It’s not important
right now. No need to start acting like Hermione.’

Thinking of his female best friend made him turn around to address Kreacher once again. “Kreacher,
if something bad happens to me, if I’m attacked or hurt in any way, I want you to leave the house
and find Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. Tell them everything you know about what’s happened to
me. They’ll probably be at #4 Privet Drive, but they might also be at a place called the Burrow in
Ottery St. Catchpole. Tell no one else where I am and come straight back here. Do you understand?”
Kreacher nodded and with no hesitation, Harry entered the room, wand at the ready for whatever
strangeness might await him.

To Harry’s great relief, there were no booby traps, dark wizards or evil creatures ready to pounce
on him. The large room was eerily still and bore a musty smell that put him in mind of an old
basement. In appearance, however, it was a far cry from any basement. With a quickly spoken
“lumos”, Harry discovered that the room was not only adorned with plush furniture, but also ancient
weapons that looked like they had inflicted more than a little bit of pain in their day, complex
instruments filled with the images of foul, screaming things that he guessed might be some dark
wizarding variation on the foe glass or the sneakoscope, as well as portraits of what Harry
supposed were departed members of the Black family. Many of them gave Harry cross looks, but said
nothing. They most likely supposed that if he was here, he was supposed to be.

Sprawled across a large oak table near the entryway were reams of parchment surrounded by
moth-eaten quills, miniature jars of a very pungent ink and a few thick tomes that looked as though
they belonged in Hogwarts’ library’s restricted section. As if to reinforce this notion, a
bookshelf that took up the entire wall to his left was filled with works on dark spells, barely
legal jinxes and creatures of the night. It looked very much like a place Hermione would have
enjoyed, if only she’d been sorted into Slytherin.

‘This is fascinating,’ Harry thought to himself somewhat sarcastically, ‘but it isn’t what I came
for.’ His eyes scanned the area surrounding the table until he spotted a golden glint, round and
small and looking as though it had just been neatly polished, coming from the far corner of the
room. It was unmistakably Slytherin’s locket. Harry’s seeker instincts got the better of him and he
rushed towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp it. In retrospect, he was probably lucky that it
didn’t char his hand or teleport him once again into the presence of Lord Voldemort. Instead, it
simply sat there in Harry’s hand, looking rather unimpressive. ‘For a priceless ancient piece of
jewelry, at any rate,’ Harry added.

Slytherin’s locket gleamed in the light of Harry’s wand as he turned it over slowly in his hand.
There didn’t seem to be anything special about it, nothing that screamed ‘horcrux’. Nevertheless,
Harry felt certain that this was what he had been looking for. For a fleeting moment, he wondered
whether he should attempt to destroy it. He thought better of it as he remembered Dumbledore’s
ruined hand from last year. A voice that still sounded remarkably like Hermione’s warned him to
wait until he had more information, or until there were others present who could assist him.
Heeding its wisdom, Harry sat down at the table in front of him and began examining the parchment
that lay before him. His eyes grew wide as he started to read from the top page.

‘To S.O.B.:

If you are reading this, it means that I am probably dead. Since I’m alive and well as I write
this, I can’t worry too much about it now. However, there are some things that are important for
you to know in the event that I die.

As I’m sure you are already aware if you’re reading this, I was entrusted by the Dark Lord with one
of his h.’s. Instead of hiding it where he instructed me to, I have taken it. I am keeping it in
the Master’s study here at Grimmauld, which is as safe a place as I could think of to keep it away
from You Know Who. I hope to have destroyed the h. before you receive this letter, so hopefully
somewhere nearby will be scraps of golden slag that used to be an h. If not, I must confess that
I’m not surprised, as it has been a tricky little bugger.

I have gone to L.E. with my problem as you suggested I might so long ago. She seemed to think that
I should seek out the other h.’s before I try to destroy this one. L.E. would know better about
these things than most, I suppose, but there is a reason that I was sorted into Slytherin while you
lot ended up in Gryffindor. There are some things that are better left alone if you value your
life, although I suppose I crossed that line when I decided to steal this blasted thing in the
first place.

At any rate, the h. has resisted all efforts on my part to destroy it, remaining perfectly intact.
Only one spell has had any effect whatsoever, a rarely used charm I read about in *Ancient Curses
of the Near East* called ‘atash inflammare’. It managed to make the h. jump a bit as I attempted
it, almost as if there were something living inside that was afraid to get burned. Also, L. E.’s
Animus Signatus potion has been one of her rare mistakes, as it only showed me a young, dark-haired
man and some sort of blank book. I doubt the Dark Lord would make something like that into an
h.

So L. E.’s grand quest will have to wait for now, as I continue to search for a way to destroy the
locket. I will not tell you who I have recently gone to for help in this, for fear that you will
curse me for my stupidity. You should know that it’s someone that you’ve never trusted. I don’t
trust him either, but I don’t think I have much choice in the matter. The longer I hold onto the
h., the more danger I’m in. If the Dark Lord is to be brought closer to mortality, the h. must be
destroyed and soon.

If I die without destroying the h., what follows is a record of what I have done to make the
attempt. I beg you to finish what I have started. I also advise you to trust no one. The Dark
Lord’s servants, both willing and unwilling, are everywhere.

Your misguided brother,

R.A.B.

P.S. In my haste I forgot that L. E. is L. P. now. I couldn’t leave out your best mate’s greatest
accomplishment.’

Harry’s head seemed to spin a bit as he looked up from the parchment, his brain slowly processing
the information contained in the letter. Regulus Black had attempted to destroy Slytherin’s locket
after stealing it and most of what he had used was still here, in this room. It would be foolish
not to put this treasure trove of information to good use in his effort to find and destroy the
horcruxes. With the Order apparently having abandoned the house in the wake of Dumbledore’s death,
#12 Grimmauld Place could easily become the Trio’s headquarters as they searched for a way to
finally defeat Lord Voldemort.

Also, although it was difficult to tell through Regulus’ incessant use of initials, it appeared as
though the letter was addressed to Sirius and that the younger Black brother had sought Harry’s
mother’s help in destroying the horcrux. ‘Does that mean that my parents knew about Voldemort’s
horcruxes?’ Harry asked himself, a bit perplexed. ‘Did Sirius? And what kind of mother gives her
son the initials S.O.B.?’ Thinking back to the hate spewing portrait of Sirius’ mum, Harry decided
that the initials were rather appropriate after all.

There was really no point in going over all of Regulus’ notes and looking through the large number
of books on dark magic that lie within this room, as Harry was certain that Hermione would be eager
to do so once he returned to Privet Drive and informed his two best friends of what he had found.
But of course there was still the matter of the horcrux in front of him. The knowledge that
destroying it would take Lord Voldemort one step closer to the grave made him reluctant to simply
leave it alone. Harry had the sudden ridiculous urge to attempt to open the locket, even though he
knew it had proven impossible when various Order members had tried to do so nearly two years ago.
He was also certain that Regulus knew more destructive spells than he did, so trying all the ones
Harry knew would likely be pointless.

Harry’s green eyes examined the locket, looking for some significant clue, some sign that it was
vulnerable. He saw only the pure gold chain, the smooth surface of the metalwork and the faint
outline of a serpent coiled around the hinges. Harry grinned ruefully. “Too bad you’re not a real
snake. Then you could tell me what to do with this…”

Just then, Harry was startled by a thumping sound outside the room. Turning his lit wand away from
the interior of the Master’s study so that it illuminated the hallway, he saw the source of the
disturbance: Kreacher, who looked as though he had jumped several feet in the air in surprise and
then came crashing down hard on his backside. When Harry shot him a puzzled look, the house elf
stared at him in both reverence and fear. “Young Master Potter speaks as a parselmouth!” he
exclaimed excitedly.

Harry groaned in frustration. He must have spoken parseltongue as he jokingly talked to the snake
portrayed on the locket. Trust Kreacher to have a newfound respect for him because he found out his
master could talk to snakes. Harry was just getting ready to say something mildly reproachful to
the house elf when he noticed the locket giving off an eerie green glow. It then began to shake
violently, so much so that he let it drop from his hand and onto the table below. After a few
moments the glow dissipated into nothingness, but the locket continued to flip back and forth on
the flat surface of the table in a perpetual rocking motion.

Harry gave the locket a bemused look. The horcrux appeared to be responding to parseltongue, a
serpentine language that only he and Lord Voldemort could speak. It was usually associated with
evil wizards and had netted Harry an unpleasant reputation among his fellow students in his second
year at Hogwarts. He scratched his head thoughtfully. Perhaps speaking the unofficial language of
the dark arts was the key to destroying the horcruxes. Was that why Dumbledore had taken Harry
along to search for Slytherin’s locket in the first place; why he had felt safe in his student’s
presence?

Harry scooped the still teetering horcrux into his hand and examined it carefully. He didn’t know
why Dumbledore had made the choices he had and with his former Headmaster gone to his ‘next great
adventure,’ he never would. The only thing Harry did know for certain was that he needed to know
more than he did now. Running his index finger over the graven image of the snake, he spoke to it
once again, oblivious to the hissing noises coming from his own mouth.

“Open,” Harry commanded, taking the locket in both of his hands as he waited for something to
happen. The neon green radiance returned slowly and the horcrux once again began to quiver, as if
enraged. “Open and show yourself to me.” In one great burst, the locket cracked open like a walnut
shell and a green mist poured out of it, filling the corner of the room where Harry stood. With a
loud popping sound, a tall, dark figure materialized in front of him, wearing dark green dress
robes and looking very perturbed.

Harry found himself staring at a version of Lord Voldemort that looked to be a bit older than Bill
Weasley was now. His appearance had suffered with age, as his hair was already receding and his
eyes no longer possessed the fire that they’d had when he was still a Hogwarts student. His visage
seemed somewhat inhuman, but it did not bear the monstrous, snake-like form it would eventually
take.

Tom Riddle’s eyes locked on Harry’s with pure loathing. “You meddlesome fool! How dare you disturb
me! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Voldemort glared menacingly at him. “I should destroy
you where you stand. However, as I have in rare moments been known to be merciful, I will allow you
the opportunity to explain your insolence.”

As the self-styled Dark Lord prattled on in the usual Slytherin way, Harry noticed something he
might not have when he was younger: Voldemort was afraid of him. By now he was used to the threats
and taunts of superiority that one usually came to associate with He Who Was Not Normally Named,
but not the look of fear that was now in the face of the man who was once Tom Marvolo Riddle. It
wasn’t hard to figure out why either. “You don’t know who I am,” Harry assessed smugly.

It was a little bit on the ironic side. All of his life, whether it was as “The Boy Who Lived” or
“Dudley’s freak cousin”, Harry Potter’s reputation had preceded him, defining who he was to the
people around him before his actions could speak for him. The fact that some incarnation of
Voldemort, the wizard who had inadvertently put him on the path to fame when he was little more
than a year old, was the first person he had ever met with no preconceived notions about his
identity struck him as more than a little bit funny.

He didn’t laugh, though, as Voldemort sized him up quickly. “You clearly possess the abilities of a
parselmouth. Which is…unexpected.” Indeed, since Tom Riddle was the last living descendent of
Salazar Slytherin, the world’s most infamous parselmouth, it was more than unexpected, it must have
seemed entirely impossible. Harry himself didn’t even understand how he had come to speak
parseltongue, save for Dumbledore’s vague explanation that Voldemort had accidentally transferred
some of his powers to Harry when he had attempted to kill him as a baby. Still, Harry said nothing,
content to watch a flustered Voldemort attempt to make sense of the situation. “You stand in the
Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. The Blacks have always been proud supporters of the Dark
Arts and every wizard who ever lived that spoke parseltongue has been of Salazar Slytherin’s line.
Perhaps we two are of like mind.”

Harry bristled at the comparison. “You don’t know who I am,” he declared defiantly. “You don’t know
anything about me.”

Tom Riddle let a thin sneer of a smile escape his lips. “I know you dress in muggle clothing. I
know you’ve sought out Slytherin’s locket, most likely to destroy it. So who are you, then? A rival
dark wizard? A young Auror out to make a name for himself? Or one of Dumbledore’s pet students?”
Harry got a stormy look in his eyes at the mention of his deceased mentor’s name. “I believe I’ve
hit the mark on that one.” He began to strut about the room, now exuding an aura of self-confidence
that he hadn’t before. “So you’re Dumbledore’s latest boy. How is the old fool these days? Does he
remain convinced that he can make everyone follow him like a lost pup, just because he defeated
Grindelwald? I’d wager he’s still at that worthless school, wasting his time teaching the future
herbologists of Great Britain how to transfigure teacups.”

Harry seethed. “You wanted to teach at that ‘worthless school’. Too bad they wouldn’t take
you.”

Voldemort looked stricken for a brief moment, but recovered quickly. “A short lapse in my judgment
caused me to seek a position there, yes. How is it that you know so much about me, yet I know so
little about you, Harry Potter?” The image of the young wizard smiled menacingly. “I can see into
your mind, you know. Nothing is hidden from me for long.”

‘Legilimency,’ Harry thought in a panic. Quickly, he attempted to shut Voldemort out of his mind,
trying to remember everything he could from his occlumency lessons with Snape. Memories of the man
who killed Dumbledore weren’t helping him gain control of his emotions, however, and Riddle laughed
haughtily at his effort. “It is too late, I’m afraid, Mr. Potter. I already know everything worth
knowing about you. You’re like an open book; I can see your hatred of me, your overwhelming desire
to destroy me and my horcruxes, your two pathetic friends, the tall red-haired dimwit and the plain
bookish mudblood. Your devotion to them is sickening. I can also see a girl with red hair, who
looks a bit like that large oaf you call a best friend. You care for her, don’t you?” Harry’s blood
began to boil. He wouldn’t have been surprised if things around the room had started to explode.
Riddle’s demeanor remained unchanged, however, as he continued on in his condescending tone of
voice. “And Dumbledore’s been killed by one of my servants. That’s a bit of a disappointment,
really. I was hoping to finish the old man off myself.”

In a blind rage, Harry balled his right hand into a fist and swung wildly at the image of
Voldemort. He felt nothing but frustration as his arm passed through the spectral form of Tom
Riddle’s face. “Really, you’ve been spending too much time with that muggle cousin of yours,
resorting to fisticuffs so quickly when you’re angry. You should know by now to always reach for
your wand.” Voldemort’s hand opened up and Harry’s wand flew into it, as though he had cast a
nonverbal wandless summoning charm.

Harry cursed himself for leaving his wand on the table where it could so easily be taken. He simply
hadn’t expected anyone to be in here with him. “Have you ever considered why your wand and mine are
brothers?” Riddle sneered. “Of course you haven’t. You have a woefully incurious mind. It is
because we are alike, Harry. We are each the greatest wizard of our generation. Fate and the
manipulations of Albus Dumbledore have made us enemies, but we needn’t be. You have untapped power,
magic beyond your wildest dreams. You could learn to harness that power, control that magic.”

Harry looked skeptical. “And I suppose I would be learning all of this from you?”

“Who else knows what I know?” the Dark Lord replied with a slight shrug. “Dumbledore taught you
parlor tricks and wasted precious time traipsing through pensieves with you, but he failed to
unleash your true potential. He was afraid that you’d replace him as the most powerful wizard in
the world. Even in death, he still controls your life, sending you on this idiotic quest to destroy
the source of my power when you should be discovering your own. You’re renowned for your precious
Gryffindor bravery, yet you’re still too cowardly to follow your own path; to seize your own
destiny.

“Think of your future, Harry. Do you really want to waste your talent working as a faceless
Ministry drone, an overworked Auror catching petty ruffians for meager wages? Or teach Defence
Against the Dark Arts to a class of bored first years who wouldn’t know the summoning charm from
the killing curse? You could be so much more than that. You have the potential to do whatever you
want. Become Hogwarts’ new Headmaster. Overthrow Scrimgeour. Take the redhead and settle down
somewhere far away. The possibilities are endless.” Voldemort examined him carefully. “Our world
has dubbed you ‘the Chosen One’. They’ve chosen you to perform their thankless tasks for them, but
you’ve yet to choose for yourself. What is it that you want out of life, Harry Potter, most of all?
Whatever it is, I can help you to accomplish it. You need only ask.”

Harry hated to admit it, but Voldemort knew just how to tempt him. He wouldn’t be surprised to
learn that at this phase in his life Tom Riddle was becoming quite expert at recruitment, building
support for himself among those who would become his first Death Eaters. This shard of Voldemort’s
soul must be talented enough at legilimency to read all of his desires (from his deepest, most
closely held dreams to fleeting fantasies he’d quickly dismissed as impossible) and offer them to
him on a silver platter. It would have been a hard thing for most people to resist.

For Harry, however, it was remarkably easy. He knew Voldemort’s promises were empty, that his words
meant nothing and that his heart was full of only hatred for his enemies and an unquenchable thirst
for immortality. His so-called help would not be forthcoming, unless it served his purposes.

“Do you really want to know what I want?” Harry asked, a note of bitterness creeping into his
voice. “I want a normal life. I want to be able to walk down the street without people staring at
my bloody scar. But most of all I want to live my life without you ruining every chance at
happiness I’ve ever had.”

Tom Riddle snorted by way of reply. “Those are far too simple dreams for such a powerful young
wizard and all of them are so easily achieved. You hardly even need my help.” Voldemort bent
slightly to look Harry in the eyes. “If that is really what your heart desires, then the answer is
simple, my young friend. Run. Hide. Conceal your identity from everyone. Live among muggles if it
pleases you. Tell no one who you are or what you’ve done. Be as ordinary as you can stand to be.”
Riddle’s image began to cackle. “If you do all of that, ‘Chosen One’, I can give you my word that
you will never see me again.”

Voldemort smiled wickedly as a curious expression filled Harry’s face. “To think that Dumbledore
trusted you to continue his legacy. You, who only wants to be ‘normal’ and live a life free from
the burdens of fame. How tragic! Most wizards would kill to be as well-known as you are, and some
have. Yet you seek only obscurity.” Riddle scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose Dumbledore
was the lucky one, after all. At least he got out before he could see you fail as spectacularly as
you’re about to.”

Harry began to shake with rage, but could do nothing to silence the spirit of Lord Voldemort that
hovered in front of him. What was Riddle playing at here? Was he hoping to weaken Harry’s mental
defenses and possess him, as he had attempted to in the Department of Mysteries? Or drain him of
his life force somehow, as he had done with Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, so that he could take
corporeal form? Or was he merely drawing his attention away from the locket, which lay forgotten on
the floor?

Yes, what of the locket? It was now open and presumably much more vulnerable than it had been when
Regulus Black had tried to destroy it. With Riddle’s spirit out of the horcrux and taunting him, it
would be the perfect time to try something destructive. Harry found himself wishing fervently that
he still had his wand. It only took a moment for his wish to be unexpectedly granted, as it zipped
across the room and flew into Harry’s open palm.

Voldemort looked as though he had been punched in the gut. “How did you do that?” he asked, a
slight tremble in his voice revealing that he was once again afraid of Harry’s magical abilities.
Mustering up the bravest face he could put on, Tom Riddle attempted to take it in stride. “It
doesn’t matter. You are but a child. With Dumbledore dead, I am now the most powerful magical being
in the world!” Despite his swagger, his words seemed unconvincing.

Harry cocked his head and gave Voldemort a determined half-smile. “We’ll see about that.” Now what
was that spell that Regulus had used to attempt to destroy the horcrux? Oh yes. “Atash inflammare.”
A stream of bright orange fire poured out of Harry’s wand, flooding the floor aimlessly for a few
seconds and then zeroing in on the locket. The flames formed a ring around the horcrux and the
metal exterior began to melt slowly. Harry’s strength wavered a bit, though, and soon the fire
tapered off, leaving him standing there with wand extended, his breathing ragged and sweat pouring
off of him.

“You haven’t the will to finish the job, have you?” Riddle asked mockingly. “Even if you destroy
the rest of the horcruxes, even if you take out as many of my Death Eaters as you can, you won’t be
able to kill me. Do you know why?” Voldemort moved closer and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Because I will do anything, sacrifice anyone and take whatever I need to survive. Can you say the
same?”

As if in answer, Harry looked at the locket with a new sense of determination. “Atash inflammare!”
he cried out. This time the flaming stream headed straight for the horcrux, finishing it off in
seconds as the image of Tom Riddle screamed in agony. Almost instantaneously he disappeared.

Harry was just getting ready to congratulate himself on a job well done when he noticed that the
fire coming from his wand hadn’t gone away when the horcrux was destroyed. After consuming the
locket, it shot straight up into the air, taking the form of a cloud. Harry tried to end the spell
with a hastily spoken ‘finite incantatem’ but either the fire or his wand wasn’t listening, as it
continued to hover in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise as the flame turned itself into a
fireball and launched toward him, knocking him out of the Master’s study and onto the floor of the
hallway. Harry’s final words before passing out from the intense heat and burning pain were aimed
at his cowering house elf. “Kreacher… get help…” With that dim possibility giving him some small
amount of hope, Harry lost consciousness.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated.

ITL**

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2. Chapter 2: St. Mungo's Infirmary Blues
-----------------------------------------

**Chapter 2: St. Mungo's Infirmary Blues**

Harry Potter woke up slowly, his eyes fluttering open and then closing again before he could
actually see anything. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and his skin felt as though he had
the world’s worst sunburn. Harry groaned softly as he began to stir. He tried to rub his eyes, but
found he couldn’t move his arms; his entire body, in fact, was completely immobile. ‘What happened
to me?’ he asked himself hazily. ‘Where am I?’

Opening his eyes again to get a better, if somewhat fuzzy, view of things, Harry was surprised to
find a group of people wearing pale white masks surrounding him in a semi-circle. They seemed to
stare at him with unblinking eyes, dour expressions etched on what little he could see of their
faces. Harry was lying in a small, well-lit room, strapped to a very uncomfortable bed and appeared
to be wrapped in bandages from his neck down to his ankles. Standing just above his line of sight
was a tall man with deep scars marring his face. The figure glanced down at him grimly and, before
Harry could react, attached a large metal clamp to his right arm, which sent a sharp agonizing jolt
throughout his upper body. He did his best to muffle the cry of anguish that automatically came
from his mouth.

“He’s awake,” a woman’s voice growled angrily from behind her mask. “You said he would still be
asleep. He’ll need a sedative potion…”

“Not now,” the scarred man snapped. “It’s almost finished.”

Whatever was ‘almost finished’ was hurting Harry so badly he was put in mind of the Cruciatus
Curse. As he tried to mentally block out the pain, he wondered what exactly had happened to him.
Had he been captured by Death Eaters? And if so, why hadn’t they killed him already? ‘They’re
saving me for Voldemort,’ Harry thought, paranoia seizing him completely. ‘Just like Snape said the
night Dumbledore died. Voldemort wants to kill me himself.’

One thing was sure. Harry had never been the type to just lie around, waiting for a Dark Lord to
murder him. Steeling himself against the pain, he began to rise from his bed, bandages tearing away
in his wake. His eyes searched the room frantically for his wand, hoping that whoever had taken him
had been careless enough to leave it close by.

“Whoa there, Harry,” a familiar voice cautioned him as a firm hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed
him back down onto the bed. “You’re in no condition to be walking around right now.” Harry
continued to thrash about restlessly. “Harry, stop. You’re going to be alright. It’s just me,
Bill.”

Harry blinked several times and examined the face of the man in front of him, his vision slowly
coming into focus. “Bill?” he asked, his voice a throaty croak. “Bill Weasley?”

The oldest Weasley brother smiled winningly. “It’s the red hair. Gives me away every time.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, confusion etched clearly on his face. “Where is ‘here’?
What happened to me?”

“You’re at St. Mungo’s, Harry,” Bill explained patiently. “You’ve suffered what looks to be
accidental spell damage. We were kind of hoping you could fill us in on some of the details,
but…well, disorientation is natural. As for why I’m here, I’m somewhat of an expert on the kind of
spell that went wonky…”

At this point, one of the masked women who had been standing behind Bill loudly cleared her throat.
Her short, clipped voice reminded him somewhat of Professor McGonagall and she seemed less than
pleased to have an outsider examining her patient. “If you’ll just lie still and allow Mr. Weasley
to complete his treatment of your more, ahem, unique injuries, we can resume our normal healing
regimen, Mr. Potter.”

Harry frowned. “What normal healing regi…ow!” A convulsive wave of agony shook his body suddenly
and he fell flat on his back, his face contorting into a mask of pain.

“That just means that it’s working,” Bill assured him sympathetically. “It will all be over in a
moment.” Everything in his body screamed out that he was lying, that the suffering was unbearable
and never-ending, but eventually it did fade away, leaving only a faint burning sensation in its
wake. “There, the pain should be gone by now. You are feeling better, aren’t you?”

Aside from his experiences with the Unforgivable Curses and the time he spent in Hogwarts’ hospital
wing drinking Skele-Gro with no bones in his arm, Harry wasn’t sure he had ever felt worse. Still,
he attempted to nod his head ‘yes’ for Bill’s sake. The oldest Weasley sibling smiled down at him
warmly. “Come on, Harry. It can’t be that bad. Not after you’ve faced down dementors, a Hungarian
horntail and Dolores Umbridge. Sure, you might have gotten singed a bit…”

“Singed a bit?!” one of the women behind him squawked indignantly as she removed the white surgical
mask from her face. “That’s putting it very mildly, Mr. Weasley. These burns are extremely severe
and unlikely to heal easily. I would ask that you not give our patient false hope for a speedy
recovery.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bill replied cheekily. “I just thought that reminding your patient that
he’s been through worse might boost his morale a bit. I believe you charming ladies call that
‘bedside manner’.”

“We are familiar with the term,” the matronly woman replied in a frosty voice. “As for having been
through worse, Mr. Potter, just what exactly were you doing using a Persian sacred fire
charm?”

Harry looked flummoxed. He barely remembered anything about the last few hours and memories were
only floating into his brain in bits and pieces. There was something about a locket…

Bill came to his rescue. “It’s quite a common charm, actually, in certain parts of the world. I’ve
used it myself many times, sometimes just to start a campfire.” The healers eyed him incredulously.
“Wouldn’t want it to go out too easily, you know. It comes in so handy in the field, in fact, that
I showed Harry how to do it during the Quidditch World Cup a few years back. Didn’t I, Harry?” Bill
asked, his eyebrows rising dramatically, as if they were instructing him to play along.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, his voice faint and raspy. “Yeah, I remember that. That was…brilliant,
Bill. It really came in handy.”

Bill Weasley looked to be suppressing a laugh. “I thought that it might.” He then looked pointedly
at the healers surrounding him. “Now if you ladies would be so kind, I’d like to determine whether
or not Harry is still in need of my services. Alone, please.” He then gave them a look that was
somehow both friendly and intimidating. The elderly woman who had been giving Bill such a hard time
departed with an icy glare. The other healers quickly followed her out.

“You gave us quite a scare there, Harry,” Bill said seriously as he removed the metallic clamp that
had caused Harry so much pain only moments ago, examined it closely, then tossed it aside as if it
were nothing.

“I was a little scared myself,” Harry admitted sheepishly as he gingerly placed his glasses on his
face. “For a minute there I thought I’d been captured by Death Eaters.”

Bill winced at the thought. “Look, I don’t know what you were up to last night, but I know that if
you were using a sacred fire charm, it must have been something dangerous.”

Harry frowned. “I thought you said…”

“I lied,” Bill interrupted forcefully. “The atash spells are deadly. A lot of the ancient tombs
I’ve unearthed have sacred fire charms protecting them. It usually takes weeks just to get past
them and we always have special equipment standing by, in case someone gets hurt.” Bill let out a
long sigh. “Do you know who usually uses an atash fire charm, Harry?” Harry shook his head ‘no’ as
best he could. “Dark wizards. They prefer them to standard fire spells because they were designed
to cleanse impurities from metal and stone. Only Death Eaters use them on wizards like us. People
they see as traitors and…of ‘bad’ blood lines.” Bill hung his head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Bill. I…I didn’t know.” Harry thought back to the Half-Blood Prince book he had relied
on so heavily last year. He had used the spells Snape had written without knowing who had created
them or what that magic was meant to do. ‘Never again,’ Harry swore to himself. ‘I’ll never use a
spell if I don’t know what it’s used for and why.’

Bill rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I’m sure my parents would be
giving you a stern lecture about the responsible use of magic about now, but I’m not them.” He
looked down at Harry with a playful smirk on his face. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. If I get Mum
and Dad off your back and tell them you’re alright without giving you the mickey, will you swear to
me that you’ll be more careful in future?” Harry nodded, grateful that he wouldn’t have to endure a
long-winded lecture from Arthur or Molly Weasley.

“Good man. And please, for all of our sakes, take my little brother or Hermione along with you next
time. They’ve nearly gone mad these last few hours from not knowing what’s going on with you.” Bill
paused to listen to something just beyond the curtain surrounding Harry’s hospital bed. He then
turned around to face Harry with a small grimace. “I think they’re taking it out on each other a
bit.” He pulled back the curtain to reveal Ron and Hermione in the middle of a heated argument.
Harry had no idea how he hadn’t heard them bickering before, until he realized that the healers
must have used a silencing charm to protect him from outside noise. Hearing his two best friends’
angry voices carrying across the room, he couldn’t help but think that the healers of St. Mungo’s
had made a wise choice.

“Me?!” Hermione asked in disbelief. “It may have temporarily escaped your notice, Ronald Weasley,
but I’m a girl. What would the Dursleys think if I was the one sharing a room with Harry?”

“Since when do you care what the Dursleys think?” Ron demanded, his voice rising slightly in
confusion. “Yesterday you hexed Dudley just for giving you a friendly pat on the back.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “‘A friendly pat on the’…? Ron, he groped me!”

Ron threw his arms in the air dramatically. “First a bloke doesn’t notice you’re a girl and he gets
yelled at, then another bloke does notice and he ends up taking a stunner to the head. There’s no
winning with you, is there?”

“You’re impossible!” Hermione declared, crossing her arms as she took several steps away from
Ron.

“And you’ve gone spare!” Ron replied heatedly. Hermione sent an angry glare his way and then turned
her head away from him to face the opposite side of the room. After a moment of sulking, Ron did
the same to her.

“I would offer to leave, but I think the healers might frown on that,” Harry interjected
softly.

Bill withdrew slightly, choosing to stand in the corner of the room with his arms folded as Ron and
Hermione came rushing at their best friend. “Harry!” Hermione exclaimed cheerfully. “Are you
alright? Were the treatments awful? I’ll bet they were. How’s your breathing? Is it normal? Because
they said it might be labored for a while from smoke inhalation but I told them I didn’t smell any
smoke when we found you…”

“Might want to let him get a word in once and a while, Hermione,” Ron interrupted her with a small
smile. “I think he can breathe well enough to talk.” Hermione responded by scowling at Ron, but did
seem to back off a bit.

“I’m fine, mostly,” Harry answered, his tone wary. “It only hurts when I…well, when I do anything
actually.” He cast a hopeful glance over at Bill. “Seeing as I’ve practically been mummified,
though, it’s hard to do very much.”

Bill recognized a cue for him to enter the conversation when he heard it. “Most of the bandages
should come off within a day or so, depending on what the healers think of your progress.” Harry
gave his gauze wrappings a dirty look. Somehow he sensed that it was going to be more than just a
few days before he could get out of here. Bill reached inside of his cloak and removed a bottle
filled with an orange-yellow liquid. “Here. Drink this once every four hours or until it makes you
pass out. It should speed the healing process up a bit.”

Harry lifted the bottle, opened it and held the top to his nose. It smelled a bit like firewhiskey
mixed with turpentine. He sent Bill Weasley a questioning glance. “It’s Ahura Akbar potion. The
Egyptians have used it to counteract the effects of the atash spells for centuries.” Harry took a
large swig of the potion, only to spit it out in disgust. “Of course, they also use it to remove
paint.” A sour expression came over Harry’s face and Bill laughed sympathetically. “Buck up, Harry.
Most people who’ve been on the receiving end of sacred fire have ended up a sight worse than you.
My predecessor at Gringott’s lost an arm investigating an old Magi’s tomb in the Siwa Oasis. You’re
really quite lucky to be alive.”

Harry smiled humorlessly. “Yes, that’s what I am. Lucky.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed and her face began to redden. “Careful, mate,” Ron warned in a stage
whisper. “Hermione’s remembering why she’s cross with you.” Ron’s face took on a thoughtful
expression. “Too bad she never forgets when it’s me she’s mad at.”

Hermione’s wrath temporarily focused on Ron. “This is serious, Ron. Harry could have gotten himself
killed!”

“I didn’t though, did I?” Harry replied, his voice recognizably chilly despite his hoarseness. “I
got along just fine by myself.”

“Yes, Harry, you did splendidly,” Hermione responded sarcastically. “You used an almost illegal
spell which backfired on you and now you’re laid up in St. Mungo’s with second-degree burns while a
horde of reporters are outside hounding everyone about what happened when none of us have the
slightest clue! So I suppose congratulations are in order! Bravo, Harry. Well done!”

Harry gave Hermione a nonplussed look. “I destroyed the locket.”

Hermione suddenly became very quiet. Ron’s mouth fell open in shock. As one, their eyes darted to
Bill Weasley, who was not slow to take the hint. “I’ll just step outside a bit and let everyone
know how you’re doing. Mum and Dad have been worrying themselves sick.” Harry gave him an
appreciative nod as he backed slowly out of the room.

As Bill closed the door behind him, Ron looked like he was about to burst with enthusiasm. “Bloody
hell, Harry! You actually destroyed a….”

Bill’s slightly muffled voice interrupted him. “And just what are you doing listening at the door,
little sister?” All three of them quickly turned to hear what was going on outside.

Ginny Weasley’s voice sounded huffy even through the hospital wall. “Someone had to find out what
was happening. You weren’t going to come back and tell us anything.”

“That’s what I’m getting ready to do now,” Bill retorted reproachfully. “You know, you should
really come with me. I think Harry wants to be alone.”

“But he’s not alone, is he?” Ginny replied cattily. “Ron and Hermione are in there. If they can
learn what’s going on with him, why can’t I?”

Her brother’s voice seemed sad somehow. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Ginny.” Harry could
hear Bill’s footsteps as he walked down the hall. They were not followed by Ginny’s.

Harry felt a twinge of pain close to his heart. He had decided not to tell Ginny about the
horcruxes in order to keep her safe (‘which was the same reason I broke up with her,’ Harry
reflected glumly). Now that he knew more about what destroying them would be like, that it was
incredibly dangerous and eerily similar to what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, he knew he
had no choice. Ginny couldn’t know about the horcruxes.

Ron shot Harry a sympathetic glance. “You want me to handle it?” he asked simply. Harry nodded and
gave his best mate a grateful look. Ron stepped outside to confront Ginny as Hermione moved closer
to Harry, taking a seat directly by his side.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione began fretfully. “You know that I’m only angry because I’m worried about you,
don’t you? Ron and I were so frightened of what might have happened. Everyone was. If you had…if
anything…and so soon after Dumbledore…” Her eyes began to tear up slightly as she looked down at
him with a tender expression on her face.

Harry began to reply, but was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Weasleys shouting. “I’m his
girlfriend, Ron. I have the right to see him!”

“I’m sorry, Ginny. Not now.”

“I am so sick of hearing ‘not now.’ ‘Later.’ ‘Wait.’ I don’t want to wait any more, Ron. All I want
is to help Harry!”

“Harry doesn’t want your help. He wants you safe. And so do I.”

Hermione put her right hand in Harry’s own, bandaged and weak though it was, and gave it a gentle
squeeze. He squeezed back and gave her a brave smile. “She’s worried, too, Harry. She just has her
own way of showing it.”

Harry was slightly irritated by her way of showing it, but hid it well. “I know.” Rather than
paying attention to what Ron and Ginny were saying outside the room, however, his eyes lingered on
Hermione. Both of his best friends had done a lot of growing up over the last year (‘physically, at
least,’ Harry thought, as he remembered some of their more childish exchanges over the last year)
and while he noted Ron’s improved physique with only passing interest, it was his female best
friend who really caught his attention. The muggle clothing she wore this summer at Privet Drive,
while modest, left little doubt that Hermione had become a very attractive young woman. Harry could
certainly understand what Ron saw in her. Now if only Ron understood what Ron saw in her…

Ginny’s shrill ranting cut through his somewhat inappropriate thoughts. “Of course I don’t
understand! Why do you get to stay with Harry, while I’m constantly pushed away? He doesn’t want
the two of you to be killed either!”

“That’s different,” Ron answered her, his patience with her clearly wearing thin. “Hermione and I
have always helped Harry. We’re a team.”

He could almost visualize Ginny sticking her nose in the air. “Some team,” she scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked, his voice even.

“What’s your contribution to the group, Ron?” Ginny demanded. “Hermione’s good with books and
research, but all you’re good for is getting yourself hurt or in trouble.”

“That’s…not…” Ron sputtered angrily. “You don’t know anything about me, Ginny.”

Harry and Hermione both blanched at the exchange. “Oh, don’t I?” Ginny retorted. “Correct me if I’m
wrong, but haven’t you been sidelined by a chess game, a dog, poisoned mead and a flying brain?
You’re never there when Harry really needs you. Face it, Ron, you’re absolutely useless!”

Deafening silence followed. Harry was sure that the unpleasant look on his face matched Hermione’s
chagrined expression. Harry tried not to think of how Ron must be feeling.

“I…I’m sorry, Ron,” Ginny’s voice cut in softly. “I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t. It’s
just…whatever it is you three are doing, I can help you. If you’d just let me.”

“Harry’s made his decision,” Ron answered her, his voice low.

“He’s being stubborn,” Ginny came back with a definite pout to her tone. “If he could only see that
there are other people willing to do whatever they can to help him win this war. That it’s not just
you two who have something to offer.”

Ron chuckled bitterly. “And you’re what? Offering him your ability to snog? No offense, Gin, I’m
sure Harry would be thrilled, but I don’t think You-Know-Who will be as impressed.”

“You’re one to talk!” Ginny screeched. “I’m sure you’re snogging Hermione all over that ruddy
muggle neighbourhood, instead of…doing whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing!”

“That’s none of your business!” Ron yelled back.

Before the two of them could really launch into each other, an authoritative female voice rang
through the hallway. Harry quickly recognized it as belonging to the same busybody healer who had
been harassing Bill. “Mr. Weasley, I must ask you to keep your voice down! This is a hospital, not
a Strange Siblings concert. As for you, Miss Weasley, I have asked you many times not to loiter
around Mr. Potter’s room. He needs bed rest, not young girls squealing outside for his
autograph.”

“I was not squealing for his bloody autograph,” Ginny replied angrily. “For Merlin’s sake, I’m
his…”

“I don’t care if you’re his identical twin sister,” the elderly healer interrupted. “Cause another
disturbance and you will be removed from this floor. Forcibly, if necessary.”

“She was just leaving,” Ron assured her in an overly genial tone. Ginny continued to protest
through frantic whispers, but as they moved away from his room, Harry had a hard time keeping track
of their conversation. After a few moments, he turned once again to Hermione, who paced the floor
next to his bed with an anguished expression on her face.

Guessing at the cause of her pain as best he could, Harry spoke to her in a very soothing voice.
“Ron will be fine, Hermione. I’m sure he’s been insulted by Ginny loads of times before. He’s
probably already over it.”

Hermione gave him a weak smile. “It’s not Ron I’m worried about, Harry. It’s you.” She sat next to
him once again, although she clutched her hands together in her lap so tightly that her fingertips
turned pale. “I thought that we could search for the horcruxes,” she lowered her voice
conspiratorially as she said what Harry now thought of as ‘the secret word’, “without anyone else
interfering, just the three of us. But it isn’t going to work that way, is it? You’re too important
to our world, Harry. People want to know what’s happening in your life. It’s almost as if you
belong to them. Does that sound crazy?”

“No. In a way, it makes sense. I am ‘the Chosen One’ after all.” Harry looked thoughtful. “It’s
funny. I’ve never really belonged to anyone before. Now I belong to everyone. So why do I feel more
alone than ever?” he asked in a quiet, reflective voice, so low that he wasn’t certain Hermione
could hear him.

“I suppose it’s natural,” Hermione answered him, her voice soft and sympathetic. “People who have
the weight of the world on their shoulders tend to bear it alone. I don’t know how Professor
Dumbledore did it.” Her eyes dimmed with sadness at the thought of their departed Headmaster. “But
Harry, you know that Ron and I aren’t going to leave you, don’t you? And I’m sure Ginny would stand
by you, too, if you’d let her.”

Doubt seeped into Harry’s mind. Would Ron and Hermione really stay with him through everything that
was coming? They hadn’t believed him when he said that Malfoy was a Death Eater and had generally
been unhelpful all last year. Hermione had constantly scolded him for using the spells from the
Half-Blood Prince book, although Harry was now willing to concede that she was right on that one,
while Ron, when not being ‘sidelined by poisoned mead’ as Ginny had put it, had been preoccupied
with snogging Lavender Brown.

And now his two best friends had taken to snogging each other. Thankfully, he hadn’t been privy to
any of their make-out sessions, but Harry had often found himself alone, searching through books on
the founders of Hogwarts while Ron and Hermione went to Florean Fortescue’s (presumably Ron’s idea
of a great date) or Flourish and Blott’s (Hermione’s version of the same). He was determined to be
supportive of his friends’ new relationship, and if that meant doing some research on his own (or
ignoring the fact that Ron came back from Florean Fortescue’s with chocolate syrup and a maraschino
cherry in his hair), then that was what he would do. He could soldier on by himself.

As for Ginny, well… “Ginny’s better off where she is, Hermione,” Harry assured her. “She’d only be
in more danger if she were around me.” Harry’s mind wandered to the last time Ginny had encountered
a horcrux: Tom Riddle’s diary in her first year at Hogwarts. She had ended up lying cold and
lifeless in the Chamber of Secrets and had nearly died. There was no way he was putting her through
that again.

Hermione nodded her head rapidly as her eyes fell to gaze at the floor. “Harry, why did you decide
to go to Grimmauld Place last night?” she asked, clearly struggling to keep her tone neutral.

Harry swallowed hard, trying his best to ignore the coarseness of his throat. “I was just thinking
of Slytherin’s locket, about where it might be now. It made me remember the locket we found back at
Grimmauld before fifth year. Then I got to thinking about R.A.B., how it might be a member of the
Black family. Regulus, maybe.” Harry shrugged slightly. “It was only an idea I had. I wasn’t sure
if it would pan out…”

“No, it was brilliant, Harry,” Hermione interrupted, her eyes glowing with pride. Harry grinned
back at her. “But…why did you go alone? Why didn’t you wake me? Or Ron? We would have gone with
you, you know.”

Harry tried his best not to flinch. He had known his best friends wouldn’t be happy that he had
left them behind at the Dursleys and that Hermione in particular would be displeased. Still, he had
to come up with some sort of answer. “I wasn’t sure of anything, Hermione. I wanted to find out for
myself if there was anything to it before I got you two involved. Besides, you and Ron had a big
day ahead of you, helping Mrs. Weasley decorate the Burrow for the wedding.” Hermione’s face became
one big frown. “Oh. I guess you didn’t get a chance to do that, huh?”

Hermione shook her head. “I think Kreacher telling us that you’d been hurt killed the idea of us
spending the day hanging up pink paper streamers and cutting out miniature hearts. Not that I was
looking forward to it.”

An amused little smile crossed Harry’s lips. “So Kreacher really came through, did he?”

At that moment, Ron walked back into the room, looking as though he had just banished the Bandon
Banshee. “Ugh. You’re not telling Harry about that, are you? That was right embarrassing.” Harry
looked puzzled, while Hermione stifled a laugh. Ron’s shoulders slumped. “You didn’t say anything
about it, did you?”

“No,” Hermione answered him with a coy smile, “but I’d imagine he’s rather curious about it
now.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Fine. I suppose I’ll have to tell you the whole story.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What story?”

Despite his initial reluctance, Ron launched into the tale with gusto. “I woke up last night around
11:30 with my stomach growling. You know how I like to have a midnight snack every now and again,
particularly with the pitifully small portions your Aunt Petunia serves at dinner, and you have to
get down to the pantry early if you want to find anything left. Dudley Dursley takes the whole
midnight snacking bit too far, if you ask me.” Harry smiled at the thought of Ron being impressed
by someone else’s appetite. “So as soon as I light my wand, I notice you’re not there. No big deal,
I figure you’re in the loo or gone for a bite to eat yourself. You are looking a bit peaked lately,
you know.” Hermione cleared her throat, as if to prod him on. “I look around in every room in the
house, but there’s no sign of you. When I walked back into your room, I noticed your invisibility
cloak was gone, too. I figured you’d gone out somewhere, so I decided to tell Hermione. Big mistake
there.”

Hermione looked shocked and punched him lightly in the arm. “What?” Ron said defensively. “It’s
true! That’s when everything started to go wrong.”

A puzzled expression was starting to grow on Harry’s face. “What exactly did go wrong?”

Ron exhaled slowly, still rubbing his arm from where he had been punched. “I knocked on Hermione’s
door several times, but there wasn’t any answer.”

“I put a silencing charm on the door,” Hermione explained matter-of-factly, “because some people
sleeping in that house tend to snore. Loudly.”

“Yeah, Vernon does sound a bit like a buzz saw at night,” Ron agreed with a nod. Harry and Hermione
shared an amused glance. It wasn’t Vernon Dursley that Hermione had been talking about. “Anyway, so
I do a quick ‘Alohamora’ and step through the door…”

Hermione interrupted, her voice terse. “The door was open, Ronald. The Dursleys strictly forbade us
from locking them.”

Ron cocked his head to one side. “Do you always have to follow the rules?” Hoping to stave off
another row, Harry gestured for Ron to continue. “So anyhow, I go through the door and a bucket of
cold water falls down and soaks me. My clothes are dripping wet, I’m freezing cold and all Hermione
can say is ‘That’s what you get for sneaking into my room’.”

“I thought you were Dudley!” Hermione explained, her cheeks a bit pink.

Ron looked outraged. “Do I look like Dudley Dursley to you?”

“No,” Hermione came back a bit harshly, “thanks only to your metabolism, you don’t.”

Harry closed his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to ease the splitting headache he’d had since
waking up. “So I suppose Kreacher enters this story at some point?” he asked impatiently.

“Right,” Ron replied, a bit of anger still evident in his voice. “Well, my pajamas got soaked, so I
stripped out of them. All the while, Hermione’s apologizing and trying her best to use a drying
charm on my clothes. So there I am in nothing but my knickers, completely wet, standing right next
to Hermione in her bedroom. Naturally, this is when your Uncle Vernon decides to walk in, demanding
to know what all the commotion’s about. He sees me, turns this shade of purple that I haven’t seen
before and starts yelling all this rubbish about ‘freaks’ and ‘strangeness’ and ‘owls’…”

“Owls?” Harry repeated quizzically.

Ron shrugged. “He’s your uncle, not mine. Anyway, that’s when Kreacher popped in. In the tiniest,
scratchiest voice you could imagine he says ‘Young Master Parselmouth’s set himself on fire.’ Then
he pops back out again, quick as you please.” Harry laughed aloud at the thought.

Hermione didn’t seem all that amused. “It wasn’t funny, Harry. Your uncle nearly had a heart
attack. And when we figured out that you were ‘Young Master Parselmouth’, we were really worried.”
As if to prove their concern, both Ron and Hermione moved closer to Harry, flanking him on either
side of the bed. “Harry,” Hermione continued curiously, “was there a reason that you spoke
parseltongue in front of Kreacher?”

Ron and Hermione listened attentively as Harry recounted the events of the night before, from his
discovery of the hidden room at Grimmauld Place to his encounter with the spirit of Tom Riddle.
Hermione appeared to be deep in thought when Harry spoke of using his parselmouth ability to open
the locket. Ron meanwhile focused on his decision to cast a Persian sacred fire charm. “Wouldn’t
use that one again if I could help it, mate. I know we don’t know much about how to destroy the
horcruxes, but if that spell sends you to the hospital every time, it’s just not worth it.”

Harry could tell Hermione was curious about something, but she seemed reluctant to speak. “I was
thinking,” Harry began in his serious voice, “that we should move into Grimmauld Place. It looked
like Regulus had done a fair amount of research on the horcruxes, plus there are loads of books on
dark magic, it’s still under the Fidelius Charm for whatever that’s worth and…well, the Order isn’t
using it anymore.” In fact, the Order of the Phoenix wasn’t doing much of anything anymore. With
Dumbledore dead and Snape a proven traitor, the secret organization was floundering badly.

Ron nodded quickly. “Brilliant idea, Harry. Even Kreacher’s a better housemate than the Dursleys.
After last night, your Uncle Vernon might even pack our bags for us.”

“Seeing you half-naked will do that to anyone,” Harry joked. Ron’s ears turned blood red.

“I hate to keep bothering you with questions, Harry,” Hermione said in an oddly quiet voice, “but
do you remember what you said in parseltongue to enter the Chamber of Secrets, back in second year?
Right before you found Ginny and the spirit of Tom Riddle?”

The smile on Harry’s face vanished as he thought back to that moment, over four years ago, when he
had entered the Chamber to face a basilisk and discover his very first horcrux. “It wasn’t anything
complicated,” Harry answered simply. “I think I just said ‘open’.”

“‘Open’,” Hermione repeated, as if on the verge of figuring something out. “And then again, when
you spoke to Slytherin’s locket, you told it to open.”

Harry nodded slightly. “I was just thinking back to that summer before fifth year, when we couldn’t
get the locket open. I thought maybe if we could there would be some kind of clue inside. I had no
idea it would make Voldemort appear.”

“Weird,” Ron assessed succinctly. “You-Know-Who’s like some kind of genie in a lamp. Rub a horcrux
the right way and he’ll come out.”

“Crude as that comparison is,” Hermione said grudgingly, “I think Ron’s right. When he was making
the horcruxes, Voldemort had every reason to believe that he was the only one who would ever speak
parseltongue. The little sliver of Tom Riddle’s soul must respond to a parselmouth’s commands
instinctively, thinking that they’re coming from Voldemort himself. It could have been a failsafe,
in case anything ever went wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron replied in mock confusion, “but I didn’t hear anything you said after ‘Ron’s
right’. Would you mind repeating all of that?” Hermione swatted at him playfully but Ron dodged her
with a chuckle. “Sorry to run on you so soon, Harry, but Mum’s making me head back to the Burrow.
Says our little trip to St. Mungo’s has set her back a bit on time to prepare for the wedding. She
doesn’t seem to get that it’s a week away.”

“And you don’t seem to get that it takes a long time and a lot of planning to pull off a successful
wedding,” Hermione informed him with a frown.

“You could come, too, you know,” Ron said almost pleadingly. “We were supposed to be helping her
today anyway.”

“Actually, I think I’d like to stay with Harry,” Hermione replied apologetically. “At least until
the healers make me go. Then I could go back to the Dursleys’ and start moving our things to
Grimmauld Place. That is,” Hermione stopped as she suddenly considered something, “unless Harry
wants to be alone.”

Harry shook his head before lowering it onto the pillow below him. His eyelids suddenly felt very
heavy. “No,” he answered, his fingers beckoning her, “stay with me.” Hermione bid Ron a brief
farewell and then returned to the seat beside Harry, watching him intently as he soon fell
asleep.

**A/N: I know other authors have decided not to put R/Hr together after HBP, since they
weren't officially a couple at the end of the book. However, not all is as it seems and things
will change quickly. Stay tuned!

ITL**

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3. Chapter 3: Strangest Dreams
------------------------------

**Two quick notes before I get started. One, I'm not J. K. Rowling. The characters
aren't mine, so I don't plan to make money off of them. Two, I will try to update this
story about once a week. My schedule's hectic, though, so bear with me. Alright, on to the
story.**

The worn volume sat just beyond his reach, hidden behind several thick panes of glass. The tint of
the glass obscured the book a bit, but not enough to fully disguise its identity. He read the words
written on the cover with wonder in his voice. “The Covenant of the Founders.” His reflection
stared back at him, his skin drawn and pale and his mouth set in an evil smile.

His eyes looked the tome over longingly, but he made no effort to steal it, choosing to speak to it
instead. “Come to me,” he hissed, his words not in the King’s English but in parseltongue. “Reveal
your secrets. Give me your power.” He stared intently at the ancient book, as if willing it to obey
him. Instead, it only sat in the window lifelessly.

A roar of frustrated rage escaped his mouth. “Lies.” With a flip of his dark brown cloak, he began
striding purposefully down a long dark corridor. “Mardian, Rutland,” he called out, capturing the
attention of two similarly robed figures who looked to be coming out of a trance, “there’s nothing
here. Burn it to the ground.” The two men moved swiftly to obey.

As he walked briskly down the hall, fury flowed from him. Countless priceless objects on display
quickly became shattered flotsam and every door he passed angrily slammed itself shut. Eventually,
he seemed to tire of the theatrics and walked into a large room filled with mammoth file cabinets
and hundreds of identical desks. Several dozen brown and black-robed figures stood around
aimlessly. A few of them pointed their wands at a terrified group of wizards and witches, some of
whom sat meekly at their desks, while others cowered on the floor. “Is this all of them?” his voice
demanded coldly.

A young, tall black-cloaked minion stepped forward. “Yes, my Lord.”

The brown-robed figure who was obviously Lord Voldemort gave a slight nod. With a flourish, he
turned to address his followers. “Today, my friends, we tread on sacred ground. The Department of
Magical Relics is home to some of the most precious treasures known to our world.” Voldemort shot a
look of seething hatred at the frightened people around him. “Unfortunately, it has been perverted.
Midas Fox has allowed mudblood filth inside these walls, permitting them to hold our history in
their hands. We have come here now only to take back what is rightfully ours and to send a message
to Mr. Fox. We have now been pushed too far.”

Voldemort’s words were met with cheers of approval from his followers. “We have spent too long
skulking in the shadows, hiding our faces behind dark cloaks while the Ministry find ways to taint
our world, day by day. No more. With this act, we make our presence known.” Pointing his wand in
the air with a look of evil determination in his eye, Voldemort’s lips formed the word “Morsmordre”
and the familiar skull and snake formed in the air. The sickly green color of the Dark Mark added
to the sense of fear in the room. Overwhelmed, a man standing by a heavyset Death Eater in purple
fell to his knees.

“Please,” the thin, bespectacled man blubbered, his bottom lip shaking in terror. “I swear I’m not
muggleborn. I…I was raised muggle, it’s true, but… my mother was a pureblood witch. You can check
my papers, they’ll prove it…Please, I’ll do anything…”

The purple robed Death Eater shoved the slight man down to the floor and spat in his face. “Did you
really think we’d spare you because your mum was a blood traitor and a slag?” he asked the
terrified man, an evil grin on his face.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Does he speak the truth?”

“Who cares?” the large man with thinning blonde hair retorted tartly. “All muggle trash are the
same, whether they’re half-blood or…”

A cry of pain cut his sentence short as Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on him. “Treat my order
as a request again, Pym, and it will be the Killing Curse next time.” He turned to another one of
his followers, an older man with a somewhat scholarly appearance. “Look at his proof of birth
status, Gracchus. If he is half-blood, then we dilute our message by killing him. We wouldn’t want
anyone to say that the slaughter was random.”

With a simple nod, Gracchus acknowledged that his papers were in order. Voldemort leveled his wand
at the head of this strangely fortunate man. “Obliviate!” His thin frame crumbled, thick eyeglasses
falling to the floor and shattering below him. “Take him outside. Leave him for the Aurors to
interrogate. He’ll be lucky if he remembers his own name.” A mean-spirited laugh spread like a wave
over the Death Eaters. “Kill the rest.” Like a ritual chant, over a dozen “Avada Kedavra”s were
spoken at once. What only moments before had been scared people in a bad situation were now merely
corpses, victims of a hatred that they barely understood.

Harry himself couldn’t fathom what he was seeing or why he was seeing it. Had he entered
Voldemort’s mind again, through his dreams? If so, why was it happening now? And was that…?

“Hermione?” Harry’s confusion was growing by the minute. Hermione Granger stood amid the carnage,
seemingly oblivious to the grave danger around her. What was she doing here?

“Harry,” she called to him, concern evident in her voice. “Harry, you have to wake up. Can you hear
me?”

Harry’s head shot up from the pillow, sweat pouring from his forehead and his heart beating wildly.
Hermione stood next to him with one arm around his shoulder and the fingers of her other hand
pressed firmly against his chest, as if to keep him from leaving his hospital bed. His eyes
captured hers with their intensity. “Hermione,” he began, his voice confused, “you’ve got to get me
out of here. I…we have to stop them.”

“Harry, your vital signs are off the charts,” Hermione replied, her voice panicky. “You’re not
going to be able to go anywhere. Just lie back and wait for the healers.” She tore her eyes away
from his to glance down the hallway. “Oh, where are they?”

“Hermione,” Harry breathed urgently as he fell back onto the bed in fatigue. “It’s Voldemort. He’s
at the Department of Magical Relics, along with a handful of Death Eaters. They’re killing
people…muggleborns…we don’t have much time.”

Hermione shot Harry a look that was both sympathetic and curious. “Are you sure that’s what you
saw? Because, well…”, she tilted her head sheepishly, “…there hasn’t been a Department of Magical
Relics in over twenty years.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed, rising again from the bed. “No, that can’t…can’t be right. I just heard
him talking about it…”

Hermione walked back over to him and ran her hands down his arms in a soothing motion. “Try and
rest, Harry. Everything will be alright.”

“No,” Harry contradicted her as half a dozen healers rushed anxiously into the room, “those
people…they’ll be killed, I have to stop…” His voice trailed off as something a male healer had
waved under his nose made him drowsy. “Can’t let them die,” he slurred.

Hermione looked him over sadly as he drifted to sleep. “He’s starting to feel it already,” she
remarked to herself with a note of melancholy in her voice. “The weight of the world.”

*

Harry felt the fading sunlight bathe his face in its warmth and opened his eyes eagerly, hoping
that everything he’d experienced over the last few days had been nothing more than one long
nightmare. Upon seeing the worried looks on his best friends’ faces, however, those hopes were
quickly dashed. Harry frowned inquisitively at Ron and Hermione. “What’s happened?” he asked as he
reached for his glasses. “Is something wrong?”

Hermione’s pained expression made Harry expect bad news. “They’re releasing you.”

He blinked rapidly. “Oh.” Harry considered this a moment. “I’m sorry, did you say…?”

“You heard her right,” Ron answered him with a sour look.

“The thing is, Harry,” Hermione began warily, “you’re not completely healed yet and you won’t be
for some time.”

Ron scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Maybe we should take him to a muggle hospital. They have to
help their patients, right? Because of that Hypodermic Oath.”

“Hippocratic Oath,” Hermione corrected him.

“Yeah, that,” Ron added without embarrassment.

“No more hospitals,” Harry moaned, sitting up slightly as he did so. “I always seem to have more
problems when I leave than when I came in.” Harry looked up at his best friends in anticipation.
“So when can I leave?”

Hermione smiled at him indulgently. “If you swear to get plenty of bed rest and keep taking that
dreadful stuff Bill gave you, the healers said you could check out any time you like and continue
your recovery from home.”

“Home,” Harry repeated with a pleased grin on his face. “I guess that means Grimmauld Place
now.”

Hermione nodded. “I apparated all of our things over there this morning. The Dursleys spent the
entire time pretending as though I didn’t exist and Kreacher wasn’t happy about our new living
arrangements, but he’ll come around eventually.” Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry stretched a bit and then reached for the glass of water that had been sitting next to his
glasses. Having slept off and on for more than a day, he felt largely refreshed. Looking down at
himself, he saw that the bandages around his upper arms, neck and calves had been removed. “You
know, I do feel a bit better. I suppose I must be healing nicely.”

“Er, not exactly,” Ron winced. When Harry gave him a questioning look, Hermione handed him a copy
of the Daily Prophet. “Things have gotten crazy here, Harry.”

“There have been almost a dozen Death Eater attacks confirmed in the last twenty-four hours,”
Hermione stated apprehensively as Harry scanned the front page of the paper. “There are five more
that they aren’t sure about, but they fit the profile.”

“Yeah, ever since the Prophet reported that you were at St. Mungo’s,” Ron complained, “You-Know-Who
decided it was open season on everyone else. Ruddy healers couldn’t keep their traps shut. Now that
they’ve got more patients than they can handle, they’re kicking you to the curb.”

Harry gave them both a concerned look. “What would my landing in the hospital have to do with
increased Death Eater activity?”

Ron and Hermione shared a sigh. “You can be a bit daft sometimes,” Ron informed him.

When this didn’t appear to ease Harry’s confusion, Hermione explained. “With Dumbledore…gone,
you’re the only one they’re afraid of, Harry. You’re the one Voldemort’s worried about. With you in
here, they feel they can do whatever they want.”

“But…surely the Ministry…” Harry sputtered.

“Unless you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘are a bunch of barmy gits who couldn’t find
their bum with both hands and a fairy globe,’ the answer’s no,” Ron interrupted. “It’s all down to
you, mate.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He wanted to scream that he wasn’t some
younger version of Dumbledore, that he was no one, just a prospective seventh year Hogwarts student
and not even the best in his class (that honor belonged to Hermione, naturally). If Death Eaters
were killing people because of what he was or wasn’t doing, then their lives were in his hands.
Only right now, his hands were bandaged and trembling.

His thoughts wandered back to his dream of only hours before. Could that have been showing him one
of the attacks that the Prophet had reported on? “Hermione, about the dream I had…” Her face became
solemn as he spoke. “Are you sure that there isn’t a Department of Magical Relics?”

Hermione nodded. “It was consolidated with the Department of Historical Artifacts years ago. But if
that’s what you saw…” She looked thoughtful. “Harry, what did Voldemort say in your dream? Other
than the usual Death Eater tripe, I mean.”

Harry did his best to ignore the disgust that he felt as he remembered the Dark Lord’s hate-filled
diatribe. “He said he was sending a message to someone.” The name took another moment to come to
him. “Midas Fox. Does that name…mean anything to…?”

He stopped as Ron’s eyes bugged out and Hermione looked extremely confused. “Blimey, Harry!” Ron
exclaimed. “Midas Fox used to be Minister of Magic…ages ago, back when my Dad was at Hogwarts.” Ron
shook his head. “He’s not someone You-Know-Who would send a message to, seeing as he’s probably off
drooling in a cup somewhere now.”

Hermione seemed to have figured it out. “No, not now,” she remarked brightly, “but about forty
years ago, it would have made perfect sense.” Despite Harry’s bemused look, Hermione continued
enthusiastically. “Harry, I think what you dreamed about was Voldemort’s infamous St. Swithin’s Day
Massacre. In 1958, the first group of wizards calling themselves Death Eaters killed over a dozen
muggleborns in response to an integration law which allowed non-purebloods into sensitive areas of
the Ministry for the first time.” Hermione paused to take a breath, then turned her attention to
her boyfriend. “Also, Ron, you should know that Midas Fox died nearly ten years ago, so he isn’t
‘drooling in a cup’.”

“*I* should know that?” Ron asked incredulously. “I thought that was what you were for.”

Before Hermione could fire back an appropriately heated reply, Harry interceded. “Wait a mo. Why
would I be dreaming about something Voldemort did forty years ago? When I was able to peek into his
mind before, it only showed me what he was doing now. Why would I suddenly be able to see into his
past?” He was especially curious given the great lengths Dumbledore had gone to last year to
procure memories of Tom Riddle’s life history.

“Here’s a better question,” a worried Ron remarked. “Why are you inside You-Know-Who’s head again
at all? Didn’t Dumbledore say you wouldn’t have to study occlumency any more?”

Both Harry and Ron stared at Hermione. “Why are you two looking at me that way?” she demanded. “I
don’t know any more about this than you do.” When neither Ron nor Harry stopped looking at her,
Hermione’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine. I suppose it’s ‘what I’m for’, after all.” She sent
a scathing glare Ron’s way, which he ignored. “The only reason why Voldemort would send you a
vision of his past is to tell you something. Something very specific.” Chewing her bottom lip
nervously, she turned to meet Harry’s inquisitive gaze. “Can you think of what that might
be?”

“‘Death to all muggleborns’?” Harry ventured in a disgruntled mumble, then remembered who he was
talking to and winced apologetically. “There was something that stood out. An old book.” Hermione’s
eyes lit up as Ron snorted derisively. “‘The Covenant of the Founders’. Voldemort wanted it badly,
but then he lost interest after it didn’t do anything when he spoke to it in parseltongue. He had
the place burned down because of it.”

“There must be something to this whole parselmouth bit,” Ron remarked thoughtfully. “Hey, do you
think maybe this Founders’ Coven book could be a horcrux?”

Hermione dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “That’s silly, Ron. Why would Voldemort have
it incinerated if it were one of his horcruxes?”

“Maybe it used to be one,” Ron answered her defensively. “It could have been destroyed. By
Dumbledore or someone.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so, Ron. He would have told me if he knew for sure what one of
the horcruxes was. Even one that we wouldn’t have to worry about finding.”

“Besides,” Hermione cut in, as if she were reigning in a frivolous discussion about Quidditch, “I’m
sure that even Voldemort doesn’t believe the ridiculous rubbish that’s in ‘The Covenant of the
Founders.’ It’s been dismissed as mythology for centuries.”

“You already know about the book, then?” Harry asked, more than a little impressed.

“It’s an apocryphal history of the four founders of Hogwarts,” Hermione began. “The author claims
that Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin founded Hogwarts not as a school, but as a
fortress to protect themselves from wizard-hunting muggles. They had nearly driven wizardkind to
extinction because they were being helped by traitorous muggleborns, who were eager to save their
own necks.” Ron gaped at her. “It’s all a lie, of course. Probably written by angry Slytherins
centuries after the fact. None of it is in *Hogwarts: a History*,” she stated with finality,
as if that proved her point. “Any more questions?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a playful
grin.

“I have one,” Harry said, examining Hermione carefully as he did so. “Why were you in my
dream?”

Hermione looked away from him for no reason he could tell. “I…I was in your dream?”

“Yeah,” Harry continued insistently. “You were there talking to me, telling me to wake up. You were
inside my head, Hermione. How did that happen?”

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, his voice a mix of astonishment and horror. “You’re some sort of
natural legilimens or something, aren’t you?”

Hermione blushed. “No, nothing like that,” she replied softly. “Oh, this is so embarrassing.”

“What could be embarrassing about legilimency?” Harry wondered aloud. “It’s a great power to have.
You have to be really talented to master it. I couldn’t even handle occlumency lessons,
remember?”

“Only because they were with Snape,” Hermione remarked darkly. She then chuckled mirthlessly to
herself. “Although I suppose my teacher wasn’t much better.” Hermione sighed audibly. “Here. I
might as well get it over with.”

Hermione handed Harry a slightly worn goldenrod piece of paper with bold black letters on it.
“‘Want to find out what your man is thinking?’” Harry read aloud. “‘To know for sure if she’s
really faithful? Or keep powerful wizards out of your own wandering thoughts? Expand the horizons
of your mind. Learn legilimency by letter or occlumency by owl at Leon Chambers’ Mental
Correspondence School.’”

“‘Mental Correspondence School,’” Ron repeated with a laugh. “As in you’d have to be mental to sign
up for it.” Ron’s eyes suddenly widened. “Tell me you didn’t get hooked in by this,
Hermione.”

“No, of course not,” Hermione exclaimed as Ron turned away from her. “It was my parents. They heard
me talking about Harry’s occlumency lessons after fifth year, about how I wished I could have
helped him. Then they signed me up for this without even asking me first.” Hermione threw her hands
in the air. “What could I do? They’d already paid for the lessons. It was only a few hours’ work a
week: meditation, mental exercises, things like that.”

As Ron huffed, Harry regarded her seriously. “So you really learned legilimency through a
correspondence course?” Hermione blushed a deeper shade of crimson. “That’s brilliant!”

“It’s a nightmare,” Ron exclaimed. “She could be reading our minds right now. You know how she
loves to read.” Ron looked at Hermione warily. “Can you really see what I’m thinking?” he
gulped.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Hermione replied slyly. Ron jumped back about a meter and seemed very
anxious all of a sudden.

“I’m going to see if Harry’s release papers are ready,” he squeaked. Harry and Hermione shared a
laugh as a flash of red hair and long legs shot out the door.

“I think you scared the life out of him,” Harry said with a wide smile. “Can you really…?”

“See other people’s thoughts?” she finished for him. “No. I had never even tried legilimency before
last night. You were thrashing around, screaming for help, and I couldn’t stand just sitting there
and doing nothing. I wanted to help you so badly and before I knew it, there I was, inside your
mind.” Hermione looked in the direction that Ron had fled in. “It does make me wonder, though.
What’s in his mind that he doesn’t want me to see?”

“I don’t think there’s any great mystery about it,” Harry assured her. “He’s a seventeen-year-old
male with a very attractive girlfriend.” Harry paused. He wanted to tread lightly here, as he was
unwilling to make things uncomfortable for either one of his best friends. “Even if you
haven’t…done anything, he probably thinks about it all the time.”

“That doesn’t shock me,” Hermione retorted, crossing her arms modestly over her chest. “I just wish
I knew what he wanted from me.”

Harry cleared his throat and looked very uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize I’d have to spell it out
for you. You see, Hermione, when a witch and a wizard really like each other…”

Hermione swatted him lightly. “Not that, Mr. Low Brow. What I mean is that I want to know what he
needs out of our relationship.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “I *mean* how he
wants it to grow.” Harry then began to chortle a bit. Hermione’s eyes were blazing. “Would you
please stop giving everything I say some dirty double meaning?” She tried to sound stern, but ended
up giggling a bit herself. “It isn’t funny,” Hermione insisted.

“It really isn’t,” Harry agreed, although neither of them stopped laughing. They shared a few warm,
friendly glances before Hermione sat down next to Harry on his bed.

“It’s just that…” she explained to Harry, her voice dripping with frustration as her face dropped
into her hands, “I don’t understand Ron. At all. If only I knew what I was doing, or where we were
going in our relationship…”

Harry grimaced. “I wouldn’t bring that up with Ron. Talking about where your relationship’s going
would probably send him out of the room screaming faster than the idea of you reading his mind
did.” Hermione smiled at him winsomely. “Besides, he probably enjoys the uncertainty of it all.
That can be a lot of the fun in a relationship, you know.”

“Not for me,” Hermione complained with a bit of whine to her voice. “I like assurances and
boundaries and mutual understanding and I just don’t have any of that with Ron.”

“Maybe Ron isn’t the right guy for you, then,” Harry replied before he could stop himself. He
closed his eyes tightly in humiliation. He had no right to interfere in his best friends’
relationship and he was sure Hermione would be angry with him for doing so.

Instead, Hermione’s voice sounded soft and kind, although somewhat weary, as she said, “Maybe not.”
Harry opened his eyes in surprise and found Hermione looking back at him as if she were seeing him
for the first time. He had no idea why she was looking at him that way, but he felt the desperate
need to say something.

“Hermione, do you think you could teach me occlumency?” Harry asked her, a sense of panic making
his words jumble together. For the second time in the space of a minute, he wanted to run and hide
in a hole somewhere. Why was he acting like such an idiot?

Hermione looked taken aback and, if Harry wasn’t mistaken, a little flattered. “Me? Harry, I’m not
exactly a master legilimens…”

Harry’s face flushed red and he suddenly felt very alone. “It’s alright, Hermione. It was stupid of
me to ask…”

“But I’ll give it my best effort, and so should you,” Hermione continued forcefully. “Just because
Snape couldn’t teach you occlumency doesn’t mean that you can’t learn it.” The determination in her
voice made Harry smile proudly.

“Oy!” Ron’s impatient voice called from the hallway. “Are you two still in there? Harry’s been
released. If we hurry, we can still make it to Grimmauld Place in time for dinner.”

Harry groaned and Hermione rolled her eyes. Having dinner at Grimmauld sounded singularly
unappealing. Ignoring strong protests from his various limbs, Harry nevertheless pushed himself up
from the bed and began to stand for the first time in days.

Hermione blushed and turned her head away quickly. “I should give you some privacy. Your clothes
are on the dresser.” As she closed the door behind her, he could hear her yell at Ron. “Must you
always think with your stomach?”

Harry ignored whatever retort Ron came back with as he slipped into the pair of navy blue slacks
that Hermione had brought him. Horrid as it was, living with the Dursleys had at least meant that
his two best friends kept their bickering (and snogging) to a minimum. At Grimmauld Place, the
rules might change. Harry felt his stomach turn a bit at the thought.

Examining himself in the mirror, Harry ran his fingertips slightly underneath the strips of gauze,
gingerly touching the burnt flesh that they covered. He had the strangest urge to tear his bandages
off and scratch all of the little itching places on his skin, even though he knew it would cause
him a lot of pain in the long run. Shrugging the feeling off, Harry pulled his hospital gown over
his shoulders, replaced it with a simple white t-shirt and joined his friends outside, not
considering for a moment why that sensation felt familiar.

*

Harry walked slightly in front of Ron and Hermione as the trio approached #12 Grimmauld Place. “I
still don’t see what you’re on about,” Ron complained. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a very big deal!” Hermione contradicted him. “You made Harry apparate you side along. He just
got out of the hospital, Ron!”

Harry was beginning to regret his decision never to use a spell from the Half-Blood Prince book, as
he was in desperate need of a good ‘Muffliato’. If only he had learned how to cast it on himself…
“Hey, you’re the one who told me I couldn’t apparate myself here.”

“That’s because it would be illegal! You’re not licensed,” Hermione replied in horror.

Ron nodded smugly. “But Harry is.” Their former DADA professor, Remus Lupin, had gone with Harry to
take his apparation test on his birthday. Unsurprisingly, he had passed with flying colors. The
test was still giving Ron trouble, however. “Which is why it made sense for him to take me side
along, instead of apparating without a license.”

Hermione ground her teeth together as Harry once again reached for the serpentine silver handle of
the door to his godfather’s old house. “There was a third option, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “Yeah, I know. I could have used the summoning charm to get my Cleansweep from
the Burrow, but you said that would take too long.”

Harry was more than a bit surprised when the roar of frustration which followed came from his own
mouth instead of Hermione’s. “Would you two just stop for a minute? Hermione, I appreciate your
concern, but I feel fine and I didn’t mind apparating Ron side along. Ron, just because you’re not
comfortable grabbing your girlfriend around the waist and letting her apparate you somewhere
doesn’t mean that you can act like a dense prat. Now get over it.” Ron stammered around a bit and
Hermione looked stung as Harry walked into the house. As soon as he stepped past the threshold, he
saw Kreacher standing at the staircase, carefully polishing the railing. “Kreacher, you’re…you’re
cleaning?” Harry asked in disbelief.

Kreacher almost seemed excited to see Harry. “Kreacher had to make the house worthy of Young Master
Parselmouth,” he said with a crooked smile. His expression drooped a bit as he saw Ron and
Hermione. “And he has brought guests with him, a mudblood and a blood traitor,” he muttered under
his breath.

“That’s enough, Kreacher,” Harry growled. “You’ll not call them those names in my presence. And if
you must call me something other than Harry, it’s Master Potter, not Master Parselmouth.”

Kreacher looked extremely disappointed. “If that is what Master wishes.”

“Good,” Harry said with a satisfied expression on his face. “Now take us to the Master’s study,
Kreacher,” he ordered, drawing a mildly irritated glare from Hermione. “I have something to show
you.”

As the three ascended the staircase slowly behind a pouting Kreacher, Ron showed a bit more
interest in his surroundings than seemed necessary, eyeing the gold leaf trim of the wallpaper in
particular. “It just occurred to me, Harry. You own this house.”

Harry looked at Ron as though he had taken a few too many bludgers to the head. “Yes, Ron. I do own
this house. What of it?”

“It would take a bloke like me years to actually own a house,” Ron pointed out. Harry began to feel
a burning sensation in his throat and chest that remarkably resembled guilt. “A mansion like this
would take me a lifetime to pay off. But you don’t have to worry about any of that, do you? It’s
already yours.”

“It’s yours now, if you want it,” Harry offered. Kreacher stopped abruptly in front of them, nearly
causing Harry to trip over him. Ron was flabbergasted. “I hate this place, Ron. I won’t be staying
here any more after the war is over. I could have someone from the Ministry send over the paperwork
tomorrow and put the deed in your name, if you’d like.”

Ron considered it, then shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Harry, but….a bloke would go a bit
nutters if he lived here very long.” Kreacher let out a small hiss, but otherwise said nothing as
he led them to the large mahogany door with the sparkling gold handle. Ron and Hermione were less
than impressed. “It’s a wall,” Ron declared. “Now can we eat?”

Harry looked at Kreacher for reassurance that he wasn’t crazy (which was strange enough in itself)
as Ron and Hermione searched aimlessly for what Harry was trying to show them. “Is there some way
that I could let them see it?” he whispered to his house elf.

Kreacher’s voice became both soft and shrill. “Master would have to give the…misguided pureblood
and the lowborn witch partial ownership of the house for them to enter. I must warn Master
Par…Potter that it is very dangerous to give the house to…”

“That’s that, then,” Harry announced, turning around to face his best friends. “Effective
immediately, the three of us have equal ownership of Grimmauld Place. I don’t know if it has to be
official before you…can…” But Ron and Hermione were already transfixed, staring at the door before
he could even finish speaking.

“Where’d that come from?” Ron asked in a bit of a daze.

Harry grinned in satisfaction. “If you’re through staring at the door, what’s inside is even more
impressive.” He led his friends into the Master’s study, giving them a few moments to examine its
interior. Ron picked up an oddly shaped mace with protracting metal spikes while Hermione busied
herself examining books, tracing her finger along each spine.

“It’s a fascinating collection of literary works,” Hermione observed. “If you’re a
Slytherin.”

“That’s funny,” Harry told her, his head nearly bumping into hers as he looked over her shoulder.
“I thought the same thing the first time I saw…”

“Ow!” Ron yelped loudly as blood poured from his right index finger. The mace fell with a dull thud
to the floor and Hermione hastily pulled out a bandage and wrapped it around Ron’s finger as he
shook it violently.

“This was supposed to be for Harry,” Hermione complained as she performed a sticking charm on the
gauze. “Although if you both keep acting like idiots, playing with things that you don’t
understand, we’ll go through more bandages than St. Mungo’s does in a year.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to attack me?” Ron asked in a whine.

“Just be more careful next time,” Harry advised, although he was having trouble not clenching his
teeth as he said it. Turning to Hermione, he gestured toward a messy pile of parchment which lie
undisturbed under a pile of dust on a large oak table. “That’s Regulus’ research on the horcruxes.
According to what he wrote to Sirius, he got all of his information from the books in this
room.”

“Harry,” Ron exclaimed, his voice filled with equal amounts wonder and protest, “there must be
thousands of books in here. It’ll take us months to go through all of this.” Neither Harry nor
Hermione disagreed. “I guess we’re really not going back to Hogwarts, are we?”

The three of them had discussed the matter while at the Dursleys’ and had agreed that finding the
horcruxes was more important than returning to school. It was a moot point now, though, as by order
of the Ministry Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was still closed. It seemed unlikely to
reopen in time to accept the enrollment of very many students.

Harry turned to face his best mate. “No, Ron. We’re through with Hogwarts.”

*

Dinner was a brief affair, mostly due to Ron’s ravenous appetite, but also because Harry and
Hermione ate next to nothing. For some reason, Harry found steak and kidney pie unappealing when it
was prepared by someone who’d once sent him maggots as a Christmas present. Kreacher cleared the
table without comment on how little his master had eaten and, despite Hermione’s best efforts,
began to wash the dishes without any help.

The three of them spent the rest of the evening searching through books and reams of parchment in
the study, hoping to find some mention of horcruxes, rare objects which belonged to the founders of
Hogwarts or, in Harry’s case, ‘The Covenant of the Founders.’ He couldn’t escape the feeling that
the book was important, no matter how frivolous Hermione made it out to be. As it happened, all the
books from *Curses of Pain* by Antigonus Abbott to *Organizing Troll Fights for Fun and
Profit* by Barnabas the Brutal had nothing in them about any subject of interest to the Trio.
Well, unless you counted a book on trick Quidditch plays that Ron found had been mislabeled *101
Household Uses for Shrunken Heads*. He squawked indignantly when Hermione snatched it from his
hands.

“This library is completely disorganized,” Hermione complained mostly to herself. “Madam Pince
would have a fit if she saw it.”

“I’ll have to remember not to invite her over, then,” Ron remarked, boredom evident in his voice.
He heaved a sigh and looked up at her wearily. “Can’t we please just call it a night? I’m
completely knackered.”

“I’m not your boss or your mum,” Hermione told him as she stood on tiptoe to return the book to the
shelf, her tone noticeably frosty. “You may do whatever you like.”

Ron grinned appreciatively, apparently not picking up on her change in mood. “Thanks, Hermione.
You’re the best.” With that, he darted off down the hall.

Harry suppressed a sigh. It had gotten late, at least according to the clock on the wall which read
‘Time for all the good little witches and wizards to be in bed. Which means you’ve still got a few
hours.’ However, he didn’t want to make Hermione more upset by rushing off to bed like Ron had.
After a few more minutes of pretending to be interested in the migratory patterns of wild hinky
punks, Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “Go on to bed, Harry. You’ve had a long day.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked her with a grin. “I haven’t even gotten to the part where it tells how
the hinky punks reproduce. I’ve always been curious about that.”

Hermione screwed up her nose at him. “I don’t think I need the details, thanks. Now get some
sleep.”

Harry walked toward the door, then spun around to face her just before stepping out into the hall.
“Are you coming?” he asked without thinking. Harry’s cheeks flushed. “Er…not to bed with
me…obviously…but to your own bed…or Ron’s, I guess, I dunno…” He forced his mouth closed before he
could embarrass himself further.

Hermione laughed a bit at his predicament, although there was no malice behind it. “Don’t worry
about me, Harry. I’ll find my way to bed before too long.”

*

It was a restless night for Harry. His bandages itched like crazy, the Ahura Akbar potion was
making him feel nauseous and he couldn’t help dreading dreams where he entered Voldemort’s mind
again. Also, staying in Sirius’ old bedroom gave him a creepy, morbid feeling, like he was taking a
kip in a cemetery. Sleep came fitfully or not at all.

When the dawn broke, Harry dressed quickly and rushed to see Hermione. He was sure Ron wouldn’t be
awake yet and he wanted to assure her that he hadn’t spent the night reliving evil historical
events. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he would find her slumped over Regulus Black’s research
in the Master’s study, quill still clutched in her hand.

He was half right. Hermione was in the Master’s study, but instead of finding her asleep, she was
stirring a cauldron frantically with a large ladle. Her bloodshot eyes and the dark circles around
them told him that she’d probably slept about as well as he had.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, confusion and concern blending on his face as he entered the study. “Are
you alright?”

Hermione gave him a hurt look. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Animus Signatus potion?”

It took Harry a minute to understand what Hermione was asking him. “Regulus said that it didn’t
work, that L.E., er, my mother messed it up.” Harry tilted his head to look at her. “Hermione, have
you been here all night?”

“Regulus Black was an idiot, Harry,” Hermione declared, her steely gaze making Harry retreat a bit.
“You should read some of the things he’s written. No, on second thought, don’t. Just get Ron in
here.” His best friend’s frazzled demeanor gave him pause. “Go!”

After being told twice, Harry grumpily walked down the hallway to find Ron. “Good morning to you,
too,” he grumbled, thinking to himself that Hermione could have been nicer. Knocking on what he
assumed was Ron’s door, Harry called out, “Time to wake up.”

“Whuh?” Ron asked in a loud, sleepy voice. “Whahsa matter?”

Harry sighed. “Hermione wants to show us something. An Animus Signatus potion.”

Ron didn’t reply, but emerged from his room several moments later wearing inside-out pajama bottoms
and a t-shirt that read ‘Identical in Every Way’ which was clearly a hand me down from either Fred
or George. “Some bloke that hates baby swans makes a potion and Hermione has to get herself all in
a twist about it,” he complained under his breath.

The two of them passed the large gilded door and followed the smell of noxious fumes inside the
study. “There you are,” Hermione exclaimed. “I can’t believe you two were sleeping at a time like
this.” Harry glanced at the clock, which now read ‘Too bloody early’.

“Yeah, we can’t believe it either,” Ron retorted sarcastically. “Now could you please tell us what
this is all about?”

Hermione looked positively giddy all of a sudden. “The Animus Signatus potion is incredibly rare,
but apparently Harry’s mum brewed a cauldron full of it for Regulus Black. It can discern
individual magical signatures, track them and then transmit what it finds in visual form onto the
surface of the potion.” Both Harry and Ron stared at her blankly. “Don’t you see? The Animus
Signatus potion is the key to finding the horcruxes!”

Harry desperately wanted to sit down. “Um…how?” he asked with a shrug.

Hermione ran her fingers through her frizzy hair. “Let me give you an example. I’ve put the remains
of Slytherin’s locket into the potion. That means the soul it’s searching for is Lord Voldemort’s.
Once it finds something that matches the signature of the locket, like another horcrux, an image
will appear…” Hermione looked down at the thick black and gray substance as hundreds of bubbles
began to surface. “I think something’s happening.”

Ron and Harry peered carefully into the cauldron, only to see colors and shapes slowly taking form.
“It’s a book,” Ron commented confusedly as the potion began to cool and solidify a bit. “And…wait,
is that Ginny?”

Harry felt fear grip him as he watched Ginny Weasley’s figure come into focus on the potion’s
surface. She was smiling brightly, wearing her Hogwarts robes and looked years younger. “What does
this mean, Hermione?” Harry asked, concern wrinkling his brow.

“It means that Ginny’s spirit connected with Voldemort’s back in our second year at Hogwarts,”
Hermione informed him, “And that’s Tom Riddle’s diary there. Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell
the Animus Signatus to only look for horcruxes that haven’t been destroyed.”

“But it will find them all, right? Eventually, I mean,” Ron asked, his interest now piqued.

“This batch is probably only good for finding one or two more,” Hermione answered him honestly.
“It’s been sitting here for twenty years, stored in jars behind the book shelves, and it’s already
done the search twice, which drains a lot of its magical properties.” Hermione blew air up through
her bangs as sweat formed in beads on her forehead. “We could brew another batch of it, but that
would take a few months. Also, most of the ingredients are illegal.”

Harry nodded. He had wondered why Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned this potion last year. Now he at
least had an answer, unsatisfactory as it might have been. “We’ll have to make this one count,
then.”

“Look, it’s doing it again,” Ron said as he pointed at the bubbling cauldron excitedly. Harry
crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping that it would not show Marvolo’s ring, Slytherin’s
locket or the diary again. His hope was rewarded by a bright blue feather which formed in place of
the ruined book.

“Ravenclaw’s quill?!” Hermione cried out in shock. “But that…that’s not possible.”

Harry almost asked her why, until he became transfixed by the image of the person forming just
above the quill. The three of them gazed down in horror as a familiar girl with dirty blonde hair
and glazed over silvery gray eyes looked back at them. It was Luna Lovegood.

**Thanks for all the reviews so far. You guys have been great!

ITL**

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4. Chapter 4: An Ordinary Visit to the Quibbler
-----------------------------------------------

**Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. If I were, I would have put the characters in more
suitable ships in HBP, and there would have been no 'Won Won', nor a monster in Harry's
chest.**

Chapter 4: An Ordinary Visit to the Quibbler

“Are you sure that this thing is looking for horcruxes?” Ron asked with an amused smirk as he
stared down at the likeness of Luna Lovegood on the surface of the Animus Signatus potion. “Maybe
it’s just trying to find girls who Harry’s been on a date with.”

Harry gave Ron an exasperated glare. “It wasn’t a date. I just took her to Slughorn’s stupid
Christmas party. As a *friend*.”

“If you say so, mate,” Ron came back with a sly look. “But if you wanted to take a girl who was
your friend to a Slug Club soiree, Hermione would have made a lot more sense, don’t you think?”
That gave Harry pause. Why hadn’t he thought to invite Hermione to Slughorn’s party? They were both
single and pining foolishly for Weasleys who were with other people. Why hadn’t he even considered
her? “Not to mention that it would have saved her the embarrassment of adding Cormac McLaggen to
her list of ex-boyfriends.”

“Cormac McLaggen was never my boyfriend,” Hermione told him with absolutely no uncertainty in her
voice. “We can discuss this later, Ron. Right now we have more important things to worry
about.”

“Luna,” Harry said as he exhaled deeply, leaning over the cauldron to get a better look. “Why is it
showing us Luna?”

When Hermione didn’t answer right away, Ron spoke up. “Same reason as it showed us Ginny, I reckon.
She’s connected with this horcrux somehow.”

“But how?” Hermione asked, her voice cracking a bit in exhaustion. “How could Ravenclaw’s quill be
a horcrux? Why would Voldemort have even bothered with it?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Ron asked with a shrug. “He’s supposed to be picking things that are connected
to the Founders of Hogwarts, right?”

“But there’s no evidence that ‘Ravenclaw’s quill’ actually belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw,” Hermione
protested. “It didn’t surface until hundreds of years after her death. Most scholars now believe
that it isn’t a genuine historical artifact.”

“Maybe Voldemort hasn’t read *Hogwarts: a History* as many times as you have,” Harry said, a
smile tugging at his lips.

“It figures that Luna would end up with something batty like a fake quill that’s actually a
horcrux,” Ron declared with a sigh. “I guess it’s up to us to go and rescue her from it.”

Hermione stirred the potion restlessly. “I’m sure she would love for you to swoop in and save her,
Ronald, but I think we would be better off staying here and seeing if we can find out more about
the horcruxes. We might not have this chance again.”

“Have you gone mad?” Ron asked her, his tone rising in disbelief. “Luna’s in danger! Don’t you
remember what You-Know-Who had Ginny doing in second year? Wandering about the castle at all hours
of the night, ordering a basilisk around. She nearly got killed! And what do you mean ‘she’d love
for me to swoop in and save her’?!”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Hermione huffed. “Luna fancies you.”

Ron’s face turned pale. “She…she does?”

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione answered him, her voice filled with irritation at his cluelessness. “She has
for ages.”

“You’re having me on,” Ron replied dismissively. “I think I would have noticed if Looney Lovegood
had a crush on me.”

“Ron’s right,” Harry said, standing upright as he faced both of his friends. Ron’s confident look
faded as Harry went on. “Not about Luna fancying him, about saving her from the horcrux. We need to
get Ravenclaw’s quill away from her as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed. “Obtaining the horcruxes has to be our top priority. Which is why we
should wait a few more moments to see if the Animus Signatus can tell us what the next one is.”
Hermione cut off both Ron and Harry’s arguments with a heated glare. “Harry, if Dumbledore was
right about Voldemort making seven horcruxes, finding just one more would mean that we could
account for five of them. We’d spare ourselves so much research, so much fruitless
searching…”

“Hermione,” Harry began.

“And I don’t think Luna is in any real danger. The quill has been given to top Ravenclaw students
by its Head of House for hundreds of years. Just in the time we’ve been at Hogwarts, Penelope
Clearwater and Cho Chang have both been awarded Ravenclaw’s quill and, as much as it might explain
some of their dating choices, they don’t seem to have been possessed by Voldemort.” As Hermione
stopped to take a breath, Harry pointed at the cauldron.

“Hermione, your ladle…it’s broken,” Harry informed her with an apologetic look on his face.

Her face a mask of disappointment, Hermione looked down to see the Animus Signatus potion cooling
so rapidly that it had turned into solid chunks, breaking her ladle in two as she tried to keep
stirring it. “Oh, blast,” Hermione exclaimed, “this batch is useless now. There’s nothing I can do
to rejuvenate it.” She balled her fists together in frustration. “I’m so sorry, Harry. If only I
had added more marnox root at the rekindling stage…”

“You don't need to apologize to me, Hermione,” Harry assured her as he laid one hand on her arm
and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Without you, we wouldn’t have the first clue where to start looking
for the rest of the horcruxes.” A small, tired smile formed on Hermione’s lips by way of
reply.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, although he looked less than enthusiastic. “Nobody expects you to be perfect
all of the time, you know.” Hermione’s smile vanished at Ron’s remark and she turned to face Harry
with a grave expression on her face.

“Now if only we knew where to find Luna,” Hermione thought aloud. “I suppose we could stop by
Ottery St. Catchpole some afternoon and hope to catch her at home, but there’s always a chance
she’s off with her father, looking for snorkacks or nargles or something.”

Ron shook his head. “She told me she landed an internship at *The Quibbler* this summer.”
Hermione frowned at him. “What? We talked a bit after Dumbledore’s funeral. It didn’t mean
anything.” Hermione glared at him, her face reddening. “She doesn’t fancy me! It was Harry she went
on a date with, remember?”

Harry glowered angrily at Ron. He would not be dragged into one of Ron and Hermione’s infamous
rows. “It wasn’t a date,” he insisted again. Harry held one hand to his forehead. “Look, can we
just go find Luna Lovegood and the bloody quill without arguing about her love life all day?”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as if clearing her mind, then nodded her head. “I should
probably change Harry’s bandages,” she declared thoughtfully, “and you,” Hermione poked Ron’s chest
with her index finger, “should change clothes. I’m sure George wouldn’t appreciate you stretching
out his t-shirt like that, and not even Luna would think you look good in those silly purple
pajamas.” As Ron gawked at her, Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and led him out of the room. “And be
quick about it,” she called after him. “We leave for *The Quibbler* in ten minutes.”

*

Hermione Granger marched through the main lobby of *The Quibbler*’s business offices, her
fiercely determined look daring anyone to give her trouble. Harry walked slightly behind her with a
stiff gait caused by a combination of a night of poor sleep and the bandages wrapped tightly around
him. Ron brought up the rear, hands in his pockets and a hangdog expression on his face as he loped
along, looking downcast. In addition to their row about Luna, Ron was upset that Hermione had taken
it upon herself to apparate both Harry and Ron side along to the headquarters of *The
Quibbler*, despite the redhead’s insistence that Harry could get the two of them there just
fine.

“Harry isn’t supposed to apparate in his condition, Ron,” Hermione had scolded him, her eyes
flaring angrily as she spoke. “Now you can either let me take you side along, or you can act like a
stubborn prat and stay here at Grimmauld. I’m sure Kreacher would enjoy the company.”

That had settled it, although Ron had done nothing but mope about the situation ever since they’d
arrived. Harry didn’t really see why he was making such a big thing of it, but it was possible he
was missing something. Judging from what Hermione had told him at St. Mungo’s, perhaps Ron and
Hermione’s new relationship wasn’t going well. Harry winced. The last thing he needed right now was
his best friends bickering with each other more than they had before.

“Excuse me,” Hermione called out to a frumpy woman in gray business robes who sat behind the front
counter, “I need to speak with Phobos Lovegood.”

The other woman’s smile was insincere as she replied, “I’m sorry, miss. Mr. Lovegood isn’t seeing
visitors today.”

“Oh, he’ll want to see me,” Hermione replied in a voice that told the world she was an extremely
important person. “I represent Harry Potter. That’s Mr. Potter over there, do you see him? He’s
standing next to the tall, obnoxious bloke with red hair.”

Her previously disinterested eyes widened upon seeing Harry’s scar. Suddenly her demeanor was
friendly, her smile warm and inviting. “What can I do for Mr. Potter…and yourself, Miss…?”

“Granger. Hermione Granger,” Hermione answered her as she extended her hand politely. “Mr. Potter
would like to explore the possibility of doing another exclusive interview for *The Quibbler*.
If Mr. Lovegood is available to discuss the matter, that is.”

Harry watched Hermione as she talked animatedly to the receptionist, her confidence and charm
seemingly winning the woman over. After redressing his bandages, Hermione had changed into a
comfortable pair of jeans and a white blouse with a blue-gray mini tee underneath. On top of that,
she’d managed to put on what little makeup she wore and still have time to lecture Ron about
brushing his teeth more often. Harry smiled broadly as Hermione turned around and gave him a fond
glance. She really was an amazing girl.

“Harry,” Ron began hesitantly, “what do you think of Hermione?”

Harry’s head turned in Ron’s direction so quickly that it was painful. He must have looked terribly
guilty and was trying hard not to blush. Had Ron been taking legilimency lessons too? “What?” Harry
asked in a startled voice. “What do you mean?”

Ron seemed strangely nervous. “Do you…d’you think she’s better than me?”

Harry felt a weight lift from him as he realized Ron hadn’t been asking him what he thought of
Hermione as a girl, but what he thought of her as… his best friend? A witch? Wait a minute, what
was Ron asking him? “What are you on about?” Harry asked, trying to pass off a sigh of relief as a
sigh of exasperation.

“Obviously she’s brilliant,” Ron continued, “And she can do… things…that I can’t. I was just
wondering if you felt like she was better, you know, at magic and stuff.”

Harry considered it for a moment. The answer that immediately sprung to mind, ‘Of course I do,’
didn’t seem very wise. He didn’t want to lie to Ron, but he didn’t want to hurt his feelings
either. “Listen, Ron, you and Hermione are my best friends. You’re the only people I trust enough
to have my back as we look for the,” he lowered his voice, “horcruxes. I can’t do this without you.
Without both of you.” Harry gave his best mate a questioning frown. “Does this have anything to do
with Hermione apparating you side along?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I reckon so.” Harry shot him a scowl. “I know it must seem a bit silly to you,
Harry, but…blokes like Seamus and Dean have been cracking jokes for years about ‘side dishes’
and…”

“What’s a ‘side dish’?” Harry interrupted as he watched the plain woman Hermione had been talking
to get up from her desk.

“It’s an older girl who doesn’t have much else going for her that a guy dates just because she can
apparate,” Ron admitted, his cheeks flushing a bit. “I didn’t want Hermione to think that she was
my ‘side dish’.” Harry didn’t know quite what to say to that, so Ron asked him another very
difficult question. “Harry, if Hermione and I…if we break up, do you think we could still be
friends? The three of us, I mean?”

Harry had been afraid of that very thing happening for over a year now. “I don’t know, Ron.” As
Hermione walked over to her two best friends, Harry whispered, “I hope so.”

“Come on,” Hermione called them with an emphatic gesture. “Luna’s working out of her father’s
office,” she explained once Harry was within earshot. “He’s agreed to see us.”

As they followed Hermione down several flights of stairs, Ron and Harry looked around at the
interior of *The Quibbler*. The smell of newsprint filled the air as the small, bustling
office continued what must have been its daily routine, the various conversations and scratching of
quills blending together into a dull roar. “It’s really nothing out of the ordinary, is it?” Ron
asked rhetorically. “Dad took me on a tour of the *Daily Prophet* once and it looked pretty
much the same as this place does. I guess I was expecting rampaging heliopaths or large gurdyroots
dangling from the ceiling.”

“Honestly, Ron, it’s a place of business,” Hermione chided him. “Whatever nonsense the Quibbler may
report, I’m sure the people who work here are very dedicated and serious.”

Reaching the large oak door with a sign that read, ‘Phobos Lovegood, Editor-in-Chief,’ Hermione
opened it and the three of them stepped inside. Sitting at an oblong desk in the middle of the room
was a large man in his late 30s with sandy brown hair who was intently examining a piece of
parchment while twirling a corkscrew on his finger. Above him, a dozen paper airplanes flew in
tight formation, swirling about in a circle. Once he placed the parchment in his Out basket (which
shouted the word “out”, then made the paper vanish), one of the planes landed on his desk, unfolded
itself and the process began all over again.

Stunned into silence, Harry, Hermione and Ron looked around the room in fascination. A typewriter
with large letter keys that were spaced ridiculously far apart sat in the far corner of the room,
which was blanketed with feathers. Blurry pictures with such labels as ‘Partial snorkel of
crumple-horned snorkacks, East Timor, 1993’ and ‘Long-necked billubit sighting, Peru, 1988’ lined
the walls. Several dozen birds of different types, including owls, peregrine falcons and cockatoos,
perched in open cages hanging from the ceiling. Harry at first thought that the newspaper on the
floor (all copies of The Quibbler, of course) had been put down to catch the droppings of the
birds. However, after examining it more closely, he concluded that the papers made up a sort of
carpet that ran the entire length of the room. Harry himself was standing on a rather wordy article
about how best to prepare bubble mint tea.

“Girls,” Phobos Lovegood called out in a coo. “Take a letter.” Bedlam followed, as every bird in
the room descended from its cage and landed near the typewriter, each of their beaks poised over a
different letter key. A nightingale let out an unpleasant chirp. “Bertie, you know very well that
you had ‘Q’ last time. It’s Robin’s turn to…” As he looked up to address the bird, he caught sight
of Hermione, Harry and Ron.

“I see I have guests,” he announced with a daffy smile. He rose from his chair and extended his
hand to Ron. “Ronald Weasley. I’ve heard a great deal about you from my daughter. All of it good,
I’m afraid. Pleased to finally meet you.” Hermione sent Ron a look that said ‘See? Even Luna’s dad
knows that she fancies you.’ “Miss Granger, we haven’t met before, but I understand that you were
the one who arranged Harry’s interview. My receptionist thinks the world of you.” Hermione accepted
a kiss on the hand from Phobos Lovegood, temporarily ignoring the fact that she’d never met Mr.
Lovegood’s receptionist before today.

“And Harry Potter,” Phobos continued, his booming voice becoming gradually louder, “how can I
properly thank the lad who sold more copies of one issue of *The Quibbler* than ‘Ministry
Manticore Breeding Programs: Fact or Cover-Up?’?” Mr. Lovegood walked around his desk and put his
arms around Harry, pulling him into an awkward hug. Harry squirmed away from him quickly, but
Phobos kept one arm dangling around the younger man’s neck. “Listen, Harry. If you ever want to do
another interview for *The Quibbler*, you have my personal guarantee that we will get your
side of the story out. None of that biased swill that the *Prophet* publishes. We can even set
you up with that Skeeter woman who talked to you before, if that would make you more
comfortable…”

As Harry looked completely confused, Hermione interrupted the exuberant publisher. “I’m afraid
we’re just in the discussion phase now. Harry’s fielding a lot of different offers. It would be a
bit hasty to commit to anything without considering all of our options first.”

“Of course,” Phobos responded, his smile faltering a bit. “You can’t be too careful these days, can
you, Harry?” Mr. Lovegood slapped Harry hard on the back, making Hermione wince in sympathy. Harry
felt dizzy for a few moments as his skin tingled painfully. “Would the three of you like a tour of
the building? Because I think I know someone who would be willing to show you around.” Picking up a
large, off-white colored horn which looked like it had once belonged to a gargantuan rhinoceros,
Phobos Lovegood put his mouth to one end and called out, “Loooo-na!”

His voice reverberated throughout the room, causing some of the smaller birds to squawk irritably.
Harry and Hermione each clapped their hands over their ears, although Ron seemed to take the
strangeness in stride, with a mildly amused grin plastered on his face. Within seconds, Luna
Lovegood stuck her head through a door that adjoined with Phobos’ office. “Yes, Daddy?” she asked
nonchalantly.

Phobos Lovegood gave his daughter a look of adoration. “Would you mind showing our visitors around?
I still have an editorial to write.”

“That depends,” Luna replied playfully. “Did you end up taking my advice?”

Mr. Lovegood’s smile was wide and warm. “Yes, dear. I chose to write on the dangers of arithmancy
as a gateway to necromancy instead of the opinion piece on recently uncovered evidence of an
ancient saurian civilization.”

The petite blonde girl nodded knowingly as she leaned out from the doorpost. “The saurian story
will make an excellent front page spread once we have better photographs.” Turning her attentions
to the Trio, she batted her eyes and smiled dreamily. “What would you like to see first? Our colony
of plank-footed hibblyjinks or the mechanized wand buffers?”

*

Harry kept his distance as Luna Lovegood conducted their unofficial tour of Quibbler headquarters.
It’s not that he wasn’t interested in the quirks and historical tidbits associated with the odd
little newspaper that had been such a boon to him in fifth year, it was that he had other, larger
things on his mind. Like how he was going to get Ravenclaw’s quill away from Luna. He could always
steal it from her, he supposed, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel. He also sincerely doubted that
Hermione would agree to it. The only alternative he could think of, however, involved letting the
sixth year Ravenclaw in on the secret of Voldemort’s horcruxes. It was a dangerous proposition and
one Harry was dreading.

Hermione had been tarrying a bit behind Luna as well and Harry suspected she’d gotten a bit bored
with the younger girl’s fantastic tales of beasts that didn’t exist. Ron, on the other hand, seemed
riveted by Luna’s demonstrations of ordinary muggle and wizarding world office supplies that had
been given some kind of weird twist by the Lovegoods. With a disappointed frown, Harry tried to
decide whether or not Ron was paying Luna extra attention just to make Hermione jealous. In his
opinion, both girls deserved better.

“So these little muggle devices actually make coffee? Without magic?” Ron asked as he put both of
his hands inside one of the coffee makers, which had a pair of antennae sticking out from the top.
“Brilliant. But why don’t you just have house elves do it?”

Hermione bristled, but Luna took the question in stride. “Daddy doesn’t believe in using house elf
labor. It’s fundamentally unfair to use them as slaves, but it’s also very unsanitary. House elves
have no way to protect themselves from jumping wallfins, after all.”

Ron grinned and Hermione was trying hard not to look impressed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she
said, her tone deliberately neutral. “You know,” she continued, a flash of inspiration striking
her, “my parents have been complaining about their coffee maker for years. I’ve been thinking of
getting them a new one for their next wedding anniversary. Could I possibly write down the brand
name so I don’t forget?” Miming a search through her jeans for a pen, Hermione turned to Luna
sheepishly. “I’m sorry, do you have a quill that I could use?”

Luna smiled brightly. “I have this one,” she said, reaching inside her robes and withdrawing a case
with a gold crest emblazoned with the letter ‘L’. “It’s Ravenclaw’s quill,” she proclaimed proudly.
Inside was the peacock blue feather which hid a part of Voldemort’s soul.

“Really?” Hermione asked, feigning surprise with little difficulty. “You were given Ravenclaw’s
quill?”

“I know,” Luna responded with a modest blush. “Five generations of Lovegoods sorted into Ravenclaw
and I was the first one to receive it. Daddy was thrilled.”

“I’m sure he was,” Harry replied, feeling a bit glum about the situation at hand. Whatever was
about to happen, Luna wouldn’t be keeping the quill for long.

“I was really surprised, particularly since Hogwarts hasn’t officially reopened yet,” Luna
continued, babbling slightly. “But Daddy’s sources in the Ministry assure him that it will. I can’t
believe they picked me! Although,” she said shyly, turning to face Hermione, “if the Sorting Hat
had put you into Ravenclaw, I’m sure you would have been the one Professor Flitwick gave it
to.”

Hermione couldn’t stop her cheeks from flushing, no matter how much she wanted to. “Thanks, Luna.
That’s very nice of you to say.”

Harry sighed. He got the feeling that Hermione had been on the verge of telling Luna the real
reason they were here, but had just lost her nerve. “Listen, Luna, there’s something we need to
tell you about the quill. It’s…I mean, we’re pretty sure it’s…how can I say this…”

“Luna,” Ron said seriously, “Ravenclaw’s quill is a horcrux.”

Both Harry and Hermione were floored, as neither of them had expected Ron to be the one to handle
the situation. Now that he had, they seemed unable to speak, their eyes transfixed on Luna as they
waited for her reaction. It wasn’t long in coming. She laughed.

Luna Lovegood laughed as though someone had told her the most hilarious joke in the world. She
laughed like she had on the Hogwarts Express when Ron had compared Goyle to a baboon’s backside
before fifth year. She laughed until tears ran down her face, and then she cried out, “Oh, Ronald,
you’re so funny.”

“It’s not a joke, Luna,” Harry insisted in a secretive tone. “Voldemort made a horcrux out of
Ravenclaw’s quill. We’re going to have to destroy it.”

“But Harry,” Luna countered in a singsong voice, “there’s no such thing as horcruxes.”

For what felt like the hundredth time since they had arrived at the headquarters of *The
Quibbler*, the Trio were stunned into silence. After gaping at Luna for a few long moments,
Hermione eventually managed to speak. “You…you don’t believe in horcruxes?”

“Of course not,” Luna replied in a dismissive voice. “In 1745, Pertinax Qualingame proved that you
couldn’t make a horcrux by trying to split his own soul in two and putting the other half into one
of his favorite goblets. He then celebrated his failure to do so by drinking three casks of wine
with it in one night. I read about it in my first edition copy of *Hogwarts: a
History*.”

“You have a first edition of *Hogwarts: a History*?” Hermione asked, clearly awed by the
notion. Ron and Harry turned to glare chidingly at Hermione, who looked apologetic and then
rebutted Luna’s argument. “But all that proves is that Pertinax Qualingame wasn’t powerful enough
to make a horcrux in the first place. He wasn’t exactly in his prime while he was at Hogwarts, and
it sounds like he had a serious problem with alcohol…”

“That’s not important, Hermione,” Ron interrupted impatiently. “Luna, Harry’s seen a horcrux. Two
of them, actually. He’s destroyed them both and it was right scary both times. Now if you could
just see fit to, well, give it to us so we can try and…”

As Ron was speaking, the four of them were abruptly plunged into darkness. The entire building, in
fact, seemed devoid of light. Within moments, a few of the employees (as well as Harry and
Hermione) had performed the wand lighting charm, the combined glow illuminating the room dimly. The
sight that greeted them was a grim one. A dozen figures in green robes and white masks had entered
the room under the cover of darkness.

“Death Eaters,” Harry breathed, crouching down next to Hermione as he did so. “Nox,” they said at
once, deciding that their wands could be put to better use at the moment.

“How’d they get in?” Ron muttered to himself.

“It wouldn’t have been difficult to make it past the guards outside,” Luna mused, “but they must
have disabled the wards Daddy set up to keep undesirables out of the executive offices. Luckily,
there are several more levels of wards between us and them.” Luna looked thoughtful. “Do you think
they’ve come for our complete set of dueling smatter tacks? They’re quite rare, you know.”

Harry shook his head. “There are only two things in this building that Voldemort wants. That,” he
pointed to Ravenclaw’s quill, which Luna had tucked behind her right ear, “and me.”

Hermione looked from an advancing row of Death Eaters back to Harry. “He’s not going to get either
thing.” She grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him forward, motioning for Ron and Luna to follow her.
The quartet pushed several desks together and hid behind them as a set of green robed figures
worked to disable the wards a few meters away.

“I don’t think we’ll be getting any help from out here,” Harry assessed, looking at the stationary
forms of the Quibbler employees.

Ron examined the people around him with a scowl. “It looks like they’ve been petrified.”

“Some of them have,” Hermione concurred as she watched a Death Eater hex an interfering young
reporter. “Others are just scared. They’re not willing to risk their lives for whatever it is the
Death Eaters want.”

“And we are,” Ron finished for her, although it came out sounding a bit like a question. “I mean,
of course we are,” he amended, puffing out his chest for the girls’ benefit. “Gryffindor bravery
and all of that.”

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” Luna pointed out unnecessarily. “Daddy would help us, I’m sure of it, but his
office automatically seals itself once the outermost wards are tripped.”

“Of course it does,” Harry groused. He lit his wand again and took a long look at the Death Eaters
surrounding them. “How much do the three of you remember from our lessons in the D.A.?”

“Everything,” Hermione said confidently. “Some of it,” Ron gulped. “You kissed Cho,” Luna reminded
him.

Ignoring Luna’s remark, Harry grinned devilishly and turned to face his three friends. “Are you
ready for another lesson?” Before they could answer, he pointed his wand at a nearby Death Eater
and cried, “Impedimenta!” The slight, green-robed man fell flat on his back and the battle was
on.

Luna fired a jelly legs jinx at the Death Eater who appeared to be doing the most work to take down
the wards, while Ron cast a simple “Expelliarmus!” on one standing close to him. Hermione used a
“diffindo” to open a sack of marble paperweights that had been sitting on the top shelf of a
gigantic file cabinet, sending them rolling down to the floor and making their attackers fall all
over each other. Harry stood in the middle of the three of them, as if steeling himself for
battle.

Calling every happy memory that he had of Ron and Hermione to mind, he yelled “Expecto patronum!”
The glowing image of Prongs burst forth from his wand and galloped through the ranks of the Death
Eaters. “Now,” he instructed the others and soon a volley of disarming spells rained down on the
dark wizards, as Hermione, Ron and Luna took advantage of their enemy’s sudden blindness.

“How very extravagant of you, Potter,” a menacing voice called out from behind them. “Conjuring a
patronus when a common flare charm would do just as well. Your ego is as inflated as ever.”

“Who’s there?” Ron asked in a bit of a panic, his eyes widening in shock as he searched in vain for
the source of the voice.

“Snape,” Harry hissed, recognizing the haughty tone of his former Defence Against the Dark Arts
teacher at once. “Slithering about under an invisibility cloak, are you? Did you borrow Malfoy’s?”
Harry taunted him as he looked around for some sign of where Snape might be. “Or is the Ferret with
you now? Hiding is more his style than yours.”

“Very well,” Severus Snape’s voice replied drolly. “If hiding isn’t my style…” He appeared suddenly
behind Luna Lovegood, seizing her around the chest and thrusting his wand into her throat. “Perhaps
this is.” Harry, Ron and Hermione moved closer to where Snape held Luna. “I wouldn’t come too much
closer if I were you. You’d be astonished how many ways I can hurt Ms. Lovegood without causing
harm to myself.”

“Professor Snape?” Luna asked, looking up at him in a daze. Snape sneered, unwilling to acknowledge
her. “Did you ever finish grading my last essay? It was a comparison of the defensive properties of
dragon hide and puffskein fur. I never did get it back.”

“Be quiet, you silly little girl,” Snape growled, shaking her roughly. Harry and Ron both lurched
forward protectively as Snape pulled Luna further away from them. “Before you plan on any heroics,
I’d like you to consider how adept I am at performing my own spells nonverbally.” One greasy black
eyebrow rose thoughtfully. “I’ve always wondered how much damage a sectumsempra would do when
applied directly to the jugular.”

Ron looked ready to tear Snape’s head from his shoulders, but Harry motioned for him to back off.
“What do you want, Snape?”

Snape snorted contemptuously. “Does seeing the pretty young Ravenclaw in mortal peril fill you with
such terror that you’re willing to negotiate already, Potter? Your date with her must have been
very…productive.”

Harry’s stomach sank. So that was why Death Eaters had attacked the Quibbler. Snape thought Luna
was his girlfriend. By now, Voldemort probably did, too. “It wasn’t a date,” he murmured sadly. At
that moment, Hermione dashed up to him and whispered something in his ear. Harry’s initial frown
became a wide grin as Snape looked on in irritation.

“You know,” Snape said to him, “it is common courtesy to at least wait until I kill Miss Lovegood
before moving on with Miss Granger.” Harry’s face went beet red. “Although I suppose it isn’t that
surprising, given your father’s behavior at the same age.”

“Leave Luna be, Snape,” Harry commanded him, refusing to rise to the bait about his father. “You
only wanted her to get to me. Well, you’ve got me. Let her go.”

“The hero sacrifices himself for his lady love,” Snape said mockingly. “Tell me: Was it Dumbledore
who taught you how to be so insufferably noble, or does it come naturally?”

“Don’t say his name,” Harry said through a clenched jaw, wondering snidely to himself if Snape
could do anything without speaking, much less cast a spell.

“Still a tad sensitive about the death of your old mentor, I see,” Snape said with a harsh laugh in
his voice.

“You betrayed him!” Harry exclaimed, losing his composure and stepping perilously closer to Snape.
“He trusted you, he gave you a second chance…”

“And then I killed him,” Snape interrupted coldly. “There’s a good life lesson in there for you,
Potter. Trust no one but yourself.” Harry’s fists shook with rage. “If Dumbledore had followed that
bit of advice, he never would have trusted me as his servant, nor would he have trusted you to keep
him safe. Unfortunately, those two decisions were the ones that cost him his life.”

Harry gave out a frustrated roar. “If you weren’t hiding behind Luna, I’d…”

“You’d what?” Snape demanded with a smirk of superiority. “Finish what your dear, departed
Headmaster didn’t bother to start?”

Luna was growing more frightened by the minute and Hermione had gone very pale. “Yes!” Harry cried
out. “I’d finish you once and for all!”

“Harry, no!” Hermione warned from behind him, but it went unheeded.

“Very well.” Severus Snape turned to the nearest Death Eater and gave him a curt nod. “I accept
your challenge to a wizard’s duel.”

“A wizard’s duel?” Harry asked, confusion and anger mixing heavily in his voice. “I didn’t
challenge you to…”

The former Potions Master looked at Harry with disdain. “You wouldn’t be backing out, would
you?”

As Harry hesitated, Ron stepped forward. “No, he isn’t.” He then turned to Harry and spoke to him
in an urgent whisper. “If you don’t fight him, mate, I will.”

Hermione was frantic. “We’d like to request terms under which this duel will be fought.”

Snape smiled thinly. “Very good, Miss Granger. At least one of your number is using their brain.”
His eyes scanned the room quickly. “I think you’ll find my terms generous. Everyone in this
building, save for the three of you and the Lovegoods, may leave safely before the duel takes
place. If Mr. Potter can best me in single combat, he may take me and as many of my cohorts as he
can to Azkaban… or kill me, as he so chooses.”

“I know what I’d so choose,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“However, if I can defeat him in wizard combat, I shall take what is left of him away from here
unhindered. If he lives, he will be a prisoner of the Dark Lord, his fate determined by what my
Master wishes. If he dies, he becomes a trophy to our cause, a symbol of the Dark Lord’s victory.”
Snape bent slightly in a mockery of a bow. “Do we have a deal?”

Harry’s eyes glowed furiously. “We do.”

In a bit of a panic, Hermione pulled him aside. “This is lunacy! Snape’s older than you,” Harry
turned away from her slightly and fixed his eyes on his wand, “I’m sure that he knows a lot of
really painful spells and he’s a Death Eater! They don’t exactly play by the rules! Harry, you’ve
just suffered severe spell damage, you can’t seriously be thinking about going through with a
duel!”

“Snape killed Dumbledore, Hermione,” Ron reminded her, his voice hard and bitter.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “He killed *Dumbledore*, the most powerful wizard of our time. He’s
capable of anything! And imagine what a morale boost it would be to Voldemort’s followers if Snape
killed Harry, too.” Her bottom lip quivered a bit at the thought.

“Snape’s not going to kill me,” Harry declared authoritatively. Hermione looked ready to contradict
him, but Harry cut her off. “He can’t. Remember the prophecy? Only Voldemort can do me in. The
worst Snape can do is hurt me. And that gives me the advantage.”

Hermione looked horrified. “You’re not planning on killing Snape, are you?”

“Would it be so terrible if he did?” Ron asked frankly. “He’s a murderer and a traitor. Nothing
Harry could do to him would be as bad as what he deserves.”

“But Harry, you mustn’t,” Hermione advised pleadingly. “If you kill Snape in a wizard’s duel, they
can’t just dismiss it as a war casualty. They’ll put you on trial for murder.”

“There isn’t a wizard in the world without the Dark Mark on his arm who would vote to convict Harry
for offing Snape,” Ron said dismissively.

“Maybe not,” Hermione countered, “but the trial could take months, maybe even years. Can you
imagine? Voldemort would be free to do whatever he wants. No one could stop him.”

“No one’s going to be able to stop him now if I just sit around playing it safe all the time,”
Harry said, his voice sounding much older than his seventeen years. The memory of Voldemort killing
innocent muggleborns forty years ago flashed through his brain. He couldn’t let something like that
happen here. “I have to take risks now and then.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously, but all she said was, “I really wish you’d rethink this.
Somehow, you dueling Snape falls into some larger plan of his, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t trust the greasy git either,” Ron grumbled. He then gave Harry a manly slap on the
shoulder as he walked away from Hermione. “Don’t worry about it, though, mate. I’ll be watching
your back. If Snape tries anything underhanded, he won’t know what hit him.”

“Yes, and given the usual quality of your spellwork, neither will you,” Snape quipped to harsh
laughter from a handful of nearby Death Eaters.

Harry approached his enemy with a confident look in his eye that didn’t match the nervous gurgling
in his stomach. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You’ll need a second,” the older man with the slimy goatee informed him.

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m ready now.”

“A second for the duel, Potter,” Snape explained to him petulantly.

Harry looked over his shoulder at his two best friends. Hermione was standing there scowling at him
disapprovingly, while Ron looked ready to hex everyone in the room. “Ron,” Harry told Snape.

“I suppose Mr. Weasley will have to do.” The apparent leader of the Death Eaters summoned another
to his side. “Moorefield, if you would be so kind?” A shabbily dressed wizard with his mask on
wrong stood next to Snape and began waiting nervously for the duel to start. “Before we begin, I’d
like to give everyone in this room who isn’t a meddling Gryffindor fool the chance to leave.” He
pointed his wand at the door. “Reducto!”

Wasting little time on the niceties, close to fifty people abandoned the building, trampling each
other all the way. Harry watched them go sadly, although he couldn’t really blame them. This wasn’t
their fight. ‘No,’ Harry corrected himself. ‘This is everyone’s fight. They just don’t know it
yet.’

Snape proceeded to point his wand over his shoulder. “Impedimenta.” He then swooped around, Luna
still clasped tightly in his arms. “I’m sorry, Phobos. I didn’t mean you. Sectumsempra!” In the
space of a moment, a disillusionment charm faded away from the angry-looking face of Phobos
Lovegood and a bloody gash formed at the base of his neck. He fell to the floor in shock and pain.
“Pity. I don’t believe I actually punctured the jugular vein. The wound should be potentially fatal
nonetheless, particularly when coupled with the Cruciatus Curse.” Snape smiled wickedly. “Oh, I
almost forgot. Crucio!”

Luna screamed as loudly as her father likely would have, had Severus Snape not damaged his
windpipe. “Daddy,” she sobbed, wriggling desperately in Snape’s grasp.

“Go to him,” Snape commanded her as he flung her in Phobos’ direction, discreetly pocketing
Ravenclaw’s quill as he did so. “Whisper words of comfort in his ear. He’ll need them.” He twirled
around to face Harry. “You’d best make this quick, Potter. Lovegood doesn’t have time for you to
play games.”

“I’m done playing games,” Harry snarled. He marched toward Snape fiercely, his wand clutched in his
right hand.

“Face each other,” the Death Eater Snape had called Moorefield commanded in a slurring voice.
“Wands up.” Both men raised their wands to their faces.

“Don’t bother to thank me for putting you out of your misery,” Snape said condescendingly.

Harry hissed at him in parseltongue. Snape assumed it was an insult and gave his former student an
indignant glare. “Turn away. Walk five paces,” Moorefield continued. “On three, gentlemen.
One…two…”

Snape pivoted suddenly and, without saying a word, conjured a cone-shaped bolt of white light.
Shooting from his wand like a rocket, the patronus-like form sped toward where Harry stood, still
thinking of what spells he could use against his hated former teacher. Hermione saw the sneak
attack a moment too late. “Harry, watch…” But before she could warn him, Ron stepped in front of
Snape’s spell.

“Protego!” he cried. The shielding charm held the dart of light for only a fraction of a second,
then buckled, allowing the bolt of magical energy to rip mercilessly into Ron’s chest.

A bright white light made his chest glow for a moment, then seemingly faded away. Ron let out a
harsh gasp and staggered backward, eliciting a frown of concern from Harry and a whispered “Ron?”
from Hermione as they both rushed toward him.

“I’m alright, really,” Ron assured them, although he seemed to be having trouble catching his
breath. “Just need a minute to…” The redhead closed his mouth and clutched his chest, looking as
though he were about to vomit. Instead, he spoke with a voice that did not sound like Ron’s own.
“What did you do to me?” he asked simply, his eyes staring accusingly at Snape’s ashen face.

The same eerie white glow that had hit him moments earlier came billowing out of Ron’s mouth,
forcing him to his knees. It was as though an invisible dementor hovered over him, performing the
kiss. The mystical energy then darted back at Snape, slamming into his forehead and knocking the
Death Eater cold.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Harry watched as Hermione bent down to check Ron’s vital signs, a
crease of worry forming on her brow. Luna Lovegood cradled her father in her arms, pleading with a
higher power to spare her the loss of another parent. Even Moorefield stooped to see if Severus
Snape had survived the ordeal, checking for a pulse with his wand.

Harry leaned over Hermione. “Is Ron alright? Is he…” ‘Going to live’ was what he meant to ask, but
something made him choke back the words.

“I…I don’t know,” Hermione stammered nervously. “He’s breathing. His heart’s beating. He seems
perfectly normal, but…I don’t know what to check for. I don’t know what spell Snape used.” Her eyes
pooled up with tears as she looked up at Harry. “What are we going to do?”

At the very moment Harry was contemplating that dilemma, a group of wizards in Aurors’ robes
stormed into the room. He would have breathed a sigh of relief a few minutes earlier; his plan of
sending Prongs to find Tonks (who he had seen standing guard near Gringotts while on the short walk
from the apparation point to the Quibbler’s offices) had worked. The proverbial cavalry had arrived
and only a few moments too late.

“Everyone on the ground,” a stern male voice called out. “Wands down, on the ground, now!” the
familiar-looking man barked at Harry and Hermione, both of whom were too shell-shocked to
reply.

“For Pete’s sake, Dawlish, they’re just kids,” Tonks scolded him, her hair a blazing shade of
orange with purple streaks. “That’s Harry there, he’s the one who sent us the warning in the first
place. Harry, is everyone all right? I thought I…” She stopped speaking when she saw Ron lying pale
and lifeless on the floor. The Auror gasped as she then took in the sight of Phobos Lovegood, prone
and bleeding profusely not far away.

“We need to get them out of here. Use the emergency medical portkeys,” Tonks ordered a bewildered
man standing next to her. As he scurried off, two Aurors with healer field training took over for
an inconsolable Luna.

Hermione wasn’t in much better shape, letting hot tears roll down her cheeks as Harry held her to
his chest, cradling her gently and slowly rubbing his hands over her back. There was nothing they
could say to properly express their anguish, nor were words of comfort necessary. Both of them knew
that they would lose a part of themselves if anything happened to Ron; a part that they could never
get back. Harry looked down at Hermione, who wiped her tears on his shirt as her hair softly
brushed his cheek. As they watched Ron vanish in front of them, she clutched him even tighter, her
short fingernails digging into his shoulder blades and Harry felt his arms wrap themselves all the
way around her protectively.

The two of them barely noticed as Aurors surrounded a group of disoriented-looking Death Eaters,
led by a visibly distraught Moorefield. “Oh bloody hell,” he muttered. “This wasn’t supposed to
happen.” When a group of the dark wizard catchers began to move in on him, however, the Death Eater
suddenly vanished.

As Dawlish and some of the other Aurors clucked and stammered about, Tonks swore under her breath.
“Illegal portkey. It’s the only way he could have made it past the anti-apparation wards.” The
metamorphmagus motioned for Harry and Hermione to follow her. “Come on. The least I can do is take
you to St. Mungo’s. If you don’t mind going along with this wanker, that is.” As Tonks kneeled next
to an unconscious Snape, Harry and Hermione gripped a black and white striped umbrella and the four
of them disappeared.

**What can I say? I dig the cliffies. I also dig reviews, so if you want to leave one on your way
out, I would appreciate it.

ITL**

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5. Chapter 5: There Are More Important Things
---------------------------------------------

**Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. If I were, I'd have a larger bank account and Harry
would have a better girlfriend.**

Chapter 5: There Are More Important Things

Harry was beginning to hate St. Mungo’s. It had been over five hours since he, Hermione, Tonks,
Luna, an unconscious Ron, a badly hurt Phobos Lovegood and a seemingly stupefied Snape had been
transported by portkey to the hospital for magical maladies, with half a dozen befuddled Aurors in
tow. Harry, Hermione and every single Weasley with the exception of Bill (who was in France with
the family of his bride-to-be) and Percy (who was still an enormous git) had confronted a seemingly
never-ending stream of healers, demanding answers. Yet there was still no word on what was wrong
with Ron.

His fingers ran restlessly through his already untamed hair. Although Harry had had plenty of
experience on the other end of the hospital waiting game, he was unfamiliar with the frustration
that came from sitting in a chair for hours at a time, hoping that nothing serious was wrong but
quietly fearing the worst. However, even he knew that going this long without hearing anything
couldn’t be good.

Harry Potter sat looking idly at the tiles on the floor with his knees in his lap and his hands
holding up his chin, feeling alone in a sea of Weasleys. He had barely said two words to any member
of the family, unwilling to accept the forgiving and sympathetic looks they were no doubt giving
him. As various Weasleys made strained but polite conversation with each other, Luna Lovegood sat
in one corner of the waiting room, staring at the wall and rocking back and forth, worry written
all over her usually vacant face. ‘If Phobos Lovegood doesn’t make it, she’ll have seen both of her
parents die,’ Harry thought gloomily. Thinking of his own parents and the sacrifice they made, he
watched Luna with a mixture of guilt and pity. ‘No one so young should have to go through that. And
all because Snape thought she was my bloody girlfriend.’

This of course reminded him of the danger he’d spared his most recent girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, by
breaking up with her. Before the Weasley family had arrived, he’d been worried that the raid on the
Quibbler might have been one of many such attacks and that the Burrow could have been one of the
targets. That hadn’t happened, but if Voldemort ever learned that he and Ginny had been dating
while they were at Hogwarts, it very easily could.

Ginny Weasley had been sitting next to him throughout the whole ordeal, even attempting to hold his
hand on more than one occasion, but Harry had repeatedly shrugged her off. Knowing that anyone here
could be reporting back to Lord Voldemort, he refused to even look her way. Instead, he watched
Hermione, who stood with her back to the wall and her arms crossed, giving as much information
about the attack as she could remember to a sympathetic-faced Tonks.

Harry had already gone through that routine himself. “How many Death Eaters were there?” “Did you
hear any names mentioned?” “What were they after?” He had only been too happy to give the Ministry
information with which they might identify and prosecute Death Eaters, but had been deliberately
vague on what had brought the three of them to the offices of the Quibbler in the first place,
staying with Hermione’s story about arranging an exclusive interview. He didn’t care if Scrimgeour
thought he was a publicity hound, so long as the Minister of Magic didn’t know that the three of
them had been searching for Voldemort’s horcruxes.

‘I should have gone alone,’ Harry thought to himself, a combination of sorrow and anger making him
gnash his teeth together. ‘I destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary and Slytherin’s locket on my own. I was
the only one Dumbledore trusted with information on the horcruxes. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t know
about this at all if I hadn’t…’

“Excuse me,” the soft voice of a young woman in a crisp, new healer’s outfit interrupted, calling
out to everyone in the hallway. “I have information on a patient that was brought in from the
attack on the Quibbler…oh, dear, I must have the name here somewhere…” Harry sat on the edge of his
seat, as Fred, George, Charlie and Ginny moved closer to the flustered healer in anticipation.
Arthur drew Molly Weasley into his arms, holding her tightly. “Ah, here it is. ‘Phobos
Lovegood’.”

Harry returned to his chair as the faces of six Weasleys fell. His disappointment quickly turned to
curiosity, however, as Luna Lovegood raced down the hallway to speak to the healer. “Is my father
going to be alright?” she asked with a sob in her voice.

“He’s suffered a major physical trauma, but with therapy he should make a full recovery,” the woman
assured Luna with a kind smile. “Although I’m afraid his voice will be gone for quite some time.
Tell me, does your Dad have much experience with casting nonverbal spells?”

“Well, there was one time…we were searching for flightless skleebats in Inner Mongolia…” Luna began
to answer her as the two of them walked down the hall, presumably to visit her father. Harry felt a
small amount of pressure ease itself out of his body, as though there had been three hippogriffs
sitting on his chest and one of them had decided to take flight. Phobos Lovegood would be fine. He
longed for some assurance that Ron would be alright, too, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling
that something terrible had happened to him.

‘Snape set up our duel just so he could hit me with that spell, whatever it was,’ Harry reasoned.
‘If Voldemort really did tell his Death Eaters not to kill me, it couldn’t be something lethal, but
it might be anything else. Snape could have used a spell that would have brought me as close to
death as he could without actually finishing me off.’ The prophecy had made him overconfident,
making him think that he would survive a battle with anyone but Voldemort regardless of what he did
to save himself. Harry let out a sharp, mournful breath. If Snape’s spell had hit him, he would
probably be dead by now, murdered in cold blood by a triumphant Lord Voldemort. Ron had likely
saved his life, but at what cost to himself?

“You’re beating yourself up, aren’t you?” Ginny asked from beside him. Harry closed his eyes and
nodded slowly. “There’s no point, you know. Nobody blames you for this.”

‘Maybe they should,’ Harry thought bitterly. ‘I was the one who agreed to the duel. I should have
known that Snape was up to something, I should have backed out when I had the chance…’

As Tonks began chatting idly with Charlie Weasley, Hermione took the seat on the other side of
Harry. She regarded him seriously with a soft glow in her eyes. “How are you feeling?” she asked
simply.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” Harry snapped, although the defeatism in his voice made it sound
hollow rather than harsh. “Guilty. Miserable. Like the world’s biggest idiot. Other than that,
perfectly cheery. How about you?”

Hermione let out a small gasp. “I didn’t mean…” She shook her head and looked to be blinking back
tears. “I was only asking about your burns. You haven’t taken any of Bill’s potion for hours. I
thought maybe I could ask one of the healers to bring you something, if you were in any
pain.”

“Oh.” Harry examined his hands, which were still covered in bandages. His mind completely fixated
on Ron, he hadn’t given any thought to his own injuries. Hermione had, however, and a snippy reply
had been her only reward for reminding him of them. “Thank you, Hermione, but no. I’m sure I’ll be
fine.” The persistent hot, tingling pain coming from his hands and chest gave the lie to that
statement, but Harry could ignore that for the moment.

“You’re not the world’s biggest idiot, you know,” Hermione pointed out with a supportive smirk and
a quick squeeze of his knee. “You’re forgetting about Crabbe and Goyle. Also, your cousin Dudley is
both quite large and incredibly moronic.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “True.” The smile vanished as quickly as it formed and he turned
slightly to face her. “Hermione, I’m…”

“Please don’t apologize to me, Harry,” she interrupted, her voice much quieter than before. “I
don’t need to hear it.”

“I think you do,” Harry replied insistently, his anger flaring once again. “I don’t know what I was
thinking. Dueling Snape was a bloody terrible idea. I should have listened to you. I should always
listen to you. Why couldn’t I have just…?”

“Stop,” Hermione instructed lightly as she pressed her index finger to Harry’s lips. “Just stop.
You know, this isn’t easy for me either.”

“Oh please,” Ginny muttered from the other side of Harry. “This is the last thing Harry needs right
now, Hermione.”

Harry stared up in surprise at the red-haired girl, who was now standing in front of them both, a
stormy look etched on her face. Lost in conversation with Hermione, he had almost forgotten she was
there. “Ginny,” he began, his voice half-startled and half-chiding.

She never let him finish, her eyes angrily boring into Hermione’s. “You were right. That’s what you
want to hear, isn’t it? Well, you were. You were right about Harry dueling Snape. You were right
about the Half-Blood Prince book. You were right about the Department of Mysteries being a trap.
Does that make you feel better? Or does it make you feel like you’re better than the rest of
us?”

Harry could feel Hermione trembling, although whether it was from fear or rage or anguish, he did
not know. “I…I wasn’t…” she stammered.

“You weren’t what?” Ginny interrupted with a scowl. “Going to rub it in? Of course you weren’t.
You’ll just wait for Harry to wallow in his own misery so much that nobody can talk to him… except
you, of course,” she spat. “Harry has more important things to do than feel guilty about things
that he can’t change. But that’s all you’re really there for, isn’t it? Harry can do the research
on his own, but nobody can nag him like you can.”

Harry was dumbstruck. Hermione looked deflated, her eyes seemingly searching the floor for
something. “I should go,” she said in a whisper. Hermione then ran across the hall and threw
herself through a set of double doors, tears streaming down her face.

Harry rounded on Ginny angrily. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded, his eyes blazing with
intensity. “I thought you and Hermione were friends…”

“And I thought you were my boyfriend. But you won’t see me anymore. You don’t even look at me when
I’m right in front of you,” she hissed quietly, not wanting to attract more attention from her
family, most of whom were politely pretending as though they weren’t paying attention to what was
going on between them. “Damn it, Harry, I won’t do this again, I won’t become invisible to you, not
after everything I’ve gone through…”

“Don’t try to make this about you, Ginny,” Harry interrupted, his firm tone making her back away
instinctively. “Hermione didn’t do anything to deserve what you just said to her. If I were you,
I’d go after her and apologize.”

Ginny’s mouth fell open in shock. “Apologize?” She grabbed Harry’s shoulder and pulled him aside.
“Listen, Harry, I wouldn’t expect this to be the sort of thing you would notice, but…Hermione tends
to get in the way of your relationships, doesn’t she?”

Harry frowned. “Hermione gets in the way?” he asked her in disbelief.

Ginny nodded, as though she were finally getting through to him. “She takes up all of your time,
she expects you to confide in her and only her and she can’t keep her hands off of you! I thought
Cho was nutters for letting you go so quickly after your fifth year, but…”

“Hold on a minute,” Harry interrupted, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What does Cho have to do
with any of this? The reason we broke up was because she wouldn’t stop crying about Cedric all the
time.”

“That’s the reason you broke up with her,” Ginny corrected him sharply. “The reason she broke up
with you was because she was jealous of Hermione.”

“Yeah, I remember that now,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “Seems Cho didn’t understand how important
Hermione was to me and decided to make me choose between the two of them. Only there wasn’t a
choice, not really. Cho was a complete nightmare and Hermione was…is…”

“Your best friend,” Ginny finished for him, although Harry wasn’t altogether sure that that was
what he had been about to say. “Believe me, I understand that. I’m not Cho; I know that there’s no
way in the world you could ever fancy Hermione.” She rolled her eyes at the very idea. “I just wish
she’d learn to butt out once and a while. I don’t always want her around when we’re
together.”

Harry bristled. “Maybe you don’t want her around,” he retorted, “but I do. I need her.”

Ginny looked nervous. “Of course. For books and research and…and information…”

“It’s more than that,” Harry cut her off, frustration surging through him. How could he get her to
understand his relationship with Hermione when he had never really taken the time to consider it
himself? “Without her, I’m too reckless, too careless. It’s like she’s my conscience or my…my other
half.”

The redhead’s brown eyes widened. “Your other half,” she repeated numbly. “You do realize how that
sounds, don’t you, Harry? If I wasn’t so understanding…”

Harry groaned loudly. Right now he didn’t know how Ginny could be less understanding, but he kept
that to himself. “I don’t much care how it sounds. It’s the truth.” Harry moved a few steps away
from her, forcing her to drop her hand from his shoulder. “Look, Ginny, things have changed these
last few months. The things the three of us have been doing…well, it’s very important that we
succeed. It matters more than petty jealousies or who’s dating who or whether I’m bloody well
looking at you enough.” Ginny turned away from him in a huff. “Hermione gets that. She always has,
really. But I’m not sure that you do.”

“I let you break up with me, didn’t I?” Ginny asked with a slight whine in her voice. “I knew
sooner or later you would have to go off and face Voldemort, I just didn’t think that you’d drag
Hermione and Ron along with you.” Harry gasped involuntarily. “Harry, I didn’t mean it that way.
You know I don’t blame you for Ron getting hurt.”

As Harry began to walk away from her, Ginny turned around and called after him. “You’re going to go
to her, aren’t you? Even after everything I’ve said.”

Much to her annoyance, Harry refused to look at her as he spoke. “She needs me, Ginny. I’ll bet
she’s blaming herself for what happened to Ron as much as I am. Between that and your temper
tantrum, Hermione’s probably feeling pretty rotten right now.”

“What about me?” Ginny asked, her voice small and pleading. “What about my feelings? Ron’s my
brother, for Merlin’s sake. I don’t know what I’d do if…if…” She sniffled audibly and Harry thought
he heard a slight whimper in her voice.

“I know,” Harry replied with a sigh. “I don’t either.” Despite his own sorrow and a sudden wave of
sympathy for Ginny, he knew he couldn’t stay with her. “You should be with your family, Ginny. If
you really want comfort, I’m sure they’d be willing to give it to you. But right now, I’m the only
one who seems to give a damn about Hermione.” Harry pushed through the set of double doors to
follow Hermione, leaving a dejected Ginny behind.

Harry had no sooner made it out of the hallway, however, when a frail bony hand reached out and
grabbed his arm. “Mr. Potter.” Harry spun around to see a gentleman with slicked back gray hair, a
pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a long mustache who wore both a fancier than usual healer’s outfit
and an affable expression on his face. “So terribly sorry to disturb you, sir, but I was wondering
if I might have a word.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, assuring himself that he would go back to looking for Hermione the
minute he was through talking to the healer. “Is this about Ron?” he asked, worry obvious in his
tone.

“Indeed,” the man replied with a swift nod of his head. “I was sent to apprise you of Mr. Weasley’s
condition. However, it would be a terribly rude thing not to introduce myself first.” He removed
his right hand from Harry’s arm and extended it for a handshake. “I’m Edwin Wolfram, the healer in
charge of the Accidental Spell Damage ward. Please accept my sincerest apologies for not meeting
with you in person earlier. You sustained some very serious injuries, Mr. Potter. How are they
coming along?”

“They’re fine,” Harry replied impatiently. “What about Ron? Is he alright?”

A jovial expression filled the elder man’s face. “Oh ho, so what they say about you is true, Mr.
Potter. Modest to a fault. You come in here, still suffering from a severe case of spell damage,
having captured the second most wanted wizard in Britain, that dastardly Snape character, and all
you care about is how your friend is doing.”

Harry clenched his teeth in anger. Who was this guy? The president of his fan club? “That’s right.
I do care about how my friend is doing. I want to know what Snape did to him. But nobody will tell
me…”

Edwin Wolfram shook his head sadly. “Yes. Dreadful business, that. You of all people should know
how Death Eater attacks can be, Mr. Potter. The after effects can be frightfully
unpredictable.”

Harry stared at the other man with a confused and angry look on his face. “Does that mean that you
don’t know what happened to Ron? That there’s no way that you can help him?”

Healer Wolfram’s voice became hard for the first time. “That is not what I said, Mr. Potter. I
assure you that St. Mungo’s will see Mr. Weasley through to a full recovery. However, I must
shamefully admit that, despite using every method at our disposal, we have no idea what spell was
used on him, nor do we know what it was intended to do.”

“To hit me,” Harry thought aloud. When Wolfram frowned, he elaborated. “The spell. It was meant for
me. I think Snape might have been trying to make me easier for Voldemort to kill.”

The man’s mustache twitched uncomfortably at the mention of Voldemort’s name. “Yes, well, that
would be consistent with our diagnosis of Mr. Weasley’s condition.” At Harry’s expectant look, he
continued. “Physically, the patient is fine. Fit as a fiddle, as the muggle expression goes.
However, it seems that whatever spell Severus Snape used drained a great deal of his magic. In
point of fact, if Mr. Weasley were to wake up right now, he would be little more than a
squib.”

Harry was startled. “A…a squib?” he repeated in a strangled voice. He could not imagine his best
mate living out his life without magic. There would be no more Quidditch, no future career as an
Auror, no possible return to Hogwarts after they defeated Voldemort…

An irritatingly vapid smile broke out on Edwin Wolfram’s face. “Do not look so glum, Mr. Potter.
Your friend is young and resilient and his magic is already beginning to regenerate. He has slipped
into a bit of a coma…” Harry blinked rapidly. A bit of a coma? What did that mean? “Nothing to
worry about, really. A wizard’s body often reacts to the dramatic loss of magical ability by
shutting itself down. It’s probably just an unforeseen side effect of the spell.”

Harry frowned. “Unforeseen? You mean… you don’t think Snape meant for this to happen?” He had been
so certain that his former DADA teacher had been planning on delivering his unconscious form to
Lord Voldemort that he hadn’t really considered that Snape might have been plotting something else
entirely.

“I should think not,” Wolfram answered with a frown. “Particularly since Severus Snape is lying in
a hospital bed not fifteen meters from where you’re standing, suffering from a strikingly similar
malady.”

Harry’s head snapped to where Wolfram pointed in an attempt to see where they might be keeping the
grotty berk. Deciding to hold off on thoughts of revenge for now, he turned his attention back to
the healer. “Can I see him?” Harry asked, his voice catching slightly.

Healer Wolfram adjusted his thick glasses and pursed his lips. “We’re keeping both patients under
quarantine until we can figure out what in the name of Merlin’s wand happened to them. So I’m
afraid visitations of any kind, including threatening ones to Mr. Snape, will be out of the
question for the time being.” The mustachioed Healer let out a long sigh. “I suppose I shall have
to inform the family.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Snape has family?”

“No, not Snape, Mr. Potter,” Edwin Wolfram corrected him with a small chuckle, “Your friend, Don
Weasley, has a family. And a rather large one at that.” He gave the door a look of dread. “I loathe
breaking the news to the relatives. It never does go smoothly.”

“His name is Ron,” Harry corrected as the healer walked away from him with a distracted expression
on his face. “That should make things go a little smoother.”

Harry let out a deep breath. Now that he knew more about Ron’s condition, he was more confused than
ever. The knowledge that his best mate was not in mortal danger was comforting, but questions
lingered in his mind. What was Snape’s goal? Did he merely hope to make Harry even less of a match
for Voldemort than he already was? And why had the spell he used effected Snape himself as well?
Harry felt a surge of anger rush through him. There was only one person who would ever know for
certain and, conveniently enough, he was in no position to tell anyone anything.

Slowly walking down the hall, Harry soon found himself glaring through a pane of glass at the dark
wizard who had murdered Dumbledore; the man who had put Ron in a coma. The peaceful look on the
normally scowling face of Severus Snape served only to make him angrier, as he let out a long growl
of frustration. Snape had fooled others before, but not Harry. He had never trusted his former
Potions teacher. Snape knew that full well, however, and had used it against Harry, much as he had
played upon Dumbledore’s trusting nature for so many years. He always seemed to know how to
manipulate others to achieve his own ends.

Harry’s heart filled with fury at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince book he had used so often
last year. Snape had written some very dangerous spells while he was a student at Hogwarts and
Harry didn’t care to imagine what kinds of dark magic he had mastered as a Death Eater. No matter
how optimistic the healers were that Ron would recover, nobody really knew what had happened to him
and no one would until the wizard who did it decided to wake up.

‘I can just hear Snape now,’ Harry thought bitterly to himself. ‘Promising a miracle cure for Ron
in exchange for some kind of leniency from the Wizengamot. A lifetime in Azkaban, but no death
sentence for the wizard who killed Albus Dumbledore.’ Harry slammed his fist into the wall at the
thought.

“Oi, Harry,” a friendly female voice said from behind him. “I know you’re upset, but walking around
hitting things isn’t going to make you feel any better.” He quickly turned around to look at Tonks,
who had returned to her natural hair color and heart-shaped face now that she was no longer in the
field. “Trust me, I know. I’ve spent most of my life walking around hitting things. Not on purpose,
though.”

Harry kept his now throbbing hand clenched into a fist. “Promise me they won’t let him off. Promise
me he’ll get what he deserves,” he pleaded angrily.

“Snape?” Tonks sniffed, giving the traitorous potions master a scathing look, as if she were
examining a toad she had placed in her handbag by accident. “I don’t think you have anything to
worry about there, Harry. The Ministry’s calling for his head. In case you haven’t noticed,
Scrimgeour hasn’t fared so well in the war against You-Know-Who, at least not since…” A mournful
expression crossed her face and she did not bother to finish the thought. “There was no shortage of
volunteers among us Aurors for the job of guarding him, either. Everybody loved Dumbledore.”

A slight smile and a distant look in her eye made Harry think she was recalling a fond memory of
the Hogwarts Headmaster. “It isn’t easy to make promises in my line of work, Harry. There’s always
the possibility that the MLE will make a deal with Snape if he starts naming names. But there are a
lot more people who want Severus Snape dead than could stand to see him live after what he did. If
Scrimgeour even thinks about allowing a sentence less than death, he’ll catch more than his share
of trouble for it.”

Harry nodded his head, thankful for Tonks’ assurances. Snape’s capture had been the only good thing
to come out of the debacle at the Quibbler. They hadn’t even gotten their hands on the horcrux that
they’d come for in the first place.

Harry suddenly felt like an abject moron. The horcrux! He had been so worried about Ron that he’d
nearly forgotten about it. The last time he had seen Ravenclaw’s quill had been when Snape snatched
it from behind Luna Lovegood’s ear. “Tonks,” he began, his voice forcibly calm, “did you happen to
find anything on Snape?”

Tonks smirked. “You mean other than about twelve pints of grease?” Harry faked mild amusement and
anxiously waited for the Auror to continue. “Just his wand and a few sickles. Why? Had he taken
something from you?”

Harry considered telling her that he had, but decided against it. He had already endangered Luna by
telling her about the horcruxes and had nearly gotten her father killed. “No,” Harry answered, his
voice soft and hesitant. “Nothing.” A thought struck him. The Death Eater who had been Snape’s
second in the duel, the one who had used a portkey to elude capture…could he have taken the quill?
“That Death Eater who escaped… Moorefield… had you ever heard of him before?” Harry asked Tonks
conversationally.

Tonks scratched her chin. “Can’t say as I have,” she answered honestly. “Although from your
description, mask on wrong and all, I’d say he’s probably a new one. Death Eater recruitment has
been up lately, you know.” The Auror looked thoughtful. “It’s a bit odd, though, isn’t it? You
wouldn’t think Snape would have the patience to surround himself with amateurs, but all of the
Death Eaters we pulled in except Snape have clean records. Of course, they all claim to have been
under the Imperius curse, but who doesn’t these days?”

After they both remained silent for a few moments, Tonks gave him a wide smile. “Go on with you,
Harry. I’m sure I’m not the girl you’d prefer to be spending your time with right now.”

Harry wanted to kick himself. Speaking of having forgotten about something important… “Hermione!”
he exclaimed.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of your girlfriend…” Tonks began with an unusually
wide and goofy grin.

“I have to go,” Harry declared, his worried tone making Tonks frown a bit. “Give Remus my best.”
The metamorphmagus blushed as Harry jogged down the hallway, intent on finding Hermione with no
further interruptions.

A few questioned healers and one ‘point me’ charm later, Harry found Hermione standing alone on a
balcony overlooking the London skyline, leaning against an ornately designed marble railing and
staring out at the darkening evening sky. Harry smiled thinly. It was exactly the sort of place he
would have gone to be alone with his thoughts.

As he stepped out onto the balcony, Harry noticed a light rain beginning to fall, although an
invisible barrier above them appeared to be shielding them from it. “Hermione?” he called out
softly.

Hermione turned around in surprise. “Oh!” Her eyes were red and puffy and when she saw it was
Harry, she wiped a few stray tears from them. “Harry, I…I didn’t expect you to come out here. I
thought you’d be with Ginny…”

Harry looked down sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He stood about a meter
behind her and seemed hesitant to move closer. “And…to tell you the truth, I’m not very happy with
Ginny right now.”

“You should be,” Hermione replied automatically. “You deserve to be happy.” Her voice wavering, she
turned away from him to look out at the rain. “I didn’t mean to cause a fight between you
two.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m sure we’ll both get over
it.” Harry had barely taken the time to consider that he and Ginny had never fought before, nor
contemplate what that might mean for their relationship. Right now, he had more important things to
worry about. “The things she said to you…”

“She was just saying what everyone else was thinking, right?” Hermione interrupted sadly, although
her tone was slightly venomous. “That’s what she does, you know. That’s what makes her so funny.”
The way she said the word ‘funny’ made Harry think Hermione didn’t find Ginny amusing at all.
“Everyone thinks I’m a walking, talking brain with bushy brown hair. ‘Little Miss Perfect’. ‘An
insufferable know-it-all,’” she finished, quoting both Rita Skeeter and Severus Snape before
sniffling back a few tears.

“I don’t,” Harry told her softly. He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes as he began to move
toward her slowly. “I don’t think you’re a know-it-all at all.” ‘That sounded a bit silly,’ Harry
thought to himself. ‘Better think of something else to say.’ “Er, not that you don’t know a lot.”
‘Smooth, Potter. You’re not helping her think of herself as anything other than a brain.’ “Which
isn’t a bad thing. Some things are good to know. Like spells and incantations and…” Why was he so
bad at handling crying girls? He could never find the right thing to say. There had to be a way to
do this without words. “Oh, sod it!” he exclaimed and did the last thing he would have expected to
do when he came out here. He enveloped her in a hug.

As Harry relished the feeling of his arms around her, a huge smile broke out on his face. It had
worked! Hermione had stopped crying. Of course, she was also so shocked by the fact that Harry had
hugged her that she had stopped breathing, but a bloke had to take his victories where he could get
them. As he released her gently, he took the time to notice how warm and soft she felt when her
body was pressed next to his.

“What…what was that for?” Hermione asked in a daze. She stared up at him quizzically, still in
shock over the first non-Ginny-related act of affection he had ever initiated.

Harry nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. I guess you just looked like you could
use a hug.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, as Hermione began to tear up again. However, instead of
turning away from him again, she launched herself into his arms. “Oh Harry,” she said
appreciatively, her warm breath against his ear making his skin tingle.

“You shouldn’t listen to any of that negative rubbish. You’re hardly insufferable and you’re not a
nag.” As she broke the hug and took a few steps away from him, Harry noticed that a glowing smile
had replaced the frown on her face. “You’re a great witch, Hermione. Don’t ever let yourself forget
that.”

Hermione laughed lightly. “You know, that last part sounds familiar.”

“Does it?” Harry asked in mock confusion. “That’s odd. Although, come to think of it, the brightest
witch of her age did say something like that to me once.”

Hermione decided to play along, throwing in a gasp of shock for effect. “Lavender Brown told you
that you were a great wizard?”

Harry nodded seriously. “She did. Right before she asked me if her lip gloss made her look fat.”
Harry and Hermione shared a much-needed laugh at that, before the seriousness of the situation at
hand brought them back to reality.

“Ron,” Hermione breathed, regret and sorrow heavy in her voice. “They’ve told you something,
haven’t they?”

Harry sighed and forced his hands into the pockets of his hand-me-down jeans. “The healers still
don’t know what happened, not really.” He felt ready to burst with emotion, although he couldn’t
decide whether he wanted to cry out or start randomly destroying things. “Ron’s in a coma.
Hermione, his magic’s almost gone. Whatever Snape did robbed him of it.” Hermione nodded slowly,
her eyes darting from the rainstorm and back to Harry furtively. “The healer I talked to said that
his powers were returning, slowly; that he…,” here his voice caught for the first time, “he
wouldn’t be a squib for long.”

Hermione looked away from Harry guiltily. “And he was already insecure about his magic. He’ll be
devastated when he finds out.” Harry tried to put himself in his best mate’s shoes for a moment, as
he imagined waking up from a coma only to find himself unable to perform even the simplest magic
spells. Frustration welled inside him. If only Ron hadn’t tried to protect him…

Harry was shaken from his own thoughts by a startled Hermione. “Harry, that spell could have hit
you!”

His sullen green eyes refused to meet hers. “I wish it had.”

Hermione’s voice dripped with fury. “How could you even think that?! Do you know how much worse it
would have been for all of us if you were the one lying in a hospital bed, powerless?”

“It wouldn’t be worse for Ron, would it?” he demanded, his anger at the situation finally bubbling
to the surface. “I’m sick and tired of being the one everyone else makes sacrifices for. My
parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron…”

“And if you could ask any of them if they would do it all over again, they would say ‘yes’ in a
heartbeat,” Hermione interrupted, her voice sounding slightly exasperated. “Harry, you can’t blame
yourself for what happened to them. They made their own choices and they chose to put their lives
on the line for yours.” Her voice grew eerily quiet. “It’s the same decision I would have
made.”

“Don’t say that!” Harry exclaimed. The idea of losing Ron was harrowing enough, but the possibility
of Hermione giving up her life for his was unthinkable. She had such a bright future ahead of her
and the notion of it being cut short nearly paralyzed him. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, Hermione.
I…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think our last year at Hogwarts was a pretty good indication of what you’d do without me,”
Hermione replied evenly, her impassive face revealing nothing of her emotions.

Harry winced. In his fifth year at Hogwarts, whether he had wanted to admit it to himself or not,
Hermione Granger had become the most important person in his life. In his sixth year, however, that
had changed. When it came to learning new spells and help with his schoolwork, he had used the
Half-Blood Prince book whenever possible. His renewed trust in Albus Dumbledore as a friend and
mentor made the late Hogwarts Headmaster the person he turned to for advice and counsel. And
although he had refused to place Cho Chang above Hermione in importance when he had been dating the
older Ravenclaw girl, he was only too willing to make Ginny Weasley the most significant girl in
his life.

But what had come of it? The Half-Blood Prince, who Harry had once believed to be his father,
turned out to be Severus Snape, the wizard he loathed more than anyone else in the world. Snape had
murdered Dumbledore, effectively beheading the Order of the Phoenix and depriving Harry of his
greatest shelter from the storm that was enveloping the wizarding world. His time with Ginny
Weasley now seemed only a distant memory, a reflection of a life that he could have lived, had
things gone differently for him.

As Harry found himself looking directly into Hermione’s eyes, he felt incredibly foolish. He could
never have truly replaced her in his life, not with a book nor a mentor nor a girlfriend. There was
a bond between them that had not broken, despite being tested time and again. Whatever the reasons
for the distance between them over the last year, they now seemed to have disappeared, like a brief
squall on a normally calm sea. “I guess I was a bit thick last year,” Harry finally admitted,
shooting Hermione a look of sincerity.

“You weren’t the only one,” Hermione confessed in a soft voice. “I spent so much time telling
myself that I couldn’t let you be the most important thing in my life anymore, that I had to get
over…” She stopped abruptly, as if she were afraid to reveal something vital. “I thought it would
be for the best, but…Harry, I’ve never felt so lost.”

Harry nodded knowingly. “I felt that way, too,” he told Hermione breathlessly.

A frown of concern wrinkled Hermione’s brow. “You’re not going to try and go it alone, are you?
After you went to Grimmauld Place to find Slytherin’s locket without telling us, I thought maybe
you wanted to keep looking for the horcruxes on your own.”

“Well, I did destroy two of them without any help, you know,” Harry pointed out, although his face
had broken out in a silly grin.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted indulgently, “and you nearly died both times. You had to be saved by a
phoenix and a house elf.”

Harry smiled down at her winningly. “That’s why I don’t brag about it more often.” Hermione
chuckled a bit in spite of herself. “Seriously, Hermione, I’m not going to go charging off on my
own, waving my wand around and yelling ‘Accio horcrux’. I need a plan. I need a strategy. I need
you.”

And, with some small measure of surprise, Harry realized that he did need Hermione, much more than
he had ever admitted to himself before. What was perhaps even more surprising was that he liked
needing her. He enjoyed having her there for him when nobody else was.

“Do you really?” Hermione asked skeptically. She was examining Harry curiously, as though something
might appear on his forehead to accompany his lightning bolt-shaped scar.

“Of course I do,” Harry assured her as he squeezed her right arm with his left hand. In the back of
his mind, he knew that if he followed the same reasoning that he had when he ended things with
Ginny, he should insist on leaving her behind; that if the truth were known he would be more
devastated if Hermione were to die than if Ginny did. However, his feelings for Hermione did not
make him want to push her away for her own protection, but rather made him long to hold her to him
closely and keep her safe. Harry didn’t give much thought as to why this was so.

“Well, then,” Hermione began with a small smile, “I suppose we have horcruxes to find.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re up to it? Because there isn’t going to be anyone
else helping us. Not anymore. No Dumbledore. No Ron. Just us.”

Hermione gingerly wrapped her fingers around one of Harry’s bandaged hands. “‘Just us’ is alright
with me, Harry,” she told him with a confident look in her eyes. Harry felt a wave of gratitude
wash over him. He was extraordinarily lucky to have her as his friend. As he noticed how lovely she
looked standing in front of the dreary evening sky, Harry wondered if Ron knew just how fortunate
he was to have her as his girlfriend. “Although, maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if we told some
of the members of the Order what we were up to? That way if anything else happened…”

Harry shook his head. “Everyone’s safer if nobody else knows what we’re doing.”

Hermione scoffed. “Oh, honestly, Harry. We’ve already told Luna, I don’t think there would be any
harm in a few more people…”

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for… you.” Ginny Weasley’s voice seemed to die in her
throat as she took in the sight of Harry and Hermione standing so close together and holding hands.
After taking a moment to compose herself, she continued on unabashedly. “Listen, Harry, I’m coming
with you. I know you still think it’s too dangerous, but if you’d just give me a chance to prove
myself…”

Harry considered telling her that he hadn’t changed his mind about taking her along, or that he was
still angry with her for what she had said to Hermione. But before he had a chance to do any of
those things, he was temporarily blinded by the glare of a flashbulb. “Agh!” Harry exclaimed as he
covered his eyes a moment too late.

When he opened his eyes again, Harry watched as a blurry image he assumed to be Hermione peered
intently back into the hallways of St. Mungo’s. “Ginny, are those…?”

“Reporters,” Ginny finished for her as she stood barring the door as best she could. “They’ve been
swarming around for over an hour, hoping to interview Harry.”

“About what?” Harry demanded indignantly, trying in vain to clear his eyes.

Ginny’s tone was fatigued. “What Snape did, how Ron’s doing, whether or not Luna is your
girlfriend, your favorite brand of toothpaste…they’re not very picky, you know.”

Hermione shot Harry an urgent look as several members of the wizarding press began pushing
fervently against the glass doors leading out to the balcony. “We can’t stay here, Harry. We’re
going to have to apparate.” As he nodded his agreement, she grabbed his arm and pulled it quickly
around her waist. “Hold on.”

“No, wait,” Ginny cried as Harry and Hermione began to apparate away. “Don’t leave without…” They
vanished. Ginny moved away from the door in defeat, letting a stream of confused reporters rush
past her. “…me.”

**The next chapter is called "Mr. and Mrs. Pot Ranger". Here's a teaser:

Before last night, he would have described himself as only mildly curious about Hermione Granger’s
love life. He had long expected her to start a ‘more than friends’ relationship with Ron and they
had talked a bit about her first boyfriend, Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum, during fourth and
fifth years, but that was the extent of it. Even putting ‘dating’ in the same sentence as
‘Hermione’ had seemed absurd. But now…

That chapter should be out sometime next week. Until then, make mine Portkey!

ITL**

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6. Chapter 6: Mr. and Mrs. Pot Ranger
-------------------------------------

**Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. If I were Jo, I'd be rich, British and a woman.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate them and you have all been very kind,
honest and encouraging.**

Chapter 6: Mr. and Mrs. Pot Ranger

The sensation of apparation was still somewhat foreign to Harry, causing a lurch in his stomach as
he landed awkwardly on his feet. Looking around at the dreary houses which dotted the muggle
neighborhood surrounding him, he felt a strange sense of disgust, as though he had just taken a
whiff of an extremely powerful stench. Instinctively, he knew that he didn’t belong here.

Staring down at his reflection in a nearby brook, he realized just how right his instincts were.
The face of Lord Voldemort snarled back at him, his normally cold, calculating eyes burning with
fury. His head snapped up suddenly, making Harry slightly dizzy. Eyes that were not his own
narrowed and focused on a small brick building at the end of a winding pathway not far from where
he stood. A dilapidated chimney towered over the house, although the summer heat did not require
its use.

Ignoring the muggles bustling around him, Voldemort withdrew his wand and tapped a rustic sign in
front of the door that bore the name *The Pages of Mages*. Next to it was a nearly identical
one which read *The Book Nook*. Once his wand touched the first sign, it illuminated, turning
various shades of green and red.

The shop door swung open violently. “Septimus!” Voldemort’s voice bellowed. He scanned the book
shelves around him quickly, taking little time to linger on each one. “Where the bloody hell are
you?” His gaze darted to a long, crooked aisle towards the back of the voluminous book store. A
wooden stepladder held a shadowy figure aloft, his face hidden by a row of thick tomes which nearly
filled the top shelf.

“You should know better than to hide from me, Septimus,” he heard his own voice declare angrily.
Rather than walk the short distance to where the man was perched, he used a nonverbal summoning
charm to bring the ladder to him.

As the object holding him literally flew across the room, Harry got a good look at ‘Septimus’ for
the first time. A mop of unruly silvery-white hair complimented the worn and rugged face of a man
who looked to be in his late seventies or early eighties. His scratchy wisp of a beard coupled with
his torn and ragged robes reinforced the image of a wizard who was completely unconcerned with his
appearance.

Bored black eyes met Voldemort’s as the dark wizard brought the stepladder to a halt in front of
him. “Oh, it’s you,” Septimus remarked contemptuously, apparently unaffected by the Dark Lord’s
display of power. “I was hoping it might be a paying customer.”

Voldemort’s teeth ground together. “Do not mock me, Septimus. Not now, not ever again.” With a
flick of his wand, he sent the ladder flying back across the room. Unperturbed, Septimus nimbly
jumped from the highest rung as it departed, turning to face Voldemort fully without the slightest
trace of fear on his face. “You lied to me.”

The older man appeared to consider this. “It’s possible. I lie often and sometimes only out of
habit. However, unless you tell me what I supposedly lied about…”

Seething slowly, Voldemort glowered at him. “‘The Covenant of the Founders’,” he growled.

Septimus chuckled without humor in his voice. “Oh, that,” he replied casually. “Terribly boring
read, wasn’t it? There’s no sex in it at all and what little violence it contains is very poorly
described. If it weren’t for its much vaunted connection to Lord Slytherin…”

“There is no connection to Lord Slytherin,” Voldemort erupted angrily. “The book is not Slytherin’s
horcrux, nor was it ever. It was just more of your lies.”

“The world is full of lies, Tom Marvolo. I only collect them,” Septimus explained with a wry grin
as he again began to busy himself straightening the books along his shelves. “You know, if my
memory serves me correctly, I tried to persuade you not to seek ‘The Covenant of the Founders’. I
believe I typified it as ‘the worst medieval rubbish you’ll ever have the misfortune to read’ and
said you would be wasting your time if you pursued it.” Septimus raised his silver and gray
eyebrows, although his eyes did not meet Voldemort’s. “I had no way of knowing whether or not the
book was a horcrux, but I strongly suspected that it was not. Slytherin may have been a great many
things, but he was not a bibliophile.”

“You speak as if you knew him,” Voldemort’s sneering voice came back, “yet you do not. You could
not possibly hope to understand the greatness he achieved, nor the magnificence and purity of
Slytherin’s vision.”

Disappearing for a moment behind a large redwood desk with an old-fashioned muggle cash register
gathering dust on one end, Septimus returned with an ancient-looking leather bound book which bore
an illustration on the front of a dragon terrifying a young woman with long blonde hair. “Fairy
tales,” the older man explained. “What you know of Slytherin is no different than these children’s
stories. Kernels of important information disguised in fanciful myths. Truths edited so that small
minds can understand them.”

Voldemort shook with rage. “You test my patience.”

Septimus smirked. “You have no patience, Tom Marvolo, for which you should be eternally thankful.
It is your impatient nature that has allowed you to become so powerful in such a short span of
time.” The robed man sat down on a nearby wooden chair and gave Voldemort an appraising look. “I
wouldn’t be too disappointed in how things went at the Department of Magical Relics if I were you.
You caused a very impressive amount of death and destruction. The Ministry was badly shaken by it.
How long have you waited to make your first move against them? A year? Two?”

“Too long,” the soft, hissing voice of Tom Marvolo Riddle admitted. Wandlessly, he conjured a flame
in the palm of his hand and then snuffed it out with his fingers.

The older man smiled widely. “So what are you so glum about? Your name is on everyone’s lips now,
including those imbeciles in Feckless Fox’s government. You know, Tom Marvolo, I…”

Voldemort blasted a hole through a nearby bookshelf with his wand. “You will not call me by that
name,” he instructed authoritatively.

“Ah yes,” Septimus retorted with a slight grimace. “I keep forgetting that you changed your name to
that ridiculous French anagram you came up with while you were at school.” He scratched his beard
thoughtfully. “Tell me, where is the wisdom in abandoning one’s own given name for a nom-de-guerre,
only to turn around and forbid everyone from saying that name as well?”

Voldemort must have turned away from Septimus, as his focus shifted to a shelf of books dedicated
to the training and proper punishments of house elves. “I cannot bear my muggle father’s name. I
won’t.”

“You know, Tom Marvolo…” Septimus waited a breath for a violent reaction. When Voldemort did
nothing, he continued. “There is a reason that I constantly remind you of your middle name. Marvolo
Gaunt was a great man and the Gaunts were a proud and respected family of wizards. You are the last
of their line. I can understand your distaste for your muggle name, but that is no reason to
completely turn your back on your heritage.”

“If Marvolo Gaunt was such a great wizard, why couldn’t he control my mother?” Voldemort demanded
in a hiss. “Why couldn’t he stop her from degrading herself by cavorting around with muggle
filth?”

“As my dear, departed Uncle Ursus used to say, you can’t put everyone under the Imperius Curse,”
Septimus said with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “No matter how powerful you become, some things
are going to be beyond your control. In my experience, disrespectful daughters who run off to marry
muggles would be one of those things.” A dark shadow crossed his face and he shifted uncomfortably
in his chair.

Voldemort seemed equally eager to change the subject. “One of my Death Eaters disobeyed my orders
in the middle of the attack. I should have killed him instantly, but I hesitated. I only used the
Cruciatus Curse on him.”

Septimus shot Voldemort an inquisitive look and leaned forward conspiratorially as the sound of the
door opening and closing behind them indicated that another customer had entered the shop. “You are
uncertain whether to lead them by fear, or attempt to inspire trust and respect in your followers.
Am I correct?” Voldemort nodded slightly. “The answer is simple. Strike fear into their hearts and
you will have their respect. As for trust, my old Uncle Ursus had a saying there as well. ‘Trust no
one but yourself’.” Septimus stood and stretched. “Now if our business is concluded, I have a large
order of books on centaurs to sort through…”

“Do you really have secret information about Lord Slytherin? Information that the rest of the
wizarding world doesn’t know about?” Voldemort asked curiously.

Septimus drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. “My young friend, that is only the beginning
of what I can teach you about the true history of the wizarding world. However, my debt to the
Knights of Walpurgis is now paid.”

“This would put me in your debt,” Voldemort insisted. “I must know what you know.”

“A wizard’s debt is a serious matter, Tom Marvolo,” Septimus said, his eyes widening and his
expression grave. “Are you certain about this?”

“You think I am not serious?” Voldemort asked in an offended tone. “Very well. We’ll perform an
Unbreakable Vow. Teach me everything you know about Lord Slytherin and I will return the favor by
giving you whatever you ask, with the exception of my own life.” Septimus seemed baffled at
Voldemort’s enthusiasm, but nodded his head in agreement anyway. “Excellent. I’ll arrange for one
of my Death Eaters to be the Bonder…”

“Excuse me,” a young woman with long dark hair interrupted. “Mr. Prince, is *Dr. Zhivago* in
stock? I was told last week that you might have it in by now.”

Septimus plastered a polite smile on his face. For a man who seemed to be cozy with dark wizards,
he was obviously used to dealing with muggles. “Of course, my dear. It’s in the back.” He then
returned his attention fully to Voldemort. “So sorry, Tom Marvolo. One of the hazards of the trade,
I’m afraid. Would you mind watching the store for a moment?”

*

The dream was interrupted by a persistent sharp pain coming from Harry’s forehead. At first he
assumed it to be his scar, burning in the wake of yet another unwanted excursion into Lord
Voldemort’s mind. Upon opening his eyes, however, he discovered a familiar snowy white owl standing
on his pillow, pecking at his eyebrows with her beak. “Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed in annoyance. “Stop
that. I’m up, I’m up!” he exclaimed, scrambling to sit up in his bed and reaching for his glasses
in an effort to put some space between himself and his pet bird. “What are you so worked up about
anyway? I let you out last night to hunt and…”

Hedwig lifted her leg slightly to show Harry that something had been wrapped around it. “A letter?
And a package? Where did you get all of this?” Hedwig beat her wings in muted frustration. “Right.
You can’t tell me.” Harry sighed as he opened the letter, hoping that it wasn’t bad news about Ron
and silently asking himself why Voldemort couldn’t have possessed the much more useful power of
being able to communicate with owls.

The mystery of who had sent the letter was solved in a moment by the instantly recognizable
handwriting of Molly Weasley. The small feeling of dread that had overtaken him when he saw the
letter had now become a large sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. With trepidation he began
to read it.

‘Harry dear,’ it began sweetly. ‘How are you? We’ve been so worried about you after everything that
you’ve been through this past week. I know Bill told us that you wanted your privacy after that
terrible incident with the living fire spell, but Ginny and I both felt you might need a little
encouragement from the people who care about you. I know I speak for all of us when I say that
you’ll always be welcome at the Burrow. After all, you’re as much a Weasley as if you were my own
flesh and blood.

‘I’m afraid that there hasn’t been any change in Ronald’s condition. I know how worried you must
have been these last few days and I’m sorry that I don’t have better news. If we learn anything
new, I’ll certainly keep you informed. You’re probably tired of hearing this already, but we
certainly don’t blame you for what happened. Severus Snape is a horrible excuse for a human being
and, if you ask me, Azkaban is too good for him after all the evil that he’s done. He’s the one to
blame, Harry, not you.

‘I don’t know what the three of you have been up to since you left Hogwarts, but I’ll bet it has
something to do with You-Know-Who and whatever it was that you and Dumbledore were doing before he
died.’ Here the writing became somewhat splotchy and Harry had to squint and hold the paper close
to his face to read around what he assumed were Mrs. Weasley’s tears. ‘He was so proud of you,
Harry. He would be honored to know that you’re working on something that the two of you started
together.

‘Still, I’m sure you’re going to get very lonely wherever you are, with only Hermione Granger to
keep you company. If you ever want to stay at the Burrow, we would be thrilled to have you. Ginny
also sends her best wishes and hopes that you’ll see each other soon.

‘With much love,

Molly Weasley

‘P.S. Enclosed are two invitations to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It’s been moved back to two weeks
from Saturday (the planning has been a nightmare!). Pass one on to Hermione, if you would, dear.
Also, I’ve sent a care package with Hedwig filled with as much good food as I could sneak away from
the men of the house. I’m sure that cruel house elf isn’t feeding you properly.’

She was right about that, although it likely had more to do with Kreacher’s inexperience in
preparing meals for teenagers who had grown up dining on muggle cuisine rather than any real
malicious intent on the house elf’s part. His half-hearted sympathy for Kreacher aside, however,
the thought of eating home cooking from the Burrow was enough to make Harry’s mouth water. He
quickly reached for the small package wrapped around Hedwig’s leg. His owl seemed to have her own
ideas about the little bundle bound to her talon and refused to let Harry take it from her. “Give
it here,” he instructed, but Hedwig merely hooted at him haughtily.

“Oh, alright,” Harry grumbled. “Accio owl treats,” he said in a low voice, pointing his wand at the
hallway outside the master bedroom at Grimmauld Place. After a few moments of watching Hedwig shift
awkwardly from leg to leg as if to demonstrate her impatience, Harry retrieved the small bag of Owl
Chow and threw a handful of the pungent-smelling pellets to Hedwig. As she gobbled them down
hungrily, Harry removed the package from her leg.

“Heavier than it looks, isn’t it?” Harry asked Hedwig rhetorically as he began to unwrap the small
bundle. His owl ignored him, choosing instead to clean the feathers on the inside of her wings.
“It’s a picnic basket. She must have used a shrinking charm so that it could be carried by owl,”
Harry deduced aloud. He placed the miniature basket in his lap and tapped it with his wand. “Finite
incantatem.”

As though he had placed an engorgement charm on it, the basket grew to fifty times its original
size, filling up half of Harry’s bed and pinning his legs to the mattress. Wincing painfully and
trying his best to ignore the feeling that his legs were being crushed, he reached for his wand and
pointed it at Molly Weasley’s care package. Hedwig shot him an exasperated look, as if to say ‘I
told you so’. “Wingardium leviosa,” Harry incanted weakly, watching with relief as the ridiculously
overburdened basket hovered in the air above his legs. Once he was sure that it would no longer
fall on him or anything that could break easily when it landed, he set it down on the floor,
causing a loud thumping noise that echoed throughout the house.

Slowly, Harry rose from his bed, donned his glasses and examined the basket of food. Inside were
various assortments of meats, fruits and cheeses, along with seventeen different kinds of dessert.
‘There’s enough food in here to feed two people for a year,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Of course,
if Ron were here, it would be a different story.’

Harry let out a long sigh. He had not realized how much he would miss having his best mate around
until he spent a day here at Grimmauld without him. A feeling of gloom had settled over the old
house and Harry found himself often longing for one of Ron’s well-timed wisecracks to make the
place seem cheerful again. Nobody could lighten the mood in a tense situation like Ron Weasley. Of
course, he could also create tense situations on his own, particularly where Hermione was
concerned.

A large grin spread over Harry’s face. If there was one bright spot in all of this, it was his
newly strengthened friendship with Hermione. He hadn’t had much time to spend alone with her since
fourth year, when he and Ron had been on the outs during the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had been a
bit worried that he and Hermione might not have much to say to each other without Ron around to
make things light and fun.

Contrary to what Molly Weasley thought, however, Hermione made for excellent company. She was
sensitive and kind, thoughtful and clever and had a kind of bone dry wit that contrasted sharply
with Ginny’s more observational sense of humor. She was also an excellent listener who was good at
helping Harry sort out his troubles, handling both horcrux-related problems and personal ones with
relative ease.

Without truly realizing he was doing it, Harry had walked down the hallway to stand in front of
Hermione’s room. Cracking her door open slightly, he saw that she was still sleeping, her bushy
brown hair bunched up on one side of the pillow while her right hand still clutched the book she
had been reading as she had fallen asleep. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Deciding that she needed her rest, Harry quietly closed the door and made his way to the master’s
study. The previous night had been a long one, filled with a seemingly endless amount of research
and more than a few promising leads that only led them nowhere. What might have been a completely
wasted night spent searching for information about horcruxes was actually rather enjoyable, thanks
to an enlightening conversation he’d had with Hermione.

“You know, Harry,” she had said, in a voice that let him know she was almost as tired of searching
through the Black family library as he was, “if you really do get rid of this house after the war,
you should consider selling off some of this book collection as well. I’m sure there are plenty of
dimwitted aspiring dark wizards out there who would love to get their hands on this made up rubbish
about learning how to conjure deadly plagues and turning your enemies into giant muskrats.” She
snorted contemptuously. “Assuming any of them survive the war, of course.”

“Well, I reckon there’s an incentive to let a few escape, then,” Harry replied, his tone
disinterested. “I’ll need customers for my evil book sale.”

“Ergh!” Hermione exclaimed in irritation. “This is so tedious! If I have to read one more bigot
bragging about how he killed a family of innocent muggles or brutally tortured a muggleborn wizard,
I’m going to tear my hair out!”

“You probably shouldn’t bother with this one then,” Harry replied, tossing the book he had been
reading across the room. “Unless you want to read all the gory details about this bloke’s
collection of severed limbs.”

Out of curiosity or habitual neatness or both, Hermione picked up the volume, glanced at the cover
briefly and then placed it back in its proper place on the bookshelf. “Well, at least now I know I
can skip Tantalus Gruelbroth’s *Famous Maims in Wizarding History*.” She stifled a yawn.
“Maybe we should call it a night. I know you were hoping to find something about Hufflepuff’s
cup…”

“…and you were hoping we’d see some activity from Ravenclaw’s quill,” Harry finished for her,
glancing at a purple feather and a piece of parchment, both of which sat motionless on the large
oak desk next to Regulus Black’s research. Hermione had confiscated this particular quill pen from
a seventh year named Judy Flemingworth last year and soon discovered that it had been charmed to
perfectly mimic the movements of Ravenclaw’s quill, so that the two feathers moved in sync when
anyone wrote with the older pen. It was quite an impressive bit of magic; too bad the girl had only
been using it to copy Cho Chang’s homework and notes without her knowledge and most likely to cheat
on exams as well. The clever Ravenclaw wouldn’t have been caught had she not found out that Cho was
also using the quill to write love notes to Judy’s boyfriend, Marcus Thames. The ensuing catfight
had been a particularly ugly one, although Ron claimed to have enjoyed breaking it up.

In a typical stroke of brilliance, Hermione had come up with a way to track the quill, just in case
one of the Death Eaters made off with it (which, of course, they had). When Harry had hissed at
Snape in parseltongue at the Quibbler, he hadn’t been insulting the back-stabbing pillock, he had
been talking to the horcrux, telling it to ‘Write me’. Once it did, they could perform a variation
on the locator charm and trace the horcrux back to wherever it was being kept. There had been no
activity from the quill so far, however, which was more than a little bit frustrating.

“There’s always tomorrow, I suppose,” Hermione noted with a sigh. “Another day of searching through
‘evil books’ and waiting for a feather to move.”

Harry sent a tired smile her way. “I never thought I’d see you so unhappy about spending the day in
a library, looking through books.”

“In their own way, books are like people, Harry,” Hermione explained as she stood and returned the
books she had been looking through to the shelves along the wall. “A good one can teach you
something new, lift your spirits and give you hope for a better future. A great one can even make
you fall in love.” Her eyes avoided his own as she spoke and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why.
“But it’s best not to waste too much of your time on studying the bad ones. They’ll only bring you
down to their level.”

“That’s good advice,” Harry told her with admiration in his voice. “So I guess that means we can
skive off looking through these books tomorrow, then?” he asked teasingly.

“Unfortunately, no,” Hermione answered in a disappointed tone. “Other than the quill, they’re all
we have to go on.” She looked at the stacks of books with a sense of horror that Harry would have
expected from Ron, but never from Hermione. “And to think I wanted to open a bookstore after I
graduated from Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry asked her with raised eyebrows. “A bookstore?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Hermione replied with a small smile. “I’m sure it’s exactly the sort of
thing you imagined me doing.” After she made sure that everything was just as they had found it,
she began to walk out of the Master’s study.

“I guess I expected you’d do something more with your life,” Harry said earnestly as he followed
after her. She frowned deeply at his words. Hoping that he hadn’t offended her, he continued with a
look of determination on his face. “Not that starting a bookstore wouldn’t be worthwhile, it’s just
that I imagined you off crusading against the unfair treatment of house elves or something like
that.”

“Like I did with S.P.E.W., you mean?” Hermione asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice.
“You can see how well that worked out.”

Harry took a long look at the melancholy expression on Hermione’s face and knew he had to say
something to make it disappear. “It wasn’t so bad. Dobby certainly took to the idea of house elves
working for wages. It may not have been directly because of S.P.E.W., but…change takes time,
Hermione. Your heart was in the right place.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” Hermione answered him sadly. “Just never at the right time.” Before Harry
could ask her what she meant by that, she turned the tables on him. “What about you, Harry? Are you
still planning on becoming an Auror after this is all over?” She smiled at him mischievously,
although her eyes still had a distant look to them. “Or are you and Ginny going to become
husband-and-wife professional Quidditch players? You certainly have the talent for it.”

Harry shot her a puzzled look. “You don’t really think that Ginny and I are going to get married,
do you?” He shook his head dismissively. “We only dated for two weeks, Hermione. We’ve already been
apart for longer than that.”

Hermione let out a small, incredulous laugh. “But you fancied her all throughout last year, didn’t
you? Ever since you invited her to come to Hogsmeade with us, near the beginning of first term.”
Harry was uncomfortable with the idea that Hermione had noticed this. “And she’s certainly fancied
you for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Harry said unenthusiastically. In fact, Ginny had fancied him continuously for the last six
years, starting at the tender age of ten. Now that he thought about it, he decided it was just a
little bit creepy.

“Not that her feelings for you haven’t grown and changed over time, of course,” Hermione amended
quickly. Harry frowned. Had her feelings changed? She had certainly never mentioned it if they had.
The two of them had never really discussed how they felt about each other. In fact, they hadn’t
talked very much at all, strongly preferring snogging over getting to know one another. It had
seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but looking back on it now, Harry wasn’t so sure that he
had done the right thing for either of them by pursuing a purely physical relationship with
Ginny.

“Harry,” Hermione began as she tilted her head to one side and bit down gently on her lower lip, a
sure sign that whatever question she was about to ask was an important one, “how serious are you
about Ginny?”

“Well…” OK, time to think. This was a test. From the way Hermione was staring at him, it was a very
important one. But what kind of test was it? What was the right answer? Her eyes were boring
straight into his. Could she be using legilimency on him? No, Hermione wouldn’t do that; not
without telling him. Now she was glaring at him impatiently. Oh, right. She was probably expecting
him to say something. “Er… I guess we’d be dating now if it weren’t for the horcruxes and
Voldemort. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Hermione didn’t seem at all satisfied with that answer. “I suppose what I’m trying to ask you is…
do you love her?”

This question took Harry completely by surprise and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit angry
with Hermione for asking him something so personal. Still, as the wheels in his mind turned slowly,
he felt compelled to give her some kind of an answer. “I…I like her a lot. She’s pretty and she can
be very funny and we both like Quidditch and…I don’t know. I don’t know, alright! I don’t even know
how I’m supposed to know whether I’m in love or not.”

“I think you just know,” Hermione said softly. Her eyes were no longer watching Harry, but seemed
to be staring at something very far away. “You’re going along, minding your own business and
there’s this moment of clarity, this sudden revelation. You’re in love. What causes you to realize
it doesn’t have to be funny or important or even anything the other person will remember. It just
happens.” She breathed a sigh and turned once again to look at Harry. “That’s the way love works, I
think.”

“Really?” Harry asked in disbelief, suddenly indignant that Hermione was such an expert on the
subject of love. “Was that how it was with you and Ron?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No, Harry. With Ron it wasn’t like that at all.”

Harry retreated as if he had been stung. His tone softened noticeably. “Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
have…I mean, it’s none of my business, anyway.” As true as that statement was, Harry’s curiosity
was gnawing away at him. How did things really stand between his two best friends? “Hermione, are
you in love with Ron?”

“No,” she answered in a whisper. “I wish it was that simple, but it’s not.” As Harry struggled for
something to say, Hermione backed away from him, running into the door to her bedroom as she did
so. “I’m exhausted, Harry. I…I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

Harry sat alone in the master’s study, replaying the conversation in his mind as though it were a
memory in a pensieve. A book on defensive magic was open in his lap, turned to a section detailing
different types of goblin armor. He couldn’t seem to focus on the research, however, and instead
kept thinking about what Hermione had asked him last night.

Was he in love with Ginny? He still wasn’t sure. Did it matter if he wasn’t? After all, he was
young and would have plenty of time to fall in love, with Ginny or maybe even with someone else,
after Voldemort was beaten and the war was over. He shouldn’t be worrying about love at a time like
this, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing so. It was something that mattered to him,
even if it wasn’t more important than finding the horcruxes or defeating Lord Voldemort.

Harry rested his forehead in his hands in frustration. He was never going to get any work done this
way. Deciding to concentrate only on the defensive properties of goblin shields for the moment,
Harry’s eyes blearily turned once again to the book in front of him, as he tried to make sense of
what the author had written about specialized plating techniques.

And then all hell broke loose.

The first thing that alerted Harry to the fact that something strange was going on was the sound of
an inkpot smashing against the large desk sitting near the doorway. That was followed in quick
succession by parchment being strewn about the room haphazardly and an entire shelf of books
toppling to the floor. Harry soon noticed a slender purple quill making violent slashing motions in
the air and generally wreaking havoc as it did so.

Feeling a bit silly, Harry stood up and, using his finely honed seeker reflexes, snatched for the
quill as it flew through the air… only to release a growl of frustration as it darted away from him
quickly, stabbing his palm in the process. Luckily it only pierced the bandages wrapped around his
hand, but if it had gone only a quarter of an inch deeper, he would have received a rather nasty
flesh wound for his troubles. Harry cursed his own stupidity. “You’re not thinking like a wizard,”
he said aloud. “Accio quill!”

The violently trembling purple quill was drawn like a magnet to Harry’s wand. As it came within
inches of his face, he grabbed the feather with his left hand, forced the tip into the remains of
the spilled ink and held it down with great effort. It soon began to write out messages like
‘RELEASE ME’ and ‘I AM LORD VOLDEMORT’ as Harry incanted the modified locator charm Hermione had
come up with to give them the precise location of the horcrux. Once he determined how many
kilometers separated the two quills and in what direction the Ravenclaw artifact was being held, he
wrote the information down on a scrap piece of parchment.

A few moments later, Hermione walked down the hall, yawning and stretching lazily. When she took in
the sight of the master’s study in complete disarray, she stared at Harry in shock, her eyes as
wide as saucers. “Harry, what happened?” she asked in horror.

“Nothing much, really,” Harry deadpanned. “The quill went haywire and destroyed half the room, I
traced the location of the horcrux to a place in Knockturn Alley and Mrs. Weasley sent us a basket
of food and these invitations to Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” He handed one to a flabbergasted
Hermione. “Oh, and I had another dream as Voldemort.”

Once Hermione stopped gaping at him, she turned around sharply and marched back to her room to get
dressed. “That settles it,” she declared. “I’m never sleeping in again.”

*

“And you’re sure he said ‘Slytherin’s horcrux’?” Hermione asked Harry with a puzzled frown on her
face. “Couldn’t he have been talking about Slytherin’s locket?”

Harry considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Voldemort was sure it was
that book about the Founders of Hogwarts; the one he broke into the Ministry to steal.”

Harry and Hermione sat at a corner table in the tavern half of the Od’s Blood Inn and Tavern. It
was a small, squat stone building nestled in what appeared to be the dodgiest section of Knockturn
Alley. Hermione rated it as only slightly more appealing than your average pig sty and Harry was
inclined to agree, although he couldn’t help chuckling at her upturned nose.

It didn’t take the two of them long to discover that the Death Eater they suspected of stealing the
quill was staying here for the night. After asking around a bit and making sure that a few galleons
made their way into the right hands, they had found Aloysius Moorefield sitting at the bar with his
cloak pulled over his face, downing multiple glasses of Ogden’s Firewhiskey in succession. Much to
Harry’s displeasure, they couldn’t do anything to him until they found out where he was keeping
Ravenclaw’s quill. So Harry and Hermione sat and watched the incompetent sot, huddled close
together under Harry’s invisibility cloak, as Moorefield consumed more alcohol in one sitting than
either of them had previously thought possible. There was little to do except talk to each other,
which at the moment suited both of them just fine.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Hermione countered emphatically. “If Slytherin had made a horcrux and
it was still in existence…”

“Salazar Slytherin would still be alive,” Harry finished for her. Hermione appeared to be mulling
something over in her mind. “Or at least he would have been, forty years ago. Do you think that’s
possible?”

“It doesn’t seem very likely,” Hermione answered cryptically, “but anything’s possible. Anyway, I
don’t think that’s what we should be worrying over right now. I’m much more concerned about the
fact that Voldemort’s inside your mind again.”

Sometimes Hermione fretted too much over things that didn’t worry Harry at all. This wasn’t one of
those times. An anxious frown formed on Harry’s brow. “It is odd, isn’t it? Why would he
re-establish the connection between us after all this time, just to show me old memories of what he
was doing in the 1950s?”

“Maybe Voldemort knows that you and Dumbledore were exploring his life history through the pensieve
last year. He might be sending you false or modified memories now just to confuse things in your
mind.” Hermione leaned in to Harry, making him very aware of just how close they were to each other
under the cloak. “Are you familiar with the story of the Trojan horse?” Harry indicated that he was
with a slight nod. “Showing you these memories might be a clever distraction; a way for Voldemort
to get inside your mind without you realizing what he’s doing.”

Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand supportively. “This could be very dangerous, Harry. You know things
now that you didn’t back in fifth year, things that Voldemort can’t find out. He could learn
Trelawney’s prophecy in its entirety or see that we’ve been searching for the horcruxes.” Worry
shone in her eyes. “Do you still want me to teach you occlumency?”

Harry nodded quickly. “I reckon that would probably be a good idea.”

Hermione grinned happily, clearly pleased that Harry had such faith in her abilities. “Then we’ll
start tonight, before you go to sleep. You should practice clearing your mind before then,
though.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. Hermione’s happiness must have been infectious, as Harry was grinning like
an idiot at her. “I’ll see if I can work on that.”

“Hey!” an angry voice called out from across the room, jarring the two of them out of their stupor.
“You two lovebirds there, under the invisibility cloak!” The voice belonged to a large man who had
been wiping down tables with a filthy-looking dishrag. Harry and Hermione both looked up in shock.
“Yeah, you. You gonna order somethin’ or are you just gonna take up one of my tables all
day?”

For a moment, Harry wondered if Hermione had forgotten to perform the silencing charm and thought
that the overly large bartender with scars running down the length of both arms and an eye patch
over one eye must have overheard them talking. He should have known better than to doubt Hermione,
however. When he examined the man more closely (a task not recommended for the faint of heart, as
he had more hair on his back than on his head and a completely rotten set of teeth) he saw that his
left eye was not covered with a patch, but with a magical eye that reminded him a bit of Alastor
Moody’s. He could likely see through the cloak as easily as if it were, well, invisible.

“Er, sure,” Harry answered him awkwardly after Hermione took down the silencing charm from around
them with a quickly spoken ‘finite incantatem’. “I’ll have a butterbeer.”

“Just a glass of pumpkin juice, thanks,” Hermione said as the burly bartender wrote down their
orders on a nearby napkin.

“Butterbeer and pumpkin juice,” the large man muttered mockingly. “This place is bloody well
turning into Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Remembering his one excursion into the romantic little Hogsmeade tea shop during his fifth year on
a date with Cho Chang, Harry scowled. Hermione, on the other hand, looked somewhat embarrassed. As
the barkeep slowly walked away, he realized why. “I guess it would be silly for us to sit here
under the invisibility cloak, acting as though no one could see us.”

“I suppose so,” Hermione replied with a nervous laugh. Wrapping his arm over Hermione’s shoulder,
Harry removed his father’s old cloak from around her body and placed it between them. Hermione
scooted over slightly, giving him more room than he really needed.

“Too bad Ron’s not here,” Harry noted sadly. “He probably would have ordered something stronger
than a butterbeer.” Hermione only nodded and glanced down shyly at the table. “And the bartender
wouldn’t have thought we…er, necessarily believed that we…”

“That we’re together,” Hermione finished. “Romantically. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry answered, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Not that I care what some pub crawler
thinks about the two of us, mind you. It’s just a little bit awkward.” As the surly man with the
magical eye slammed their drinks down on the table, Harry’s mind wandered. Before last night, he
would have described himself as only mildly curious about Hermione Granger’s love life. He had long
expected her to start a ‘more than friends’ relationship with Ron and they had talked a bit about
her first boyfriend, Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum, during fourth and fifth years, but that
was the extent of it. Even putting ‘dating’ in the same sentence as ‘Hermione’ had seemed absurd.
But now…

Now he couldn’t help but wonder. Things weren’t working out between Hermione and Ron, as both of
his friends seemed unhappy in that relationship. Also, Hermione had told him that she’d fallen in
love with someone; someone who wasn’t Ron. A strong sense of determination filled him. If that
someone was who Hermione wanted to be with, Harry would do everything that he could to make sure
that this guy knew what a great girl he was missing out on. Of course, he would have to figure out
who the bloke was first.

As Harry’s mind began its slow return back to Earth, he noticed that Hermione was speaking to him.
Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “So I was thinking that you
could go as my date,” she said with anxious resolve.

“Go…go as your date?” Harry stammered in reply, trying to guess at what she could have possibly
said while he wasn’t listening that would have brought up the subject of the two of them
dating.

Hermione looked doubtful. “I know you probably wanted to go with Ginny, but she’ll already be at
the Burrow and the only reason they even send out these silly invitations is so they know who’s
coming ahead of time and can plan the seating and meals accordingly and if you come with me as my
date instead of telling them you’re going to be there yourself it’ll be harder for the press to
find out and you know what a media circus it could become if…”

“Enough, Hermione,” Harry interrupted with a laugh, while inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. She
had only been talking about their plans to attend Bill and Fleur’s wedding. “You’ve convinced me.
I’ll be your date for the wedding.”

Hermione blushed as she realized how enthusiastic she must have sounded. “Well, we’re both going,
aren’t we? And it’s not as though I already had a date lined up. You were the logical
choice.”

Harry scratched his chin in thought. Now would be a good time to start fishing around for the
identity of this chap that Hermione fancied. “I don’t know about that, Hermione. After all, there’s
always…” Movement from across the room made his eyes dart to the bar. “Moorefield.”

“Really, Harry,” Hermione replied with a small laugh, “I’m hardly going to take a Death Eater as my
date to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, even if he does have Ravenclaw’s quill. For one thing, they would
probably have to close the open bar…”

“He’s moving,” Harry informed her seriously. “Well, staggering anyway,” he added as he watched the
Death Eater stumble across the room. “Come on.”

Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and the two of them dashed toward the side door that
Moorefield was clumsily making his way through. When the duo attempted to follow the inebriated
dark wizard, however, they were stopped in their tracks by the same barkeep who had seen through
the invisibility cloak. “Trying to leave without paying for your drinks, are you?” he demanded with
a growl.

“N-no,” Harry answered a little nervously. “No, we were going to pay, I swear. We were just in a
hurry.” The man did not look impressed by his excuse. “So, erm, how much do I owe you?”

“Twelve galleons,” the man informed Harry gruffly as he stuck his hand out to take the money.

“For a butterbeer and pumpkin juice?” Harry asked in disbelief. “That’s highway robbery!”

“That’s life in Knockturn Alley, now that the war’s heated up,” he snarled, his magical eye
spinning wildly in place. “And if you don’t pay me in the next ten seconds, the price just went up
to fifteen galleons.”

Harry dug in his pockets with his teeth clenched. “Fine,” he said as he forcefully placed the
necessary coins in the man’s outstretched hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Hermione.

Hermione reached for the door knob, only to have her hand grabbed by the scarred, beefy mitt of the
man who had just taken their money. “Sorry, miss. The only people who can go through that door are
paying customers of the Od’s Blood Inn.” He smiled at them fiendishly. “And I think I would have
remembered the two of you checking in.”

Having only barely held her tongue as the two of them were overcharged for their drinks, Hermione
was now openly fuming. “We’re not planning to stay here! We just want to…visit someone,” she
finished weakly.

As the man with the mad eye looked at them skeptically, Harry chimed in, “It’s true, sir. You can
check your registry. His name’s Aloysius Moorefield and…”

“I don’t care if his name is Rufus Scrimgeour. You’re not getting through that door until I see
some coin.” His finger poked Harry repeatedly in the chest for emphasis.

“Alright,” Harry said reluctantly, in spite of a look from Hermione that told him she’d rather
argue the point. “We’d like to reserve one room, please.”

The shady bartender snorted. “One room, eh? No wonder you were in such a hurry.” Harry grimaced and
Hermione looked flustered as the two of them followed the man to a large desk, on top of which sat
a very lengthy guest registry. “Does that mean you’ll only be looking for a single bed as
well?”

“Yes,” Harry answered. When Hermione shot him a look of embarrassment, he shrugged. One bed was
probably cheaper than two and this was already costing him an arm and a leg. “Is there a way that
we could only rent the room for part of the night?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry, Romeo,” the large bald man replied with amusement. “You pay for the room, you get it for
the whole night. How long you use it is up to you.” He began to write something in the registry in
a peculiar longhand scrawl. “What name should I put it under?”

“Potter,” Harry answered without thinking. “Granger,” Hermione threw out in an attempt to cut him
off before he could do so.

“Smith it is then,” the man replied with a grunt. “Eighty galleons for the night.”

“Eighty,” Hermione exclaimed in outrage. A cautioning look from Harry made her fall silent,
however, and Harry paid the man without further comment.

“You’re in Room 234,” the barkeep told them as he handed Harry a rusty old key and slammed the
register closed. He then shot Hermione a parting leer. “Enjoy.”

As they entered the Od’s Blood Inn, Hermione was muttering angrily under her breath. “The nerve of
that man, overcharging us just because he knew that…and thinking that we were about to…”

“Let it go, Hermione,” Harry advised gently. “Come on, let’s get under the cloak and see if we can
pick up Moorefield’s…” The loud, unpleasant sound of someone retching drew their attention to a
cloaked man standing over a potted plant. It was Moorefield, who didn’t seem to be very good at
holding his liquor. “…trail.”

“He’s not very discreet, is he?” Hermione asked in a whisper as Harry threw the cloak over the both
of them and hoped that that irritating git with the magical eye was nowhere around.

As Moorefield took the lift up to his room, Harry and Hermione followed him closely (although not
too closely, considering how he smelled) until he reached the outside of his door. Fumbling in his
pockets, the Death Eater eventually pulled out both a polished brass key and a bright blue feather.
“That’s Ravenclaw’s quill!” Hermione exclaimed in a stage whisper. Harry reached out through the
cloak to grab the horcrux. “Quick, before he can…”

But it was too late. As Moorefield opened the door to his room, the quill flew from his hand and
flitted about the room aimlessly. The two of them crept into the room behind him as quickly as they
could. Pointing his wand at the horcrux, Harry began “Accio Ravenclaw’s qui…”

“Accio thingy,” Moorefield slurred and the quill responded instantly. Once he had the horcrux in
his hand, he deposited it in a long gray box which bore the emblem of an extended red hand on its
side. He then collapsed on his bed sideways, incapable of further effort.

“‘Accio thingy’?” Harry asked incredulously. “That actually works?”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice sounding a bit numb to his ears, “that’s a Reach For Something
Strongbox.” She pointed at the metallic gray container sitting at the end of Moorefield’s
bed.

“So?” Harry asked a bit callously. “Let’s just take it and get out of here. One more horcrux
down…”

“It won’t do us any good to steal it,” Hermione explained in a whisper. “Only the person who puts
an item in a Reach For Something Strongbox can take it out. If anyone else tries, the results can
be rather…painful.”

Harry gulped. “How painful, exactly?”

Hermione looked chagrined. “Each box is different. One of the cheaper ones might just chop a few
fingers off. But I doubt a Death Eater would have anything less than a box that takes off your
whole hand.” An exasperated frown formed on her face. “I told Fred and George that these things
were too dangerous, especially in wartime…”

“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted her confusedly. “What do Fred and George have to do with
this?”

Hermione sighed. “The Reach For Something Strongbox is a Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes product, Harry.
Fred and George invented it.”

**The next chapter is "Footing the Bill". Since this chapter is much, much longer than I
anticipated, I'll probably split it into several parts. No teaser this time, but here's a
spoiler: Bill and Fleur get married.

ITL**

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7. Chapter 7: Footing the Bill, Part I
--------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money
off of the Harry Potter franchise. I'm just playing with the characters because I
can.**


Chapter 7: Footing the Bill, Part 1

“Are you nervous?” Hermione asked him with a coy expression on her face. She was leaning over him,
her weight resting completely on her knees and one elbow as she traced her right index finger along
his chest.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Harry replied worriedly. He was lying flat on his back on the bed in Sirius’ old
room at Grimmauld Place, his head resting uneasily on the pillow below it. “After all, we don’t
know what we’ll find.”

“Oh, I do,” Hermione assured him with a sly smile. “I’ve known all along.”

“And you haven’t told me,” Harry stated, his eyes questioning her while his lips pouted.

“It’s fun to keep secrets,” Hermione told him in a playful whisper. “But I can tell you that it’s
either a hippogriff or a dragon…or a snake.” She descended into a fit of giggles that made Harry
frown in displeasure. “Of course, the dragon and the snake pretend that they don’t like each other,
but they have more in common than they know. Too many scales and not enough room to lay their
eggs.”

“You’re not making sense,” Harry told her, although he laughed along with her as he spoke. “Maybe
we should wait before we rip them all off. After all, they might be holding something in.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione said chidingly as she ran her hands along the inside of his thighs.
“They have to come off eventually. Did you think you could hide your pain behind them forever?” Her
fingers began to slowly unravel the bandages around his legs as Harry felt a strange tingling
sensation spread throughout his lower body. “Just close your eyes and think of England.”

Harry cried out as Hermione tore the last of the cloth strips from his flesh. “Oh dear,” she said
with a small gasp, “there’s more scarring than I would have thought.” Harry looked down to see that
rows of lightning bolt-shaped scars had formed up and down his legs. “This would never have
happened if you hadn’t been in denial for so long. We could have taken the bandages off years ago
if you hadn’t eaten so much chocolate.” She regarded him sternly as she began unwrapping the
bandages around his chest. “Chocolate changes are bad for you, Harry. You should know that by now.
Soon enough, the bolt of fire burns up all of the frog cards.” Hermione looked thoughtful as she
straddled him fully. “I suppose the only thing left to do is kiss you so that you can wake up. You
deserve that much, at least. Now hold still…”

*

The next thing Harry heard was the shrill sound of an alarm clock buzzing next to his ear, making
him stir reluctantly. Hermione slept next to him, her periwinkle pajamas slightly rumpled from
another night spent restlessly tossing and turning. She hadn’t been sleeping well at all for nearly
a week, but she wouldn’t tell Harry if anything was troubling her. Which, of course, only worried
him more.

Their new sleeping arrangements had become fairly commonplace by now. Harry would wake up from a
particularly strange dream only to find Hermione lying next to him, having fallen asleep beside him
after one of their late night occlumency lessons. At first, she had been shyly apologetic about
spending the night in his bed, but after he made it clear to her that he really didn’t mind (and
that he wasn’t just being polite about it to spare her feelings) Hermione had simply smiled and let
the matter drop. In fact, she had moved most of her things into Sirius’ old bedroom a few nights
ago, claiming that it was silly to keep them in her room when she never stayed there anymore.

Harry watched Hermione as she slept peacefully beside him, a content smile forming on his face. As
the alarm had not woken her, he decided not to do so, either. They had a long day ahead of them,
although it promised to be a pleasant one. Harry had never been to a wedding before, yet he
couldn’t help but feel expectantly happy. Bill and Fleur had found love in a time of great sorrow
and overcome personal tragedy to be with each other. And if anyone deserved a break from the doom
and gloom of the war, it was the Weasleys.

Harry grinned at the thought of seeing the Weasleys together again at a family gathering, but the
smile vanished from his face only a moment later. In fact, he would not be seeing all of the
Weasleys. Ron was still in a coma, in defiance of every healer at St. Mungo’s who had assured the
family that he could wake up at any moment and that there was no medical explanation for his lack
of response to their treatments. Molly Weasley hadn’t said so in her letters, but Harry was sure
that Ron’s condition was at least part of the reason that the date of the wedding had been pushed
back. What should have been an entirely happy affair would now have a shadow cast over it and Harry
couldn’t help but feel responsible. After all, if it weren’t for him, Ron would be there to see his
eldest brother and his former part-veela crush tie the knot.

Of course, Ginny would be there as well. A few weeks ago the very idea of seeing her would have
thrilled him, as he would have a built-in excuse to spend time with her without drawing anyone’s
suspicion that they were more than just friends. However, his feelings for Ginny had cooled rapidly
over their time apart. At the end of last year, he had thought she understood him, and that she
knew what she was getting into by agreeing to have a relationship with him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
The fight they’d had about Hermione at St. Mungo’s a few weeks back certainly hadn’t helped their
fledgling romance any. Harry grimaced at the thought of how awkward it would be to see her again in
the aftermath of their first fight.

Deciding not to dwell too much on thoughts of Ginny Weasley, Harry rose from the bed, stretched and
went through his usual morning routine. He showered, threw on a pair of slacks and a t-shirt (he
would change into dress robes before the wedding, naturally) and made himself a breakfast of
scrambled eggs and bangers before Kreacher could serve his master the house elf’s usual morning
offering of porridge with walnuts. He took the time to make a plate for Hermione, quickly performed
a warming charm on it and then made his way to the master’s study.

The room was now hardly recognizable as the same one he had found on the night he destroyed
Slytherin’s locket. The Black family portraits were gone, Regulus’ notes were stored away and the
bookshelves were neat and tidy, courtesy of a serious cleanup effort undertaken by Hermione. A huge
map of England dominated the wall above the desk and a small bright green dot just north of
Plymouth indicated where Moorefield was now.

Hermione had outdone herself placing every kind of tracking, tracing and homing charm she knew on
the drunken Death Eater after they had found him at the Od’s Blood Inn and Tavern a few weeks ago.
They could now follow his every move as he meandered across England, but they had little chance of
getting their hands on Ravenclaw’s quill, as it remained imprisoned in one of Fred and George’s
Reach For Something Strongboxes. The dark wizard would have to voluntarily remove the quill from
the box before they could take it from him.

With that avenue of the horcrux hunt more or less closed to them, Harry and Hermione had been
concentrating on Hufflepuff’s cup, the other item from Hepzibah Smith’s collection besides
Slytherin’s locket that Voldemort had shown an interest in as a youth. Their attempts to find what
Harry strongly believed to be a horcrux had been hampered by their need to monitor Moorefield, so
that one of them had to stay at Grimmauld at all times. (They had even contemplated sleeping in
shifts so that they could watch the map constantly for movement, but found that the Death Eater was
a meticulous creature of habit, sleeping in most mornings and then staying rooted in one place at
night.) Despite this handicap, Harry and Hermione had compiled a list of likely wizards and witches
who might have wanted to acquire part of the old Hepzibah Smith collection, as well as a handful of
places where Voldemort might have thought to hide the cup.

Satisfied that Moorefield was unlikely to suddenly apparate to Scotland, Harry tore his eyes from
Hermione’s improvised map and glanced over at the clock. The wedding would start in a little over
two hours. ‘Plenty of time to get ready,’ Harry thought to himself. Harry and Hermione had promised
each other that they would take the day to relax, have fun, and do their best to forget the stress
of searching for the horcruxes, at least for a little while. Still, he thought, maybe he should
wake Hermione. Harry seemed to recall that girls liked to have a little extra time to get ready for
big events like weddings, and while Hermione wasn’t like other girls in many respects, he doubted
she would mind if he got her up a little early.

*

“Two hours?!?” Hermione exclaimed as she literally leapt out of bed, her voice panicky. “The
wedding is in two hours?! Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get ready?”

Harry chewed his lip in thought. “More than two hours?” he guessed confusedly.

Luckily, Hermione was ignoring him at the moment, as she opened several dresser drawers and pulled
various items of clothing out of them, seemingly at random. “I have to take a shower, style my
hair, squeeze into my dress, fix my hair again, then I’ve got to do my make-up… Harry, what were
you thinking, letting me sleep through the alarm? I was the one who set it!”

Harry shrugged. “I noticed you hadn’t been getting much sleep lately and…well…you looked so
peaceful. I figured you were due for a lie in.”

Hermione looked up at him and her expression softened quickly. “That was very sweet of you, Harry.”
She then let out a deep growl of frustration. “How am I supposed to get ready for a wedding in two
hours?!”

Harry still didn’t see why two hours wouldn’t be enough time to get ready for anything other than
deep sea diving or fighting Lord Voldemort, but he smartly kept that to himself. “Is there anything
I can do to help?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a ten gallon drum of Sleekeasy’s handy, would you?” Hermione asked
jokingly. When Harry only frowned in response, she shook her head. “Never mind. Why don’t you
change into your dress robes and apparate over to the wedding early? That way you can tell Mrs.
Weasley that I’m going to be late.” She turned to leave the room, then stopped. “Better yet, just
tell her that I might be late.” Hermione then pivoted to face Harry. “Actually, say that I probably
won’t be late, but if I am it’s only because…”

“…I’m a thoughtless git who let a girl get her beauty rest?” Harry finished for her with an
apologetic half-smile.

Hermione blushed prettily. “Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way, but that was the gist of the
message, yes. After all, you did only give me two hours…”

Harry glanced at the alarm clock with a chagrined look on his face. “Actually, it’s more like an
hour and a half now.”

Hermione gave him an anguished glare. “An hour and a half?!?” She promptly stormed off in the
direction of the loo, muttering under her breath about clueless boys and lost time turners.

*

Harry had never apparated to the Burrow before, nor had he given any thought to that fact before he
gave it a go. This might have explained why, after concentrating on his destination with the
appropriate amount of determination and deliberation, he landed on the opposite side of Ottery St.
Catchpole from the home of the Weasleys. On top of a tree branch. Head first. Discovering to his
dismay that the branch was not sturdy enough to hold him, he plummeted to the ground roughly, his
shoulder bearing the brunt of his weight as it struck a rather large rock which, in Harry’s
opinion, had no business lying there where anyone could fall on it. Also, his socks were missing,
but the sharp aching in his back and his pounding head made that seem trivial by comparison.

Lying on the ground in pain, Harry groaned loudly as he struggled to get up. He did a quick search
of his surroundings, making sure he still had his glasses and his wand. Once he found them both
intact and in their proper place, he breathed a sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived,
however. ‘Wait a mo. Didn’t I bring a wedding gift?’

A moment later, a slender, carefully wrapped box fell from the tree and hit Harry squarely in the
chest, knocking the wind out of him. It was quite heavy, as the package contained an antique silver
sword he’d inherited from his godfather. The blade had been presented to one of Sirius’ wealthier
ancestors by the headmaster of Beauxbatons, as a thank you for a large donation to the wizarding
school. The sword sang the school song when you drew it from its sheath and bore the academy’s
crest on its hilt. He had thought it a perfect present at the time, but faced with the knowledge
that he would now have to carry it across Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry deeply regretted not going
with his first choice of a gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies. ‘Or perhaps a feather of
some kind,’ Harry mused groggily.

Without warning, a head full of dirty blonde hair popped into view. Luna Lovegood stood above him,
her gray eyes looking him over as though he were a strange assortment of nargles. “You’re not
wearing any socks,” she declared, as if the entire idea scandalized her.

Harry smiled weakly. “You’ve got me there.” He extended his hand to her. “Would you mind helping me
up?”

Luna gave him her hand happily and soon they were standing side by side in the middle of a wooded
path, a canopy of leaves providing them with ample shade from the August heat. “Not wearing socks
to a wedding makes a very bold statement about your intentions to the ladies present, you know.
People might get the wrong idea about you.”

Harry gave her a skeptical look as he cast a quick cleaning charm on his dress robes. Luckily for
him, grass stains probably wouldn’t show up well on his green robes. “That wouldn’t surprise me. I
don’t know very many people who have the right idea about me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t, as there are only three of them,” Luna confirmed as she began to lead them
down the path. Before Harry could ask her who they were (or ask himself why he was curious about
her answer), she continued. “I would offer you my socks, of course, but you’d look quite silly in
them.” She lifted her pleated fiery red skirt a bit to reveal a matching set of white socks, one of
which had a dark-haired groom pictured on the ankle, while the other featured a brown-haired bride.
They seemed very enamored with each other, smiling widely and blowing each other kisses from time
to time. When Luna brought her ankles together, the bride and groom began to snog enthusiastically.
Harry got the feeling that if Luna kept her ankles together long enough, they would do more than
snog. “They’re clearly girls’ socks, you see.”

“Clearly,” Harry agreed with a nod.

“I’m thinking of wearing them on my wedding day,” Luna added dreamily. “Of course, I’m not sure
I’ll want to get married at the Burrow. It’s so terribly hot in the summer and a Peruvian zorphul’s
lair is much more romantic, anyway. So have you found any more horcruxes?” she asked
conversationally.

Harry started in horror. “Not so loud,” he cautioned in a whisper. Luna did not look apologetic in
the slightest as Harry answered her. “No, we haven’t found any more horcruxes, but it’s not for
lack of trying. A Death Eater took Ravenclaw’s quill and...well, I really shouldn’t say any more
about it. You’re in enough danger as it is.” Harry turned his head sideways to give Luna a
cautioning look. “You haven’t told anyone else about the…” he lowered his voice, “…horcruxes, have
you?”

Luna shook her head no. “I considered telling Daddy, but I didn’t think he would believe me. The
subject comes up sometimes when I speak with Ronald, of course, but he already knows about
them.”

“Do you talk to Ron often?” Harry asked, secretly pleased that Luna was keeping Ron company, even
if it was only while he was comatose.

“Every time I go with my father for one of his therapy sessions, I stop by and see him,” Luna
answered brightly. “He doesn’t talk back, of course, but I think he hears me. His cheeks turn a bit
pink when I tell him how handsome he is.” Luna’s lips quirked upward. “I sometimes see Ginny there,
too. She’s very worried about you.”

Harry worked hard to keep his face impassive. “Is she?”

Luna nodded. “Everyone is, really. But if you want to know what I think, Ginny’s more worried about
what you’re doing alone with Hermione Granger than anything He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is plotting.”
Harry blushed deeply and looked away from Luna. “You know, that’s very close to the shade Ronald
turns. It always reminds me of the plumage on the crimson crested crinklesnik.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Hermione,” Harry assured Luna, his voice even.

“I’m not the one you need to convince of that,” Luna declared airily. The two of them were now
within sight of the Burrow and Harry took the time to admire the decorations of blue and silver
tinsel, the heart-shaped streamers (which at regular intervals let out a sigh and exploded) and
small dancing cupids the size of garden gnomes that reminded him of the valentine he’d received
from Ginny in second year. “Mrs. Weasley worked like a ground wren at getting this place ready for
today. She really did an amazing job with the décor. Although the refreshments were a disaster,
until she fired some of the help. Someone kept putting carpe diem potion in the punch.”

“Carpe diem potion?” Harry asked, confusion evident on his face.

Luna didn’t seem to pick up on his incomprehension. “Yes, isn’t it strange? As if a Gryffindor
would need liquid courage at his wedding. The only other things it’s good for are treating multiple
personality disorder and healing wounds inflicted by a toad-toed findlewatt. Bill doesn’t strike me
as the sort of wizard who would go hunting for findlewatts, though.”

As they approached the Burrow, Harry turned to face Luna. “We probably shouldn’t be seen coming in
together,” he told her, thoughts of the attack on the Quibbler not far from his mind.

“Naturally,” Luna agreed with a genuinely happy smile. “You are Hermione’s date, after all.
Although I imagine you’ll want to rush off and see Ginny.” Harry’s face fell. “Or perhaps not.” The
blonde Ravenclaw looked thoughtful. “Would you like me to keep her occupied for a while? I can be
very distracting when I want to be.”

“You would do that for me?” Harry asked, a bit surprised by Luna’s willingness to help him avoid
his ex-girlfriend.

“Of course, Harry,” Luna replied, her entire demeanor warm and supportive as she looked at him
carefully. “You’re my friend.” Harry’s face turned beet red. “If you keep doing that, you’re going
to attract a female crimson crested crinklesnik. It’s mating season for them, you know,” Luna
warned. “If I can find you, I’ll see you at the reception.”

“I’ll be the one without any socks on,” Harry said with a smile. As she ran off to search for
Ginny, Harry entered the Burrow to look for Mrs. Weasley, wondering all the while how Luna knew
that Hermione was his date.

*

“Ce n’est pas important,” an angry voice that sounded like Fleur’s carried throughout the house.
“Ton chapeau est ridicule. Je ne serai pas porter ton quelque chose monstrueux.”

“Quelque chose monstrueux?” an older French woman’s voice screeched back. “La chapeau de ma
grand-mere?!?”

Trying his best to ignore the argument between Fleur Delacour and her mother, Harry crept through
the Burrow silently while keeping an eye out for Mrs. Weasley. Although the Weasley household was
usually kept very clean, he had never seen it as spotless as it was today. The floors seemed to
sparkle and shine, the furniture was all perfectly placed and the walls and banisters appeared
neatly polished. Although Harry was certain that it had taken a great deal of effort, he wasn’t
sure that he liked the Burrow as much when it was gussied up this way. It had lost some of the
lived-in feeling that always made it seem like home. Of course, the sound of French women screaming
at each other in the next room didn’t help, either.

While he was admiring the gleam of the wooden furniture around the kitchen table (and wondering if
he could ever get his Firebolt to look that shiny, even with the best broom servicing kit on the
market), he literally ran into someone. A tall, red-haired someone. “Percy?” Harry asked with a
note of surprise in his voice.

Percy Weasley stood anxiously before him in simple gray dress robes, looking as though he would
rather be anywhere else. “Harry,” he acknowledged with a curt nod.

The Delacours had stopped shouting, which made the silence that filled the room even more awkward
and uncomfortable. The two of them really had nothing to say each other, or at least nothing that
could be said in polite company. “I…I didn’t expect to see you here,” Harry remarked, deciding to
be honest.

“My duties are what they are,” Percy replied stiffly. “I have an obligation to attend my brother’s
wedding. It would seem improper if I didn’t.” The prodigal Weasley sniffed. “I must say I’m
surprised that you’re here as well. Nobody’s seen you for weeks and you never returned your wedding
invitation.”

Harry didn’t much care for Percy’s tone. “I’ve been busy. As for the invitation, I’m here as
Hermione Granger’s date.” Hermione had sent her invitation back over a week ago, having checked the
“plus one” section of the card to indicate that she would be bringing someone to the wedding. “Have
you seen your mother?”

“Of course I’ve seen my mother,” Percy snapped back. “What kind of terrible son do you think I am?
Are you suggesting that I would come back here after all this time and then just ignore my
parents?”

Perhaps Harry had touched a raw nerve. In any case, he was nonplussed. “So where is she?”

Percy looked somewhat repentant. “Oh.” His voice suddenly became very small. “Upstairs, the last
time I saw her. Third door on your right.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied in a polite, clipped voice. Deciding not to waste any more time talking to
Percy, Harry dashed up the stairs, quickly catching the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s stern voice.

“No, no, no,” she scolded wearily as Harry caught the familiar scent of lilacs. “This arrangement
isn’t going to match the flowers in the garland or the trellis. We’re either going to have to try
and transfigure them or bring in new bouquets.” Charlie Weasley and two harried assistants stood
around her with humoring expressions on their faces. “Harry,” Molly gushed suddenly upon seeing
him. “So good to see you. How are you getting along?”

“Quite well,” Harry answered meekly, not wanting to burden her with his troubles. “I just wanted to
tell you that Hermione might be a bit late and…”

“Oh, that’s fine, just fine,” Mrs. Weasley responded dismissively, only half-listening to what he
was saying. “Would you mind doing me a favor? Be a dear and take these wreaths down to the
gentleman in charge of the floral arrangements. You can’t miss him, he’s tall, blonde…”

“And flamboyantly gay,” Charlie added under his breath. The two assistants snickered a bit, but
said nothing.

“Charles Orpheus Weasley!” Molly Weasley exclaimed. “You know nothing of the sort about that
kind-hearted man.”

Charlie spread his arms with his palms up in a gesture of exasperation. “He’s complimented me on my
dragon-skin boots five times, mum. Five! If I got that kind of attention from a girl… well, let’s
just say I wouldn’t have to worry about where I was spending the night tonight.” Molly looked ready
to scold him again, until he cut her off. “And the only reason you’re sticking up for him is
because he keeps feeding you that rubbish about your being prettier than the bride. Which is still
more proof that he’s a poofter, if you ask me.”

“Well, no one did,” Mrs. Weasley replied snappishly, clearly embarrassed by Charlie’s
accusation.

“I’ll just, uh, take these downstairs then,” Harry said as he grabbed the wreaths and beat a hasty
path to the stairwell.

“Be careful with those, Harry dear,” Molly Weasley called after him. “And whatever you do, don’t
use magic to levitate them. They’re very delicate!”

Harry made his way down the staircase as fast as he could while carrying four oversized wreaths in
his arms. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione had made it here alright or if perhaps she had
ended up slightly off course as he had. Nor could he help wondering if Hermione’s dress would make
her look as beautiful as she had been at the Yule Ball. ‘Nonsense,’ Harry thought to himself.
‘She’s almost three years older now. She’ll probably look drop-dead gorgeous.’

Wait. What was he thinking? Hermione? Gorgeous? Surely not. She was merely his best friend. Ron’s
girlfriend. Ginny’s best friend (er, maybe?). He couldn’t afford to think of her that way. It must
have been all those weeks of being cooped up with her, occasionally noticing how pretty she looked
when she was sleeping, or how cute it was when she concentrated on a particularly interesting
passage in a book…

Thankfully, his thoughts were interrupted by Bill Weasley, who was leaning against the wall just
outside the door, making two of the dancing cupids fight each other with his wand. “Oi, Harry,”
Bill said with a laugh in his voice. “Mum’s roped you into toting flowers around, has she?” He
broke the spell on the beaten and bruised cupids and pointed his wand at the wreaths. “Here, let
me. Wingardium leviosa.” The wreaths flew out of Harry’s hands and sped toward the trellis where a
tall, blonde man with neatly styled hair stood, puzzling out how to set up the dais.

“The first rule of weddings, Harry, is always to avoid the mothers of the bride and groom,” Bill
explained patiently as he walked towards him. “The second rule of weddings is to either have a
beautiful girl on your arm or be on the lookout for one you can put there. Thankfully, since I’m
the groom, I don’t have to worry about that one anymore. How about you?”

“I’m Hermione’s date…sort of,” Harry explained, his voice catching in his throat for no apparent
reason.

Bill raised one of his eyebrows. “I don’t think my sister will be very happy to hear that. Of
course, she invited some other bloke as her date, so I don’t think she has much room to complain.
Still…I’d be careful, Harry. She’s pretty hung up on you. And she’s damn good with those bat bogey
hexes.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry remarked dryly. In his sixth year at Hogwarts, hearing that Ginny had ‘some
other bloke’ as a date would have awakened the monster in his chest, who would have roared or at
least sniffed around interestedly. Today, however, the monster seemed rather lethargic and bored,
as though it were waiting for something exciting to happen, but couldn’t decide what that would
be.

Harry looked at Bill’s cool and calm demeanor and frowned. “Aren’t you nervous?” he asked.

Bill scoffed. “I’m marrying the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.” He fidgeted with his
tie, straightening it to where it now looked respectable. “Of course I’m nervous. I’m a bloody
wreck.”

“Still, it must be nice,” Harry said, a small amount of wonder in his voice. “Marrying the perfect
girl, settling down, starting a family.”

Bill shrugged. “She’s perfect for me, anyway.” He stooped slightly so that he could look Harry in
the eye. “There’s no such thing as the perfect girl, Harry. Everyone has their own little quirks
and flaws. If you love a person enough, you learn to live with them. If you don’t, you’ll likely
drift apart.”

“Listen, Harry, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” Bill said, his tone suddenly very serious.
“With everything that’s been going on, we’ve had to make some last minute changes. My four brothers
were supposed to stand up with me,” he supposed Bill was omitting Percy on purpose, “and Fleur had
some cousins that were going to be her bridesmaids.” Harry nodded. He thought he knew where this
was going. “Unfortunately, my best mate at Gringotts was badly injured in a Death Eater attack
about a week ago and, well, you know what happened to Ron. I’ve asked Charlie to step in as my best
man, so that leaves the position of two groomsmen wide open. As for Fleur’s four cousins, let’s
just say there was a falling out there and leave it at that.

“So I asked myself, wouldn’t it be smashing to reunite the greatest Quidditch team that Gryffindor
House has ever had, that didn’t have me on it, of course,” Bill amended with a laugh, “to fill in
the gaps? Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell have agreed to be bridesmaids and Oliver
Wood’s filling in for Charlie. How would you like to take Ron’s place in the wedding party and be a
groomsman?”

Harry considered it for only a moment. “I’d be honored,” he answered with pride.

Bill shook his hand enthusiastically. “Thanks, Harry. All you have to do is show up at that little
black tent in about twenty minutes.” He pointed at the tent in question and then winked at him
slyly. “I’ve got to run. Charlie’s going to help me do a last minute run through of my vows.
Although I don’t think I can quite picture my brother as Fleur.” He turned to run up the stairs.
“See you at the altar,” he called back after Harry.

“See you,” he replied with a wave. As Bill departed, Harry turned around to look at the layout for
the wedding. It was a truly gorgeous set up, with rows of white wooden chairs leading up to a large
platform filled with bouquets of white, red and pink roses, lilacs, tulips and a few other flowers
that he didn’t immediately recognize, some of which wound around a magical chuppa that arched over
where the bride and groom would stand when the ceremony started. Idly, Harry wondered if his
parents’ wedding had looked anything like this. Had they gotten married at Godric’s Hollow? How
long had they dated before they tied the knot? How did James and Lily Potter know that they had
fallen in love with each other?

Harry Potter did not know the answer to any of these questions, but he was very curious to find out
all that he could about his parents’ lives. He was also interested in visiting Godric’s Hollow, the
place where his parents had died and where he had become the infamous Boy Who Lived. Perhaps once
they had destroyed Ravenclaw’s quill and Hufflepuff’s cup, he and Hermione could go there.

Deciding to see if Hermione had arrived yet, Harry walked back into the house and caught a glimpse
of a vision of loveliness descending the stairwell. Ginny Weasley wore a shining white dress
trimmed in gold. Rather than merely walking, she seemed to be floating down the stairs like a
cloud. Her movements were as graceful as a swan gliding along a still pond on a spring afternoon.
Red hair cascaded down her shoulders and her creamy white complexion made her skin look like
porcelain. She was the perfect image of beauty.

Harry was astonished by how little he cared. Although he grinned and stared reflexively (a common
reaction from a teenage boy upon seeing a pretty girl), there was no flush in his cheeks. No
pounding heartbeat. No goose pimples. No activity at all from the monster in his chest, who
remained unusually dormant throughout her entrance. Had all of his feelings for Ginny really
disappeared? “Hi, Harry,” she greeted him, flashing him her prettiest smile.

“H-hi,” Harry stammered by way of reply. Alright, so perhaps not all of his feelings were gone.
Still, something was missing; some spark of what made their relationship so passionate was sorely
lacking. “You look really nice,” he complimented her lamely.

“In this old thing?” Ginny retorted with a laugh. “I only break it out when I de-gnome the garden
or feel like throwing dung bombs at Mrs. Fawcett’s kneazles. You should see me when I really get
dressed up.”

Harry let out a small, polite chuckle. “So, is your date around?” he asked, trying to keep his tone
as neutral as possible.

Ginny looked confused for a moment and then snorted. “Oh, you mean Neville? Yes, he’s around here
somewhere, probably fending off Luna. She’s been talking everyone’s head off today. ‘Did you ever
hear about the time I saw a three-headed brakenphleen snail?’ ‘What do you think of the Ministry’s
new policy on the use of wand growth potions?’” she mocked, doing a spot on imitation of Luna’s
perpetually dazed look. “But Harry, Neville’s hardly my *date*. We agreed to come together to
the wedding as friends, but he knows I’m not interested in him. There’s no need for you to get
jealous.”

Harry wasn’t jealous at all, really. Which, given his reaction to Ginny snogging Dean Thomas last
year, was a bit odd. “So…did you bring anyone to the wedding?” Ginny asked in a perfectly innocent
tone.

“Er…yeah,” Harry answered, preparing himself to face the full wrath of Ginny Weasley. “I’m here
with…”

“Harry,” Neville’s frantic voice interrupted them as he ran down half the staircase breathlessly.
“You’ve got to… come quickly! It’s… Hermione.”

Harry frowned inquisitively. “Hermione’s here?” He did not miss the angry look in Ginny’s eyes,
although her smile remained perfectly in place. “What’s wrong?”

“She won’t come out of the bathroom,” Neville panted. “Said something about her dress being awful.
I figured maybe you could talk to her, seeing as how you’re her…”

“Best friend,” Ginny finished for him. “Yes, I think that’s a splendid idea, Neville. Harry, why
don’t you go see if you can talk some sense into Hermione? I’m sure her dress isn’t as terrible as
she’s making it out to be. Honestly, that girl can be so self-conscious sometimes.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, although he was a tad suspicious of Ginny’s motives. There was a catty
look in her eye that he just didn’t trust. He ascended the staircase quickly, all thoughts of his
ex-girlfriend leaving his mind as he searched for Hermione. Finding the bathroom door straight
across from the room where Molly Weasley had been worrying over the flower arrangements earlier, he
gave it a soft knock. “Hermione?”

“Go away,” Hermione said in a depressed voice, although from what he could hear, she didn’t seem to
be crying.

“It’s me, Harry,” he informed her in a whisper. “Can I come in?”

“Of course you can,” Hermione replied gloomily. “Whether or not you should, though, is up to
you.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Harry replied as he opened the door for a split second, stepped inside
and then closed it tightly behind him. He also took the time to cast a silencing charm on the door,
so that they couldn’t be overheard. The only light came from a tiny window just above Hermione, so
that she sat in complete darkness, while the sun’s rays fell directly on Harry’s shoulders. Unable
to see her properly, he turned in her general direction. “So, Neville told me you were
upset…”

“It’s black,” Hermione interrupted, disappointment heavy in her voice.

“What’s black?” Harry asked her seriously.

“My dress!” Hermione exclaimed, suddenly standing to allow Harry a peek at what she was wearing.
The dress in question was elegant, strapless and form-fitting and, in his humble opinion, it made
her look absolutely stunning. Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest as he looked at her and
he could swear it suddenly became uncomfortably hot in the Weasleys’ bathroom. He was now very glad
that Hermione was his date.

Still, the dress *was* black. And Hermione was less than thrilled about it.

“It looked dark blue when I tried it on at Grimmauld Place, but you know how dim the lighting is
there,” Hermione explained with a moan. “I should have known that old hag wouldn’t have owned a
stitch of clothing that wasn’t black.”

“Wait a minute,” Harry said, coughing a bit to hide some of his amusement. “Are you telling me that
you’re wearing a dress that belonged to Sirius’ mum?”

Hermione looked down. “Well, yes. My Yule Ball gown wouldn’t fit me anymore and my parents haven’t
sent me any money in a while, not enough to go out and buy a new one, anyway. When I saw this
hanging in one of the closets upstairs, I was fairly certain that I could alter it to fit my
measurements…”

“You know, Hermione,” Harry interrupted her, trying his best to suppress laughter at the thought of
Mrs. Black’s expression if she knew that Hermione was wearing her dress, “if you had told me you
needed one, I would have bought you a new dress.”

As she shook her head no, her Sleekeasy-tamed curls swung back and forth hypnotically. “I wouldn’t
have felt right about asking you for money, particularly not for something as frivolous as a
dress,” Hermione answered him. She looked down at her outfit in disdain. “If only it had been dark
blue.”

“I think it looks beautiful,” Harry threw in helpfully.

Hermione’s eyes met his briefly. “I can’t wear a black dress to a wedding, Harry. Black is only
supposed to be worn at funerals; the Weasleys will think…”

“I think you look beautiful,” Harry continued insistently. This time Hermione blushed deeply and
fell silent. Harry nodded his head toward the door. “Come on. The wedding’s going to start soon.”
Grabbing her hand, he led them out of the loo and into the hallway. As soon as they exited, Neville
rushed past them into the bathroom with a relieved look on his face.

Harry turned to face Hermione, stopping her in the middle of the hallway and still holding her hand
in his own. “Bill’s asked me to stand up with him, so I won’t be able to sit with you during the
ceremony.” Harry smiled at her winningly. “Some date I turned out to be, eh?”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “I think you’ve been a marvelous date, Harry.” Seemingly in slow
motion, she kissed him on the cheek, making his face turn bright red. For a moment, he had the urge
to turn his head slightly, so that instead of hitting his cheek, her lips would brush his own.
‘Bloody hell,’ Harry thought. ‘I’m fantasizing about kissing Hermione!’ “I’ll see you at the
reception, won’t I?” Harry nodded mutely and as he watched Hermione go, he felt a little emptier
inside, as though a dementor had passed by and sucked all of the happiness out of the room.

“Harry,” Luna said from behind him, startling him slightly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think
that you were *trying* to attract a crimson crested crinklesnik during mating season.” She
clucked her tongue at him reprovingly. “That can be very dangerous, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied in a detached voice, although he wasn’t thinking about crimson crested
crinklesniks. “I know.”

To Be Continued...

**Yeah, some romance. Finally. Anyway, expect Part II to be about twice as long, although it's
pretty much guaranteed to have a scene featuring your favorite character (unless Ron's your
fave, then you're out of luck).

I really appreciate all of the reviews I've been getting. You guys have been so great! My first
fanfiction experience in the HP world was with Mugglenet and this is just soooo much better. All
suggestions and critiques are welcomed and thank you again for all of your kind words.

ITL**

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8. Chapter 8: Footing the Bill, Part II
---------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money
off of the Harry Potter franchise. I have chosen to associate myself with H/Hr because OBHWF
squicks me.**


Chapter 8: Footing the Bill, Part II

After thinking it over for a while, Harry Potter decided that black was definitely not his color.
Black was, after all, the color of Hermione’s dress; the dress that had made her so distraught that
she wouldn’t come out of the Weasleys’ bathroom. Harry was also reasonably certain that it was that
black dress that was making him think of Hermione in ways that he hadn’t before. Completely
non-best friendly, ‘I’m attracted to you’, ‘would you mind if I kissed your neck?’ sort of ways. It
was all very confusing to Harry, who had only been looking to have a day of fun at a wedding,
without having to worry about the horcruxes or Lord Voldemort. He certainly hadn’t been hoping to
find out that he fancied Hermione Granger.

‘I don’t fancy her!’ Harry thought to himself insistently. ‘We’re only friends. Best friends. It’s
just that stupid black dress that’s got me thinking of her that way. Once she takes it off,
everything will be back to normal.’ Thoughts of Hermione taking off the dress weren’t helping him,
however, so Harry quickly turned his thoughts to the other reason why he currently hated the color
black.

Whoever had the brilliant idea of putting up a black tent in the middle of a huge crowd on a hot
August day and forcing otherwise good-humored people to stay under it while a comfortable, cooling
charm-controlled house stood only meters away must have been some kind of sadist. As he wiped
another sheen of sweat from his forehead, Harry wondered if Death Eaters had somehow planned Bill
and Fleur’s wedding. ‘Or maybe the wedding planner’s been put under the Imperius Curse’, he thought
to himself, only half-seriously.

Fred and George Weasley sat in one corner of the tent, playing the least engrossing game of
exploding snap Harry had ever witnessed. The twin brothers were shooting each other bored looks,
regularly mopping their brows with their kerchiefs and only speaking to each other when game play
required it. Arthur Weasley stood only a short distance away, sweating profusely, although he had
been perspiring heavily since Harry had first seen him a few minutes before, when they were both
still indoors. He suspected the father of the groom was merely nervous, although perhaps the heat
had gotten to him as well, as he had begun muttering something under his breath that sounded like a
prepared speech.

“That’s it!” Fred cried out suddenly, tossing his cards in the floor. “I’ve had it! You’re
cheating,” he said accusingly.

George stared at his twin blankly. “Of course I’m cheating. I always cheat at exploding snap and so
do you.” George smirked. “You’re just no good at it today. That doesn’t mean you have to be a
grumpy git about it, though.”

“Boys,” Arthur said, his voice authoritative and his tone cautionary. “Don’t start fighting again.
This is your brother’s wedding day. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion. We all have to keep a
stiff upper lip and put our best foot forward.” Fred and George glared at him skeptically, each
taking the time to wipe sweat from their foreheads dramatically. “Oh bloody hell. Not even I can
stay optimistic in this heat.” Mr. Weasley began to walk out of the tent. “Maybe I can find that
wedding planner and get him to let us cast a cooling charm in here…”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” George called after him.

“The poof’s probably off hitting on Charlie again,” Fred suggested with a grin.

George nodded. “Or buttering up mum, so that he has a better shot at a big tip after this tent
fiasco.”

“Fred, George,” Harry began tentatively. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you but I
wanted to wait until we were alone.”

Fred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think I know where you’re going with this, Harry, and the
answer is yes. We will marry you,” he said in unison with George.

“He’s got the wrong Weasley siblings, though,” George countered thoughtfully. “The one you want to
ask that question to,” he said, pointing at Harry’s chest, “is shorter, has long flowing red hair,
smells of lilacs and likes to snog blokes in the hallway after Quidditch practice.”

“Wait,” Fred said seriously as he turned to face George. “I thought that was you.” George punched
him in the arm. “You do smell a bit like lilacs, you know.”

“Shut it,” muttered George.

Fred snickered playfully. “I guess you do have to smell your best for Pauline.” Fred dragged out
the girl’s name for effect and earned himself another punch in the arm from George.

“I think I just told you to shut it,” George said threateningly.

Harry resigned himself to the fact that he had lost control of this conversation and let out an
impatient sigh. “Who’s Pauline?”

Fred answered him quickly. “Pauline Piercy. She runs the shop across the street from ours. Sells
the best homemade pastries you’ll ever eat, although Mum will disown me if I ever say that in front
of her. She’s also George’s date for the wedding.”

“Shut…it,” George ordered him through clenched teeth.

“The only problem is…” Fred began with a hearty chuckle, “she can’t tell us apart. She keeps
thinking I’m George and he’s Fred.”

“Shut it now,” George exclaimed in exasperation.

“Say what you will about going on double dates with Angelina and Alicia,” Fred said with a wolfish
grin. “At least they knew who to snog.”

“Alright, that tears it,” George growled. “‘Happy occasion’ or no ‘happy occasion’, I’m going to
hex you until your bits fall off.”

Fred couldn’t stop laughing. “Well, I suppose that would be one way she could tell us apart. Of
course, she’d have to get both of us naked to know for sure…”

“Before you two kill each other,” Harry interrupted forcefully, “I’d like to ask you about your
Reach For Something Strongboxes.”

“Of course, Harry,” George said with a small bow, his anger apparently forgotten.

“Dynamite sellers, those are. One of our fastest moving items,” Fred continued.

“Not literally, though,” George added. “That would have to be our Quicksilver shoes with the
patented winged heels. Those things will fly off the shelves by themselves if you don’t watch
them.”

“We could give you one for free if you’d like,” Fred offered generously. “You know your money’s no
good at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

Harry’s gaze flitted back and forth between the twins. “Actually, I need to know if there’s a way
to break into one. Without losing a hand.”

Fred and George shared a pained look. “Trade secret, Harry,” George replied with a grimace. “We
can’t give those away, not even to you.”

“This isn’t just for some prank,” Harry exclaimed in frustration. “This is important! Something of
Voldemort’s is in one of those boxes; something that I need to defeat him.”

“Blimey,” Fred replied in astonishment. “You-Know-Who’s actually using one of our products to
protect something?” His voice sounded half-horrified and half-awed.

George had a sheepish expression on his face. “The truth is, Harry, we don’t know how to get around
the curses protecting the box…and neither does anybody else.”

“The Reach For Something Strongbox is actually a copy of the Box of Set,” Fred explained. “It’s an
ancient artifact Bill brought home from Egypt a few years back. None of the curse breakers at
Gringotts could even make a dent in the magic protecting it.”

“Good thing it was empty,” George threw in. “Otherwise the Ministry couldn’t have asked Bill to
study it and we couldn’t have copied the curses so exactly.” He grinned devilishly. “Of course, we
had to change the name to avoid confusion. Try saying ‘I need to order enough boxes for six boxed
sets of Box of Sets by the sixth’ five times fast and you’ll know what I mean.”

Fred shrugged. “Also, most of our customers were just using them as a place to store their hard
liquor. Hence the name, ‘Reach For Something Strongbox’.”

Harry tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. “I wonder if Bill would have any idea
of how to get into one,” he wondered aloud. “He’s studied the original, after all.”

“I dunno, Harry,” George replied mischievously. “I think Bill might be a bit…busy, these next few
weeks.”

“Or months,” Fred added with a wide grin.

“Maybe even years,” George said with a quick laugh. “‘Course there’ll be sprogs by then, so he
might have slowed down a bit…”

“Have I come at a bad time?” a Scottish voice asked, causing all three of them to turn around.
Oliver Wood stepped through the open flaps of the black tent and greeted Harry with a firm
handshake and a friendly smile. He was wearing a very expensive-looking set of black dress robes,
but somehow seemed less imposing than he did when they were students at Hogwarts together. After
they exchanged pleasantries, the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain gave Harry the once over.
“Look at you, man. You’re all grown up. It seems like only yesterday I was teaching you the
difference between the quaffle and the snitch.”

“It was,” Fred said with a mock frown. “Harry’s great at fighting dark wizards, but he can be a
little thick sometimes. Too many bludgers to the head, I think.”

“Not that that was our fault,” George amended hastily.

“Fred and George Weasley,” Oliver said with an indulgent laugh as he shook each of their hands in
turn, although he made sure that there was nothing hidden in their palms before he did so. “I see
you two haven’t changed a bit.”

“Well, we struck it rich,” Fred said thoughtfully. “Aside from that, why mess with
perfection?”

“The joke shop, yes,” Wood replied politely. “I read about that. You’re still keeping it open,
then, even with everything that’s going on?”

“We knew that there would be rough times ahead when we opened Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” George
explained with an unusually somber expression on his face. “We’re not about to shut it down now
that it’s finally off the ground and making us money. Besides, Harry here will off old
What’s-His-Name before too long. Won’t you, Harry?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry replied uncomfortably. In truth, he had no idea how he was going to defeat Lord
Voldemort (other than by destroying all of the horcruxes he had made, which would at least make him
mortal), nor did he know how someone like George could even joke about it. Between his increasingly
frequent dreams as Lord Voldemort and his fears of facing the Dark Lord in battle, it was a wonder
that Harry got any sleep at all anymore. Which was, perhaps, why he was feeling a bit drowsy.

Stifling a yawn, Harry tuned himself back in to the increasingly lively conversation of Oliver Wood
and the Weasley twins. “From what I heard, you left a portable swamp outside of her office and told
Peeves to, what was it, ‘tear the place apart’?” Oliver asked with a laugh.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Wood,” Fred informed him with a pointed glare. “We didn’t tell Peeves to
‘tear the place apart.’”

“Yeah,” George agreed in an indignant voice. “We told him to ‘give her hell from us’.”

“Honestly,” Fred said sulkily, “what kind of incorrigible hooligans do you take us for? We never
encourage vandalism.” He considered that for a moment. “Well, unjustified vandalism anyway.”

George shook his head as he turned to look at Fred. “How do these rumors get started?”

Only Harry noticed when someone else entered the tent. “Speaking of starting rumors,” he said under
his breath. Rita Skeeter stood in front of them as though fixed in place, nibbling on the end of
her quick-quotes quill with an amused expression on her face.

“Well,” she began in a slightly overwhelmed voice, “aren’t the four of you a delectable bunch?”
Harry felt a shudder of revulsion creep up his spine. “Do you mind if I just stand here and stare
at you for a while?”

“Only if you don’t mind that we’re not staring back,” Fred answered her disdainfully.

“Oliver, you paid more attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts class than we did,” George asked
Wood with a nudge. “What happens when you stare at a Gorgon for too long?”

Oliver Wood shot George Weasley a bemused look. “You turn to stone.”

Rita attempted to laugh girlishly, but it came out as more of a cackle. “Ah, the infamous Weasley
wit. It’s as much a family trait as your red hair and your lack of money.” Her eyes brightened a
bit at Fred and George’s suddenly sour expressions. “But you two have gotten around that one,
haven’t you? Why, you’ve started the most successful new business the wizarding world’s seen in a
hundred years. In the middle of a war, no less.” Her quill sped along at a brisk pace as she spoke.
“You’ve become quite the hot item in the gossip pages, too. The readers of *Witch Weekly* want
to know all about you. Are you seeing anyone? Is it serious? Just how did you get the money to
start Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes? And are the two of you identical in…uh…every way?”

“*Witch Weekly*?” Oliver Wood asked confusedly. “Wait, is this an interview? Because I’d have
to clear that with my agent if I were to agree to…”

“Already done, my dear,” Rita replied with a plastered on smile as she handed him a pre-signed
form, which he quickly examined. “I didn’t get this far in the gossip business without doing my
homework.” Wood scowled at her silently. “Look at you, all dour and brooding. This is your second
year as the starting keeper for Puddlemere United, isn’t it?”

“First, actually,” Oliver corrected her with a shy smile. “Although I did fill in for Gracchus most
of last season.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Skeeter enthused. “You did much more than ‘fill in’, you put the poor fellow
out of a job. You averaged eleven saves per game and held your opposing teams to the lowest scoring
percentage in the league. If your seeker hadn’t been rubbish, Puddlemere probably would have won
the divisional championship last year.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Or so our sports editor
tells me. I’m much more interested in the reaction you’ve caused among the female fans. They’ve
dubbed you ‘the Hot Scot’, you know. Care to react?”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Oliver Wood stopped her. “I didn’t agree to be interviewed.”

“None of us did,” Harry interjected angrily. “Rita Skeeter has a nasty habit of sticking her nose
in where it doesn’t belong.”

Rita’s fake smile fooled no one. “Can I quote you on that? Because I think our readers will find
that very funny, coming from you.”

“This is a private wedding,” Harry growled. “Since I doubt very much that Bill and Fleur invited
you, I’d like to know how you wormed your way in here.”

Rita Skeeter looked smug. “My dear boy, this is no more a private wedding than a professional doxy
fight. You truly understand nothing of publicity, do you? Here the four of you stand, the most
eligible, sought after young bachelors in all of wizarding England and you think that I’m here by
coincidence?” Her brittle laugh made Harry’s blood run cold. “You are too, too precious. And your
righteous anger makes you look very handsome. Tell me, do you think that fact helped you become the
recklessly brave hero that you are today?”

“Alright, boys,” Arthur Weasley called out in a booming voice as he re-entered the black tent.
“They’re ready for you outside and…” He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Rita Skeeter.
“What are *you* doing in here?”

Skeeter looked like the cat who had eaten the canary. “This is where the story is, Arthur. Where
else would I be?”

Arthur Weasley’s eyes narrowed. “Outside. Now.” Mr. Weasley grabbed Rita Skeeter by the arm and
pulled her outside of the tent. The four groomsmen gathered next to the tent flap, trying
desperately to overhear what the two of them were saying. “This isn’t what we agreed to. You were
just supposed to cover the wedding…”

“Yes,” Rita Skeeter replied in a put upon tone of voice. “The ‘Wedding in a Time of War’ angle. Two
crazy kids making it work despite their generation’s impending doom, etc., etc. Frankly, after a
few paragraphs it all becomes so frightfully dull.” The gossip maven let out a mirthless chuckle.
“Although I suppose it might be interesting to see if we could run a story about the
Weasley-Delacour wedding and the Weasley-Delacour divorce in the same issue.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur Weasley replied, his voice hard but even.

“Really, Arthur,” Rita continued maliciously. “Do you honestly think a woman who looks like that is
going to stay married to your horribly disfigured son for long? She’ll probably have him cuckolded
before the honeymoon’s out.”

“Leave,” Mr. Weasley snapped. “Now.”

“You can’t ask me to leave *now*. Not with the fanciable foursome in there, practically
begging for a juicy front cover spread. My photographer isn’t even here yet…”

Arthur Weasley’s voice was unforgiving. “Get off of my lawn. Get out of my house. Never come
back.”

“Alright,” Rita agreed with a tone of superiority. “This is your family’s affair, after all.
Although *Witch Weekly* would, of course, have to ask you to refund the money we spent on all
of the wedding preparations. When shall we expect our repayment of the five thousand galleons?” Her
question was met only with silence. “That’s what I thought. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I see
Bozo coming this way.” She began to walk away from him, then turned around to throw salt in the
wound. “Please pass along my compliments to the groom. I’m simply thrilled that he decided to take
my advice on his groomsmen.”

***
“That Rita Skeeter woman’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?” Oliver Wood asked conversationally.
Fred, George, Oliver and Harry stood neatly in a line along the left side of the aisle leading up
to the altar, waiting for the wedding procession to start.

“She’s a real piece of something,” Harry replied. “I’m not sure that ‘work’ quite covers it,
though.”

Oliver chuckled. “You and the press never have gotten along very well, have you?” He turned
slightly to look Harry straight in the eye. “You know what you need? An agent.”
Harry shot him a skeptical glare. “No, I’m serious. You’d be surprised how much better press
coverage you’ll get once you have someone watching out for your best interests.”

Harry sent an irritated glare Rita Skeeter's way. She was currently setting up a camera shot
from the opposite end of the aisle and dispersing some of the wedding attendees as she did so. “If
I get any better press coverage, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand myself.”

Wood shrugged slightly. “Just saying you might want to give it a try, is all. It can’t hurt to
improve your image.” Oliver Wood shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes. “You know, Harry,
Fred and George might think what you’re up against, facing You-Know-Who, that it’s all a big joke,
something to have a laugh over, but I don’t.” His eyes now had a distant, stormy look to them. “My
parents and my oldest brother fought in the first war. My brother, he…he didn’t make it. I never
really knew him, but my folks were always bragging on him, telling me how great he would have been
if only...” Oliver shook his head as if to rid himself of the memory. “So if you ever need
anything, just give me a shout, yeah?”

“Sure,” Harry replied simply, a little taken aback by Wood’s offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.
Thanks.”

An awkward silence set in between them and Harry soon turned around to scan the crowd. Both the
bride’s side of the aisle and the groom’s were packed with relatives, friends and well-wishers.
Between the invited guests, the swarm of reporters and about a dozen Aurors that had set themselves
up around the perimeter of the Burrow, there was barely room enough for anyone to breathe. Harry
kept trying to find where Hermione was sitting, but didn’t see her anywhere along the groom’s side
of the aisle.

‘Why are there so many Aurors here?’ Harry wondered to himself. Did Arthur Weasley call in some
favors, just so the families wouldn’t have to spend any money on security for the wedding? Or were
they only here because ‘the Chosen One’ was, perhaps expecting another Death Eater attack like the
one at the Quibbler? As much as he hated it, Harry was now the most high profile target for Lord
Voldemort, which meant that every time he went out somewhere, he put others in danger.

“Look lively, Harry,” Wood said to him in a whisper. “Here come the bridesmaids.” Angelina Johnson,
Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Ginny Weasley made their way slowly down the aisle, eventually
standing directly across from the four groomsmen. Angelina and Alicia made a show of avoiding the
eyes of the Weasley twins, while Oliver Wood just seemed to be admiring the view. Harry, meanwhile,
continued to search for Hermione. “Ginny Weasley sure grew up nicely, didn’t she?” Oliver noted
with raised eyebrows. “I wonder if she’s seeing anyone.”

“I doubt it,” Harry answered him in a noncommittal voice. “She was my girlfriend, but we broke up a
few months ago. I reckon she’s expecting we’ll get back together after the war, though.” Harry,
however, wasn't so sure.

“Oh,” Wood replied in a chastened tone. Hoping to change the subject, Oliver pointed to another
girl in the crowd, sitting on the bride’s side. “Isn’t that Hermione Granger over there?” Harry
craned his neck to look where Wood was pointing. It *was* her. Why wasn’t she sitting on the
groom’s side? “She didn’t turn out too badly, either. Looks like she’s got a bloke with her,
though. That Bulgarian seeker…I can’t remember the name…”

“Viktor Krum,” Harry supplied coolly. Hermione was indeed sitting next to Krum, who seemed
enthralled by whatever she was saying to him. “What’s he doing here?” Harry demanded aloud.

“Fleur probably invited him,” Oliver Wood suggested nonchalantly. “They were contestants in the
Triwizard Tournament together a few years back, you know.” Wood looked thoughtful. “I guess you
would, wouldn’t you? Since you were in the tournament, too.”

As Harry watched Hermione laugh at something Viktor said, he felt a strange cold sensation run
through him, as though a sheet of ice was spreading all the way from his throat down to the pit of
his stomach. “Weren’t they dating a while back?” Oliver asked him curiously.

“Yeah, but…” Harry started in protest. “They haven’t…not for years and now she’s with Ron…but he’s
in a coma.” Wood stared at him in confusion. “She’s my date,” he added softly.

“Well, that clears things up,” Oliver Wood said drolly as he gave Harry a manly slap on the back.
“Say, Harry, you’ve never dated Katie Bell, have you?”

“No,” Harry answered Wood, although he couldn’t stop staring at Hermione and Krum.

“Good,” Oliver replied cheerfully. “I wonder if she’d go for an older guy…” Further conversation
was cut off by the sound of blowing cornacens and what was most likely the official bridal
procession music of the wizarding world, as all eyes turned to look at the bride. And, given that
the bride was part-veela, they stayed fixed on the bride for quite some time. Her gown was made of
white French lace interspersed with seed pearls, although the train for the dress was a shade of
aquamarine that didn’t quite match her eyes. It did, however, match the hat she was wearing.

Fleur’s robin’s egg blue hat was so large that it nearly spanned the width of the aisle. Its brim
was curled up as though it had warped in the heat and a three-foot-long red feather stuck
prominently out of the hatband, just to complete the ridiculous image. It would have made any other
bride look like a fashion disaster area, but Harry suspected that Fleur Delacour could walk down
the aisle wearing nothing but a burlap sack and nobody would so much as bat an eye. Bill beamed at
her as she stood beside him, taking his hand in her own triumphantly. When she whispered something
into his ear, his smile grew wider and he planted a chaste kiss on her lips.

The cornacens sounded again and everyone turned to face the altar. “I’ve never been to a wedding in
the wizarding world before,” Harry confided to Oliver Wood in a whisper. “What happens now?”

“The Minister’s about to make a speech,” Oliver replied quietly.

Harry looked puzzled as some of the crowd began to applaud for no reason he could see. “Really? Is
that what usually happens at a wedding?”

Wood shook his head. “No, Harry,” he said, his face grim. “It isn’t.”

Harry watched in fascination as a leonine figure in bright red and gold dress robes rose
imperiously in front of Bill and Fleur, looking very pleased with himself. “Scrimgeour?“ Harry
asked in confusion, although he was quickly shushed by a pair of old ladies standing behind him. A
team of Aurors flanked the Minister of Magic on every side, providing him with protection that he
likely wouldn’t need in this crowd.

“Thank you,” Rufus Scrimgeour called to the people as he motioned with his hands for them to stop
clapping. “You’re too kind. Thank you.” Neither Bill nor Fleur looked happy to be upstaged at their
own wedding, but they did not seem surprised either. ‘They knew about this,’ Harry groused to
himself. ‘Just like Bill knew that he was setting me up to be ambushed by Rita Skeeter when he
asked me to be a groomsman. What exactly is going on here?’

“Before I begin, I would like to offer my heartfelt congratulations to the happy couple once more.
Don’t they look wonderful together?” Scrimgeour made a show of shaking Bill Weasley’s hand as the
crowd applauded politely. “This wedding is a symbol,” the Minister began again, his pomposity
seemingly knowing no bounds. “A symbol of hope for the future. A future free from fear; a future in
which our enemies, now bent on destroying the order of our world, have given up on their
nightmarish vision of brutality, murder and enslavement. A future where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
will only be a distant memory, a figure driven into oblivion by the vagaries of time. By naming me
Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot has asked me to ensure that future. It is a laborious task, but
one that can be achieved, as long as we stand together.

“We face a dedicated and ruthless foe, one that will stop at nothing to destroy everything we hold
dear, so long as it gives them a single day’s victory. I will not be the first to acknowledge that
this government has faced serious setbacks in its efforts to combat this growing menace. But today,
I make a solemn vow: my government will not rest until every Death Eater is rotting away in Azkaban
nor will I relent until their ignominious leader is six feet underground.” Here the people
applauded once again, although Harry only put his hands together soundlessly out of politeness.
Scrimgeour talked a good game, but where were the results? From what Tonks had told him, the war
hadn’t been going well for the Ministry. “Our recent capture of Severus Snape is only the beginning
of what will be a large scale offensive against this nation’s enemies.”

“Your capture of Snape?” Harry questioned incredulously. “He’s taking credit for something that was
an accident.” Again, the old women behind him shushed him down.

“We will neither be cowed nor humbled nor broken as we stand up against this evil threat. Our
nation’s indefatigable spirit can be seen in the busy shops at Diagon Alley, in celebrations of
love and family like the wedding about to take place today and in the academic pride and joy of our
nation, Hogwarts. Therefore, it is with great and sincere pleasure that I announce the official
re-opening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“After consulting with the board of governors, we have agreed that, given the extraordinary
circumstances behind its closing, and with a new set of security precautions in place, Hogwarts
will open its doors exactly on schedule, bright and early on September the first.”

“That’s in two days!” a young girl’s distraught voice called out from behind Harry.

“First years have already received their official invitation by owl post,” Scrimgeour continued,
ignoring the excited buzz among the crowd. “Students will find their textbooks waiting for them
upon arrival, courtesy of the funds allotted to the school by the Wizengamot’s recently passed
Emergency Education Act.” The Minister adjusted his glasses on his face as his tone became harder.
“We do, of course, expect every student who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
last year who did not graduate to return. I have asked the Wizengamot to make an amendment to the
Emergency Education Act which would toughen the penalties for truancy. The proper place for our
children is a school, not a battlefield. As much as we do not want the Draco Malfoys of the world
prematurely joining up with the Death Eaters, we also want to strongly discourage would-be heroes
from aiding vigilante groups not sanctioned by the Ministry who take the conduct of the war into
their own hands.”

‘I guess that would be the Order of the Phoenix,’ Harry thought bitterly to himself. ‘Too bad
Scrimgeour’s not as concerned with actually catching Malfoy as he is with punishing him for not
attending school.’

“I would like to personally assure every parent who is anxious about sending their child back to
Hogwarts that the new security measures we’ve put in place will guarantee their safety. Dozens of
portkeys will be installed inside the school, so that in the unlikely case of a repeat of last
year’s attack, a method of easy escape will be readily available to all students. Also, a team of
Aurors will be stationed on Hogwarts grounds year round to provide the school with an atmosphere of
safety and security.

“Normally,” Scrimgeour added with a sly smile, “I would not announce the names of the new additions
to the teaching staff in such a public venue. However, given the need to assure wizarding England
that Hogwarts is indeed a safe place to send their children and given the fact that all four of my
appointees are here with us today, I believe it is only fitting that I do so. First off, I’m
pleased to announce that Professor Minerva McGonagall has agreed to accept the position of Hogwarts
Headmistress. Stand up and take a bow, Minerva.” McGonagall stood politely, but anyone who had ever
seen the Transfiguration professor angry knew that she was not entirely pleased with Scrimgeour at
the moment. “As for the…rather troublesome…position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I
have asked my own Deputy Minister for Internal Security, Commodus Brinecove, to take the position
and he has graciously accepted. Commodus, thank you and best of luck to you.” A tall, thin
middle-aged man with black hair peppered with streaks of gray stood and waved with a wide, toothy
smile.

“At least he doesn’t look like a toad,” Harry overheard Fred say to George.

“To replace Minerva as Hogwarts’ Transfiguration professor, the board of governors has agreed to
accept Special Advisor to the Ministry for Educational Affairs Leon Chambers in that position.”
Chambers, who was short, stocky and bald, stood and took a bow. Harry was sure the name was
familiar to him, but he didn’t know how or why. “Unfortunately, Horace Slughorn’s unexpected
departure from the country necessitates the appointment of a new Potions Master as well. I’m sure
those in attendance today will be pleasantly surprised to hear that I have asked the brother of the
groom himself, Percival Weasley, to fill that vacancy.”

As Percy stood, Harry’s jaw dropped. “That lousy berk!” Fred cried out, although his exclamation
was drowned out by the applause.

“He didn’t come here for the wedding!” George yelled angrily. “He came so he could preen around and
gloat about the Minister giving him a job at Hogwarts!”

“Unbelievable,” Harry muttered under his breath.

***
After Scrimgeour’s speech, the rest of the wedding ceremony was a bit anticlimactic. Bill and Fleur
had both written their own vows, delivered them tearfully, said ‘I do’ in the proper places and
kissed passionately once they were named wizard and wife. Slowly but surely, the wedding party
began to move to a large cleared area in front of the Burrow where the reception was being
held.

Harry’s thoughts were no longer on the wedding, however. ‘Why did Scrimgeour make a huge political
speech right before the ceremony?’ he wondered. ‘Why not wait until the reception? For that matter,
why did Scrimgeour wait until two days before September 1st to announce Hogwarts’ re-opening? Why
did Witch Weekly agree to pay so much money for the wedding? Was it just so that they could set up
an interview with “England’s most eligible young bachelors” or was there some other reason?’ And,
perhaps most importantly in Harry’s mind, ‘What was Hermione doing with Viktor Krum?’

There was really only one person with whom he wanted to discuss these things. Unfortunately,
Hermione herself was nowhere to be seen. Unwanted images of Krum stealing Hermione away for a quick
snog in the Weasleys’ broom closet filled Harry’s mind. ‘Hermione wouldn’t do that,’ Harry thought
indignantly as he attempted to rid himself of the mental picture. ‘She’s dating Ron. She wouldn’t
cheat on him.’ That thought was considerably less comforting than Harry had hoped, however, and the
idea that he was only concerned about Krum’s intentions on Ron’s behalf was ringing a bit hollow,
even in his own mind. Only one thing was certain: he needed to find Hermione.

Of course, this was much easier said than done. It would be hard to find an acromantula in this
crowd, much less a somewhat short young woman, even if her black dress would likely make her stand
out among all the other pretty girls here. As Harry dodged and pushed his way through the mob of
Weasley relatives and friends, he heard the harried voice of Professor McGonagall call out to him.
“Mr. Potter,” she began urgently. “I’d like a word with you, please. In private.”

Harry nodded and followed after her, although he hoped she wasn’t going to talk to him about going
back to Hogwarts. Despite Scrimgeour’s posturing, he hadn’t changed his mind about returning to the
wizarding school. He couldn’t abandon the horcrux hunt now; not with Moorefield still in possession
of Ravenclaw’s quill. Besides, without Dumbledore there, the old castle would not seem like his
home anymore. It would only be a cold and empty monument to a life that once was; a life lost
forever to Harry on the night Severus Snape murdered his mentor and friend.

Professor McGonagall led Harry to a secluded spot underneath an unusually large elm tree. “Has
anyone told you what Albus left for you at Gringott’s?” she asked, her voice almost a
whisper.

Harry shook his head. “No, but if it’s more money, I don’t need it. Donate it to the Order of the
Phoenix or something…”

McGonagall shushed him emphatically. “Not so loud, Potter. If someone from the Ministry overhears…”
She beckoned him closer. “Dumbledore left you a pensieve will. They’re extremely rare and usually
used only in cases involving state secrets. Only a person designated by the deceased can access a
pensieve will; not even the goblins themselves can view it.” The new Hogwarts Headmistress looked
thoughtful. “Incidentally, Albus did leave you quite an impressive pile of galleons, as well. I’d
suggest you take stock of your vault the next time you visit the wizard’s bank. You’re likely the
wealthiest wizard in England.”

“I suppose it would be a bit cliché to say that I’d rather have him back as have his gold,” Harry
commented meekly.

“As would I,” McGonagall admitted. “Although I would hate for him to see what Scrimgeour’s done to
Hogwarts,” she added bitterly.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, I don’t expect he would be happy to see Percy back. Considering that the last
time he was at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was placed under arrest.”

Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow. “Believe me, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley’s appointment is by
far the least objectionable of the three.” An amused twinkle that reminded Harry slightly of
Dumbledore shone in McGonagall’s eye. “At least I know he’ll use cauldrons of the proper
thickness.” The Headmistress shook her head as Harry looked confused. “As for the others, I find it
impossible to stomach that charlatan having my old teaching position…Albus’ old position…”

“Chambers, you mean?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Yes, Chambers. That…that quack is every bit as ill-equipped to teach transfiguration as he is to
teach occlumency.” Harry suddenly remembered where he had heard of Chambers before. It was his
‘mental correspondence school’ that had taught Hermione legilimency. Harry thought it imprudent to
mention this fact to McGonagall when she was in high dudgeon, however. “The nerve of Scrimgeour,
giving Chambers Transfiguration and then making Commodus Brinecove the Defense Against the Dark
Arts teacher! Albus swore that that man would *never* teach at Hogwarts as long as he was
Headmaster.”

“What?” Harry questioned in surprise. “Why?”

“It’s a long story,” McGonagall replied tersely. When Harry’s curiosity didn’t seem to dim, she
elaborated. “Brinecove attended Hogwarts around the same time that your parents did. These were the
darkest days of the first war against You-Know-Who; Slytherin House had become a viper’s nest,
turning out future Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus Snape.”
McGonagall nearly spat Snape’s name, as disgust dripped from her voice. “Commodus Brinecove was a
Slytherin of a different stripe, or so it seemed. He followed Albus around like a lost little
puppy, always volunteering to take on extra assignments or perform special services for the school.
He was almost sycophantic. A bit like Peter Pettigrew now that I think of it.

“Before Snape supposedly defected to our side, the Order had no spy in the Death Eater camp; no way
of knowing what the enemy was up to. Since Commodus had always been like Dumbledore’s shadow, when
he entered his seventh year, Albus asked him to infiltrate You-Know-Who’s inner circle and to serve
as a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix.”

“And he said no?” Harry guessed.

“Quite the contrary,” McGonagall said with a brittle laugh, “Brinecove jumped at the chance. He
spent months making friends with several young Death Eaters, all the while taking occlumency
lessons from Dumbledore. He seemed a natural at both. When the time came for him to be recruited,
however, Brinecove choked. He later claimed that You-Know-Who had somehow gotten past his mental
defenses and discovered his true intentions before he could take the Mark.” She looked at Harry
with a sour expression on her face. “Albus always believed that Commodus was lying to him, and that
he was hiding something crucial. He suspected that Brinecove had somehow become a Death Eater
without taking the Dark Mark, perhaps agreeing to become a spy for their side.

“In any event, Commodus Brinecove has spent the last ten years applying for every teaching position
that has come open at Hogwarts. Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and every other subject you
could name. Of course he’s applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher many times,
but…”

“Dumbledore never trusted him enough to give him the job,” Harry finished. The late Headmaster had
actually passed over Brinecove to allow the likes of Umbridge and Snape to teach Defense. Harry
felt a small shudder run through him at the thought.

“I would recommend that you prepare yourself for a tumultuous year of study in your Defense Against
the Dark Arts class,” McGonagall said primly. “But then again, I suppose you’re rather used to that
by now.”

Harry took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet, as the muggle phrase went. “Actually,
Professor, I won’t be attending Hogwarts this year.”

Harry had expected Professor McGonagall to blow her top at that announcement, but she merely smiled
knowingly. “Planning on becoming a vigilante, are you, Potter?”

“I hadn’t even thought of it that way before I heard Scrimgeour’s speech,” Harry responded
honestly. “But yeah, I guess I am.”

McGonagall shook her head slightly. “I suppose it would be redundant for me to caution you to be
careful, given that Miss Granger will no doubt be accompanying you. But I would like to offer my
assistance, if you ever find yourself in need of it.”

A thought struck Harry suddenly. “Actually, there is something you could help me with.” He hadn’t
had the chance to discuss it with Hermione, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. “I’d
like to visit Godric’s Hollow, but I don’t have the slightest idea how to get there.”

“Do me a favor, Potter,” McGonagall said conspiratorially. “Hagrid’s gone on a mission for the
Order in Eastern Europe. If you can, wait for him to return before you go. I know he would be
thrilled to take you there and he’s been feeling terribly depressed ever since Albus died.” A wave
of sadness passed over her face. “Then again, I suppose we all have.” For some reason, Harry could
not meet her gaze. “Oh look, there’s Alastor,” McGonagall added hastily. “I have to go. Important
Order business, you know.” Her voice choked a bit on those words and Harry watched her leave
without saying another word, deliberately looking away as she wiped tears from her eyes.

‘It can’t be easy for her,’ Harry thought sadly. ‘Trying to replace Dumbledore when she knows that
no one really can.’ Leaving the shade of the elm tree to walk back into the crowd, Harry let out a
deep sigh. ‘I know it isn’t easy for me.’

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of Hermione’s voice only a
few meters away. She was talking to the Patil twins about something that must have been fairly
amusing, as Padma wore a wide grin on her face and Parvati was laughing hysterically. Brushing past
the wedding planner and an exasperated-looking Charlie Weasley, Harry was stopped dead in his
tracks by a hand on his shoulder.

“There you are,” Ginny’s sweet voice called out to him. “Here, I saved you some punch.” Ginny
thrust a cup into Harry’s hand and then moved to stand across from Remus Lupin, who was looking
more disheveled than usual. “I was just telling Professor Lupin that I think it’s a shame that he
isn’t coming back to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, instead of that moron
from the Ministry. Don’t you agree, Harry?”

“Of course,” Harry said flatly, as though Ginny had just suggested that treacle tart was somewhat
better than Hagrid’s rock cakes.

“You needn’t be upset on my behalf,” Remus replied with a genuine grin. “My duties in the Order are
more than enough to keep me busy.”

“Really?” Ginny questioned playfully. “What kind of duties? Searching for Death Eater hideouts?
Guarding high value targets? Snogging Tonks?”

“A little of all three, actually,” Lupin admitted with a slight smirk. “I’m afraid I can’t say much
more about it than that. Not here at least.” Ginny looked as though she might have said something
else to her former teacher, but Remus turned to face Harry. “Are you alright, Harry? You
look…distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said cryptically. “I just really need to talk to Hermione about something.”

“She’s not still on about that dress, is she?” Ginny asked with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “She
looks fine. Great, even. Although the concealer she’s using doesn’t quite hide those dark circles
under her eyes.”

“She hasn’t been sleeping well,” Harry replied, a bit irritated on Hermione’s behalf. “The stress
of the… of what we’re doing is getting to her, I think.” Harry caught himself just before he said
the dreaded ‘h’ word. “She spent most of last night tossing and turning.”

“Really, Harry, you make it sound as though you’re sleeping with her,” Ginny said with a forced
laugh.

Harry winced. “Actually, I am sleeping with her…er, sort of.”

Ginny nearly dropped the cup of punch from her hand, spilling it on her dress in the process.
“You’re WHAT?” she exclaimed.

“It’s not what you think,” Harry replied in a deliberately calm, rational voice. “There’s nothing
funny going on. She’s just helping me with my occlumency lessons.”

“Occlumency lessons?” Lupin exclaimed inquisitively. “Didn’t Dumbledore teach you occlumency last
year?”

“No, he didn’t,” Harry answered simply.

“That’s strange,” Remus said as he scratched his chin. “When I complained to Albus about Snape
discontinuing your occlumency lessons, he swore to me that he’d take care of the problem.” Lupin
seemed to shake the idea off. “Oh, well. As long as you’re concentrating on it now, I suppose it’s
not important what happened in the past. Has You-Know-Who been able to get inside of your mind
again?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, drawing a brief look of concern from Ginny. “I’ve been having these weird
dreams. Memories of things Voldemort did years ago. Hermione and I have been trying to stop them
from happening, but we haven’t had any luck so far.”

“Occlumency lessons,” Ginny said with a mischievous look on her face. “Now why didn’t I think of
that?” She looked down at herself in disgust. “I’m going to have to go change out of this dress,
Harry. ‘Scourgify’ just isn’t working. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed unenthusiastically, although he smiled at her as she departed.

“Harry,” Lupin began with a suspicious look on his face. “I wasn’t aware that Hermione was a
trained legilimens.”

“She’s not really ‘trained’, as such,” Harry admitted as he scratched the back of his neck. “Her
parents signed her up for Leon Chambers’ ‘Mental Correspondence School’ last year.”

Lupin scowled. “If Hermione learned anything of legilimency from that con artist, it’s a testament
to her studious nature, not Chambers’ teaching ability.” Remus leaned closer to Harry, so that
there was no chance he could be overheard. “It’s very important that you continue your occlumency
lessons, Harry. But, if you want a little free advice, make sure that’s all you do with Hermione
after the lights go out.”

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Remus said in a
soothing voice. “I’m sure that what’s going on between you two is all completely innocent. Just try
and keep it that way.”

“Harry,” Hermione called to him excitedly from behind Lupin. “There you are! I’ve been looking all
over for you.” Seeing her again in that maddeningly beautiful black dress made his heart race. She
smiled widely at him, making him smile back almost against his will. “Don’t you know that it’s not
gentlemanly to leave your date unescorted at a wedding?” she teased him.

Remus shot Harry a look that said ‘See? This is the sort of thing I’m talking about.’ “Excuse us
for a minute, Remus,” Harry told Lupin politely. As he pulled Hermione away, Harry whispered in her
ear. “You seemed pretty well ‘escorted’ to me.”

Hermione knitted her brow together. “What?” Once she realized what he was talking about, she let
out a small laugh. “Oh, you mean Viktor?”

“Yeah,” Harry said in an attempt to sound casual, although it came out sounding more sullen than
anything else. “You were sitting next to him during the wedding, weren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…” Hermione seemed flustered as she tried to explain herself. “His date couldn’t
make it. The Floo Network was temporarily shut down in Bulgaria and…” She examined Harry’s face
anxiously. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No,” Harry assured both Hermione and himself. Why should he be mad? It wasn’t as though he and
Hermione were actually dating. They had only gone to the wedding together as friends. Of course,
the course their friendship had taken now had the two of them both living and sleeping together,
but that was neither here nor there. “So, how is Viktor?” he asked, hoping to derail that train of
thought.

“He’s fine,” Hermione replied evenly. “He’s becoming an Auror.” She let out a soft chuckle. “Isn’t
it funny? Especially after all the fuss Ron made about him being ‘the enemy’.”

“I think he was just jealous,” Harry answered softly. ‘Like you are now,’ a cynical voice inside
him added.

“Yes,” Hermione answered, although her voice seemed far away. “I thought so, too, at the time.” A
pleasant smile crossed her lips. “Oh, but Harry, you should have heard what Viktor said about the
Minister’s speech. He really can be very funny when he wants to be.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange?” Harry asked in what was only partially an attempt to get
her to stop talking about Viktor Krum. “The Minister of Magic interrupting a wedding to make a
speech like that? Why here, why now?”

“Because this wedding is the only place he knew you were going to be this summer,” Hermione
answered. Her demeanor had changed entirely in only a moment. She was now looking at Harry with a
mixture of worry and pride in her eyes.

“You’re saying that the only reason Scrimgeour made his big ‘re-opening of Hogwarts’ speech at Bill
and Fleur’s wedding was because…” Harry began with a confused look on his face.

“He wanted to make sure that you were there to hear it. He wants to upstage you, Harry, because he
feels that you overshadow him,” Hermione explained. A warmth glowed in her eyes and Harry felt
himself grow a bit weak in the knees. “You still don’t understand how important you are to
everyone, do you?” Harry turned away from her abruptly, nearly tangling himself up in hanging paper
hearts in the process. “The wizarding world expects you to defeat Voldemort, Harry. Not the MLE,
not the Minister of Magic, you. And since you didn’t go along with his plan and become the symbol
of the government’s war effort, Scrimgeour has to try and trivialize your role in the war by
reminding everyone that you’re not even out of school yet, all so that he can take the credit for
the victory.”

“But there isn’t a victory!” Harry exclaimed, running his fingers through his raven hair in
frustration. “No one’s won anything! Voldemort’s still alive and killing people and I haven’t the
foggiest notion how to beat him!”

“Neither does Scrimgeour,” Hermione noted sourly.

“So why worry about who gets the credit for victory in a war that hasn’t been won yet?” Harry
demanded.

Hermione shrugged. “I never said that there was rational thought behind it, Harry. It’s just
politics.”

Harry kicked a pebble and watched it fly a few meters to hit an oak tree standing alone near the
winding path leading up to the Burrow. “Well if you ask me, politics is a load of rubbish.” He
turned back around to face Hermione, who still wore a deeply concerned expression. “I suppose it
didn’t matter much that I didn’t send my invitation back after all, did it? The press came anyway,
to cover the Minister’s speech.” Harry let a bitter half-smile cross his lips. “Well, except for
Rita Skeeter. She was only here to ogle the good looking blokes.” Rita stood a short distance away
from them, visibly frustrated in her attempts to interview Fred and George. Harry took a few
moments to relate to Hermione what had happened between Skeeter, the four groomsmen and Arthur
Weasley.

“You know, Harry,” Hermione remarked thoughtfully, “it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the Ministry
funneled that money through *Witch Weekly*, just to make sure that the wedding went off
without a hitch. All of those delays had to have been expensive and you know the Weasleys, well,
aren’t exactly rich.”

Harry frowned. “I thought the family of the bride usually paid for the wedding.”

“Thankfully,” Hermione replied in a morally righteous voice, “the wizarding world did away with
that barbaric and sexist tradition long ago. Now if only muggles would do the same.”

“Sadly for you, Miss Granger,” a cheery baritone voice said from behind them, “I think you’ll find
that the muggle world cherishes its barbaric and sexist traditions most of all.” The drawn,
clean-shaven face of Commodus Brinecove winked at her playfully. “Lucky for us, you’ve chosen to
live in the magical world. I’ve heard you’re the brightest witch of your age.”

“She is,” Harry replied shortly, causing a flush of embarrassment in Hermione’s cheeks where
Brinecove’s compliment had not. “The things I’ve heard about you, though, aren’t worth
repeating.”

Brinecove barked self-deprecating laughter. “No, I would imagine not. The Department of Internal
Security is not well loved by most of wizarding society. That’s why I’ve been anxious to get into
teaching. It’s so much more rewarding to help young minds develop than watching them corrupt
themselves with dark magic once they’ve grown up.” The man with graying hair extended his hand to
Harry. “I suppose I should formally introduce myself. Commodus Brinecove, your new Defense Against
the Dark Arts teacher. I’m very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Potter.” As they shook hands,
Brinecove got a glassy look in his eyes reminiscent of Luna Lovegood.

“And you, Miss Granger,” he continued, shaking her hand as well. Professor Brinecove gave Hermione
an oddly appraising look, as though he was only now really seeing her for the first time. It made
Harry extremely uncomfortable. “I’m looking forward to having both of you in my class. You will be
returning to Hogwarts on Monday, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Hermione lied convincingly. It was then that a horrifying thought entered Harry’s
mind. What if Hermione wasn’t lying? What if she wanted to go back to Hogwarts? Harry could not
imagine continuing the horcrux hunt without her. In fact, he could now no longer imagine his life
without her.

“Excellent,” Brinecove replied gleefully. “I think you’ll find my curriculum a bit
more…exciting…than what you’re used to. The Ministry’s Educational Review Board almost didn’t
approve it, but luckily I have some sway with Minister Scrimgeour…”

“Do you really think that it’s wise, letting the government decide who teaches at Hogwarts and who
doesn’t, instead of the school administrators?” Hermione asked with a curious expression.

Brinecove shrugged. “Normally, I’d say no. But these are not normal times, Miss Granger. Take my
position, for example. Two of the last three Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts
have been Death Eaters. If the Ministry had only been allowed to do some routine surveillance and a
few background checks, they never would have stepped through the front door.”

“Yeah,” Harry remarked sarcastically. “It’s really too bad the Ministry hasn’t been picking our
teachers before now. Because they did such a brilliant job with Dolores Umbridge.”

For the first time, Commodus Brinecove lost his smile. “Better Umbridge than Snape, Mr. Potter.”
Brinecove then quickly turned away from Harry to focus his attention on Hermione. “Miss Granger,
didn’t I see you with Viktor Krum earlier?”

Hermione blushed deeply. “Um, yes, you did,” she answered meekly. “We’re old friends.”

The wide grin was back. “Would you mind introducing the two of us? I’m a big fan.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s hardly inaccessible. You could just walk right up to him yourself.”
When Brinecove insisted, she gave in and marched off to find Krum.

Harry glowered at Professor Brinecove. If there had been any chance at all that he would warm to
the former Slytherin, sending Hermione after Viktor Krum had destroyed it. “I wouldn’t let that one
get away if I were you,” Brinecove said to Harry in a stage whisper.

“What?” Harry replied sharply, befuddled by Brinecove’s sudden change in tone. “What are you
talking about?”

“Miss Granger, of course,” the new DADA teacher said with a sly look in his eyes. “Girls like that
don’t come along very often, you know. Best to snatch her up before someone else does.”

Harry felt a wave of anger sweep over him, although he wasn’t sure if it was because Brinecove was
misreading his intentions toward Hermione or because he was actually reading them perfectly.
“Someone already has. She’s dating my best friend, Ron Weasley. Hermione and I are just
friends.”

“Oh.” Brinecove appeared crestfallen. “I must apologize. I had no idea that you two were only
friends. To look at you, anyone would think…” He stopped himself short of saying something he would
likely regret. “No matter. My mistake.” Brinecove seemed anxious all of a sudden. “Nice meeting you
again, Mr. Potter.” He then beat a hasty retreat to the refreshment table, leaving Harry alone with
his thoughts.

‘“To look at us, anyone would think…” what?’ Harry wondered. ‘That we’re dating? That we fancy each
other?’ He spun around to watch Hermione grab Viktor Krum’s arm and then promptly turned away
again, his chest tight and his breathing ragged. ‘Well, do you fancy her?’ came a voice from
somewhere inside his brain.

He didn’t have to consider the question for very long before the answer became obvious. ‘Of course
I fancy her,’ he thought to himself ruefully. ‘Everyone can see it. Lupin. Brinecove. Even that
one-eyed bloke at the Od’s Blood tavern. I’m crazy about her.’ His feelings had changed slowly over
time, so slowly that he had hardly realized it was happening. Now that he had, though, what was he
going to do about it?

Harry felt like kicking himself. He couldn’t start a romance with Hermione now, couldn’t ask her to
be his girlfriend, couldn’t take her to Hogsmeade or for a casual stroll down by the lake. Their
world was at war. There was no time for holding hands or snogging or anything else romantic. That
was why he had broken up with Ginny, wasn’t it? Besides, Hermione was Ron’s girlfriend. Even though
their attempt at a romantic relationship had been problematic (some might even say doomed), Harry
couldn’t risk their friendship by moving in on his best mate’s girl.

‘Is there something wrong with me?’ Harry asked himself bitterly. ‘Is there a reason that I only
fancy girls who I can’t have? Girls that are hung up on other blokes, girls that are off limits,
girls who already have a boyfriend?’

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Sonorus-enhanced voice of Arthur Weasley began. “May I have your
attention, please?” He held a glass of red wine high above his head dramatically. “I’d like to
offer a toast to the bride and groom. May the love that you feel for each other at this moment last
until the end of time.”

Harry raised his cup of punch dispiritedly. As he did so, he felt a slip of paper slide down the
right sleeve of his dress robes. Curious, Harry placed the cup on the ground and let the piece of
parchment fall from his arm. Unfolding it quickly, he read the words written there in cursive
aloud, not caring who overheard. “Someone is trying to kill you,” it said. The writing quickly
disappeared as soon as Harry read it.

“Yeah,” Harry replied as he crumpled the paper in his hand. “His name’s Lord Voldemort. Maybe
you’ve heard of him…” Harry chucked the bit of parchment in a nearby rubbish bin without giving it
another thought. It was probably just one of Fred and George’s jokes.

As Mr. Weasley stammered his way through his prepared speech that Harry was only half-listening to,
he heard something in the distance that sounded like a loud clap of thunder. ‘That’s odd,’ he
thought, looking up at the sky suspiciously. ‘The weather’s been clear. Why would it suddenly start
to…?’

The ‘thunder’ soon became a long, resounding boom. Glasses shattered in people’s hands, the ground
shook violently for a moment and a mob of wedding guests began running frantically away from the
explosion. Harry’s reaction was instinctive, as from the sound of it, the blast had occurred not
far from where he had last seen Hermione. ‘Please let her be alright,’ Harry begged. ‘I don’t know
what I’d do if anything happened to her.’

His ears ringing painfully, Harry scrambled across the front lawn of the Burrow, eyes darting
around in every direction, searching for some sign of Hermione. “Everyone remain calm,” he heard
Scrimgeour announce pointlessly as panic overtook the crowd. “Stay where you are. Let the
professionals do their jobs.”

Completely ignoring the Minister of Magic, Harry made his way to the adjoining tables which held
the wedding gifts, near the apparent epicenter of the blast. Before he even knew what was
happening, a slight figure in black threw herself into his arms. “Oh Harry,” she wailed in a voice
that was instantly recognizable as Hermione’s. “I’m so glad you’re OK. I was worried you might have
come looking for me and gotten hurt.”

As she pulled away from him slowly, Harry took in her appearance with a sense of wonder. Her hair,
which had been straightened and pulled into a ponytail through the liberal use of Sleekeasy’s, was
now frazzled and bushy again. Her face had been blackened slightly by soot and running mascara. She
was not smiling, but the relief and happiness she felt at seeing Harry was obvious in her
expression.

Harry wiped a black smudge from her face with his fingers, running his hand softly along her cheek.
Somehow, despite everything he’d just described, at that moment she was the most beautiful woman
that he had ever seen. It wasn't just a black dress or a new hairstyle that made her beautiful.
It was just *her*, the way that she looked at him, the way that she smiled, the way that she
cared so much about everything.

As his hand lingered on her face, he resisted the urge to kiss her only through a tremendous
display of will power. “Are you OK?” he managed to say breathily.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Hermione assured him with a cough. “But there were others…hurt…I tried to help…”
Harry shot her an inquisitive look. “The wedding planner, Rita Skeeter... and George.”

“How’s George?” Harry asked with concern evident in his voice.

“It looked like there were a few burns along the right side of his face,” Hermione reported sadly.
“Nothing too serious, but he should probably be examined by a professional healer.”

Harry pulled Hermione aside and gave her an inquiring look. “What happened?”

“One of the wedding gifts exploded,” Hermione reported incredulously. “There was nothing anyone
could do…”

“Alright, everyone,” Scrimgeour’s voice bellowed. “Everything is completely under control. Our
nation’s finest Aurors are investigating the matter and, although it’s probably just a practical
joke executed in incredibly poor taste, we will have to take a statement from each of you before
you leave.” Anxious murmuring was the only response to the Minister’s announcement. “That doesn’t
mean that you can’t enjoy yourselves. This is a wedding, for pity’s sake.”

Fleur Weasley appeared to agree and ordered the band to play a jaunty French tune as a few people
around the bride began to dance. A sense of uneasiness remained, however, and many of the wedding
guests began eyeing each other warily. The mix of joy, paranoia and fear made their surroundings
all the more surreal.

Still, there was music playing and a pretty girl was in his arms. “Would you like to dance?” Harry
said, hoping she would say yes to him rather than go looking for Viktor Krum, who, Harry recalled
ruefully, was a much better dancer.

Hermione nodded and the two of them moved closer to where the band was playing, swaying slowly as
Harry wrapped one arm around her waist and took the other in his hand. “I hope you’ll remember that
I’m not very good at this,” Harry warned with a laugh.

“I remember,” Hermione replied with a comforting smile. As they danced, Harry could not stop
staring at her, taking in the way the fading daylight was reflected in her brown eyes with a
delirious grin on his face. “I know I must look terrible,” Hermione admitted shyly.

“You look like a woman who rushed in and did something to help others, without thinking about what
the consequences might be for your hair,” Harry said with a laugh. “I think I’ve been a bad
influence on you.”

Hermione chuckled a bit herself. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Hermione…” he said, his voice becoming very low all of a sudden. “Do you want to go back to
Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered instantly. Harry’s heart sank. “But I’m not going to.”

“You’re…you’re not?” Harry asked in confusion, his insides suddenly more buoyant.

“Of course not,” Hermione retorted matter-of-factly. “Just because I want to go back to Hogwarts
doesn’t make it the right thing to do. Finding and destroying the horcruxes is much more important
than returning to school right now,” she declared with conviction in her voice. “Besides, you told
me you needed me. Of course, if you’ve changed your mind…”

“I haven’t,” Harry assured her, his relief at her answer palpable. “I need you more than you’ll
ever know.”

Hermione blushed and looked away from Harry after he said this, and he felt foolish for opening his
heart to her that way. ‘You’re going to have to do a better job of hiding your feelings, Potter,’
he thought to himself. ‘She doesn’t feel that way about you. There’s some other bloke she’s in love
with, although you don’t have any clue as to who it might be.’

Wait a minute. He *did* have an idea as to who this guy was. In fact, it was perfectly
obvious. How could he have been so blind?

It was Viktor Krum. Hermione’s first boyfriend. The boy who had swept her off of her feet at a time
when everyone, including Harry himself, considered her to be nothing more than a brainy plain Jane.
Which left only one question to be answered.

“That bloke that you fell in love with,” Harry began tentatively. “The one you were talking about
that night before we found Ravenclaw’s quill, when you were telling me what it was like to fall in
love. Are you…are you still in love with him?”

Hermione stayed perfectly still for a moment, quietly examining Harry’s tie for a reason Harry
himself couldn’t fathom. “Yes,” she finally admitted.

Well, that was that then. Hermione was in love with Viktor Krum. Instead of feeling jealousy or
betrayal, however, Harry remembered a promise that he had made to himself several weeks ago. He
would do whatever he could to make sure that Hermione was happy and if that meant seeing her with
someone else, even Viktor Krum, then that’s what he would do. His resolve was unbreakable.

For Harry had come to realize, as he danced with Hermione, her hand intertwined lightly with his
own, that he didn’t just fancy her. He loved her.

**Well, that was the wedding. The next chapter is "Where There's a Quill, There's a
Quay", which features actual occlumency lessons, a visit to Ron and more horcruxy
goodness.

Did I mention that I love reviews?

ITL**

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9. Chapter 9: Where There's a Quill, There's a Quay
---------------------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money
off of the Harry Potter franchise.

Big time apologies for how late this chapter is. I could make excuses but I won't. I'll try
to update every ten days or so from now on.**

Chapter 9: Where There’s a Quill, There’s a Quay

“This isn’t working, is it?” Hermione asked in a disappointed voice. She was sprawled out on the
opposite side of Sirius’ old bed from where Harry was lying, examining him curiously as she chewed
on her bottom lip.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry assured her wearily. “You’re doing everything just fine. Brilliant,
really. It’s me. No matter what we try, I just can’t seem to do it. Not when it really matters
anyway.”

Hermione frowned at him. “I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. You should try to
relax. There are some visualization exercises you could use, if you feel like you need them.”

Harry smirked playfully. “Believe me, Hermione, you give me more than enough to focus on. I don’t
have to use my imagination.” Hermione gave him a proud little half-smile at that remark. “Maybe I
just *can’t*. D’you think that’s possible?”

“They really should teach a course at Hogwarts that deals with this,” Hermione mused in an attempt
to avoid answering his question. “Even if every student didn’t become an expert at it, the practice
sessions themselves are marvelous stress relievers. It’s a great way to unwind after a long day of
studying.”

Harry let out a long groan of frustration. “We’re just going to have to face facts, Hermione. These
occlumency lessons are a complete wash and it’s because I’m not powerful enough to keep Lord
Voldemort out of my mind. That’s probably why Dumbledore told me not to worry about learning it
anymore.”

“Yes, but that was when you had stopped having the dreams,” Hermione pointed out worriedly. “Now
that you’re having them again, I’m sure he would want you to do everything possible…”

“But these aren’t the same kind of dreams I was having before, are they?” Harry asked rhetorically.
“I don’t think Voldemort’s trying to trick me into doing something stupid by showing me how he
learned all about Salazar Slytherin from some sarcastic old bloke who owns a book store.”

“He could still be manipulating you,” Hermione insisted, “even if it’s only subconsciously. Or he
could be trying to bore you to death with that rubbish about Slytherin. The point is that he’s
getting inside your head. There's no way to know for sure why he’s doing it.”

Harry grinned at Hermione’s obvious contempt for what Septimus Prince had taught Lord Voldemort
about Salazar Slytherin. While Hermione had been intrigued, if skeptical, about Prince’s contention
that Slytherin had been a half-blood Spanish exile sold into slavery in Egypt by Berber pirates
before becoming the most famous dark wizard in England’s history, Harry had been less than
impressed. None of it seemed very relevant to the here and now.

“Do you want to give it another go?” Hermione asked him with an anxious expression on her face.
When Harry nodded, she sat up on the bed, tucking her knees beneath her and placing her hands on
his arms gently. “Remember to clear your mind of all thoughts. Make eye contact.” Her eyes met his
with an intensity that sent his heart fluttering. “As soon as you feel me inside, try and push me
out of your mind.”

Harry suppressed a sigh. He had been trying to push Hermione out of his mind ever since he had
realized how deep his feelings ran for her at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Living together at
Grimmauld Place wasn’t making it easy. It was one thing to stay away from a girl who he fancied;
Harry had had experience with that, both with Cho and Ginny. It was quite another to live in the
same house with the girl he loved, to say nothing of the fact that they were sharing the same bed,
all while ignoring his growing feelings for her. In a way it was torturous, although there were
definitely enjoyable moments. Waking up next to Hermione, watching her sleep…

As Harry’s own mental defenses were relaxed, he was completely unprepared for Hermione’s assault on
his mind. Memories played out before him… Harry retrieving Neville’s Rememberall when Malfoy threw
it out of reach… summoning his Firebolt during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament… dancing
with Hermione at the wedding, gazing into her eyes, completely lost in the moment…

Hermione’s eyes were now blazing at him. “You’re not even trying!” she exclaimed in exasperation.
“If that’s all the effort you’re going to put into this, we might as well give up now.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied defensively. “I was…distracted. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“Alright,” she conceded as her eyes locked on his own again. “Just please concentrate on me this
time, and not on whatever was distracting you.”

Despite not knowing how that would be possible, Harry sat up slightly to face Hermione.
“Legilimens,” she said softly. Almost instantaneously, he could feel Hermione inside of his head,
probing around. As a memory of a miserable Christmas spent with the Dursleys began to flicker
across his consciousness, Harry began to push back with his mind, deciding to test Hermione’s
resolve as well as his own mental strength.

Suddenly, Harry found himself tugged into another memory, one that was not immediately familiar to
him. Hermione and Ginny were sitting together in their pajamas on a four-post bed in what he
assumed must be the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory, laughing and whispering to each other. ‘I think
I’d remember this one if it were mine,’ Harry quickly decided. ‘This must be one of Hermione’s
memories.’ Based on how young the two girls looked, he guessed that it was likely from around
sometime in his fourth year.

“You don’t…” Ginny began nervously, suddenly looking as though she was about to spit up slugs. “You
don’t really think that Harry fancies Cho, do you?”

Hermione raised one eyebrow pointedly. “You saw the way he was looking at her. What do you think?”
Ginny’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “He hasn’t said much to me about her, but I don’t think he
would. Boys can be kind of secretive about those sorts of things.”

‘Boys?’ Harry scoffed. ‘Try figuring out if a girl you fancy fancies you back sometime and you’ll
see how good girls are at keeping secrets.’

“He’ll never notice me, will he?” Ginny asked Hermione, her face hanging sadly. “Not when there are
other, prettier girls like Cho around.”

“I’m more concerned about Harry’s survival than his love life right now, Ginny.” Hermione let out a
deep breath and examined a photograph of Harry, Ron and herself pensively. “We’ve been working so
hard, but I still don’t think he’s ready for the first task.”

“Harry will be fine,” Ginny assured her casually. “You know he will. No matter what kind of trouble
he gets into, he always manages to scrape by in the end.”

“He is very brave,” Hermione assessed, “and he’s been very lucky, too. I just don’t know if bravery
and luck is going to be enough this time.” Her eyes grew stormy. “Ron certainly isn’t helping
things, either. I don’t know why he has to be so stubborn about everything.”

Ginny shrugged. “He’s a Weasley. Stubbornness runs in the family.”

Hermione examined Ginny with a thoughtful glint in her eye. “You know, Ginny, Harry could really
use another friend right now. If you wanted to get closer to him, maybe get him to see you in a
different light…”

“I can’t,” Ginny cut her off in frustration. “I can’t be his friend when I want to be more. I
couldn’t stand it.” She shot Hermione a pleading look. “It would kill me to be so close to him and
not be able to show him how I really feel. You understand, don’t you?”

Before Hermione could answer, Harry was forcibly removed from her mind, as though a giant hand had
grabbed him and pulled him out. “What did you do?” Hermione demanded, her voice outraged.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. “I dunno. I was just trying to push you out of my mind and
I…”

“You had no right to see that!” Hermione said in a horrified voice.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry explained. “It just happened.” Hermione turned away from him and rose
from the bed abruptly. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Harry said indignantly. “You’ve seen
loads of my memories, and a lot of them were ones I’d rather no one else ever saw.”

“Ginny said those things to me in confidence,” Hermione retorted angrily. “Remember when you found
out what happened to Neville’s parents, but kept it a secret out of respect for his feelings?”
Harry nodded. “Well, what if I’d learned about it by reading your mind? Wouldn’t you feel
awful?”

Harry thought about it for a minute. “I guess I would.” He frowned bemusedly as he studied her from
behind (perhaps a bit more appreciatively than he should have). “But I already knew Ginny had a
crush on me. I don’t understand why this is making you so upset.”

“Never mind,” Hermione answered him flatly. “We need to go. The visiting hours at St. Mungo’s are
shorter on Sundays and we’ll have to stop at Gringotts first to make arrangements for the viewing
of the...” As she turned and got a good look at his hurt expression, hers softened. “I know that
you didn’t do it on purpose, Harry. I guess I just feel a little violated.” As she sat down on the
bed, Harry moved to sit beside her. “It’s like nothing’s safe anymore.” Hermione put her hands
together on her lap. “I used to think that I was safe at Hogwarts… or at the Burrow. I used to feel
at home there.” Harry put his right hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Now the only time I
feel safe is when I’m with you.” Harry’s heart swelled as he realized that he felt the same way
about her, and that the feeling wasn’t new. How long had he loved Hermione without realizing it? “I
don’t want to lose that, Harry. It means everything to me.”

“You won’t,” Harry promised. Hermione’s eyes were radiating with warmth and affection, so much so
that his stomach was doing somersaults. He would do anything to make sure that she stayed safe and
happy, even if it meant that he could never love her the way he wanted to. Even if it meant seeing
her with someone else.

***

Harry and Hermione apparated just across the street from the large, abandoned brick building that
appeared to be a department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. In reality, it was the entrance to
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the largest health care facility in
wizarding England. After informing the proper dummy that they were there to see Ron Weasley, they
stepped through the glass and into a reception area crowded with people.

Making the trip to St. Mungo’s to see Ron was always a bit depressing. To make matters worse, their
visit to Gringotts hadn’t exactly been productive. Although Harry had taken the opportunity to
withdraw several hundred more galleons from his vault, the goblin in charge of the probate accounts
turned out to be on vacation. Dumbledore’s pensieve will would have to wait a few days. Harry’s
innocent remark of “I didn’t know goblins took vacations” launched Hermione into a five minute
tirade on the meager reforms that followed the goblin labor revolts of the late 1940s. Harry didn’t
know what was worse: enduring the rant itself or realizing that he now found it kind of cute when
Hermione was fired up about something.

Hermione’s inquiry about Ron to a friendly blonde woman sitting at the reception desk brought Harry
out of his own thoughts. “Oh, dear. It looks like he’s been moved to the closed wards,” the woman
informed them both sympathetically. “I could have someone show you the way if you…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry informed her with an air of impatience. “We know the way.” Harry
and Hermione shared a worried look. What did it mean that Ron had been moved to a closed ward? Did
the healers no longer expect him to recover?

The two of them walked up the same rickety staircase they had ascended along with Ron and Ginny in
fifth year and tried their best to ignore the various comments made by the portraits of healers
past that lined the walls. As Harry and Hermione neared the proper door, they heard a familiar,
bombastic voice coming from inside. “It was hard keeping all of the fans at bay. I’ve always been
very popular in Ireland, you see. They send me the nicest letters. I really wish I could remember
ever having been there…”

“That sounds like Gilderoy Lockhart,” Hermione whispered as a frown formed on her face.

“Yeah, it does,” Harry agreed. Their concerned expressions mirrored each other; if Gilderoy
Lockhart was still here after four years with no noticeable improvement, what did that say about
Ron’s chances?

Harry and Hermione entered the closed ward quietly, hoping to attract as little attention to
themselves as possible. “Of course, the chief difficulty in dealing with the Bandon Banshee was
that awful wailing…” Lockhart continued with gusto. He stood in the middle of the room reading
aloud from a book, a pair of lilac-rimmed reading glasses gradually slipping down his nose.

“Where’s Ron? Do you see him?” Harry breathed in Hermione’s ear. She shook her head slightly in
reply. Without making a sound, they began to search the room for their best friend.

“And then it dawned on me,” Lockhart enthused to the otherwise deathly silent room. “Ear muffs.
Common, ordinary ear muffs. Just like the ones you’d use if you were handling baby mandrakes. For
you see, my dear readers, sometimes the simplest solution is also the best one.” Unfortunately for
Harry, Gilderoy Lockhart chose that moment to look up from his book and take notice of him. “You
there. How would you like to play the part of the Bandon Banshee? Re-enactments really help bring
the book to life and frankly the audience does appear to be a tad bored.” In fact, the ‘audience’
was largely asleep, but that did not seem to bother Lockhart very much.

Harry had had quite enough of playing the part of a creature vanquished by Gilderoy Lockhart during
his second year Defense Against the Dark Arts class. “Er, no thanks. I was just looking for
someone.”

“You know,” Lockhart continued as though he had not heard Harry, “they told me that reading my own
books would be therapeutic and by Merlin’s wand I think they’re right. I can scarcely believe all
the things I’ve done! I can hardly wait to remember it all.” Harry thought that it would be
impolite to point out to Lockhart that he hadn’t actually done any of the things he claimed to have
accomplished in his books, as he had no memory of his past as a self-aggrandizing fraud. “The other
patients seem to enjoy my readings as well. Except for that fellow,” he said, pointing to a figure
in the corner behind a curtain. “Turns a bit green every time I try to read a passage from one of
my books to him.” Gilderoy scratched his chin. “You know, come to think of it, he did seem
familiar.”

“Ron!” Hermione called out from beside his bed, startling more than a few patients from their
slumber. Harry walked briskly across the room to join her, standing slightly behind Hermione to
watch an unconscious Ron over her shoulder.

“Good, you’re all awake,” Gilderoy Lockhart declared happily. “I’ll start over from the beginning.
Chapter 1: Conquering the Carrigaline Changeling.”

Harry cast a silencing charm on the curtain surrounding Ron’s bed as the two friends looked their
best mate over somberly. “He seems the same, doesn’t he?” Hermione asked him in an attempt to make
small talk. “So peaceful. Kind of thin, though, don’t you think?” She shot Harry a fretful look.
“Maybe they’re not feeding him enough.”

“I’m sure the healers are taking good care of him,” Harry said, although he did not know for
certain whether or not this was true. A hot guilty feeling rose from his stomach up into his
throat. He was still holding himself responsible for what had happened to his best mate, but that
wasn’t the only thing eating away at his conscience. Now he also fancied Ron’s girlfriend.

“Things should have been different between us,” Hermione admitted softly. Without thinking, Harry
placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder supportively. “I wish that…” Her voice trailed off
weakly.

“You wish that you and Ron had been on better terms before it happened,” Harry supplied
helpfully.

“I wish that I had broken up with him,” Hermione explained in a very small voice. “Isn’t that
terrible? But at least then things wouldn’t be so…unresolved.” She picked up Ron’s hand, her
fingertips brushing his as she spoke. “I had the speech halfway written. It was all about how we
were too different and the timing was all wrong and how I really thought he was a great guy who
would make another witch very happy someday, but that we just weren’t right for each other. If I
had had more time, maybe…” Hermione collapsed into a chair next to Ron’s bed. “How did I let things
get so out of control? It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

Harry examined her face closely. “What do you mean by that?”

Hermione did not look him in the eye as she replied, “It’s nothing. I’m just rambling.” Harry
frowned. She was holding something back from him, of that he was sure. But what was it? “Would you
mind leaving me alone with Ron for awhile?” Hermione asked sorrowfully. Her eyes seemed to be
keeping back tears only by sheer force of will. His heart ached at the sight.

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “Take all the time you need.”

Harry’s feet carried him down the stairs two at a time, making each step creak noisily in protest.
He soon found himself standing near the reception desk, about to ask a question of the same blonde
witch that had directed him to the closed wards, when he saw the very person he had wanted to
inquire about standing just outside another patient’s room, examining a lengthy roll of parchment.
It was Edwin Wolfram, the head of the Accidental Spell Damage ward.

As Harry marched across the hallway, Healer Wolfram spotted him first and gave him a warm greeting.
“Hello, Mr. Potter. So good to see you again… and without your bandages. I take it that your burns
have healed up?”

Harry wasn’t much in the mood for idle chitchat. “I’m doing just fine, thank you. I wanted to talk
to you about my friend, Ron Weasley. About the reason that you haven’t been able to bring him out
of a coma.” The slight man with the horn-rimmed glasses and large mustache looked confused. “Is it
money?”

Wolfram’s eyes became thin slits. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe that I quite
understand what you’re asking me.”

A surge of anger filled him. “Look, I know the Weasleys can’t afford to pay you very much. I can.
If there’s some more expensive treatment available, I’ll pay for it. Whatever the cost.”

“I’ll consider that offer a sincerely desperate attempt to get your friend back and not an insult
to my professional integrity,” Wolfram sniffed haughtily. “I’m sorry to say, however, that money is
not a factor. I’ve never seen the healers of my ward work as hard as they have on the Weasley/Snape
case. There is simply no precedent for it. Both wizards should be up and walking about, yet they’re
completely non-responsive.” The healer tugged at his long mustache. “The Ministry has been on my
back about it as well, you know. They’re anxious to put Snape on trial.”

“So am I,” muttered Harry. Even thinking about Snape seemed to make his blood boil and freeze all
at once.

“They’re considering trying him in absentia,” Wolfram added thoughtfully. “I doubt they will,
though. They’ll most likely want to be able to throw him straight into Azkaban after the trial.
Assuming he’s found guilty, of course,” he added as an afterthought. “Now if that’s all you wanted
to discuss with me, Mr. Potter, I do have other patients waiting.” Harry watched Healer Wolfram go
without saying another word.

“It was a nice offer,” a young man’s voice said from behind him. Harry turned around to see the
face of Charlie Weasley scowling at him slightly. “I’m sure you meant well, but it was a little
insulting, and not just to the healers of St. Mungo’s. We Weasleys may not be rich, but we take
care of our own.” Charlie thought about that for a moment. “Well, except for Percy. The git.”

“Really?” Harry asked skeptically as he moved a few steps toward Charlie. “And what part of ‘taking
care of your own’ involves selling Fred and George out to Rita Skeeter? Not to mention me.” Charlie
winced. “You could have at least given us the head’s up. Maybe we could have come up with some kind
of beetle repellant or something.” Harry thought back to the mysterious explosion at the wedding.
“How is George?”

“Fine,” Charlie answered tersely. “It was nothing that some well-administered healing charms and a
few practical jokes on the healers couldn’t cure. Just the usual night out with the Weasley twins.”
Harry smiled slightly at that. “I wouldn’t be too hard on Bill if I were you, Harry,” Charlie
advised. “Or Mum and Dad. Times have been hard for members of the Order of the Phoenix, and for
those who work for the Ministry in particular.”

“Come off it. It can’t be any worse than it was when Fudge was in power,” Harry scoffed as Charlie
led him away from a cluster of gossiping young witches. “Can it?” he added uncertainly.

Charlie looked dour. “At least when Fudge was Minister, we had Dumbledore. And Dumbledore’s money,
which was no small sum. Now we’re leaderless and poor.”

“What about McGonagall?” Harry demanded. “Or Lupin or Moody? They’d all make great leaders for the
Order.”

Charlie shook his head. “Minerva has her hands full replacing Dumbledore at Hogwarts. She’d be a
basket case if she had to take over the Order, too. Sadly, Remus is a werewolf, which still makes
him a suspicious character in a lot of people’s eyes. As for Mad-Eye Moody, he’d be a perfect
candidate, if it weren’t for two things: one, he was easily replaced by a Death Eater a few years
ago and two, nobody could tell the difference. A little scary, that.” Charlie stooped slightly and
leaned his head close to Harry’s. “If you want to know the truth of the matter, Harry, and I’ll
deny this if you speak a word of it to anyone else…you’re the one most people want to head the
Order of the Phoenix.”

“Me?!” Harry exclaimed, drawing irritated glares from a few nearby healers and a loud shushing from
Charlie Weasley. “But…Charlie…I’m barely seventeen. I haven’t any experience leading
anything.”

“Most of the members I talk to don’t care very much about that,” Charlie confided in a whisper.
“What matters to them is that you’ve faced You-Know-Who so many times and lived to tell about it.
You were the one that Dumbledore thought could defeat him. That means a lot more to people than
your age or inexperience.”

“They want the Chosen One,” Harry pointed out with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. “The boy
wizard with the miraculous ability to vanquish Voldemort once and for all. The only problem is that
I’m not sure he exists, except in people’s minds.”

“Winning the minds of the public is important in any war, Harry,” Charlie replied, his patience
wearing thin. “In this war, it’s crucial. How the wizarding public sees you could very well
determine who wins.”

“So that’s how it is, then,” Harry spat angrily. “It’s not just the Ministry that wants me as their
poster boy, the Order does, too.” His hands balled themselves into fists. “You know, Dumbledore
actually gave me something important to do. Something vital to defeating Voldemort.”

“Something that you won’t tell anyone else about,” Charlie continued in an aggravated tone of
voice. “Look, I can’t tell you how to live your life, Harry. Just know that there are other people
in this fight with you. People you shouldn’t turn your back on.” Charlie reached into the front
pocket of his robes, withdrew a gilded coin and flipped it to Harry. “Here. This will glow the next
time the Order schedules a meeting.” Harry examined the coin, which bore the image of a phoenix on
one side but was blank on the other. “The time and date of it will appear on the reverse. We’re
kind of between headquarters right now, so the location’s still up in the air. But we’ll get that
information to you somehow.”

Harry’s expression was slightly befuddled. “Between headquarters?”

“We were using Hogwarts,” Charlie explained as the two of them began walking back toward the closed
wards. “But we can’t any more; not with all of the students coming back. McGonagall thinks
depriving us of our meeting place was half the reason Scrimgeour ordered Hogwarts re-opened.” As
they began to walk up the stairs, Charlie gave him a look he couldn’t read. “You’re not going back,
are you?” Harry shook his head no. “Living the dream, eh? Good for you.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up
in surprise. “What? You thought I was going to give you the standard ‘finish school, get good
grades’ speech?” He shrugged. “Like I said, Harry, it’s your life. Personally, I think you’ve
earned the right to make your own choices.” Charlie opened the door to the closed ward and made a
sour face as he saw Gilderoy Lockhart mimicking a sword fight with a coat rack. “And if you choose
to skip school so that you can do something incredibly dangerous, all the while living with my
brother’s girlfriend, who am I to judge?”

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “Er, thanks, Charlie. I appreciate your support.”

“No problem,” Charlie replied with a smirk.

As the tall redhead walked over to Ron’s bedside, Hermione gave Harry a puzzled look. “What was
that about?” she asked curiously.

“Nothing, really,” Harry answered shortly. Hermione’s disbelieving glare made him elaborate. “I’ll
tell you about it later.” Harry gave Hermione a questioning glance. “What’s that in your
hand?”

“Oh,” Hermione replied with a slight blush. “It’s a Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum wrapper. Mrs.
Longbottom gave it to me.” She pointed to Alice Longbottom, who was caring for a large purple and
green plant sitting on her dresser only a few beds away. “I would have just thrown it away, but I
suspect Neville likes to keep them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, thinking back to their awkward encounter with Neville and his parents in their
fifth year. “I think he does, too.” Harry swallowed nervously. Bellatrix Lestrange had driven the
Longbottoms to madness with the Cruciatus Curse and turned Neville’s life upside down forever. It
made him wonder: what kind of terrible curse had Snape used on Ron? What had it done to him? How
long would it take his best mate to recover from it? And when he did wake up, what would he be
like?

***

“Recognize him?” Hermione asked Harry as she slammed a thick tome down on the desk in front of him.
He was sitting in the master’s study at Grimmauld Place, dutifully thumbing through the
autobiography of an eighteenth century dark wizard named Coriolanus Prescott, a notorious madman
who had killed hundreds of muggles and was one of the world’s foremost experts on horcruxes.
Despite all of that, however, he was a dreadfully boring writer, and Hermione’s interruption was
welcomed. Her fingernail was resting on a photograph of a middle-aged man with untamed black hair
and a wispy beard in tattered tan dress robes.

“That’s Septimus Prince,” Harry replied with mild enthusiasm. “The bloke from my dreams.” In the
picture, Prince was running his fingers through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame it, all the
while seeming quite agitated. “He looks different, though. Younger. And kind of familiar…” Harry
could almost place where he had seen those facial features before, but couldn’t quite put his
finger on it. “Where did you find this?” he asked Hermione.

“*Leach’s Guide to Wizarding Collectibles*, the 1965 edition. This is Prince’s obituary.
Apparently he was quite the collector of ancient artifacts. He was even rumored to have acquired
part of Hepzibah Smith’s estate after she died.” Hermione’s finger moved down the page as she
spoke. “But this is what I really found interesting.”

“Prince is survived by his daughter, Eileen Snape nee Prince, her husband Tobias and their son,
Severus,” Harry read aloud. “Please direct all inquiries about the future of the estate to…” His
voice trailed off disinterestedly. “So Prince was Snape’s grandfather?”

“It looks that way,” Hermione replied with a nod. “I suppose it’s not really that surprising, is
it? Becoming a Death Eater does tend to run in the family. Look at the Crabbes, the Goyles, the
Malfoys…”

Harry shook his head, his eyes still staring at the Snape-like face in the picture. “Septimus
Prince wasn’t a Death Eater. Not really.” Hermione looked at him strangely. “Don’t ask me how I
know. It’s just the impression that I get from the dreams.”

Hermione didn’t appear satisfied with that explanation, but seemed unwilling to press the issue.
“Death Eater or no, I don’t think it’s coincidence that Septimus Prince, Hepzibah Smith and
Voldemort are all connected. And I think what connects them all is Slytherin’s locket and
Hufflepuff’s cup.”

Harry frowned at her in incomprehension. “How do you reckon?”

Harry could almost see the gears turning inside Hermione’s mind. “All this time, we’ve been
assuming that when the locket and the cup disappeared it was because Voldemort stole them and
turned them into horcruxes. But what if someone else stole them first?”

“Prince, you mean?” Harry asked simply.

“Yes,” Hermione responded with a vigorous nod. “From the description in the article, he comes off
as an unscrupulous fortune hunter, out for whatever he could get his hands on. I wouldn’t have put
it past him to have stolen the items he couldn’t afford to buy from Smith’s collection.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “So if Septimus Prince took Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup and
Voldemort made them into horcruxes…”

“Then Prince must have known what Voldemort was doing,” Hermione finished for him. “He may even
have been his accomplice in hiding the horcruxes.”

“But how exactly does that help us?” Harry asked in frustration. “It’s not like Prince can tell us
where to look. The man’s been dead for over thirty years!”

“It’s not much,” Hermione admitted reluctantly. “But at least it does give us another avenue for
our research.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement. Idly, he wondered when he had begun to consider having
something else to research a good thing. After thinking it over for a moment, he decided it was
probably around the same time he had started to fall for Hermione.

“It says here that Septimus Prince was the librarian at Durmstrang for about ten years,” Hermione
noted thoughtfully as she continued to look over the obituary. “Maybe we should ask Viktor about
him. He might…”

“No!” Harry exclaimed without thinking. Hermione shot him a bewildered look. ‘Brilliant, Potter,’
Harry thought to himself. ‘So much for making Hermione happy, even if she wants to be with someone
else.’ In a panic, Harry hastily attempted to cover himself. “Something. He might *know*
something. About Septimus Prince. Brilliant idea, Hermione.” Harry desperately wanted to kick
something.

“Maybe not,” Hermione hedged uncertainly. “Prince would have been there long before Viktor was
and…” They were interrupted suddenly by a loud buzzing sound that filled the room. Harry’s eyes
quickly found the map of England hanging from the wall and saw that the green dot indicating
Moorefield’s position was blinking. “He’s set off one of the tracing charms. If I’m not mistaken,
that’s the one for…” Hermione looked dumbfounded. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the Floo
Network, would he?” Harry shrugged. From all they had seen, Moorefield didn’t appear to be the
steadiest broom in the Quidditch supply store. “Come on.”

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and led him down the stairs, past a visibly startled Kreacher and into
the living room. “I’ve charmed Grimmauld’s fireplace so that it routes all of Moorefield’s
communications by Floo here as well.” The two of them collapsed in front of the chimney, resting on
their elbows and knees and straining their ears to listen in.

“Yeah, the old place in Bristol, I remember,” Moorefield’s scratchy, slurred voice came floating
softly out of the cold ashes and soot. “Wait, let me write that down.” Frustratingly, he didn’t
repeat aloud what he was writing down. “Sure thing. I’ll have the package ready for you tonight.”
Harry and Hermione shared a look of intrigue. “No, nine’s no good for me. Too early. How about
midnight?”

***

A late summer breeze wafted in from the Avon, making the invisibility cloak flap slightly over them
as Harry and Hermione walked along the river. “Are you sure that we’re in the right place?” Harry
asked as he did his best to keep them both invisible to onlookers by pulling the cloak against
their bodies tightly while still holding onto his lit wand. “This doesn’t look like a spot where
two wizards would meet. There are too many muggles around,” he finished in a whisper.

Hermione, meanwhile, was doing her best to read the map that she’d charmed to track Moorefield.
“We’re on Harbour Way now,” she said with a look of concentration on her face. “That means that
this should be Canons Road.” Hermione pointed to a street just in front of them. “And there’s
Moorefield,” she said conversationally, nodding her head in the Death Eater’s direction, as though
pointing out a local curiosity to a tourist. “Looks like the right place to me.”

As they crept quietly behind him, Moorefield shuffled down the drab, gray streets of Bristol, only
occasionally stopping to remember a bit more of the tune he was whistling. Harry and Hermione
followed him into a large dilapidated building where old, rotting crates were lined in rows along
the walls and rusty chains hung from the ceiling. The place smelled of dead fish and stale ocean
water.

“432 Canons Road,” Moorefield said aloud, apparently talking to himself. “Or was it 234?” He sat
down on a nearby crate to think the matter over. “I can’t see a thing with this blasted mask on.
Hold on a mo.”

For the first time, Moorefield’s voice sounded different to Harry, perhaps even a bit familiar. As
he pried the mask from his face (it took a minute or so, as it was once again on wrong), Harry
moved to get a closer look. “What are you doing?” Hermione asked in a frantic whisper.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he examined the face of the man that they had been tracking for weeks.
“Getting answers,” he said softly. Leaving the safety of the cloak despite Hermione’s pleading
whisper of his name, he walked up to the unmasked man with his wand drawn and a menacing expression
etched on his face. “Hello, Mundungus.”

With his mask gone and the cloak no longer hiding his features, Mundungus Fletcher looked up at
Harry with a startled expression on his face. “Harry, izzat you?” He squinted and looked Harry over
curiously. “Blimey. You’ve grown a bit, haven’t you?”

Harry stared at Mundungus Fletcher with a mix of confusion, anger and disgust in his eyes. “You’re
Moorefield? You’re…you’re a Death Eater?”

“Come on, Harry,” Mundungus replied with a hardy laugh. “You know that I’m no Death Eater. Whatever
would make you think…?” He looked down at his clothing, as though he were seeing himself for the
first time. “Oh, right. The outfit. Yeah. I guess that would make you think I’m a Death Eater.
But…” he began in a tone of voice that said he was about to give Harry some sage advice, “I’m not.”
Mundungus gave Harry a sly wink, as though it were all a big joke. “It’s a disguise, you
see.”

“It’s more than just the outfit,” Hermione interjected as she moved closer to Harry, her voice
outraged and her wand pointed in his direction. “You were there with Snape during the raid on the
Quibbler. You watched him attack Ron!”

“Not really much of an attack, was it? And a bloody poor excuse for a duel, too. I buggered that
one up, I think.” Mundungus gave them both a look of regret. “But it was all part of the plan.
Brilliant plan. Dumbledore came up with it. Or Snape. Can’t remember which, but it was genius.” The
word ‘genius’ was slurred so badly that Harry could hardly make it out.

“What was the plan?” Harry asked as he tried to ignore the strong smell of firewhiskey coming from
Mundungus’ breath.

“Can’t remember,” he answered honestly. “I’s a really good plan, though. Complicated. I think there
were charts.”

Hermione frowned deeply. She looked like she wanted to believe his story, even though it didn’t
seem to make much sense. “Why did you steal Ravenclaw’s quill?”

Mundungus Fletcher’s entire face brightened. “That part I remember. Dumbledore said if anything
happened to Snape I had to take the quill and wait for further instruc... instruc…orders.”

“You do know that Dumbledore’s…dead, don’t you?” Harry asked him carefully. Mundungus nodded.
“Well, then, I guess you also know that Snape was the one who murdered him.”

Harry and Hermione both instinctively flinched as Mundungus Fletcher began laughing hysterically.
Once he calmed down a bit, he said, “You can’t murder a wizard like Dumbledore, can you? He had to
want to die.” Harry’s jaw clenched as Mundungus continued. “Blokes like me and Snape didn’t follow
Dumbledore out of the goodness of our hearts, Harry. We followed him because he was powerful. We
followed him because we knew he was going to win… and he still is, even if he won’t live to see it
happen.”

“I was there,” Harry exclaimed, his anger and sadness making his voice sound a bit crazed. “I saw
Snape kill him. He didn’t want it, he didn’t…” But a memory came back to Harry, a memory of
Dumbledore saying ‘Please’ just before Snape killed him. It gave him pause.

“Your drunkenness seems to be clearing up,” Hermione said as she looked Fletcher over suspiciously.
“And just who exactly are you supposed to be meeting here?”

“Dunno,” Mundungus said with a slight shrug. “Someone who knew the password Dumbledore gave me and
how to conta…get in touch with me. Somebody else who’s in on the plan. Somebody who wants this
quill.” He patted the Reach For Something Strongbox lovingly.

“We need you to give that quill to us," Harry said slowly. "It's
important."

Mundungus shook his head. “That isn’t the plan and Dumbledore’s plan is everything.” He muttered
something incoherent and then continued, “Have to protect the quill. Snape said so himself.”

Hermione was beside herself. “Snape wants you to protect the quill because he’s working for
Voldemort.” Mundungus shook his head violently as he withdrew from them slightly. “He’s a Death
Eater!”

“Snape’s not a Death Eater,” Fletcher countered petulantly. “Well, alright, the Dark Mark on his
arm, I suppose technically he *is* a Death Eater, but he’s not working for Vol…You-Know-Who.
I’d bet my life on it.”

“You already have,” Harry said under his breath.

“Listen,” Mundungus said in a stage whisper. “Someone’s coming through that door at midnight.
Whoever it is is the person that Dumbledore wanted me to give the quill to. I’ll wager a good bit
of coin that it’s someone else from the Order of the Phoenix. Now you can wait for ’im like good
little children, or…” The door Mundungus Fletcher was pointing at suddenly creaked open. Through an
unspoken agreement, Harry and Hermione withdrew behind a tall stack of old crates as Harry once
again threw the invisibility cloak over their heads, anxiously waiting to see what would
happen.

“Wait for him to take the quill out of the box,” Harry ordered in a faint whisper. “Then we’ll deal
with whoever that is.” With a nod of his head, he indicated a slight figure in flowing dark robes
that was now approaching Mundungus Fletcher.

“What if it’s really someone from the Order?” Hermione asked. “What if Mundungus was telling the
truth?” Harry gave Hermione a look of disbelief before the two of them turned to watch the black
robed figure talking to Mundungus.

“Do you have the package?” a haughty, aristocratic woman’s voice asked. As her hood slipped a bit,
Harry could just make out her pointed chin and a wisp of blonde hair in the light of Mundungus
Fletcher’s wand.

“That’s no member of the Order. That’s Narcissa Malfoy,” Harry exclaimed in outrage. He began to
leave the cloak and attack her, but Hermione’s hand on his arm held him back.

“After he gives her the quill,” she mouthed. After a moment of thinking it over, Harry nodded and
once again moved to stand beside her underneath the cloak.

Mundungus Fletcher put his hand into the Reach For Something Strongbox and pulled out Ravenclaw’s
quill. “Now as to the issue of remunera…remune…payment…”

“Of course,” Narcissa said with a wicked smile as Harry and Hermione quickly moved to close the gap
between the four of them while keeping the invisibility cloak in place. “Avada kedavra!”

Before anyone could do anything to stop her, the familiar green light streaked through the air and
Mundungus Fletcher slumped to the floor, dead. Narcissa stooped to grab the quill from Fletcher’s
hand, but Harry had his wand pointed at it first. “Accio Ravenclaw’s qui…”

“Expelliarmus!” Narcissa cried out and Harry’s wand flew from his hand before he could summon the
horcrux, landing on the other side of the crate Mundungus had been sitting on.
Hermione aimed a stunner at Narcissa Malfoy’s retreating form, the horcrux now clutched firmly in
her bony white hand. It missed by a few centimeters and Narcissa was now only a short distance away
from the rear door. She fired another disarming spell blindly as she neared the exit, hoping to
give herself cover for her escape. The spell missed both Harry and Hermione, but shattered a crate
just over Hermione’s head, spraying debris around the room. Splintered pieces of wood rained on
Hermione’s head and shoulders and she ducked instinctively just as Narcissa Malfoy’s hand grabbed
the door handle.

Harry did not know if apparition was possible while carrying a horcrux, but he guessed that he
would find out soon enough if Narcissa made it through that door. It was then that he took notice
of a worn, patched up net hanging just above the door, held in place by only a few thin cords.
“Diffindo,” Harry called out, gesturing with his hand as he felt a surge of magical power rush
through his body. The netting fell swiftly, completely covering Narcissa Malfoy.

Before Narcissa react, Hermione had risen to her feet and pointed her wand at Mrs. Malfoy.
“Petrificus totalus,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. Narcissa Malfoy sat frozen in
place, an outraged scowl permanently etched on her face.

Harry walked slowly over to Hermione’s side. They were both still in shock over what had happened.
As Harry neared her, he longed to touch her face, to make sure that she was truly alright. He
stopped himself just before he caressed her, his hands pushing back strands of curly brown hair
that had fallen to brush her cheek. Hermione reached out to hold him and Harry felt a rush of
warmth fill his body as she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

With his wand now in hand, Harry pointed it at the horcrux imprisoned in Narcissa Malfoy’s frozen
fingers. “Accio Ravenclaw’s quill,” he said triumphantly and watched with satisfaction as the
bright blue feather flew into his hand. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening
with unshed tears of worry and sorrow.

“How did you do that?” she asked him breathlessly, still clutching him with all of her might.

“I used the summoning charm,” Harry explained with a look of confusion on his face. “You taught it
to me, remember? Although I was beginning to think that it didn’t work on this bloody quill…”

Hermione shook her head dismissively. “No, not that.” Her eyes shone with a combination of awe,
fear and affection. “You did wandless magic, Harry.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Harry admitted modestly. “I didn’t even really think about it. Narcissa was
getting away and I just felt something come alive inside of me…”

“We’ll have to work on it when we get back to Grimmauld,” Hermione said excitedly, as ideas were
already spinning around in her mind. “This is huge, Harry. This could be the key to defeating
Voldemort. The very thing that gives you the edge.” She beamed at him. “Oh Harry, I’m so proud of
you.”

As she once again enveloped him in a hug, pressing her face perilously close to his own in the
process, Harry tried very hard to resist the urge to kiss her. He might very well have failed in
this Herculean effort had the door not opened behind them, making them jump apart slightly. “I
certainly hope I haven’t interrupted anything,” a baritone voice called out from across the
building.

His face eerily illuminated in the darkness by his lit wand, Commodus Brinecove looked more or less
the same as he had at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, his drawn face offset by a cheery smile. “Professor
Brinecove,” Hermione said, her tone flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Brinecove replied simply. “Well, not *here*. Obviously. I have a flat a few
blocks down.”

“And you were just out for a little midnight stroll?” Harry asked sarcastically, still a little
peeved about being interrupted.

“I have wards set up that detect the use of Unforgiveables,” Professor Brinecove explained. He
began to walk around the building with an air of an investigator, his illuminated wand first
hovering over the dead body of Mundungus Fletcher and then the petrified Narcissa Malfoy.
“Now…would someone like to tell me exactly what happened here?” he asked, as though he were already
in the classroom, lecturing to Hogwarts students. “No, let me guess. You found out that something
unsavory was going to happen between this lowlife,” he indicated Mundungus Fletcher with a flick of
his wand, “and the ever lovely Mrs. Malfoy over there and decided to stop it yourselves, rather
than go to the proper authorities. Am I right?”

Without pausing, he said, “Of course I am.” Brinecove let out a deep sigh and ran his fingers
through his silver and black hair. “Whatever am I to do with you two crazy kids? You just can’t
seem to keep yourselves out of trouble.” He seemed to think it over for a moment, as Harry and
Hermione were both too stunned to speak. “Tell you what. I’ll let it slide this time. But make sure
this never happens again. Understand?” Harry and Hermione both nodded their heads dumbly. “Good,”
Brinecove said, his smile bright and chipper again. “Run along now. You’ll want to get a good
night’s sleep. Your first day of Hogwarts is in the morning. The start of your seventh year. NEWTs,
graduation, it’s all so very exciting.” Harry stood there scratching his head as he watched
Brinecove wax enthusiastic about Hogwarts. “Well, go on. I’ll take care of everything here.”

Harry and Hermione reluctantly began to walk away from the new DADA Professor, still more than a
little confused as to what exactly had transpired here, when Brinecove suddenly began chuckling to
himself. “I can’t believe that I nearly forgot. Where is my mind today?” He pointed his wand at a
startled Harry. “Accio Ravenclaw’s quill.” The two teenagers watched in horror as Professor
Brinecove grabbed the quill from the air and pocketed it. “On behalf of Headmistress McGonagall, I
would like to thank you for retrieving such a valuable piece of school property. I’m sure you’ll
get a special commendation for it.” Hermione looked faint. Harry wanted to scream. “See you in
class!”

**I've noticed that there were several questions about Hermione's black dress she wore to
the wedding as to why she couldn't just change the color of it magically. My take on this is
that if witches and wizards could just magically change their clothing a) there wouldn't be
much of a clothing industry in the wizarding world and b) Ron would have done something to
magically change his dress robes for the Yule Ball. Of course, I could always be wrong.

If you stuck with me this long, tune in next time for Chapter 10: Traipsing Through Pensieves. The
H/Hr romance starts in earnest over the next few chapters.

ITL**

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10. Chapter 10: Traipsing Through Pensieves
-------------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money
off of the Harry Potter franchise.

Huge, bowing apologies for how late *this* chapter is. Again, no excuses. Look for Chapter 11 on
11/7.**

Chapter 10: Traipsing Through Pensieves

Harry could feel sweat beading up on his forehead as he trudged through vast sand dunes, his robes
covered in dust and the man walking beside him barely visible through the wind-blown sand. Since
Harry did not remember falling asleep in the middle of a desert, he assumed this must be another
one of his dreams as Lord Voldemort. They were becoming so frequent now that he no longer
registered surprise when he found himself in one, choosing instead to pay close attention to what
went on, hoping that he might learn something important from them, even if only by accident.

“Do my eyes deceive me, Septimus?” he heard his own voice call out above the howling wind. “Is that
an oasis ahead? Or is it just another damned mirage?”

Septimus Prince squinted and scanned the horizon, his crimson headcloth flapping wildly in the
gale. He shook his head slightly in reply. “I’m sorry, Tom Marvolo. I can’t see a thing.” Turning
against the dust storm, he called out to a trio of men riding on camels behind them in a language
that Harry didn’t understand (which, admittedly, did include most of them). After a moment’s
conversation, he faced Voldemort again. “We should be within half a mile of it by now. That’s their
best guess.” Septimus lowered his voice slightly. “However, I don’t think our guides are very
enthusiastic about going on. Maybe if we…”

“Then send them back,” Voldemort interrupted dismissively. “I don’t need them.” Septimus hesitated,
looking back and forth between the dark wizard and the three muggles uncertainly. “You speak Siwi,”
Voldemort continued insistently. “I don’t. Tell them to turn back.”

“Are you certain that’s wise?” Septimus asked loudly as the wind threatened to drown out his words.
“The zaggala know more about this area than…”

Without a word, Voldemort spun around, aimed his wand at one of the camels and fired a stunner at
its front legs. Poor aim or the storm raging around them made the spell miss its target by a few
centimeters, but both the animals and the muggles riding them were badly spooked. After several
loud, fearful exchanges with each other, the three zaggala rode off in the opposite direction,
leaving Lord Voldemort and Septimus Prince to finish the journey alone.

“I thought we agreed not to use magic in front of the muggles,” Septimus said after a few minutes
of silence, his tone more resigned than chiding.

“Easy to keep up your end of the bargain, wasn’t it?” Voldemort sneered. The old man did not bother
to reply. “Muggles are worthless vermin, Septimus. You’re a pureblood. Why waste your time with
them?”

“There are instances in which muggles can be useful,” Septimus said sagely. “Perhaps in time you
will see…” The old man stopped suddenly, staring with mouth agape at what stood in front of him.
“Sweet mother of Merlin! I think we’ve found it.”

Voldemort’s eyes were transfixed on a small, artificially constructed cave which stood defiant in
the face of the elements, an undisturbed oasis in the midst of barren nothingness. A gigantic
serpent’s head carved from alabaster blocked the entrance, its ruby-studded eyes seeming to gleam
with menace. A small stream of water poured out from the rock floor, pooling into a small pond just
below the cave’s mouth. “The Shrine of the Serpent,” Voldemort declared in a reverent
whisper.

“There are many legends about this place,” Septimus said, his own voice filled with wonder. “Some
say it’s the last remaining entrance to the Garden of Eden. Others claim that it’s an ancient
temple dedicated to the Egyptian goddess Naunet. Only one thing is certain: no living creature has
ever been able to enter, with one exception.”

“Snakes,” Voldemort said gleefully. Indeed, snakes of all kinds and sizes slithered in and out of
the cave’s entrance, with some sunbathing on rocks while others swam smoothly across the still
water, occasionally lingering to feast on a dead insect. Voldemort’s mouth spread into a wide grin
at the sight.

“I had half-convinced myself it didn’t exist,” Septimus muttered. He then turned to face Voldemort
again. “Are you sure that you want to go through with this?” A fearful look crossed his weathered
face. “The magic that protects this shrine is ancient. In all likelihood, it’s older and more
powerful than anything you’ve ever encountered before.” He grabbed Voldemort by the shoulder and
looked him straight in the eye. “Think of what you’re putting at risk. There’s no guarantee that
the Emerald of Edessa is even here. This could all be for nothing.”

Voldemort shook him off, his eyes never leaving the cave. “This,” he hissed, gesturing to the
alabaster serpent statue that loomed over them both, “is my dessstiny.” As Septimus looked on in
disgust, Voldemort metamorphosed into a serpent, his off white throbe and headcloth abandoned in
the sand.

Harry found himself once again looking through the eyes of a snake, courtesy of his mental
connection to Lord Voldemort. The serpent slithered its way into the water, its scales quickly
rinsed clean of sand and dust. It glided along the surface of the pool, all the while ignoring the
other snakes surrounding it, concentrating only on reaching the entrance of the cave. Within
seconds, Voldemort’s serpent form crawled out of the water and began to slither slowly up the
alabaster statue. ‘It looks just like the stone serpents in the Chamber of Secrets,’ Harry thought
to himself. The snake curled around the smooth grooves of the large red-eyed statue, searching for
a way into the cave. Eventually, it found a method of entry and wriggled its way inside.

His eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness, Harry caught sight of a large gemstone of green hue
sitting by itself in a dank corner. A small hole in the cave ceiling allowed sunlight to illuminate
the space around the stone, making it sparkle and shine. “Do you see it, Tom Marvolo?” Septimus’
voice came from below.

“Yesss,” he hissed in parseltongue by way of reply. Voldemort seemed to be in no hurry to take the
stone, as his serpentine body weaved its way slowly through the dirt, coming to rest only inches
away from where the gem was lying. His forked tongue flicked out to smell the air around it, but
did not touch the stone.

“You might want to exercise caution,” Septimus warned, his distant voice echoing slightly in the
cave. “Horcruxes are usually protected by very complex wards.”

“I ssshould know, ssshouldn’t I?” Voldemort hissed, although Harry wondered if Septimus Prince
could understand him. “I’ve made five of them myssself.” At his words, the green gem gave off a
slight glow, dazzling the eyes of the snake for a moment.

“Lord SSSlytherin,” Voldemort rasped. “I am the one you have waited for. I am your Heir. The one
tasssked with returning you to power. If you can hear and underssstand, then appear before me.” The
emerald began to shake violently. “Your humble ssservant awaits your command…”

With a loud crack, the gem burst open like an egg shell. The cave filled with pale green smoke, as
an eerie glow emanated from the fissure where the emerald had broken. Instead of the spectral form
of Salazar Slytherin that Harry was expecting, however, only more green smoke appeared, filling
Voldemort’s lungs and nearly asphyxiating him. Apart from the fact that he could no longer breathe,
Harry also felt an odd draining feeling spread through him; a tingling sensation that made his
entire serpentine body tremble with weakness.

Attempting to escape the smoke, Voldemort slithered from the cave, coiling around the stone snake
groggily and slithering gradually downward. As he neared the base of the statue, his body began to
shudder violently. Harry felt slightly sick, like a sailor who had been at sea too long and was
feeling a bit wobbly as he attempted to walk on land. Falling limply on wet stone only a few meters
from the water, Voldemort began to take human form once again.

“What are you doing?” Septimus Prince’s frantic voice came from across the water. “You idiot!
You’ll be killed!”

“I’m not doing it…on purpose…” Voldemort gasped in what must have sounded like an odd combination
of English and parseltongue. His energy completely sapped, he fell into the water lifelessly.

If Harry hadn’t kept telling himself that it wasn’t his lungs filling completely with water, he
would have been in a panic. As it was, he could only watch with morbid fascination as Voldemort
started to drown. Idly, Harry wondered what would happen to him if he did. He couldn’t die, after
all. Would his body be destroyed, as it had been when he had tried to kill Harry as a baby?

The question soon became academic, as Harry felt himself being yanked to shore by a large walking
stick with a crimson headcloth tied around it. The cloth looped over his head and arms and, with a
great deal of effort, Septimus Prince pulled Voldemort from the water, his body still half-human,
half-snake. He coughed violently and spat up a small amount of water, his snake-like nostrils
flaring as he began to breathe normally again.

“What happened in there?” Septimus asked concernedly as Voldemort slipped once again into his
throbe, at last completing the transformation from his animagus form.

“The Emerald of Edessa,” Voldemort said through ragged breaths, “…was there, but it wasn’t…the
horcrux. There was nothing left of *him*. Nothing…” Voldemort’s clenched fist pounded the
sand, much of it sticking to the wet skin on his knuckles.

“Never mind all of that,” Septimus interrupted impatiently. “What of the emerald itself? Did you
take it?”

“It’s gone,” Voldemort replied in a raspy voice. “I destroyed it.” His eyes lingered on one of his
footprints in the sand as every trace of it blew away slowly. “Whenever I spoke to it…in
parseltongue, the stone shattered into pieces…”

Septimus swore and kicked the sand. “That bloody emerald was worth more than half the vaults in
Gringotts! Did you know that? I could have been rich enough to…” Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he
met Septimus’ irritated glare. The hatred in the Dark Lord’s eyes bade Prince to fall silent for a
moment.

It was only temporary, however. As the old man looked over the fallen form of Lord Voldemort, he
let out a long sigh. “Did you really think that this was going to make everything simple for you,
Tom Marvolo? Solve all of your problems? Give your life direction and meaning?” Septimus shook his
head sadly. “Have I taught you nothing?”

“You’ve taught me lies and half-truths,” Voldemort snarled back, his voice fully sounding like the
one Harry knew and loathed for the first time. “Damn it, Septimus, I’m tired of being toyed with!
I’m sick of feeling like a pawn in a game that began centuries before I was even born.” Rising to
stand in one fluid motion, Voldemort rounded on Prince with fury blazing in his eyes.

“Chasing horcruxes is a game best played by fools,” Septimus remarked grimly. “Immortality is a
thing often desired, seldom realized, and very seldom desired once it has been realized.” He looked
thoughtful for a moment. “Although I suppose the greatest fool is the one who makes a horcrux in
the first place. Wizards have been creating them for countless millennia. Yet how many
thousand-year-old wizards do you see walking around? None. It’s a complete waste of time and
magic.”

Voldemort began to quiver in fury. “What would you know about it?” he asked angrily, his wand hand
rising menacingly. “You’re just a bitter, frustrated old squib!” A pained expression came over the
older man’s face. “Or do you think I haven’t seen all of those spells you’ve written? There are
reams of them, hidden all over your shop. Does it kill you to know that you’ll never be able to
cast even a single one of them?”

“Are you quite finished?” Septimus asked curtly, his voice chilly but calm. “Slytherin was no fool.
He would have realized the danger inherent in relying only on a horcrux to keep him alive.”
Voldemort’s glare must have been murderous, as Septimus flinched instinctively. “All I’m suggesting
is that perhaps he found some other way of ensuring his immortality.”

“And just what would that be, exactly?” Voldemort demanded, clearly still seething. His eyes
narrowed suspiciously. “Are you holding something back from me, Septimus?”

“What would I be holding back?” Septimus retorted. “I’m just a ‘bitter, frustrated old squib’,
after all.”

“Indeed you are,” Voldemort agreed mercilessly. “But you’re also a knowledgeable bitter, frustrated
old squib. And right now you’re all I have.”

“Very well. If you truly don’t want me to hold back,” he began wearily. “Pack it in, Tom Marvolo.
Abandon your quest. You have the potential to be one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. But
this obsession is destroying you.” Voldemort turned away from him to stare at the billowing hills
of sand surrounding them. “Forget about being Slytherin’s Heir and find your own path to power.
Seize it before it’s too late.”

“And if I choose not to?” Voldemort asked, his voice sounding like a pouting child’s.

Septimus considered that for a moment. “Then I suggest you go back to the beginning. Retrace your
steps to discover what brought you to this point and start anew. Perhaps you’ll find something that
you missed the first time around.” Septimus moved to face Voldemort. “That means going back to
Hogwarts, Tom Marvolo. Back to the Chamber of Secrets.” He gave Voldemort a manly slap on the back
that, in his weakened state, nearly knocked him down. “For now, though, why don’t you go back into
that cave and gather up the shards of the Emerald of Edessa? I’d wager I could still get a few
hundred galleons a piece for them, if the buyer’s gullible enough.”

***
“Wingardium leviosa.” Harry focused intently on the feather lying on the bed between Hermione and
himself, his eyes shut tightly, his whole face screwed up in concentration and his hands clutching
his knees painfully. “Is it doing anything?” he asked Hermione in a strained voice.

“It looks like it’s moving,” Hermione replied optimistically. Harry allowed himself a slight grin
of victory at that. “On second thought, maybe not,” she continued sheepishly. “I think it was just
floating. There is a bit of a draft in here, you know.”

Taking the setback in stride, Harry smiled at Hermione coyly. “So that’s why you’ve been snuggling
so close to me at night.” He expected Hermione to hit him in the arm for that remark, but as he
opened his eyes he saw that she had turned pink with embarrassment instead.

“I reckon this makes it official,” Harry said, smartly deciding to change the subject. “I’m rubbish
at occlumency, wandless magic and French cuisine.” Here he referred to his attempt last night to
give Kreacher the night off and make a cheese soufflé. Three extra-strength cooling charms and a
special hex that Hermione had learned to dispel smoke later, Harry decided that perhaps he had
better leave the majority of the cooking to the Black family house elf in future. “On the other
hand, I’m ridiculously wealthy, good at Quidditch and I’ve never been more fanciable. D’you think
any of those things might help me beat Voldemort?”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said softly, her eyes shyly examining the top sheet below them. “I
suppose I’m not a very good teacher.”

Harry shook his head quickly. “You’re an excellent teacher, Hermione.” Harry left the bed to walk
over to the dresser, plucked his wand from the pocket of a set of robes he had draped there the
night before and turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully. “I just don’t seem to be very
good at learning anything lately.”

“But…Harry…” Hermione began in protest. “It doesn’t make sense! Without a wand, you cast a severing
charm on a net the size of this room. When you were about to destroy Slytherin’s locket, you used
the summoning charm without even saying a word!”

“And now I can’t make a feather float,” Harry grumbled. “It just doesn’t add up, does it?”

“It has to,” Hermione said confidently, although an anxious expression dominated her features as
she looked especially thoughtful for a moment. “What if it’s all tied to your emotions?” she asked,
biting down on her bottom lip slightly as she sat up on the bed to face him.

“My emotions?” Harry questioned with a puzzled look on his face. “You mean I can only do wandless
magic when I feel a certain way?”

Hermione seemed cautiously optimistic. “Maybe.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “When I was growing
up, there were times that the magic inside me would come out unexpectedly. There was an incident
with a shelf full of heavy reference books and a snotty little brat who always called me a
‘know-it-all bookworm’ that comes to mind.” Harry smiled at that. “Each time my emotional state
helped trigger these little magical ‘accidents’. I didn’t need a wand to direct the flow of magic;
just a strong emotion, like anger or fear…”

“Or love,” Harry finished for her before he could stop himself. Their eyes met and Harry could
swear he felt a spark of electricity course through his veins.

“I…suppose love would have to be in there, too,” Hermione finished with an awkward laugh as she
forced her eyes away from his own. “All I’m saying is that maybe wandless magic works the same way.
Your emotions govern its use until you can master it.”

“So all I have to do to move the feather is have strong feelings about it?” Harry asked. Hermione
nodded. “I don’t suppose really, really wanting it to float counts?” Harry collapsed on the bed and
gave the feather a cross look. “I guess I could pretend it was Ravenclaw’s quill. Now there’s a
feather that brings out my emotions. Frustration, anger, more frustration…” Harry sighed softly. “I
wish I would have just hexed Brinecove and taken the ruddy thing.”

“That would have been monumentally stupid, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “Attacking a teacher to
steal school property at a murder scene wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t say it would have been a good idea,” Harry countered cheekily. “I said I wish I would
have done it. There’s a difference.”

“Professor Brinecove certainly has been eating up the attention,” Hermione said with an air of
disgust as she eyed a copy of the *Daily Prophet* sitting on the end of the bed. Commodus
Brinecove’s smiling face filled up the picture on the front page, as the headline blared, “Hogwarts
Professor Captures Suspected Death Eater”. The line below it read “Narcissa Malfoy to Be Charged
with Murder, Conspiracy, Treason.”

“I wonder if she’ll end up in a cell next to her husband’s?” Harry asked, but Hermione was no
longer listening to him. She was reading an article further down the page about the new measure
passed by the Wizengamot requiring qualifying students to either return to Hogwarts or pay a hefty
fine. There was now even talk of banning truant students from Hogwarts for life. “Have you changed
your mind?” Harry inquired, his demeanor suddenly very serious.

“About what?” Hermione asked, for once seemingly unable to read Harry’s mind.

“About going back to Hogwarts,” Harry elaborated. “I’ll pay the fine, if that’s what’s worrying
you.”

“It isn’t,” Hermione replied with a polite smile. “And I haven’t changed my mind. I’m staying with
you. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Her loyalty to him couldn’t help but make him smile back; however, Harry knew Hermione well enough
to realize that she wasn’t being entirely honest with him. “But you think we should go back.”

Hermione turned away from him to place the newspaper on a small table next to the bed. “Well, we’ll
have to go back eventually, won’t we? To get the quill.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Would it really be so terrible?” Hermione snapped and the veneer of harmony that had existed
between them in the days since Hogwarts had re-opened was gone in an instant. “Minister Scrimgeour
might be nothing more than a longwinded political opportunist, but he was right about one thing:
Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the wizarding world. That’s part of the reason why
Dumbledore always fought so hard to keep it open, and to keep you in school.”

Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “Dumbledore’s dead, Hermione, and if Voldemort has his
way, I will be, too. So if safety’s what you’re worried about, you should probably stay as far away
from me as possible!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hermione countered, emotion heavy in her voice. “I’m thinking about your
safety, too. I always do.” Her expression became stormy. “There are things that you need to learn,
Harry, things that could actually help you defeat him. Things that, as hard as I try, I can’t teach
you.”

“What?” Harry scoffed. “Occlumency and wandless magic? Funny, I’ve never seen those offered as
classes at Hogwarts before.”

“Professor Chambers could…” Hermione began.

“And what about the horcruxes?” Harry demanded, not caring to hear what Professor Chambers could
do. “Are we just supposed to forget about them?”

“Of course not,” Hermione answered, sounding a little hurt by the accusation. “But we could always
keep researching them from Hogwarts. I think we’ve more or less exhausted the Black family library
and I’ll bet Headmistress McGonagall would let us have access to the restricted section, if we told
her what it was for. There might be loads of new books to look through.”

Harry left the bed to stand and face the doorway, his eyes glassy and distant. “Harry, talk to me.
Tell me why this is bothering you so much.” As he kept giving her the silent treatment, Hermione
began to make Harry’s side of the bed, as much to give herself something to do as out of a penchant
for neatness. She hated not knowing what to say to Harry; hated this awkward silence that was now a
barrier between them. “I, erm, found a reference in one of the Leach guides to a vampire collector
in Romania who might have ended up with some of the items from Septimus Prince’s estate. However,
the article doesn’t make it very clear whether the collector is a vampire or someone who collects
vampires, so I don’t really know who to...” Harry did not seem to be paying attention to what she
was saying. “This is about Dumbledore, isn’t it?”

Harry did not turn around to face her as he spoke. “Dumbledore didn’t collect vampires, Hermione.
And if he ever lived in Romania, he never told me about it.”

“The reason that you don’t want to go back to Hogwarts has to do with Dumbledore,” Hermione
corrected him with a look of grim determination on her face. “Hogwarts has always been more than
just a school to you, it’s been your home. But without Dumbledore…”

“It’s just a castle,” Harry finished for her, his voice oddly flat. “Full of reminders of things
that don’t exist anymore.”

Hermione nodded, a look of understanding crossing her face. “Are you sure you’re up to seeing him
again?” They had made arrangements with the goblin in charge of Gringotts’ probate accounts to view
Dumbledore’s pensieve will in only a few hours’ time.

“I won’t exactly be seeing *him*, will I?” Harry asked bitterly, finally turning to face
Hermione. “It’ll just be a memory. I might as well have a conversation with his chocolate frog
card.”

Hermione shot him a look that said that she saw right through him. “It’s alright to be nervous
about it, but I know you’re expecting him to tell you something important. You get that hopeful
look on your face every time you talk about it.”

“I don’t have a hopeful…” Harry started to reply indignantly, but Hermione’s hand reached out to
touch his face before he could stop her.

“It’s your eyebrows, see?” she remarked as she brushed his forehead with her fingers. “They rise up
ever so slightly…”

Harry caught Hermione’s hand in his own, holding her wrist gently with his fingers. He took a
moment to relish how her hand felt in his own, how they seemed to fit together just so. Harry was
suddenly acutely aware of how close they were to each other, their lips only inches apart, her
breath warming his cheek. “Hermione, I…”

With a loud bang, the door to their bedroom slammed open, nearly making a crack in the wall as it
did so. Both Harry and Hermione instinctively reached for their wands. “What was that?” Harry asked
breathlessly.

“There’s nothing here,” Hermione assessed after doing a few quick detection spells to make sure
nobody was hiding under an invisibility cloak or using a disillusionment charm. “Do you think maybe
you could have done it? By accident, of course.”

“Yeah, I reckon it’s a possibility,” Harry answered her, his voice betraying a lingering sense of
apprehension. “My emotions were running pretty high there for a minute.”

“Listen, Harry,” Hermione began, as she eyed the floor apologetically, “about going back to
school…”

“You were right about Dumbledore’s pensieve will,” Harry interrupted. Hermione’s head shot up and
her eyes met his questioningly. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think there might be
something important he didn’t have time to tell me while he was alive. Something that might help us
find the remaining horcruxes. If there isn’t…” Harry swallowed and brought his hand up to cup
Hermione’s chin. “If there isn’t, then we’ll go back to Hogwarts.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “Alright, Harry,” she said acquiescently. “I
think I can live with that. But I don’t want you to feel like I’ve forced you into anything.”

“You haven’t,” Harry assured her as he put his hand on her shoulder soothingly, giving it a
reassuring rub. “It may be a bit awkward at first, but going back to Hogwarts does make a good deal
of sense. I just wish we weren’t going back without…”

“Ron,” Hermione said at the same time Harry did. “I know what you mean. Everything’s so uncertain
right now.” She brought her head to rest in the crook of Harry’s arm as his hands slid slowly down
her back. “It’s times like this I wish I could talk to…” She let out a small gasp and pushed
herself away from him. “My parents!”

“I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t,” Harry pointed out, a bit perplexed (and more than a
little disappointed) by Hermione’s abrupt departure from his arms. “You can apparate over there any
time you like, you know. Or there’s a telephone booth a few blocks down if you just want to give
them a ring. I could even send Hedwig…”

“No, Harry,” Hermione corrected him through clenched teeth. “My parents. Are here. Now!”

A feeling of immense dread filled Harry as he spun slowly around, putting what he hoped was a safe
distance between himself and Hermione. In the doorway stood Hermione’s parents, looking much the
same as they had all the times he had briefly caught their eye while at King’s Cross, except they
were now glowering at him furiously. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger! N…nice to see you again.”

“Mum, Dad,” Hermione began, her voice conveying her total shock at the situation. “What are you
doing here? You’re not supposed to be…”

“We’re not supposed to be here?” her father, a tall, brown-haired man wearing a business suit and
otherwise looking completely nondescript demanded incredulously. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s a bloody
laugh riot, that is.”

“Headmistress McGonagall paid us a visit yesterday,” Mrs. Granger continued tersely, her own angry
face looking uncannily like an older version of Hermione’s when she was on the warpath. “She
informed us that you were no longer attending Hogwarts and expressed deep concern over your
academic future. She said you were a ‘very bright witch’ and actually asked us if we’d had you
transferred to another wizarding school. As if we have any control over what you do anymore.”

“Mum, I can explain,” Hermione said, although she did not sound very convinced of that herself.
Harry ached to close the distance between them and lend her some support, but his fear of making
the situation worse kept him frozen in place.

“Oh, I’d wager I can explain it fairly well myself,” her mother said with a cold smile. “Here you
are, living in a mansion with a rich and handsome young man. He’s made you forget all about going
to school and getting good grades. He’s swept you off of your feet and you’re madly in love with
him. Unless I’m misreading the fact that both your things and his are in this room, I’m going to
hazard a guess and say that you’re sleeping with him, too.”

“We had such high hopes for you, Hermione,” Mr. Granger threw in, a heavy sadness evident in his
voice. “How did it come to this? Do you have any idea how disappointed we are in you?”

Hermione wasn’t doing a very good job of fighting back tears. “Please don’t do this to me. Not
here, not like this.”

“You’re right,” Mrs. Granger agreed with a thin smile that did not match the cold glare in her
eyes. “There really isn’t any reason to embarrass you further in front of your boyfriend. You’re
coming home with us.”

Having had quite enough of the three of them talking as though he wasn’t there, Harry stepped in
front of Hermione, putting himself squarely between her and her parents. “That isn’t going to
happen,” he informed them matter-of-factly. “Hermione’s of age now. She doesn’t have to go anywhere
with you if she doesn’t want to.”

“She’s only of age in the wizarding world,” Hermione’s father pointed out with a triumphant smirk.
“We’re still her guardians in the muggle world for a few more weeks. Unless you managed to slip a
rock on her finger before jumping in the sack with her, we’re completely within our rights to take
her home with us.”

“We’re not sleeping together,” Harry replied in a self-righteous tone. The Grangers shot him a look
of disbelief. “Alright, so we *are* sleeping together, but it’s not what you think. Everything
is…complicated, right now. Trust me, Hermione’s helping me do something vitally important to the
survival of our world.” As Hermione’s parents still looked skeptical, Harry’s own temper was
reaching the boiling point. “You know what? Bugger trusting me. If you don’t trust your daughter,
then you obviously don’t know her as well as I do. She’s the most caring, compassionate, and
kind-hearted person I’ve ever known. I trust her with my life.” Harry reached out and grabbed her
hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “And I’m not about to let you take her from this
house without Hermione’s say so.”

As all three of them slowly turned their attention to Hermione, he noticed that her eyes were now
free of tears. “That’s not yours anymore,” she said, pointing to a red checked tie that her father
was wearing.

The Grangers seemed confused, while Harry looked chagrined. “I don’t think this is helping,” he
whispered to her nervously. “You’re sounding like Luna Lovegood.”

Hermione ignored him as she stepped in front of him to confront her parents. “I gave you that tie
as a birthday present when I was seven years old. You told me you loved it, but as soon as I went
away to Hogwarts, Mum repackaged it and gave it to my cousin Clarence as a Christmas present. You
didn’t think I would notice, but I did.” Hermione froze suddenly. “Mum, how’s Crookshanks?”

“Crookshanks is fine, dear,” Hermione’s mother answered, seemingly befuddled by the question.
“Although he’s been anxious for you to come home for weeks now…”

Harry watched in fascination as Hermione shook her head incredulously. “That’s a bit odd, don’t you
think? Considering that I left him with Susan Bones over the summer. I’d imagine he’s probably back
at Hogwarts by now, even though I’m not.” Her confidence and poise had returned and she was now
looking at the figures in front of her with contempt in her eyes. “I don’t know who you are, but
you’re not my parents.”

Harry almost let out a sigh of relief, until he realized only a split second later that if these
people were not Hermione’s parents, they were impersonating them for a reason, quite possibly a
very dangerous one. “So I suppose the only question left to be answered is: who are you really and
what are you doing here?”

In one of those incredibly rare moments of fortuitous timing, Kreacher entered the room. “Is Master
Potter and his…unfortunately parented miss alright? Kreacher heard strange voices…” As soon as the
blue-skinned house elf entered the room and faced the Grangers, their image began to transform.
Harry was flabbergasted to see the black dress that Hermione had looked so stunning in at Bill and
Fleur’s wedding now being worn by its former owner. Walburga Black stood where the image of
Hermione’s parents had once been, brandishing a pair of charcoal gray socks and trying to hand them
to Kreacher.

“No,” the house elf pleaded pitifully. “Please Mistress, no. Kreacher never meant to betray you by
serving blood traitors! Please don’t set Kreacher free!”

Harry walked up to the image of Sirius’ mother and leveled his wand at her. “Riddikulus,” he
intoned evenly, flicking his wand and pointing it at the boggart. In an instant, it became a
ridiculously oversized sock puppet, still wearing that much maligned black dress. Nobody could
muster up a laugh.

“Get rid of it, Harry,” Hermione pleaded. Her eyes looked weary and her demeanor frazzled, as
though she had been up all night studying for an exam. Harry knew that he probably didn’t look much
better.

“It’s just a boggart, Hermione,” Harry assured her. “What could it possibly…?” But the look on her
face told him everything. She was embarrassed; embarrassed that she was still so afraid of failure,
of disappointing others, just as she had been in third year when they had to face a boggart during
their final in Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Harry had faced the boggart, too, and had seen the same thing Hermione had. How was that possible?
Did it mean that Harry now feared Hermione’s parents more than dementors, Death Eaters or Lord
Voldemort himself? ‘No,’ he answered himself quickly. ‘What I fear the most is Hermione being taken
away from me by something I can’t fight. More than anything else in the world, I’m afraid of losing
Hermione.’ With that thought fixed in his mind, he ushered the boggart into a dusty old cabinet
downstairs, vowing to banish it whenever he felt like laughing again. Judging from his melancholy
mood, that would be a very long time from now.

***
Vault 1764 was buried deep within the heart of Gringotts, with the only way to access it a long and
grueling cart ride through the underground tunnels beneath the wizard’s bank. The goblin occupying
the seat next to Harry, who bore the unlikely name of Taperlobe, sprang from his seat in a bounce,
while Hermione had turned an unpleasant shade of green. Ever the gentleman, Harry helped her from
the cart as it ground to a halt, all the while thinking rather ungentlemanly thoughts about how to
vomit up his breakfast without anyone else seeing.

Taperlobe jangled his keys in search of the one which would open the vault. As the three of them
approached the large metallic door with the number ‘1764’ seared on it, a cold shiver of
anticipation ran up Harry’s spine. He felt as though he were visiting Dumbledore’s tomb all over
again and a mournful, somber expression came over his face.

As the goblin’s bony hand turned the key, Hermione tried in vain to make small talk. “Do you think
most of the goblins will side with Voldemort, when the time comes? Or with the Ministry?” Taperlobe
ignored her with little difficulty. “I know it might be hard to talk about now, but it really is
rather important…”

“Here we are,” the goblin’s squeaky voice interrupted coldly. “Vault 1764. Personal effects of
departed Hogwarts staff members and faculty.”

The interior of the vault was as large as the one which stored Harry’s wealth only a few hundred
meters of track away, but was nearly empty, containing only a handful of items that were randomly
scattered about the room. While Hermione examined a curious-looking foe glass, Harry felt oddly
drawn to a vacant part of the room, as if some invisible force were beckoning him there. Taperlobe
meanwhile gestured to an old hatbox which stood in the middle of the room, gathering dust. “This is
the pensieve will of the deceased, Mr. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” the goblin
declared airily. “The two of you have been brought here per his final request, although there was
also a Mr. Ronald Weasley who…”

“He couldn’t make it,” Harry told the goblin, his eyes never leaving the pensieve and his tone of
voice deceptively calm and even.

“Very well,” Taperlobe replied gruffly. “I shall leave you two alone to view the will. Bear in
mind, however, that this vault is monitored constantly both by Gringotts security and by
pre-authorized personnel at Hogwarts. Look at nothing, touch nothing, interact with nothing.” As
the goblin exited the vault, Hermione moved to stand closer to the pensieve will.

Cautiously, Harry removed the lid from the box and stared down at the swirling white mist inside
for a few long moments. Despite his expressed indifference, he was a little nervous about seeing
Dumbledore again. “Would you rather do this alone?” Hermione asked softly. She was standing beside
him with a brave look on her face, her arm casually interlocked with his own.

Harry shook his head forcefully. “No. I need you with me.” He looked up from the pensieve to meet
Hermione’s gaze and flashed her a winning smile. “Besides, I might forget something. You won’t.”
She smiled shyly back in reply. “Are you ready for this?” he asked her, although he was unsure if
he would ever be ready for it himself. When Hermione nodded, they both plunged into the
pensieve.

Harry and Hermione were suddenly no longer standing in the middle of a cavernous Gringotts vault
but in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, surrounded by Dumbledore’s collection of knickknacks
and the various portraits of Headmasters’ past. Fawkes sat on his perch in a cage near the stair,
stretching lazily and looking as though he might have to go through a burning day in a few weeks’
time. Behind the large desk in the middle of the room was the man whose memory they were reliving
right now, the greatest wizard Harry had ever known and the best mentor and friend he could have
asked for, although at times he could also be the most frustrating.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk looking over a thick stack of parchment, his half-moon shaped
glasses reflecting the soft glow of candlelight. “You may come closer if you like, Harry,” his deep
voice advised gently, although his eyes never left the parchment. “I would offer you a seat and a
lemon drop, but you see, you’re not really here.” Dumbledore looked up thoughtfully. “Although I
suppose from your point of view, I’m the one who’s not really here. Perspective really does count
for a great deal, doesn’t it?”

As Harry and Hermione moved closer to the Headmaster’s desk, they noticed that both of Dumbledore’s
hands were perfectly normal. ‘This must be a memory from before I started sixth year,’ Harry
thought dispiritedly. ‘Before we even began looking for the horcruxes, or going through Tom
Riddle’s memories. What could he possibly have to say to me now?’ Harry frowned in thought. ‘Or
would that be ‘then’? This perspective business is bound to give a bloke a splitting
headache.’

“I apologize for meeting you like this, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he rose from behind his desk to
stand over them, his shadow falling just where Harry and Hermione would have been if they were
really standing in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. “This is not how I imagined our last
meeting. However, these are dangerous times, and I am a very old man. Death is an inevitable fact
and war only makes it that much more likely. Still, I’ve lived a long and happy life. My only
regret is that I did not live long enough to see you through the difficult times that are to come.
Although you have endured much, I’m afraid there are still more trials ahead for you. Greater
trials than any young man your age should have to go through. For that, I truly am sorry.”

Dumbledore walked around them to stand in front of his desk. “I have had the great sorrow and the
great joy of watching my two most promising young students grow to become something that I myself
never would have expected. Tom followed an ancient path of evil, losing the most important part of
himself in a quest to preserve his own life for all eternity, making it a purposeless effort in the
process.

“But you, Harry, have chosen to reject evil, time and again. Your choice has been clear from the
first time you stepped through these doors. From the moment you chose Ron Weasley as a friend
instead of Draco Malfoy; Gryffindor House rather than Slytherin. A decision the Sorting Hat still
adamantly opposes, by the way.” With an amused expression, he pointed to the weathered hat sitting
on the shelf, a surly look etched on its face. “ My one great hope for you is that you never forget
that choice, nor what was going through your mind when you made it. For sometimes, Harry, the
greatest evil we face lies not behind a Death Eater’s mask or a dementor’s cloak, but in
ourselves.

“I have accomplished many things in the course of my life. Vanquishing Grindelwald, discovering the
twelve uses of dragon’s blood and, of course, getting my own chocolate frog card that will allow
posterity to know that I vanquished Grindelwald and discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood.
Memories fade and the memories of Professor Binns’ History of Magic lectures fade more quickly than
most, but chocolate frog cards are forever.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “However, a part of
me fears that the only thing I have truly bequeathed to the world is this war. I once held the
future of Tom Marvolo Riddle in my hands. I could have let him remain in a muggle orphanage, cut
off from the rest of wizardkind forever. But I chose to give him a chance in our world, because I
sensed greatness in him. However, I could not still the fire that burned in his heart, nor end his
hatred with my displays of mercy, understanding and kindness. Tom could never truly appreciate
goodness and love, as he had never experienced either himself. It took me far, far too long to
realize that.

“If it is my lot to be forever remembered as the wizard who allowed Tom Marvolo Riddle to become
Lord Voldemort, then I hope I shall also be remembered as the one who gave Harry Potter what he
needed to fulfill his destiny, to become the Chosen One. After your parents were killed, I was
unsure of what would become of you, orphaned and abandoned on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep as an
infant. Would you become bitter, isolated and angry, just as Tom had? I had reason to believe that
you would. Your Aunt and Uncle were certainly not kind to you. It was when I saw you in the
hospital wing, after you had defeated Professor Quirrell and saved the Philosopher’s Stone, that I
knew I had been wrong to doubt you. In the years since, you’ve proven yourself to be a great wizard
on countless occasions. Your parents would have been quite proud of the man you’ve become, Harry,
just as I am. Just as I always will be, no matter where the next great adventure takes me.”

Hermione entwined the fingers of her left hand with those in Harry’s right. “I could stand here and
reminisce with you all day, Harry, but what would be the point? Sooner or later, this memory will
come to an end and there are several things we need to discuss first. First and foremost are the
horcruxes.” Hermione’s eyes brightened noticeably and Harry’s pulse quickened in anticipation.
“They are Tom’s Achilles heel, his greatest weakness. You have already destroyed one during second
year, when you drove a basilisk’s fang through Tom Riddle’s diary in the Chamber of Secrets. I have
reason to believe that he made six more and that he may have placed particular emphasis on items
owned by the founders of Hogwarts. Finding and destroying the horcruxes is essential to defeating
Voldemort. You must never forget that.”

“The next matter I wish to discuss,” Dumbledore began, but Harry had stopped paying
attention.

“That’s it?” he asked Hermione in a disappointed whisper. “That’s all he’s going to say about the
horcruxes?”

“Be patient, Harry, and listen. Maybe he’s not finished,” Hermione replied, which was the politest
way of saying ‘shut up’ that Harry had ever heard.

“…Snape,” was what Dumbledore was saying whenever Harry began listening again. “I know your
animosity toward him runs deep and that you have many valid reasons to hate him. You must put your
personal feelings aside, however, and learn to trust Severus Snape, as I have, for he possesses the
key to your very survival.”

“Snape killed you!” Harry yelled at the image of Dumbledore, as if warning him of his impending
fate could somehow bring him back. “He nearly killed Ron! How am I supposed to…”

Hermione pressed her palm against Harry’s chest. “Remember where you are, Harry,” she said, her
voice oddly serene, although Harry heard a note of sadness in it. “This isn’t why we’re
here.”

“The Order of the Phoenix will likely be thrown into chaos by my death,” Dumbledore continued,
oblivious to Harry’s outburst. “In my own vanity, I fear I have made myself the indispensable man
in the Order. Please do not stand on ceremony as a tribute to me. The Order of the Phoenix is only
a tool in the larger war against Voldemort. If it no longer functions as such, feel free to do away
with it and start again, with yourself, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger as charter members, of course.
I leave this matter to your good judgment, which brings me rather nicely to a confession I’d like
to make.

“For the last several months, I have been administering something called carpe diem potion to you
in your food and drink.” As Harry’s jaw dropped, Dumbledore calmly drank an orange-colored solution
from a goblet. “It has no distinctive taste or smell, imbues the drinker with additional courage
and is otherwise completely harmless. I often drink it myself.” Hermione frowned deeply and
appeared to be mulling something over in her mind. “I urge you to continue taking it, as I find it
a convenient cure for the natural timidity having to make a life-or-death decision instantaneously
can cause. Providing leadership in a time of war has driven men to find solace in any number of
horrible things. Carpe diem potion is far from the worst.

“And that, I believe, is the most terrible part of the legacy I have left you, Harry. The burden of
waging and winning the war is now completely on your shoulders. It will take a combination of
wisdom, intelligence, strength and good fortune that few men have ever possessed to be able to do
so. Happily, I have seen each of these qualities in you. Even more fortunately, you have friends
who have demonstrated them as well. Miss Granger in particular, I think, will be most helpful to
you in this regard.” Harry looked at Hermione with an appreciation that had very little to do with
the fact that he was in love with her.

“Do not forget the words of the prophecy, Harry. You have a power the Dark Lord knows not. I
believe that it is a willingness to forgive those who have wronged you, the ability to inspire
trust and loyalty in others, the power to love unconditionally. Put simply, it is a desire to
embrace what makes us mortal, rather than run from it.” Dumbledore’s face shone brightly in that
moment, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and hope. “When the final battle comes, it is those
qualities in you, Harry, that will ultimately defeat Voldemort.”

Harry was silent as he stood over the pensieve, his hands still gripping the sides of the box after
pulling his head from the white mist. Hermione was giving him her trademark look of concern.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments, although this time there was nothing awkward about the
silence. “So that’s it, then,” Harry finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, the anguish she felt for him bleeding from her voice. “I know
you were expecting more than that…”

Harry threw the hatbox-shaped pensieve will across the room, his hands balling themselves into
fists. “You’re bloody well right I was expecting more than that!” Harry began pacing around the
room anxiously. “The last thing I needed was a great load of rubbish about trusting Snape and what
a great wizard I am! Why didn’t he just give me a pat on the head and tell me to eat my sodding
vegetables?”

“Harry, stop,” Hermione advised, her voice purposely calm and rational.

Deciding to ignore her for the moment, Harry continued ranting. “How exactly am I supposed to trust
Snape, anyway? He’s in a coma and, here’s an interesting side note, he’s a Death Eater! If I’m such
a great wizard who has this power to beat Voldemort, why haven’t I used it already? Why won’t
anybody tell me what it is? And what the bloody hell is carpe diem potion?”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, her hands grabbing his shoulders and her eyes meeting his with a look
of stern determination. “Calm down. Take deep breaths. Pretend like this is an occlumency lesson.”
As Harry closed his eyes, he could already feel his heartbeat slow and his breathing beginning to
return to normal. Hermione always seemed to know how best to deal with his anger. “Carpe diem
potion was a product that was supposed to make those who drank it exceptionally brave. It was taken
off of the market years ago because it tends to accelerate the production of male hormones and, in
rare cases, causes hallucinations. Why Dumbledore thought you needed it I have no idea. You’ve
never been short on bravery.”

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at her widely. “The power he knows not…that’s something you’re
going to have to figure out for yourself, Harry. Right now, you probably know Tom Marvolo Riddle
better than anyone.” ‘Now there’s a depressing thought,’ Harry said to himself. “As for Snape…” she
began tentatively.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him,” Harry said, his anger beginning to flare again.

“Of course not,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly. “Not after he killed Dumbledore. But perhaps we
should examine his motives more closely. Remember what Mundungus said.”

Harry thought back to how certain Mundungus Fletcher was that Dumbledore couldn’t have been
murdered, that he couldn’t have died unless he wanted to. Harry shook his head slowly. “Mundungus
trusted Snape, too. Look where it got him.”

“I’m not saying that we should trust Snape, I’m just saying…” Her voice trailed off suddenly, her
eyes fixing on something across the room. “That’s Professor Brinecove.”

Harry’s worried expression deepened. “What?”

“In the foe glass,” Hermione elaborated as she walked over to the old device sitting not far from
the vault door. Harry followed her without hesitation. “You see? There. It’s Commodus
Brinecove.”

Indeed, the face in the glass was Brinecove’s, the chiseled features and peppered black and gray
hair now all too familiar. “All that means is that Brinecove is someone’s worst enemy, which I
don’t find very hard to believe, by the way. I don’t see…”

“Let’s talk about what we don’t see for a moment,” Hermione cut in. “Remember when Taperlobe said
that someone from Hogwarts was monitoring this vault. Have you given any thought as to how they’re
doing it?”

The light dawned on Harry. “Through the foe glass. It’s some sort of two-way mirror or
something.”

“Exactly,” Hermione responded anxiously. “And he’s already seen us.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “To tell you the truth, Hermione, I don’t care. We’re going to Hogwarts
anyway. It doesn’t much matter to me whether or not we go back at wandpoint.”

“Well, it matters to me,” Hermione replied insistently. “In fact, maybe we should delay going back
to Hogwarts. At least for a little while.”

“What?” Harry wondered aloud, completely perplexed by Hermione’s behavior. “What changed your
mind?”

“You,” she answered quickly, “and Dumbledore. I’m not sure I know quite how to explain it, but
Dumbledore always made me feel so completely safe and sure of myself. There’s only one other person
who’s ever made me feel that way.” The intensity in her eyes left no doubt in Harry’s mind that she
was talking about him. “Somehow, I think we have everything we need to defeat Voldemort already.
It’s just a matter of learning what it is and how to use it.” Hermione had begun idly playing with
the buttons of Harry’s shirt as she spoke. “Besides, we’re only a few solid leads away from finding
Hufflepuff’s cup, and I’ve been working on putting the remains of the Animus Signatus potion back
to…” Hermione gasped suddenly. “He’s gone!”

“Who?” Harry asked reflexively. When Hermione indicated the foe glass, Harry nodded in
understanding. “Brinecove. He won’t waste a lot of time making his way here.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I’ll bet he’s authorized to use the two-way portkeys the Ministry installed
at Hogwarts, too.” She grabbed Harry by the hand and began leading . “Come on. Let’s get out of
here.” Upon exiting the vault, however, they found that the goblin who had brought them there was
long gone. Harry swore under his breath. “Accio cart!” Hermione said, pointing her wand in the
direction of the track. After a few moments of waiting, nothing happened.

“Here’s an idea,” Harry announced suddenly as he led Hermione by the hand back into the vault.
“Hide.”

“Hide where?” Hermione wanted to know. “Behind a shoebox? There’s nothing in here!”

“Maybe,” Harry mused thoughtfully. He suddenly withdrew his wand and cast a revealing charm on the
blank wall. A thick, cobweb-laden red curtain appeared, obscuring a doorway. “Then again, maybe
not.”

Hermione took the time to check the curtain for harmful jinxes and curses. After she was completely
satisfied that there were none, the two of them pulled the curtain aside and crossed the threshold,
only to see…yet another odd-looking brown box with a white glow around the top. “Another pensieve?”
he wondered aloud.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Hermione assessed quickly. “There are other pensieve wills out there. Why all
the secrecy surrounding this one?”

Harry smiled mischievously at her. “Curious to see what’s in it?”

“No,” Hermione replied automatically. Harry shot her a look of disbelief. “Alright, yes. But Harry
we were strictly forbidden from…”

“I’m going in,” Harry announced confidently as he strode over to the pensieve and removed the lid.
His eyes searched hers expectantly. “Are you coming?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, the things you talk me into doing.”

A moment later, they were inside a luxuriously decorated room, filled with more precious antique
items than you were likely to see in your average museum. Harry caught himself watching his step a
bit, despite the fact that he could not touch anything here. Standing in the middle of the vast
array of valuable items was a slight man with a pale complexion who wore a turban on his head and
looked strikingly familiar. “I, Janus Quirrell, being of sound m-mind and body, leave everything
here to my Uncle M-M-M-Mordred.”

“Harry, look,” Hermione explained, pointing frantically at something just over Professor Quirrell’s
shoulder. “Isn’t that…”

It was just as Harry remembered it. “Hufflepuff’s cup.”

**This was a long one, so thanks to everyone just for reading it all the way through. Chapter 11
is the one you've all been waiting for...the one where Ginny comes back! Also H/Hr might kiss
or something. It's called "Something Off His Chest", so draw from that what you will.
All reviews are appreciated!

ITL**

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11. Author's Note
-----------------

I would again like to offer my sincere apologies for the lack of updates. About four weeks ago I
lost pretty much everything I owned in a house fire, so fanfic writing has had to take kind of a
back seat. As I am somewhat back on my feet now, I should be able to resume writing "Off
Balance". Expect an update on December the 11th. Thank you for your patience and support.
ITL
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12. Chapter 11: Something Off His Chest
---------------------------------------

**These characters do not belong to me. They belong to a cruel, cruel woman who doesn't
like well-written romance and the people who publish her.

Due to the fact that my life was a bit more difficult to rebuild than I thought (and certain
holidays such as Christmas, New Year's and Boxing Day) I am waaaaay late on getting this story
updated. However, I hope to make up for it by the fact that this chapter is waaaaay long. So it
balances out, maybe? Anyway, big thanks to everyone for their support about the fire and also to
everyone who has stuck with this story despite the fact it hasn't been updated in two months.
Portkey readers are the best!**



Chapter 11: Something Off His Chest

The soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the window next to his familiar four post bed,
allowing Harry just enough light to make his way around in what was otherwise complete darkness.
His feet wormed their way into an old, comfortable pair of slippers and he began to creep across
the room silently, trying his best not to disturb his slumbering classmates. The attempt turned out
to be for naught, however, as his shin made painful contact with an oak writing desk that sat only
a few meters from his bed. “Ow!” he exclaimed in spite of himself. “Bloody…”

In the space of a moment, Harry realized a few things. For one, there hadn’t ever been a window
that close to his four-post bed. For another, there wasn’t a large writing desk in the middle of
the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, nor did he even own a pair of slippers. A lit wand behind him
illuminated the room dimly. “Dorian, izzat you?” a groggy voice called out.

“Go back to sleep, Deimos,” he heard his own voice reply. To Harry’s great surprise, apparently he
*was* Dorian. What exactly was going on here?

“Blimey, Dorian, it’s three o’clock in the morning,” Deimos exclaimed in exasperation. “You’re not
going to work on Slughorn’s three foot moonstone essay, are you? We’ve got all weekend…”

Dorian turned to face Deimos for the first time, revealing a heavyset lad of about fifteen with
curled blonde hair and a curious yet bleary expression on his face. “Actually, I sort of finished
it already.”

Deimos rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” The blonde boy propped himself up in the bed,
leaning on one elbow. “Are you trying out for Keeper again? There’s no point, you know. Watson’s
never going to let you back on the team.”

Harry felt his lips form into a thin smile. “Watson’s a right git.”

“So if it’s not Quidditch practice, or homework,” Deimos mused aloud. “Oh bloody hell, Dorian,
please tell me you’re not going to go see *her* again.” Dorian’s silence must have been all
the confirmation he needed. “For crying out loud, man, she’s a ghost. You’re a living, breathing
wizard. It’s not natural!” Deimos lowered his voice. “If this gets around, people will think you’ve
gone completely sack of hammers!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Lovegood,” a haughty voice declared. A young man with long, wavy
brown hair stood between Dorian and Deimos, a smirk of superiority plastered on his face. For the
first time, Harry could just make out the Ravenclaw colors on the banners around the room. “Some of
us have thought Flemingworth was nutters from the moment he came to Hogwarts. Anyone who would
willingly befriend you had to be at least a little daft.”

“Shut it, Watson,” Dorian retorted angrily. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Watson sneered. “I’m a prefect. A Ravenclaw sneaking out in the middle of the night doing Merlin
knows what does concern me.” Watson glared coldly into his eyes. “Haven’t you lost us enough house
points for one year?” Dorian’s eyes darted away from the other boy’s. “Go back to sleep. In the
morning I’ll decide whether or not to report this to Headmaster Dumbledore.” Satisfied that he had
bullied Dorian Flemingworth into submission, Watson returned to his own bed without another
word.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Deimos advised in a sulky tone. “He’s still sore because you got
Ravenclaw’s quill and he didn’t. It’s not enough that he made prefect…”

“I’m not worried about Rupert Watson,” Dorian interrupted dismissively. With some reluctance he
returned to his bed, removing his slippers and letting his back fall flat against the
mattress.

“But you are worried about something,” Deimos Lovegood countered. “Don’t try to deny it. I’ve known
you for too long.” The blonde boy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you really doing, spending all of that
time in the second floor girls’ lavatory? Is it another one of your experiments?”

Just then, a memory flashed through his mind. A soft, hissing voice commanded him to enter the
Chamber of Secrets, to find something that was missing. The voice was unmistakably Voldemort’s.
“It’s nothing,” Dorian claimed dismissively, although his heart was now racing and his palms were
clammy with sweat. In feigned exhaustion, he put his head down on the pillow below it, deliberately
turning away from Deimos. “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” Deimos replied with a sigh. “Whatever it is, I wish you would let me help you,” he muttered
under his breath.

A few silent moments passed before Dorian whispered, “You don’t understand. I have to do
this…”

***

“…alone.” Harry spoke the word aloud as he awoke, startling himself in the process. Slightly
embarrassed, he turned to see if any of his Gryffindor dorm mates had heard him, but found only
empty beds. Instead of the darkness that had permeated the Ravenclaw dormitory in his dream, bright
rays of sunshine filled the room. ‘I must have overslept,’ Harry thought to himself. Rising from
his bed and donning his glasses, he grabbed a clean set of robes and rushed off to the showers,
grumbling all the way.

Only hours ago, Harry would have been content to return to Hogwarts, secure in the knowledge that
Dumbledore’s pensieve will had not given him any clues about the location of the remaining
horcruxes. After all, the only horcrux Hermione and he were certain about, Ravenclaw’s quill, was
being kept here. But then they had discovered Professor Quirrell’s pensieve will, which had given
them the best lead on Hufflepuff’s cup that they’d had so far: five years earlier it had been
bequeathed to Quirrell’s Great Uncle, Mordred. Given that Ravenclaw’s quill was likely now under
lock and key, courtesy of one Commodus Brinecove, Hufflepuff’s cup looked very much like the easier
target.

As soon as he thought of Brinecove, a shiver crept up his spine. There was something about the man
that he simply didn’t trust. Upon discovering them at Gringott’s, Professor Brinecove had escorted
Harry and Hermione back to the old castle and, although he had seemed quite angry with them, had
given them only a single night’s detention as punishment. They had spent the previous evening with
the relatively light duty of trimming Brinecove’s entire collection of candles, and they were also
instructed to burn a few whose wicks were too short for use in class. Considering that the
Professor had left them alone for most of the detention, the atmosphere in the room was decidedly
more romantic than Harry would have otherwise expected.

Harry shook his head quickly. There was no sense in dwelling on thoughts like that. The life he was
now living allowed little to no time for romance and, in any case, Hermione obviously didn’t feel
that way about him. She had been dating Ron, at least before Snape’s spell had rendered him
comatose, and she had also dropped some not-so-subtle hints that she had fallen in love with Viktor
Krum. ‘In other words, her love life is every bit as confusing as mine,’ Harry thought to himself.
‘The last thing I want is to make things more difficult for her.’ It would take some time, but he
would simply have to get over her.

As Harry exited the Gryffindor common room, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he hardly
noticed a voice calling out his name. “Mr. Potter,” the formal if decidedly not polite voice of
Percy Weasley called out. “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed. He turned to fully face the former Head Boy and current obnoxious prat,
a frown of confusion forming on his forehead. What would Percy want to talk to him about that was
so important?

A sour look came over Percy’s usually impassive face. “Because of Professor Hagrid’s extended
absence from Hogwarts, I’ve been named temporary Head of Gryffindor House. Therefore it is my
responsibility to give you your class schedule.” Harry took the piece of parchment from Percy’s
hand and found, much to his dismay, that Defense Against the Dark Arts would be his first class of
the day. That meant seeing Brinecove again and soon, a fate which he had hoped to avoid.

Hogwarts’ new Potions Master looked down at him with a sneer that reminded him very much of the old
one, and he didn’t mean Slughorn. “Having a bit of a lie in, were you?” Percy asked
contemptuously.

“No,” Harry answered, his tone indignant. Why was Percy being so snide? “Readjusting to life at
Hogwarts is going to take a little getting used to.”

Percy’s lips pursed. “I would advise you to be careful. Professor Dumbledore isn’t here any more to
afford you special treatment. You will no longer be able to bend the rules with impunity.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Harry replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He began to walk away
quickly, hoping to avoid any further confrontation with his new Potions instructor, when he
suddenly heard Percy’s voice inside his head. ‘Ron would be here now, if he had just listened to
me. If only he had stayed away from Potter.’

Harry had no idea how he had read Percy’s mind, but at the moment he was too furious with him to
care. Instinctively, he spun around to give the Potions Master a piece of his mind. “Percy!” When
the redhead returned his glare, however, the sadness in his eyes gave Harry pause. For some reason,
he could not bring himself to show anger toward Percy Weasley. “About Ron…I just wanted you to know
that I’m sorry for what happened.”

Percy boiled over with rage. “You will address me as *Professor* Weasley in future, Mr.
Potter. I trust I shall not have to warn you again, as I can assure you I will not bother to do
so.” Haughtily, he spun on his heel and marched down the corridor in the opposite direction from
where Harry was headed.

Trying his best to forget all about *Professor* Percy Weasley, Harry dashed down the stairs
(nearly losing his footing a few times as the staircase moved about) and ran breathlessly into the
Great Hall. The cavernous room had never felt so large and imposing, and the sight of Professor
McGonagall sitting where Dumbledore always had filled him with only depressing thoughts. The raging
thunderstorm brewing on the ceiling mirrored Harry’s foul mood perfectly.

Harry wasn’t here to brood, however. Several burning questions were on his mind and there was only
one girl who he hoped could answer them. For once, however, that girl wasn’t Hermione Granger.
“Luna!” Harry called out to the blonde sixth year, who was sitting all alone at the Ravenclaw
table. Luna Lovegood waved back at him almost shyly and then bade him to sit across from her, all
the while stirring an odd-looking mixture of oatmeal, egg yolks and sliced baby carrots. “How have
you been?”

“I can’t complain,” Luna answered matter-of-factly. “It’s the Festival Day of the Saturnine
Klangsnoppers, you know. If you complain before the moon rises, they make gigantic tufts of hair
start growing out of your ears. So, of course, everything is wonderful,” she finished, running her
fingers along each ear to make certain no hair was growing where it shouldn’t be. “How are things
with you?”

“Er, fine,” Harry answered. He suddenly found it very difficult to resist feeling his own ears. “I
was just wondering if Headmistress McGonagall had returned Ravenclaw’s quill to you.”

Luna shook her head no, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “Professor Brinecove was very insistent that
the quill stay with him. He said that I was too irresponsible to be charged with the upkeep of
Hogwarts’ property. Naturally, I informed him that the odds of Professor Snape stealing it from me
at wandpoint during a Death Eater attack on the Quibbler a second time were infinitesimally small,
but he simply wouldn’t listen to reason. Not that I’m complaining about that, of course,” Luna
added hastily as she clapped her hands over her ears.

Harry wasn’t at all surprised that Professor Brinecove had not given the quill back to Luna.
However, it was much easier to ask her about that than it was to talk to her about his latest
dream, which even he didn’t fully understand. “Luna, do you, er, happen to know a Deimos Lovegood?”
he asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

Luna appeared to ponder this for a moment. “No,” she finally answered, “although I do have an uncle
named Deimos. Is that who you mean?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry answered with as straight a face as he could manage. “You’ve never met
him?” he asked curiously.

Luna’s head bobbed from side to side, making the miniature broom sticks she wore in her ears seem
to swoop and dive. “No. He’s older than my father, you know, and their lives took very different
paths. To be completely honest with you, Harry, he has a reputation as the family eccentric.” She
motioned for Harry to lean closer and lowered her voice. “He lives in Portugal,” she whispered, as
though confessing a shameful family secret.

“I had no idea,” Harry replied, trying his best to keep a flummoxed expression from his face. For a
moment, he attempted to imagine what someone might have to do to be considered the Lovegood family
eccentric. “So I suppose you’ve never heard of someone named Dorian Flemingworth,” Harry continued
in a defeated tone of voice.

Luna giggled. “Don’t be silly, Harry. Everyone in Ravenclaw House has heard of Deimos and Dorian.
They’re legendary Hogwarts best mates, rather like you and Ronald, or your father and Stubby
Boardman. They were always getting themselves into and out of one scrape or another.” Luna quirked
one eyebrow and gave Harry an inquisitive look. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Harry replied just a little too quickly. Luna shot him a look of disbelief, a rarity
from her to be sure. “I just…read somewhere that he was awarded Ravenclaw’s quill,” he lied
lamely.

Luna nodded, and this time one of the broomsticks hanging from her ears shot a miniature quaffle
through the hoop holding the other one aloft. “Yes, that’s true. In fact, Dorian Flemingworth is
said to have written the definitive essay on the quill. I tried to check it out last year, but the
essays of former students can only be taken from the library by faculty members.” Harry frowned. He
had no idea that papers written by students were even kept in the library. “I’m sorry, Harry. Where
are my manners? Would you like some pumpkin juice? Or I could have the house elves bring you
something else if you’d rather…”

As her hand extended the pitcher of orange liquid toward him, a thought suddenly struck Harry.
“Dobby,” he whispered suddenly. When the house elf did not immediately appear, Harry repeated
himself in a much louder voice. “Dobby!”

In an instant, the small, pitiful-looking house elf with large bulbous eyes appeared before him,
looking positively gleeful. “Harry Potter calls for Dobby! What can Dobby be getting you this
morning, sir? Porridge? Kippers and eggs? Bangers and mash? Whatever you want, sir, Dobby will be
bringing it to you straight away. Nothing is too good for Harry…”

“Dobby, stop,” Harry interrupted, his harsh tone immediately making Dobby’s expression droop. “I
need you to listen to me. Do you know anything about carpe diem potion,” Dobby’s eyes hit the
floor, “being put in my food and drink,” his body shrunk down in shame, “all throughout last year?”
The house elf’s feet shuffled guiltily and his ears went pale and limp.

“Dobby was only doing what he was told,” he answered with a sniffle. “Dobby never meant to make
Harry Potter angry.”

“I’m not angry!” Harry exclaimed unconvincingly. When several Ravenclaws turned to examine him as
though he had gone mad, he lowered his voice. “I just wanted to know why.”

Dobby had begun to sob, making Harry feel sorry for the house elf, if only just a little.
“Dumbledore said that it was for Harry Potter’s own good, but he wouldn’t tell Dobby why. Dobby
swears that if he knew…” The distraught house elf squeaked as Harry felt something pointed strike
the back of his head. Snatching it before it hit the ground, he saw that the missile in question
was a paper airplane that looked to have been thrown his way from the Slytherin table, at least if
the snickering expressions of Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson were any indication. Dobby took the
occasion of Harry’s distraction to disappear with a quick pop.

Unfolding the paper, Harry saw that it was a sketch of Luna Lovegood and himself, sitting
underneath a large tree. Miniature hearts flew around them as Luna’s stick figure form leaned over
to give stick figure Harry a kiss. Once she had done so, the miniature Harry transformed into a
frog. Frog Harry did not seem to be very happy with his new life, despite the fact that the artist
had allowed him to keep his glasses and scar.

“They think we’re together, don’t they?” Luna asked him conversationally, after swallowing a bit of
her oatmeal.

“What?” Harry snapped, turning his attention away from the crude drawing quickly. “What do you
mean?”

Luna rolled her eyes. “They think I’m your girlfriend.” When Harry still looked confused, Luna
elaborated. “It was all over the *Prophet* this summer, after the attack on the Quibbler. And
you didn’t help matters much by yelling my name and running to sit at the Ravenclaw table before
even saying hello to your fellow Gryffindors.” Harry snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table, only
to see Neville casting him a quick icy glare before turning to say something to Ginny, who was
clearly ignoring him.

“It’s a perfectly ridiculous notion, of course,” Luna continued between bites of her odd-looking
breakfast. “When you fancy someone, you’re as obvious about it as a shrimp-tailed pondskimmer.” At
that moment, Hermione entered the Great Hall accompanied by Susan Bones, who was carrying a rather
sad-looking Crookshanks in her arms. “For one, you can’t stop staring at her.” Harry was only
barely paying attention to Luna. His eyes were fixed on Hermione, who was laughing at something
Susan was saying. “You can’t concentrate on anything else when she’s around.” A first-year
Ravenclaw suddenly let out a yelp, turned around and shot him a scathing look. This confused Harry
until he realized that he had poured a pitcher full of pumpkin juice on her head instead of in his
goblet. “And, the most telling sign of all, you can’t stand it when she’s with another bloke.”
Hermione’s eyes darted away from Susan suddenly and found those of a tall, dark figure in Auror’s
robes standing by himself in the corner.

“Luna,” Harry asked, barely masking the anger in his voice, “is that Viktor Krum?”

“Hmm?” Luna replied dazedly. “Oh, yes, I suppose it is. He volunteered to serve with the Auror
detail protecting Hogwarts this year, although he won’t say why. Isn’t that strange?” She gave him
a coy smile that made him think she understood more about this situation than she was letting on.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Harry. I’m sure you and Hermione will end up very happy
together.”

Harry was a little tired of having this conversation. “Hermione and I aren’t together. She’s dating
Ron,” he assured her thoughtlessly.

“Oh,” Luna replied, her voice suddenly very small. “I didn’t know that.” Her eyes seemed glassier
now, her manner distant and her expression was one of complete disappointment.

Harry felt very much like a heel. “I’m sorry, Luna. I didn’t mean for it to come out like
that…”

Turnabout was fair play, as Luna was now not paying him the least bit of attention, choosing
instead to stare avidly at Hermione. “But why her? They’re all wrong for each other. They have
nothing in common. They bicker constantly. They say cruel, horrible things to each other.”

“That must be their own weird way of saying that they like each other,” Harry answered her glumly.
“Unresolved romantic tension boiling over or something like that.”

Luna gaped at him incredulously. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” Blinking rapidly, she
threw her things together in a large, brown furry knapsack that Harry could have sworn was
growling. “I have to go, Harry. I’ll see you around.”

“Luna, wait…” Harry began, but before he could finish that thought he caught sight of Hermione
crossing the Great Hall, making a beeline for where Viktor Krum was standing. After nearly tripping
over the same Ravenclaw first year on whose head he had poured pumpkin juice, Harry half-sprinted,
half-hobbled up to Hermione with a goofy grin plastered on his face. “Hermione!” he called out
cheerily. Once he was standing in front of her, however, he suddenly realized that he had no idea
what he was going to say. “Erm, I see you got Crookshanks back,” he tried.

“Yes, I did,” Hermione answered him, although her eyes wandered to Viktor Krum “It looks like Susan
took very good care of him, even if he does seem a little on the scrawny side.” Crookshanks seemed
to take offense at that remark and turned his nose up in the air.

“It’s good to have him back,” Harry supplied vacantly. “I missed him.” His eyes looked her over
longingly, making it clear to anyone who was paying attention that what he was really saying was “I
missed you.” He would never have imagined that not having her by his side for one night would have
made such a difference, but it had. His bed had felt terribly cold and empty without her in
it.

“Me, too,” Hermione replied with a warm smile. They stood just like that, their eyes locked on each
other for what seemed like an eternity, until the sound of Krum clearing his throat spoiled the
moment. “I should probably go, Harry. There was something I wanted to ask Viktor before
class…”

“Actually,” Harry said, not feeling even a little sorry about interrupting Hermione and Viktor’s
alone time, “there’s something I needed to talk to you about, too. In private.”

A familiar look of worry came over Hermione’s face, a look that had always told him just how much
she cared about his well-being. “Alright,” she said and grabbed him by the hand, leading him out of
the castle. She brought them to a halt in front of a drab fountain not far from the main entrance
marked only by an inscription written in a language Harry couldn’t read. “What is it, Harry?”
Hermione asked, her voice laden with concern.

Harry spent the next several minutes telling Hermione about his dream the night before and
informing her of what Luna had told him about Deimos Lovegood and Dorian Flemingworth. Hermione
looked thoughtful for a moment. “Wasn’t it Judy Flemingworth who pulled that stunt with Ravenclaw’s
quill last year? Charming it so that it copied all of Cho’s notes and homework?” she asked, the
gears in her mind turning rapidly.

Harry gave it a few seconds’ thought. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Do you think they might be…?” Hermione was about to finish that thought, but was interrupted by
the chiming of the clock. Her eyes darted back in the direction of the castle. “I’ll tell you
later, Harry. Right now we need to get to class.”

***
Harry and Hermione entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom without books, as apparently
Professor Brinecove had not assigned a DADA textbook for the seventh years. Ordinarily, Harry would
have thought this to be quite unusual, except for the fact that he already thought Brinecove was
such an odd duck that nothing about him was really that surprising anymore. Except, perhaps, for
what was sitting on his desk.

A small ebony box, trimmed in gold and covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics, lie on his desk gathering
dust. Harry found himself suppressing a groan. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked
dispiritedly.

“The Box of Set,” Hermione confirmed with a sigh. “I saw a picture of it once in the Daily
Prophet.” Harry remembered the box from a discussion he’d had with Fred and George at Bill’s
wedding. The Box of Set was the inspiration for their Reach For Something Strongboxes and had the
exact same magical properties, meaning that nothing could be put in or taken out without the
willful consent of the owner. “I don’t think there’s any great mystery about what’s inside of it,
either.”

Harry nodded. “Ravenclaw’s quill.” He let out a short sigh of exasperation. “We’re right back where
we started.”

“Everyone take your seats,” Brinecove instructed disinterestedly from a seated position at his
desk, where he was poring over a great deal of paperwork. “Class will begin momentarily.”

After casting more than a few dirty looks at their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry and
Hermione sat down near the front of the classroom, only one desk over from where Neville Longbottom
and Susan Bones were chatting quite amicably. As soon as they sat down, Brinecove rose abruptly,
his face now a mask of glee rather than indifference. “Hello, my young witches and wizards! Welcome
to your seventh and, we all hope, your final year at Hogwarts. I am Commodus Brinecove, your new
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” he announced aloud, his voice exuberant. “Now, let’s see
what we’ve learned so far in this class, shall we? Who in here can tell me exactly what it means to
defend oneself against the dark arts?” A hand shot into the air. “Yes, Mr. MacMillan.”

“Combating dark wizards and unfriendly magical creatures using a wide variety of spells and magical
objects,” Ernie MacMillan explained in a self-assured voice.

“Yes,” Professor Brinecove answered with a wave of his arm, “that is indeed the textbook
definition. Five points to Hufflepuff. But is that all there is? Dueling dark wizards and banishing
banshees? I submit to you that there is more to Defense Against the Dark Arts than just fighting
the ‘bad guys’. In this class we will seek to understand the nature of evil itself.” Brinecove
smiled widely as Hermione raised her hand. “Miss Granger? Would you care to elaborate on that
point?”

Hermione cleared her throat and examined Brinecove appraisingly. “In my opinion, ‘sir’, dark
wizards are evil because they think themselves better than others, and thus believe they have the
right to do unnatural things to them. Like enslave them, torture them,” she said with an anxious
gulp, “or kill them.”

“Ah, an excellent point,” Brinecove replied with a smile. “Ten points to Gryffindor. So if evil
finds its origin in our ideas about ourselves, does that mean that only those who follow an
ideology of superiority, Death Eaters and the like, are predisposed to be ‘evil’?”

“Have you ever met Dolores Umbridge?” Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione shot him a grin
that was both supportive and amused. A few of the other students who heard him began to chuckle
lightly.

“Mr. Potter,” Brinecove called out in a scolding tone, “was there something you wished to share
with the class?”

Harry glared irritably at Professor Brinecove for calling attention to him, all the while
desperately trying to come up with a cover story. “I was just saying to Hermione that… everyone has
evil thoughts, evil inclinations, from time to time. People with the ability to act on them,” his
mind flashed to a memory of young Tom Riddle, murdering an innocent muggleborn girl and tearing his
soul asunder at the age of sixteen, “also have the responsibility to choose whether or not they
actually do.”

Brinecove’s already jovial expression brightened further. “Excellent! Excellent, Mr. Potter. Did
everyone hear that?” The Professor stared pointedly at a couple in the back of the classroom. “I’m
sorry to impose on you again, Mr. Potter, but I’m afraid a few Hufflepuffs were too busy chattering
to themselves to hear what you had to say. Would you mind standing in front of the whole class and
repeating what you just said?”

Resisting the urge to throttle his teacher, Harry rose from his seat, descended the stairs and
stood next to the smug-looking DADA Professor who was perched behind an overly large wooden podium,
looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. Harry tugged at his collar nervously. “Well,
erm, what I was saying was…”

“Expelliarmus!” Brinecove yelled suddenly, taking Harry completely by surprise. The Professor’s
spell hit him squarely in the chest, knocking Harry to the ground and sending his wand flying
across the room.

“Harry!” Hermione cried out in horror. In the blink of an eye, she had drawn her wand and aimed a
disarming spell of her own at Brinecove.

“Proteus maxima,” the DADA Professor incanted. As soon as he spoke the words, a magical barrier
formed around Brinecove’s lectern, blocking Hermione’s spell. “I would appreciate it if you would
not interfere in this matter, Miss Granger,” he advised in a deceptively calm voice, although his
eyes never left Harry’s dazed form, “or I shall have to start deducting some of those house points
you earned.” Brinecove shot a stunner just past Harry’s head; a warning shot, if ever he had seen
one. “Defend yourself, Mr. Potter.”

Harry was almost too stunned to speak. Had Brinecove really attacked him in the middle of a
classroom? Or was this all some cruel joke? “I…I don’t have my wand.”

The older man scoffed. “Is that what you would say to a Death Eater who’s out to kill you? That you
don’t have your wand?” He smiled wickedly. “Reducto!” Harry dodged the Reductor Curse just in time,
although splinters from the wooden chair it shattered cut into his leg. “Come now. Think!
Improvise! Serpensortia!” A large jungle green anaconda formed from the end of Brinecove’s wand.
“Oppugno,” he called out in a menacing voice. The anaconda began to slowly wrap itself around
Harry’s torso, binding his arms and legs and crushing his windpipe.

‘This one I can handle without a wand,’ Harry thought to himself. As he felt the air begin to leave
his lungs, however, he added, ‘I hope.’ “You don’t want to hurt me,” Harry assured the anaconda in
parseltongue. “Release me and attack him,” he continued, indicating Brinecove with a nod of his
head.

The anaconda seemed confused for a moment, then, after a few final painful squeezes, released
Harry, choosing to slither off to the other end of the classroom. The serpent soon disappeared with
a quickly spoken “Vipera evanesca” as Brinecove bristled. “I had heard you were a parselmouth, Mr.
Potter. I suppose I simply had to see it for myself to believe it.”

On the DADA Professor’s desk, the Box of Set began to rattle and jump about, as though agitated.
“Ignore that,” Brinecove ordered a few curious students who began to point at it excitedly. For the
first time, their new DADA professor seemed to lose his cool. He glared angrily at Harry and seemed
to be steeling himself to do something unpleasant. “Crucio!”

To Harry, everything was happening in slow motion. Brinecove towered over him, wand extended, a
maniacal expression etched on his face. He could hear Hermione gasp, Ernie Macmillan swear and
Neville moan, even from across the room. He could feel everything around him, the fear, the anxiety
and, from somewhere in the room, a sense of hope. It was a warm, familiar feeling. ‘What’s
happening to me?’

Harry watched the Cruciatus Curse coming at him with only casual interest. Intellectually, he knew
that the Unforgivable would cause him a great deal of pain, but somehow, almost instinctively, he
knew that it wouldn’t. Slowly but deliberately, he put his empty hand in front of his face, as
though his open palm could stop the spell on its own. “Protego,” he said simply. Immediately, a
shielding charm formed which deflected the Unforgivable, making it bounce harmlessly across the
room.

Brinecove’s demeanor changed instantaneously in a way that Harry wouldn’t have expected. “Ha! Yes!”
The middle-aged man clapped his hands together and whooped like a celebrating child. “Did you see
that? Did everyone see that?” He lowered his wand and extended a hand to Harry, a wide grin now
dominating his features. “Magnificent, Mr. Potter, truly magnificent! One hundred points to
Gryffindor for that brilliant display of magic.” Harry only stared at Brinecove with a bemused
expression on his face, unwilling to take the other man’s hand. “You may return to your seat now,
Mr. Potter. The demonstration is over.”

“Demonstration?” Harry repeated weakly. His limbs seemed paralyzed, as though he could no longer
move on his own power.

“Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to help Mr. Potter back to his seat?” Hermione glowered
angrily at Professor Brinecove, but eventually acquiesced, descending the stairs to offer Harry a
hand up. “What Mr. Potter just did, my young witches and wizards, is exactly what I expect you to
do by the end of this year.”

“What?” demanded the outraged voice of Seamus Finnigan. “Perform wandless magic? You’re mad!
There’s not more than one wizard in a thousand who can do that!”

Professor Brinecove shook his head. “Closer to one wizard in a million, Mr. Finnigan, and no, I was
not referring to wandless magic. I’m talking about defending yourself in actual combat.” Harry took
his seat next to Hermione as Commodus Brinecove continued haranguing his classmates. “Death Eaters
are a notoriously cowardly lot. They will not announce their presence before attempting to use an
Unforgivable on you. You have to be prepared!”

“Constant vigilance,” Neville squeaked from behind him. He was deathly pale, and likely had been
ever since Brinecove had tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry.

“This year, Defense Against the Dark Arts will be an entirely practical course. There will be no
homework, nor any written examinations. But make no mistake about it: you will be tested.” Commodus
Brinecove paced about the room anxiously. “You, my young witches and wizards, are preparing to
enter the real world. You are about to begin the journey down life’s path and none of you yet know
where that path will lead you. I consider it my task this year to prepare you not only to face the
evil that is now so prevalent in the magical world, but also to conquer the darkness within
yourselves. For you see, that is where your battle must begin.” Brinecove’s previously solemn
expression once again turned jovial. “Now, with all of that being said, I don’t see any reason why
you shouldn’t enjoy yourselves in this classroom. I find practical magic to be a lot more fun than
learning spells from books, don’t you? Why don’t we all pick up our wands and…”

“You think this is fun, don’t you?” Harry asked quietly. Despite the softness of his voice, the
entire classroom turned to look at him. Truth be told, some of them hadn’t stopped looking at him
since Brinecove had first disarmed him. Everyone was still a little shell shocked.

“I beg your pardon,” Brinecove asked with a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t quite
understand…”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Harry spat back, undaunted. “Fighting Death Eaters isn’t fun,
Professor. I hope that no one in this classroom ever has to do it. But it’s necessary. It’s
necessary because one sick, twisted wizard decided he wanted to ruin thousands of lives for his own
enjoyment.” He stood abruptly and gathered his things together, ignoring Hermione’s squawk of
protest as he threw some of her quills into his bag by accident. “If you want to pretend that
learning to protect yourself from deranged killers is fun, go on and do it. Just don’t ask me to
sit here and act like I enjoy it.”

***
Having stormed out of the classroom, Harry had planned on skulking his way back to the Gryffindor
common room to lay low until it was time for his next class. He certainly hadn’t expected Hermione
to come after him. “Harry, wait,” she called out to him beseechingly, her hand seizing his forearm
as she approached him.

“You’re not going to tell me I should go back in there, are you?” Harry asked snappishly, although
he had already stopped walking away from her. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy her displays
of affection, or her concern for his well-being, even if she only cared for him as a friend.

Hermione shook her head sorrowfully. As he turned to face her, Harry noticed that she was near
tears. “Oh Harry, of course not. What Professor Brinecove did to you was…unconscionable. I don’t
know how Headmistress McGonagall could allow it.”

“I doubt she had much say in it,” Harry offered bitterly. “My guess is Brinecove went over her
head, straight to the Minister of Magic.” A half-smile formed on his lips, although there was no
humor behind it. “What was it he told us at the wedding? That we’d find his curriculum ‘a bit more
exciting than we’re used to?’”

“It was really terrible, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice heavy with emotion. “Watching you up
there, defenseless, knowing that he could have done anything to you…” Her hand, which had not left
his right forearm, squeezed it tightly. “I was so worried.” She frowned deeply. “But then you saved
yourself, using…”

“Wandless magic,” Harry finished for her. “And before you ask, I haven’t the foggiest idea how I
did it. It just…happened. I can’t explain it.”

Hermione’s hand ran down the length of Harry’s arm. “Maybe we could work on it again, when we get
back to Grimmauld.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his eyes making contact with hers in a way that he suspected was more than
friendly. At the moment he didn’t really care if she noticed. “I think I’d like that.” Harry once
again began making his way toward the Gryffindor common room, only this time with Hermione walking
beside him. “So I reckon that means we’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon.”

“You two don’t stay in one place for very long, do you?” the fatigued voice of Ginny Weasley came
from behind him. Ginny appeared flushed and out of breath, as though she had just run a great
distance. “Headmistress McGonagall wants to see you in her office.” She shot a pointed look at
Hermione. “Both of you.” Ginny wore a curious look as she turned her attention solely on Harry.
“Why weren’t you in class? When I asked Professor Brinecove where you had gone, he just got this
weird look on his face.”

As the three of them began the familiar journey through the halls to the Headmistress’ office,
Harry and Hermione filled Ginny in on the details of what had happened with Brinecove. His
ex-girlfriend looked mildly alarmed, but didn’t seem especially surprised by the DADA Professor’s
actions. “If you ask me, Brinecove’s completely off his rocker. On the first day of school, he
suspended the entire Slytherin Quidditch team for two months just because of some prank they pulled
on the muggleborn first years. Something about mud coming out of the showers…”

Harry grimaced, while Hermione looked affronted. “I’ll bet they went crying to their Head of House
over that one,” Harry guessed.

Ginny shook her head. “Harry, Professor Brinecove *is* the Head of Slytherin House.” A
mischievous grin spread over her face. “It was a lucky thing for us, though. Gryffindor’s first
scheduled match is against Slytherin. They’ll probably have to forfeit.” Ginny was watching Harry’s
face closely. “McGonagall made me Quidditch Captain, you know. I’ll probably be playing Seeker this
year, too. Of course, if you’re going to be staying at Hogwarts, I’d be more than happy to…”

“I’m not,” Harry interrupted flatly, as he shared a knowing look with Hermione. When they arrived
at the entrance to McGonagall’s office, he bent down slightly to whisper in her ear. “Would you
mind leaving me alone with Ginny for a moment?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, although her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. “What’s the password?”
she asked Ginny, although they did not look each other in the eye.

“Figgy phoenixes,” Ginny answered, although she looked up at Harry with an expression of confusion
as Hermione ascended the staircase alone. “Harry, what…?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a minute,” Harry answered her, trying to keep his tone neutral,
“alone.”

“This sounds serious,” Ginny replied with a forced chuckle. “You’re not breaking up with me again,
are you?” she joked. When Harry didn’t reply immediately, her eyes widened. “Cor. You are.”

“I don’t think you should wait for me,” Harry told her sternly. “What we’re doing could take a very
long time. Years, even. I don’t want you to put your life on hold because of me.”

“That’s my decision to make, Harry, not yours,” Ginny retorted frostily. “What is this really
about? Is there someone else?” Her tone softened. “It’s not Luna, is it?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously. How was he supposed to answer that? He couldn’t very
well tell her about his feelings for Hermione when he knew them to be unrequited. All it would do
is hurt them both. “No, it’s not Luna,” he answered truthfully. “Look, I can’t promise you that
we’ll get back together after all this is over; after the war with Voldemort ends.”

“I never expected you to promise me anything,” Ginny said evenly, although there was a bit of a
sulking tone in her voice. “You’re really leaving Hogwarts, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think we are.”

Ginny blanched at his use of the word ‘we’. “Then I want to go with you.”

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Harry told her somberly. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“But I’ve helped you before!” Ginny exclaimed, a whine entering her voice for the first time. “I
fought Death Eaters! I went to the Department of Mysteries with you! Don’t shut me out now! Not
when…”

“Do you remember the Chamber of Secrets?” Harry interrupted her sharply.

“Why did you have to bring that up,” Ginny asked, folding her arms and deliberately dodging the
question. “I was only eleven, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Because I’m not talking about Death Eaters, Ginny. This is Voldemort we’re dealing with,” Harry
went on insistently, “and I don’t think you’re ready to face him again.” If Harry had been
completely honest with her, he would have admitted that he wasn’t even ready himself.

“Oh, and I suppose Hermione is?” Ginny asked acidly, her words coming out as more of a hiss than
she had likely intended.

Harry turned away from her, muttered “figgy phoenixes” and watched the staircase leading to
Dumbledore’s old office reveal itself again. “You’re going to have to stop comparing yourself to
Hermione, Ginny. It really isn’t fair to either one of you.” He gave her one last sympathetic
glance. “Try and remember what I said about moving on with your life.”

As Ginny disappeared from sight, Harry could hear her whispering to herself. “I don’t want to move
on with my life, Harry. I want to move on with ours.”

***
“I’m afraid my hands are tied, Miss Granger,” Harry heard Professor McGonagall’s Scottish brogue
declare wearily as he entered the Headmistress’ office, thoughts of Ginny already fading from his
mind. Hermione stood squarely in front of the imposing Headmistress’ desk, eyes blazing with fury.
Harry’s gaze lingered on the slumbering portrait of Albus Dumbledore and then eventually fixed on
the two women facing off in front of him, both looking formidable. If it came to blows, however,
his money was on Hermione. “The most I could do is reprimand Professor Brinecove, which, given the
current political climate, is barely more than a slap on the wrist. I haven’t the authority to ask
the Governors for his removal or, believe me, I would have already done so.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to allow a teacher to get away with attempting to use an
Unforgivable on a student?” Hermione demanded as she placed her hands on her hips in a way that
Harry, in spite of himself, found very appealing.

McGonagall regarded her seriously. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but as long as his curriculum is
Ministry approved, there isn’t much I can do.” The elderly woman looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Although perhaps I could recommend a pay cut…”

Just as Hermione looked ready to fume again, Harry wisely interjected, “You wanted to see us,
Professor?”

Hogwarts’ new Headmistress composed herself quickly. “Indeed, Mr. Potter. Sit down, if you would.”
As they did so, Professor McGonagall removed her reading glasses so that she could look them both
straight in the eye. “Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, I have been your instructor and your Head of House
for six years now. In that time, it has hardly escaped my notice that you are two of the most
exceptional students ever to set foot inside these walls.” Hermione blushed bright red at this,
while Harry took the time to examine the various items on Professor McGonagall’s desk, trying to
sort out which were hers and which had been Dumbledore’s. “Your extracurricular activities may have
been a bit…unorthodox, but I believe, as Albus did, that certain allowances should be made, given
Mr. Potter’s unique circumstances.” She gave them both a warm, almost motherly look. “Furthermore,
the two of you work exceptionally well together. Your various strengths seem to compliment each
other. I believe you would make an excellent pair.”

Harry’s brow began to furrow. Was McGonagall suddenly playing matchmaker? Had she somehow picked up
on his feelings for Hermione? “What exactly are you saying, Professor?”

The Headmistress smiled thinly. “The Ministry may have taken many of the traditional powers of
Hogwarts’ Headmistress away from me, but they did not take away my ability to name the Head Boy and
Head Girl of my choosing.” She quickly reached into a large drawer and removed two badges, placing
them on her desk in front of Harry and Hermione. “Congratulations to you both. I would have given
you the honor sooner, but given how late Hogwarts was re-opened…”

After a few seconds of pure joy at receiving the news, Hermione’s face fell. Harry knew exactly why
and the two of them shared a long look of regret. “I’m sorry, Headmistress McGonagall,” Harry
stated sadly. “I’m afraid we can’t accept.” Although nothing was spoken between them, it was clear
that McGonagall knew they planned on leaving Hogwarts.

Their former Transfiguration teacher began to search through her desk drawers again. Eventually,
she withdrew two thick reams of parchment. “These outline your duties as Head Boy and Head Girl
rather nicely, I think. I would advise you to read them thoroughly before you make up your mind.” A
mischievous twinkle suddenly appeared in her eye. “Paragraph 43, line 17 should be of particular
interest to you.”

Hermione reached that passage before Harry did, which was hardly surprising. “‘In the event that a
Hogwarts instructor refuses to pursue an academic inquiry assigned them by the Headmaster or
Headmistress, the Head Boy and/or Head Girl may pursue said inquiry on their behalf,’” she read
aloud. Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I
understand.”

McGonagall sat back in her chair, although maintaining her rigid posture. “A certain Ravenclaw
prefect has brought an urgent matter to my attention. It seems there are a large number of magical
species that have been unfairly excluded from our Care of Magical Creatures curriculum.”

Hermione raised one eyebrow curiously. “Really?”

The Headmistress nodded. “I’ve brought this to the attention of Professor Grubbly-Plank, as she’s
filling in for Professor Hagrid in his absence, but I’m afraid she has expressed no interest in
correcting the situation. Therefore I am handing that particular task to you.” Headmistress
McGonagall produced two pieces of parchment and handed one to Harry and the other to Hermione. “I
would like for you to assess whether or not it would be possible for these creatures to be included
in our current course of study.”

The two of them looked at the list in disbelief. “‘The three-headed Peruvian zorphul,’” Hermione
read aloud. “‘Fire-breathing ice serpents? The long-haired toobleflitzer?’”

“At least the mammoth tree slug ought to be easy to catch,” Harry said to himself with a
smirk.

“Actually, Miss Lovegood informs me that the mammoth tree slug can reach speeds upwards of forty
kilometers per hour,” McGonagall replied with a straight face. “Of course, I will expect you to
treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves. The two of you will not return to Hogwarts
until it is resolved to my satisfaction.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look of befuddlement. “You’re…you’re sending us away from Hogwarts?”
Hermione asked her.

McGonagall leaned forward and once again donned her reading glasses. “I’m sending you on a
fact-finding mission. Where this mission takes you and what it requires you to do is no concern of
mine.” Their former Transfiguration teacher had stopped looking at them, her attention returning to
a large stack of paperwork on her desk. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Harry answered with a knowing smile. Professor McGonagall had always been a stern
disciplinarian, a strict follower of the rules. She had now gone a long way to bend them for
Harry’s sake. Perhaps Dumbledore had rubbed off on her a bit.

“Good.” McGonagall’s quill scratched something on a piece of parchment as she spoke. “I’ll fill out
the paperwork necessary for you to leave the castle. You can leave tonight if you’d like.”

“Headmistress McGonagall,” Hermione began, somewhat nervously. “Before we go on this, erm,
fact-finding mission, I’d like to ask a favor from you.”

***
“A few meters to the left, Potter,” the Headmistress instructed, pointing to a scroll of parchment
just beyond Harry’s reach. He was currently standing near the top of a rickety wooden ladder,
hoping to find Dorian Flemingworth’s essay on Ravenclaw’s quill among thousands of other nearly
identical parchments, all of which were stored in various multicolored metallic tubes.
Incidentally, he was also rather desperately hoping that he wouldn’t fall to his untimely death in
the middle of Hogwarts’ library’s restricted section.

Harry cursed under his breath as he attempted to steady himself on the ladder. The point of this
exercise was gradually becoming lost on him. “If Judy Flemingworth could learn to control
Ravenclaw’s quill from the information in that essay, maybe we could figure out a way to destroy it
without having to take it from Professor Brinecove,” Hermione had told him on their way to the
library. It had seemed a convincing argument at the time. Of course, that was before Harry was
hanging thirty meters in the air from a terribly wobbly piece of wood.

Carefully, Harry used his right foot to push himself along, hoping that he wouldn’t break any
bookshelves (or, more importantly, limbs) in the process. Unfortunately, he could not use his wand
to retrieve the parchment, as that would be far too easy. Also, there were quite a few wards
preventing magic from being used in this room. Eventually, his fingers grasped the ancient tube
containing the parchment. “Got it!” Harry exclaimed in victory. Descending the ladder quickly (and
more quickly than he would have liked in some places) he handed the tube to Hermione, only to watch
her open it to reveal…

“Nothing,” Hermione remarked with a frown as she peered inside. “It’s empty.”

“Empty?” Harry asked in a half-whining voice. He was out of breath, sore and bruised in places that
he had only previously been aware of after his most brutal Quidditch matches. “How could it be
empty?”

“Impossible,” the Headmistress agreed in a voice which conveyed her complete astonishment. “No
professor ever bothers to read these essays after they put them here! I’d wager that no more than
five have even been checked out since I began teaching! How could…?” Her eyes fell upon a ledger
that sat near the door, gathering dust. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Harry repeated. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

“What it means,” McGonagall reported grimly as she brushed a mound of dust from the ancient book,
“is that Mr. Flemingworth’s essay has been removed, and rather recently,” Hermione peered over her
shoulder curiously, only to scowl once she read what was written there, “by Professor Commodus
Brinecove.”

***
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked Harry, ending an oppressive silence that had hung
over the room since they had entered it. The two of them were now lying close to each other in
Sirius’ old bedroom, Harry completely lost in his thoughts and staring at the wall as Hermione
studied his face closely. They had left Hogwarts just as the sun set over the Scottish highlands,
returning to Number 12 Grimmauld Place without incident. They hadn’t spoken much in that time,
however, and that appeared to be grating on Hermione’s nerves.

“Talk about what?” Harry inquired curiously, making no effort to look at her.

“Whatever it was you said to Ginny,” Hermione offered gently. “Dumbledore’s pensieve will. The fact
that Commodus Brinecove’s an enormous git. If you’d like, we can even talk about long-haired
toobleflitzers.” Harry smiled at that. “Just please talk to me. I hate it when I can’t tell what
you’re thinking.”

Harry turned in the bed to lie flat on his back. “If you really want to know, I was thinking about
carpe diem potion. About how you said it might cause hallucinations.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “In rare cases, yes.” Her worried voice was now matched by a knitted brow
as she sat up slightly to face him. “You didn’t actually have any hallucinations, did you?”

Harry exhaled deeply. “I dunno. I reckon it might explain some of the weird dreams I’ve been
having. And…,” he began, a little unsure of what he was about to say next. “Never mind.”

“What?” Hermione asked, scooting almost imperceptibly closer to him.

“It’s silly,” Harry assured her dismissively. “You’ll laugh at me.”

She shook her head, making her bushy mound of hair bob back and forth majestically. “Oh, Harry, of
course I won’t. You know you can tell me anything.”

Harry’s eyes locked on her own. Perhaps he could share this with her. It was Hermione, after all.
“Alright, but not a word of this to anyone else.” Hermione quickly agreed and Harry began drumming
his fingers aimlessly on his shirt. “Last year, when I was around Ginny, whenever I was feeling
jealous or possessive, it felt like there was a…a monster in my chest.”

“A monster?” Hermione repeated, as if making sure that she’d heard right. “In your chest?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I was probably just imagining it, but…”

“What kind of a monster?” Hermione asked him, her cheek now resting in the palm of her right
hand.

“What do you mean, what kind?” Harry demanded. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting from
Hermione. “It was just a monster.”

“We live in the magical world, Harry,” Hermione scolded him lightly. “There’s no such thing as
‘just a monster’. There are hundreds of species.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if it
might have been a Manchurian chest nester. Did it feel like there were eggs hatching in your chest
cavity?” she asked him seriously.

“A Manchurian chest nester…?” Harry repeated dumbly. “Blimey, Hermione, you’re sounding like Luna
Lovegood.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Manchurian chest nesters do exist, Harry. It’s very well documented.”
She began biting her bottom lip. “Although it’s unlikely that one could have survived inside of you
for more than a few weeks. What about a corpusgeist? Do you think maybe…?”

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Harry said as he turned away from Hermione to face the wall again. “I’m
sorry I said anything.”

“Well, I’m not,” Hermione shot back. “This could have been very serious, Harry. Why didn’t you tell
Dumbledore? Or Madame Pomfrey? Or me?”

“Because I didn’t want to complain about something that I only felt when I was around…” Harry began
to snap, but as he turned to face Hermione again, he caught her suppressing a grin. “You’re having
me on, aren’t you?”

“No,” she claimed indignantly. Harry’s stare soon wore her down and she began to laugh. “Alright,
yes.” At Harry’s exasperated look, she went on, “but it was all in fun. I mean, really, Harry, did
you seriously think that there was an actual monster in your chest?”

“That was what it felt like,” Harry protested with a pout. “I don’t know why you think it’s so
funny. For all we know, it might have been Voldemort, trying to control me again.”

As soon as Harry said that, Hermione suddenly sobered. “I…I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t think of
that.” She was clearly now all business again. “What exactly did this monster do?”

Harry thought it over carefully. “Well, it roared and growled a few times, mostly when Ginny was
with Dean. And once it, erm, did the conga.”

Hermione burst into fits of laughter again. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she apologized breathlessly, “I was
just thinking about Lord Voldemort, the most feared evil wizard in the world, leading a conga
line.”

Harry tried in vain to hold onto his anger and his wounded pride, but found he couldn’t do it. “I
guess that is a little funny,” he admitted with a chuckle. Soon they were both laughing
uncontrollably.

“Tell me, Harry,” Hermione said between bouts of laughter, “just where in your chest was this
monster? Was it up here?” She asked, poking him just above his ribcage. “Or closer to here?”
Hermione said as she pointed to a spot just above his navel. Her index finger traced a line along
his bare chest, her hand slipping under his shirt without either one of them really noticing.

“Hermione, don’t,” Harry warned lightly, “I’m very…”

But whatever he was going to say next became completely insignificant, as his hand grabbed her arm,
pulling her down slightly. As Hermione had risen to her knees to better examine his chest, this
threw her down on top of him rather abruptly. Both of her hands now clutched the bare skin of his
chest, and her head had come to rest just below his chin. Their breath intermingled and their eyes
met as neither dared move.

Ever since he had started thinking of Hermione in a decidedly more-than-friendly way, Harry had
tried to avoid looking her directly in the eye, fearing that his feelings for her, which had been
so deliberately obscured, would be carelessly revealed with a single glance. He had never once
thought that maybe he would see those same feelings, that same love, reflected in her eyes as she
looked back at him. At least not until that moment.

Harry wasn’t sure who had started kissing whom, but before he knew it Hermione’s lips were pressed
closely against his. In only a few moments the kiss deepened considerably, although calling it
‘snogging’ seemed wrong somehow. Comparing it to kissing his two ex-girlfriends would have been
grossly unfair to Cho and Ginny. The only true point of comparison Harry had was, oddly enough, the
dementor’s kiss. When a dementor began to suck out his soul, all the hope and happiness and love
within him had begun to fade from his body, as though it had never really been there at all.
Kissing Hermione was the exact opposite; it was as though some part of his soul was being returned
to him, a part he had never known was missing.

As she pulled away from him, they continued to stare at each other wordlessly, as though both were
mesmerized by what had just happened. Then Hermione said the last thing he would have expected.
“Ginny.”

Harry felt as though he had been slapped. “Ginny?” he asked confusedly. “Hermione, we just kissed,
and all you can say is ‘Ginny’?”

Hermione began to move away from him slowly. “She should have come with us. I might have known this
would happen.” She moved to the edge of the bed and sat up, a look of shame written all over her
face as she turned to face the wall.

“You should have known what would happen?” Harry demanded.

“That you would get lonely,” Hermione replied sadly. “That you’d need someone to be here for
you.”

“You’re here with me,” he reminded her, his voice insistent. “Hermione, I didn’t kiss you because
I’m lonely and I certainly didn’t do it because I wanted to be with Ginny.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “You didn’t?”

Harry shook his head. “I kissed you because I wanted to show you just how much I wanted to be with
you.” His hand went to her chin, stroking it gently. “I kissed you because I…I…”

“But I’m not even your type!” Hermione protested weakly as she turned back to face him. “You’ve
only ever been interested in pretty girls who are good at Quidditch.”

“That’s not true,” Harry replied with a soft smile. “Cho was terrible at Quidditch. Seriously, did
you ever see her catch the snitch?”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. “No, I didn’t. But then again, I only watched the matches
where you played against her.” The smile soon fell from her face as the reality of the situation
began to sink in. “Harry, what is this?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “What do you want it to be?”

Hermione sat up on the bed, her knees folded and her arms held together around them. “I…I don’t
know. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I could be happy with Ron, but obviously that
didn’t work out.” Harry brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, caressing it as he did so. “I
hoped maybe I could move on, that I could get over…” Her eyes welled up with tears as she suddenly
fell silent.

“Viktor,” Harry finished with a sigh.

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed in surprise as she blinked away tears. “No, not Viktor. Oh, Harry,
didn’t you know? Hadn’t you figured it out? It was you that I fell in love with.” She shot him a
perplexed look. “Why would you have ever thought that I loved Viktor Krum?”

Harry mulled that over in his mind for a moment. Why had he assumed that she had meant Viktor and
not him? Was it because he had been her only boyfriend before Ron? Or was it because he simply
could not picture himself as the object of her affections? “I…I don’t know really, I guess I
just…figured that…did you say that you were in love with me?”

Hermione looked sheepish all of a sudden. “Yeah, I guess I did.” She let out a small roar of
frustration. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

Harry was having a hard time hiding his complete elation at the idea that Hermione loved him. “What
do you mean ‘it wasn‘t supposed to happen’?” he asked. “What was supposed to happen?”

“I was supposed to make things work with Ron,” Hermione told him in a harried voice. “This…
tension… between us had to mean something, that maybe there was some kind of romantic spark between
us, but it never happened. Our relationship didn’t go anywhere. And you, you were supposed to be
happy with Ginny. Not only had she worshipped you for ages and she was exactly the kind of girl you
liked.”

“Pretty and good at Quidditch, you mean?” Harry asked with an amused half-smile.

“Yes,” Hermione answered matter-of-factly, as though it were perfectly natural to apply logic to
relationships. “But now…oh, Harry. *We* can’t get together. It’s perfectly impossible.”

“Why not?” Harry wondered with a laugh. “You said that you loved me. And I…Hermione, I think I love
you, too.”

“There are thousands of reasons,” Hermione answered, her voice frantic. “There’s my relationship
with Ron and yours with Ginny and this seemingly never-ending horcrux hunt and Voldemort and the
war and the fact that you’re the Chosen One, whatever that means, and Dumbledore’s death and did
you say that you loved me, too?”

Harry’s eyes glowed with love, erasing all doubt from her mind. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Hermione looked stunned. “I… Harry, that…” Her eyes left his suddenly and she shook her head. “No,
it doesn’t matter. If we become involved romantically, it would change everything. It changes our
friendship, yours and mine and Ron’s. It throws everything off balance.” She looked up at him,
trying desperately not to show just how vulnerable she felt. “What if we break up? Doesn’t that
scare you?”

“What if we don’t,” Harry countered slyly. “Does that scare you?”

“Of course not,” she answered, her tone sure but shaky. “You’re who I want to be with, there’s no
doubt about that.” Harry moved closer to her, taking her face in both hands, his thumbs moving
gently across her chin. “But…maybe we should wait,” she whispered as he leaned in to kiss her
again.

“Wait,” Harry repeated, as though he had just been given a death sentence. “You think we should
wait?”

It seemed as though she might change her mind for a moment, then looked up at Harry with a glint of
determination in her eye. “Yes. Just for a little while. Until everything’s settled between Ron and
me, and you don’t have the shadow of Voldemort hanging over your head.”

“That could be a very long time,” Harry told her, his voice half-complaining,
half-cautioning.

“I know,” Hermione replied with a soft sigh. “But I think it’s for the best. For everyone.” She
began eyeing the door longingly. “I also think I need to find another room to sleep in tonight.
Otherwise we might do something we’ll both regret.”

Harry almost told her that he wouldn’t regret anything they did, but stopped himself short of doing
so. “Alright, Hermione. If that’s what you want.” He watched her with unexpressed sorrow as she
left the room.

As Harry walked the floor aimlessly, he began to think over what she had said. Perhaps Hermione was
right. The best time to start a new relationship was probably not in the middle of a crusade to
destroy the hidden pieces of an evil wizard’s soul. Also, there were unresolved issues between Ron
and Hermione that needed to be worked out and he certainly didn’t want to stir up trouble with his
best mate. So Hermione was probably right. Waiting was the sensible, practical move.

Then again, since when had Harry ever gone along with what was sensible and practical?

Just as his hand reached for the door, it opened, revealing a visibly distraught Hermione. “Harry,
I…” she began with a quiver in her voice, “I don’t think I can do it.”

Harry gave her a wide grin. “I know I can’t.” And then they kissed again, falling into each other’s
arms, the thought of putting their relationship on hold far behind them. For Harry and Hermione,
the waiting was over.

**Hope you enjoyed! I couldn't tell you when the next chapter will be out, but it will be
called "High Tea with Uncle Mordred". All reviews are appreciated, even the death
threats.

ITL**

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13. Chapter 12: High Tea with Uncle Mordred
-------------------------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling. I'm also not Philip Pullman, Joss Whedon, or any author that
I'd really like to be. You know, the ones with money.**


Chapter 12: High Tea with Uncle Mordred

“Ow!” Harry quickly withdrew his hand from Hedwig’s cage, swearing under his breath as he did so.
His knuckles had just been violently pecked by a very sharp beak that belonged to one extremely
angry owl. “What was that for?”

His snowy white owl hooted haughtily and turned her head to face the window. She hadn’t taken much
to life at Grimmauld Place and had not been particularly friendly toward Harry ever since he had
left her alone while Hermione and he had went off to Hogwarts. Apparently, giving her more owl
treats wasn’t enough to buy back her affections.

“But it wasn’t my fault!” Harry protested on his own behalf. “I had to go. I didn’t have a choice!
If I could have come back and taken you, you know I would have.”

Another dismissive hoot was all the reply Harry received. “Is this about Hermione bringing
Crookshanks here?” he asked with a half-amused smirk. When Hedwig merely ruffled her feathers, a
knowing grin spread across Harry’s face. “It is, isn’t it? You’re jealous.”

Hedwig spread her wings quickly, as if she were denying Harry’s completely unfounded accusation.
“Well, you’ll have to make nice. Crookshanks is going to be living here for a while.” The
half-kneazle in question was sunning himself near the window, lazily enjoying the bright rays of
morning sunshine. Hedwig’s bright yellow eyes narrowed as she looked spitefully at the cat.

“Hedwig,” Harry began soothingly, “you know that nobody could ever take your place, don’t you?
You’re the best owl any wizard could ask for.” Hedwig inched closer to Harry, examining him warily
from her perched position. “Hermione’s important to me, Hedwig. She always has been, really, but
now…well, I think you and Crookshanks will have to learn to get along, because Hermione’s going to
be living with me for a while, too. I’m hoping for a very long while.” While Harry had not been
watching Hedwig, the owl had moved to within a few centimeters of his still-outstretched palm. “Are
you sure you don’t want these owl treats? I’ve heard they’re quite tasty.” He grinned devilishly.
“You know, maybe Crookshanks would like them instead.”

With an air of reluctance, Hedwig began slowly eating the treats from Harry’s hand, taking care not
to bring her beak down too hard, lest she hurt him again. “There’s a good girl,” he told her
softly. “Just because you’re not the most important girl in my life anymore doesn’t mean I don’t
care about you, you know. I do and I always will.” As Hedwig finished her food, Harry gave her a
pat on the head. ‘Hey, that was a pretty good speech. Maybe I could give it to Ginny, too,’ he
thought seriously. ‘Although I’d have to leave out the part about the owl treats.’

As he went to return Hedwig’s food to its proper place next to his bed, he noticed Hermione
standing in the doorway, watching him with a warm smile on her face. “You’re back already?” Harry
asked in genuine surprise. “You work fast. Wait, how long have you been standing there?”

Hermione entered the room slowly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking a little guilty.
“Long enough to hear your little speech to Hedwig.” Harry was unsure whether to feel ashamed or
proud that she’d overheard him. “Did you mean it?”

Harry returned the box of owl treats to the shelf, deliberately not meeting Hermione’s gaze. “Er,
mean what?” he asked.

Hermione’s smile faltered, just a little. “Harry, I don’t expect our relationship to be
dramatically changed by a heartfelt conversation you had with your owl, but…I’d like to know how
seriously you’re taking this.” When Harry turned to face her, she was anxiously examining her
hands. “I mean, is this just…”

“No,” Harry interrupted, his voice emphatic. “Whatever you want to say about what’s between is, it
isn’t ‘just’ anything. It’s everything to me, Hermione.” Her brown eyes rose quickly to meet his.
“Do you want me to be honest with you?” Hermione nodded as Harry sat next to her. “I’ve been
thinking a lot about the future lately; about what life will be like after Voldemort’s beaten,” ‘if
that’s what happens’, he added only to himself, “and the only thing I can really decide on is that
I want you to be there. Not just as my best friend anymore, but as my girlfriend. Maybe even my
wife.” Harry watched her eyes carefully as they widened. “Is it too soon to be talking about
this?”

“No,” Hermione replied breathlessly. “I definitely think we should be talking about this now. And
if you want me to be completely honest with you, I’ve been thinking about exactly the opposite.”
Harry’s heart suddenly began to race. What was she talking about? Were her feelings for him not as
strong as he’d hoped? “Harry, what if you change your mind about me? What if we break up?”

Harry sighed. ‘Not this again’. “You asked me that last night, too, you know.”

Hermione folded her arms and shot him a stern glare. “And you didn’t answer me.”

Harry smiled back at her cheekily. “No, but we did kiss a lot. I thought maybe that was answer
enough.” Hermione returned his smile, her eyes fluttering closed briefly, but it was clear she
wanted a real answer. “I don’t know, Hermione. I don’t think I could stand to cut you out of my
life completely. Maybe we could still be friends?” Hermione gave him a deeply skeptical look. “I’m
still friends with Ginny, aren’t I? And she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“I don’t think she sees herself that way,” Hermione grumbled. A thought struck her suddenly. “Maybe
we should make a pact. That whatever happens in our relationship, we’ll always be best
friends.”

Harry considered that for a moment, then nodded his acceptance. “Alright, that sounds fair.”

Hermione bit on her lower lip, her mind deep in thought. “Although I suppose there should be an
escape clause or two.”

“An escape clause?” Harry asked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Hermione countered in a playful tone, “I’m not sure I could stay best friends with you if
you left me for one of your adoring fans.” She batted her eyelashes for emphasis and gave Harry her
best doe-eyed look.

“I would never leave you for…” he began indignantly. “Fine. Then I don’t think I could stay best
friends with you if you left me for a guy who’s smarter than me.”

“What?” Hermione exclaimed. “First of all, I wouldn’t and secondly, that’s entirely
subjective.”

“Oh and being my ‘adoring fan’ isn’t?” Harry asked as he moved closer to her, wrapping his arm
around her waist.

“No,” Hermione protested, valiantly pretending that his embrace wasn’t affecting her, “because I’m
not talking about just any kind of fan girl. Someone like Romilda Vane or…” He began to quietly
nuzzle her neck. “Or…”

“Or maybe we could make a different sort of pact,” Harry said between tender kisses planted along
her neckline. “One where we don’t break up at all.”

“Mmm,” Hermione responded in a moan. “That sounds…good. Terribly unrealistic, but good.” Harry’s
lips had left the nape of her neck and had found their way nicely to her lips, capturing them
forcefully. Minutes passed unnoticed, as a flurry of tender and passionate kisses kept them holding
onto each other, their fingers weaving gently through each other’s hair and their bodies pressed
close together. “Harry…” Hermione said once she was no longer being thoroughly kissed, “there’s
something we need to talk about.”

“Talk,” Harry repeated dumbly, his brain having temporarily vacated the scene. “Yeah, we can do
that.” Actually, he wasn’t completely sure he could, but had never seen Hermione unable to.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she began, uncertainty heavy in her voice, “but I think maybe I
should move out.” Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t mean out of Grimmauld. I mean out of this
room.”

“Really?” Harry asked, his disappointment at the idea obvious. “Why?”

“Well, the occlumency lessons clearly aren’t helping,” Hermione retorted matter-of-factly. “In
fact, your dreams only seem to be getting more frequent and vivid. And,” here her cheeks began to
flush, “there’s also the matter of… temptation.”

“What sort of temptation?” Harry asked her in mock confusion, his hand reaching out to brush her
cheek lightly.

“Well, I…” she began to stammer, “I can’t speak for you, of course, Harry, but as for me, I was
very tempted last night to, uh, to…that is to say…”

“Go on,” Harry goaded with her a wide grin. “You can say it.”

“Havesexwithyou,” she finished quickly, looking up at him with an expectantly wary expression.
“Weren’t you tempted at all?”

Harry made a show of considering this. “Hmm. A seventeen-year-old bloke lying next to his
girlfriend, who he’s completely crazy over by the way, all night without feeling the urge to have
sex?” He shook his head. “Sorry, Hermione. I already survived the killing curse when I was a baby.
One miraculous event in a lifetime is enough, don’t you think?”

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red at that. “So, you agree with me then?”

“I agree that we’re both extremely attracted to each other and that it’s going to be hard not to
have sex, but I think we can handle it.” Harry held Hermione close to him, her head resting on one
of his shoulders as he ran his hands along her legs. “Then again, if we can’t, that wouldn’t be so
terrible either, would it?” Before Hermione could reply, Harry felt something in one of her jeans
pockets. He withdrew and unfolded it before Hermione could snatch it back from him. “Wait, what’s
this? Your other boyfriend’s name and address?”

Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. “No, you git. Not unless I’m dating Professor Quirrell’s
Uncle Mordred.” Harry put a hurt look on his face. “Which I’m not, of course. Honestly!”

“You didn’t tell me you found this,” Harry protested only half-seriously. Now they would be able to
question Mordred Quirrell about Hufflepuff’s cup and possibly get their hands on another of
Voldemort’s horcruxes.

“Well, I was a bit…distracted,” Hermione claimed with a coy smile. “Pleasantly so, I might add.”
Harry stared at the piece of paper as she continued speaking. “I didn’t think you’d be so impressed
by an address. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you what I did to the Animus Signatus potion to help us
identify the horcruxes. You might faint.”

“Very funny,” Harry replied dismissively. “I was just realizing that I know where this place is.
It’s only a short distance away from a city park where the Dursleys used to take Dudley and I to
play, at least until ickle Duddykins broke their jungle gym.”

Hermione was looking just a little bit impressed herself. “Well, I suppose that saves us the
embarrassment of asking directions.” She scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Do you have a plan for
how we’re going to retrieve Hufflepuff’s cup?”

Harry grimaced. “Is knocking and asking for it politely a plan?”

“It’s not a very good one,” Hermione replied with a smirk. “Luckily for you, I already have one in
mind that’s better.” Harry gave her a curious look as her index finger poked him in the chest.
“Although you might want to stop acting like a jealous prat, because we’re going to be asking a
favor from someone who might be just a little bit more handsome than you are.”

***

Harry had never seen a professional team’s Quidditch pitch before and couldn’t help but be awed by
the sight of it. Awultune Stadium rose majestically over Dorset, with thousands of seats forming
over a dozen tiers running far up into the sky. Of course, the stadium only appeared this way
during matches and practices. The rest of the time it was a rather unimpressive shack lying along
the banks of the River Frome. Or so the team guide informed him.

Still, despite the thrill of visiting his first ever professional Quidditch pitch, there were other
things on Harry’s mind. “Do you really think Oliver Wood’s better looking than I am?” he asked
Hermione, the question bursting forth seemingly from nowhere.

“What?” Hermione asked in what must have been nearly complete confusion. They were standing just
below a set of practice hoops, waiting to have a word with the starting keeper for Puddlemere
United when Harry suddenly asked her a question about his own relative attractiveness. “Oh, I…I
don’t know, Harry. I suppose I haven’t given it much thought.” She gritted her teeth impatiently.
“You know, I did floo ahead and tell him we would be coming. You’d think he could at least stop
flying about on his broom for a moment or two.”

“Right. I’m probably being silly,” Harry replied lightly. After a few more moments of silence as
Hermione impatiently watched Oliver Wood block yet another quaffle, he opened his mouth again. “But
you’ve given it some thought, haven’t you? Otherwise why would you have said he ‘might be a little
bit more handsome than I am’?”

“Are you likely to be on about this all day?” Hermione asked with a sigh. When Harry didn’t answer
her immediately, she turned and kissed him. It was a kiss that was neither tender nor short and
Harry felt himself fighting for breath almost immediately. As soon as they separated, he could only
stare after Hermione in shock and awe. “I love you, Harry James Potter, and I think you’re
gorgeous. Now would you please leave me alone for a moment so that I can try and get the attention
of…?”

“You wanted to see me, Harry?” Oliver Wood asked innocently as he descended to Earth, his hair
windswept and his Comet looking newly waxed and polished. Apparently, the entire team had turned to
watch Harry and Hermione make out and the coach, in audible frustration, decided to end practice a
few minutes early.

“Yeah,” Harry answered with a nervous gulp. After what nearly happened to Luna and her father (and
what had happened to Ron), Harry was reluctant to involve anyone else in the horcrux hunt. Oliver
Wood had offered to help him, however, and Hermione’s plan was far better than anything he could
have devised. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor,” Wood asked simply as he slung his broom over his shoulder.

At this point, Hermione stepped in. “Do you remember an essay you wrote called ‘An Unconventional
Defense of Hogwarts’?”

Oliver nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. In fifth year, wasn’t it? For Professor Quirrell’s class?
I diagrammed all of the castle’s defensive magical properties and explained how they worked in
tandem. Had to get special permission from Dumbledore.”

“Right,” Hermione answered happily. “Well, it seems that Professor Quirrell checked it out of the
library and no one thought to return it after he died. We were wondering if you would go with us to
ask his Great Uncle Mordred to give it to us.”

Wood frowned. “You want an old essay of mine that badly? I didn’t know that anything I wrote was
that good.”

“Oh, it was. It was completely brilliant,” Hermione enthused.

“You’ve read it, then?” the Puddlemere Keeper asked as he entered the team’s locker room.

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted reluctantly. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about
it…from…from…Professor Quirrell himself.”

Harry wanted to hide his face in shame. He didn’t know how Hermione, who was otherwise one of the
smartest people he’d ever met, could consistently come up with such completely implausible lies.
“Really?” Oliver Wood inquired skeptically. “I got the impression the three of you weren’t on good
terms before he died.”

Hermione shot Harry a desperate look. Feeling honor-bound to help her out, he chimed in, “Well, no,
we weren’t. Obviously, since he was working for Lord Voldemort.” Wood winced at the use of the
name. “But, erm, whenever we were both in front of the Mirror of Erised, it was all he could talk
about. Except for the Sorceror’s Stone, that is,” Harry finished in a mutter.

Oliver seemed to debate the matter for a moment, then nodded his head. “Alright. If it’s that
important to you, I’ll be glad to help.” As he returned his Comet to his locker, he tossed his
jersey on a nearby bench and walked shirtless across the room. “Just let me take a shower
first.”

Harry scowled after him. “You know, if you look at him in direct sunlight, he’s not all that
handsome. You can barely even see the dimples on his face.”

Hermione, however, wasn’t looking at his face. “Oh Harry, do shut up.”

***
“So explain to me again why you two are hiding under an invisibility cloak?” Oliver Wood asked, his
expression perplexed. Harry and Hermione were indeed beneath James Potter’s old cloak, and all
three of them stood outside the front door to Mordred Quirrell’s palatial estate. In fact,
‘palatial’ was putting it mildly; it had taken them fifteen minutes just to walk through the front
lawn.

“Well, you know,” Hermione hedged, “there are certain… people…who still hold Harry responsible for
Professor Quirrell’s death. We wouldn’t this to become awkward or uncomfortable.”

“It’s already become awkward and uncomfortable,” Harry whispered huskily in her ear, the two of
them hunched over and hiding behind a large column, “and I *was* responsible for Professor
Quirrell’s death.” Hermione shushed him and turned back to face Oliver Wood, even though he could
not see her.

“I get the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me,” Wood declared with a frown. Harry
and Hermione shared a quick look of guilt. “Don’t worry, I know when not to ask too many questions.
Just tell me one thing: is this Mordred Quirrell bloke likely to be dangerous?”

Harry shrugged, an act only Hermione could see from underneath the cloak. “We’re not sure.” He
stepped closer to the door. “Look, Oliver, if you want out of this…”

But Oliver Wood’s knuckles were already rapping on the front door by the time Harry spoke. “Hey, I
wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, you know,” Wood replied with a nervous smile. “I just
like to know what I’m up against.”

In a few moments, the overly large wooden door began to swing open slowly. Oliver Wood swallowed
his fears and put on a wider, but obviously fake, smile. Harry and Hermione both had their wands at
the ready. “May I help you?” a raspy voice asked.

All three of them had to lower their gazes. A short, scrawny little man stood before them, grasping
a knobby cane that stood taller than he did. With the other hand he held a foggy-looking monacle
over one eye. His hair was curly and silvery-white and his face was clean-shaven, although Harry
wondered how someone with so much sagging skin on his face could manage to shave. Quirrell looked
at Wood expectantly. “Oh,” Oliver answered him in embarrassment, realizing that he would be the one
who was expected to speak, as Mordred Quirrell could not see the others. “Yes, right then. My name
is Oliver Wood and I think you have something that belongs to me.”

“Wood,” Quirrell repeated in a curious whisper. “Wood. That names sounds familiar.”

“You, uh, may have heard of me,” Oliver went on, a decidedly immodest smile on his face. “I play
Keeper for Puddlemere United.”

“Ah. That’s it, then,” Mordred retorted enthusiastically and with a wheeze in his voice. “I knew I
recognized you. You work for Madame Puddlefoot. She’s after more of my ‘romantic magic’ collection,
I’d wager.”

As the elder man ushered him into the house, Oliver Wood began to explain to Mordred Quirrell as
politely as he could that he did not in fact work for a Madame “Puddlefoot”, but was a professional
Quidditch player. “This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,” Harry told Hermione in a
whisper.

Hermione smirked. “What were you expecting, then? An older version of Professor Quirrell? A man
with a long white beard wearing a turban?”

Harry nodded. “No, nothing like that. I’m just not picking up on the family resemblance.”
Hermione’s smirk had not vanished. “Alright, maybe I was expecting the turban. And that obviously
fake stutter…” By the time the elder Quirrell had closed the front door, the two of them had crept
inside unnoticed. The task of searching for Hufflepuff’s cup seemed quite daunting, as the house
was completely filled with magical items, and all of them of the ancient and rare variety. The
walls were lined with old cabinets and dressers which promised to be full of the same.

Further complicating matters was Mordred Quirrell himself, who kept darting about the house,
searching frantically for something he called a ‘Cupidon fountain’. For an old man, he was
surprisingly quick. “I always keep it here in the sitting room,” he complained to himself. “Where
in Albion could it be? Madame Puddlefoot’s always had her eye on that fountain…”

“Mr. Quirrell,” Wood interjected impatiently. “I hate to contradict you, but I didn’t come here
about a fountain. I think you may have an old essay of mine.” A puzzled frown formed on Quirrell’s
wrinkly brow. “I wrote it for a school assignment while I was at Hogwarts. It would probably be
with your nephew’s things.”

“Nephew,” Mordred repeated mindlessly. “Nephew, nephew. Ah, you mean my nephew. Yes, what was his
name? Something with doors, I believe. Yes. Yes.” Without warning, he drew a length piece of
parchment from his pocket. In rapt curiosity, Hermione peered over his shoulder to discover that it
contained the complete Quirrell family tree.

“Ah, here he is,” Mordred Quirrell proclaimed with an air of triumph. “Janus Quirinius Quirrell. My
nephew, the Professor. How about that?” Mordred looked at Oliver expectantly. “How is he these
days?”

“I’m afraid he’s dead, sir,” Wood answered him as solemnly as he could. “That’s why you inherited
all of his things, you see. He left them to you in his will.”

“He did?” Quirrell queried, a look of genuine surprise on his face. “Well, I suppose it must be
buried in some of these papers over here. Let me look. This will only take a moment.” Then, as
slowly as humanly possible, he began pilfering through some of his desk drawers, shuffling papers
aimlessly as he slowly whistled a tune that sounded roughly like ‘Yankee Doodle’.

“This is hopeless,” Hermione complained to Harry in a soft whisper. “We’ll never be able to go
through all of these things in a few hours! We’re going to have to come up with another…” But
before Hermione could complete that thought, every single cabinet, curio and dresser in the house
flung itself open as a cacophony of slamming doors threatened to deafen everyone inside it. In the
space of a moment, every magical object in the house haphazardly arranged themselves on the plush
carpeted floor. “…plan,” Hermione finished in a squeak.

After that, neither Harry nor Hermione spoke. They were almost afraid to breathe. Oliver Wood
appeared frozen in place. “Don’t worry about that, lad,” Mordred Quirrell casually assured them
all, never once looking up from the various stacks of papers. “It happens all of the time. Although
I never can figure out which one of these doodads is the one that causes it.” His head shot up
suddenly. “The clock!”

“You think it’s the clock?” Oliver asked bemusedly.

“It’s tea time!” Mordred exclaimed.

“It’s only two thirty,” Oliver pointed out.

Professor Quirrell’s elderly uncle ignored him, choosing instead to remove an antiquated tea set
from the floor. He then carefully placed two chairs and a table near where they were standing. “You
just make yourself at home,” he instructed warmly, “while I go and brew us up a spot, hm?”

As Mordred Quirrell disappeared into the kitchen, Oliver Wood’s calm demeanor vanished. “What the
bleeding hell is going on?” he demanded of thin air.

“Accidental burst of wandless magic, I think,” Harry explained apologetically. “It’s been happening
a lot lately. I dunno why.”

“How much longer am I going to have to distract him?” Oliver Wood wondered aloud, a bit of a whine
entering his Scottish brogue. “He’s…odd.”

“He is a bit eccentric,” Hermione agreed sympathetically. “Just keep him busy for as long as you
can. There are a lot of things here to go through.” As she said this, she picked up a pair of
omnioculars that had been disguised as opera glasses.

“Here we are,” Mordred Quirrell said cheerfully as he emerged a few moments later, carrying a tray
of tea and biscuits. Wood politely took a seat at one end of the table, allowing the older
gentleman to sit in the chair nearest the kitchen. To make room for the new tea tray, Quirrell
casually flung the tea set that had been sitting on the table across the room. “I’m so sorry these
biscuits aren’t fresh. My house elves are completely useless things. I don’t why I haven’t had them
all stuffed and mounted.” Hermione began to move toward him threateningly, but Harry held her back.
“Now, why don’t you tell me all about working at Madame Puddlefoot’s?”

While Oliver Wood and Mordred Quirrell made what might generously be called ‘small talk,’ Harry and
Hermione began quietly searching through everything on the floor, looking for Hufflepuff’s cup.
After about fifteen minutes of frustration, awkward silences and more than a few off-color jokes
featuring every wizarding world stereotype you could imagine, the couple were nearly ready to
concede defeat.

“What about checking some of the other rooms?” Harry asked in a soft voice. “The kitchen,
maybe?”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “If you had Hufflepuff’s cup, would you keep it in a kitchen?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “But then I’m not a raving loony, either.” It was then that he spotted a door
on the other side of where Mordred Quirrell and Oliver Wood were sitting. Once they stealthily
crept across the room, Harry tried the handle, only to find it locked.

“Alohamora,” Hermione said as she waved her wand at the door handle. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had
no effect. “This has to be where he’s keeping it.”

“Brilliant deduction, Hermione,” Harry whispered only half-jokingly. “That still leaves the
question of how we get inside without drawing the attention of…” Harry stopped speaking as he snuck
a glance at Mordred Quirrell and Oliver Wood, only to see the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain
yawning widely, his eyes beginning to droop. “Is he falling asleep?” he asked Hermione in
disbelief.

“It looks that way,” Hermione answered in a grim mutter. “Did he seem tired to you before we came
here?”

“No,” Harry answered her honestly. “But then again he didn’t seem handsome to me before we came
here, either, and you disagreed with me on that…”

Hermione held her hand delicately over Harry’s mouth. “The tea. He’s drugged the tea.”

“Who? Mordred Quirrell?” Harry asked in a muffled voice, Hermione’s hand still over his mouth. “But
why?”

As the two of them looked on from underneath the invisibility cloak, Mordred Quirrell’s curly white
hair began to change to a shade of blonde. “I think we’re about to find out.” As Quirrell moved to
examine the now slumbering form of Oliver Wood, Harry and Hermione crept up behind him, their wands
pointed at the back of the red velvet bathrobe he was wearing.

“Mobilicorpus,” a familiarly disdainful voice incanted, as the body of ‘Mordred Quirrell’ began to
metamorphose in front of them. Not willing to take any chances, Harry leveled his wand and prepared
to cast a disarming spell.

‘Quirrell’ was too fast for him, however. “Petrificus totalus.” The now taller figure had spun
around quickly and aimed the body-bind curse exactly where Harry and Hermione were crouching. Ever
the hero, Harry threw himself in front of Hermione, taking the brunt of the spell. In an instant,
he was frozen stiff.

With some effort, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry’s petrified form. “Expelliarmus,” she
yelled as she emerged from the invisibility cloak, which was still draped around Harry.

The person pretending to be Mordred Quirrell fell limply to the floor, the wand that had been in
his hand now lying halfway across the room. Hermione kept her own wand trained on him as his skin
began to contort and change, eventually revealing a face she had half-hoped never to see again.
“Draco Malfoy?!” she exclaimed in disbelief.

“Nice to see you again, too, Granger,” Malfoy replied sarcastically. “You Gryffindor imbeciles
really have no idea how to use an invisibility cloak, do you? You made enough noise to raise an
army of inferi.” Draco rose slightly and dusted himself off, his nose screwing up in disgust.
“Merlin, I’m even starting to smell like the old codger. What took you so bloody long
anyway?”

“What took me so…?” she repeated, clearly not understanding the question. “What are you talking
about? Where’s the real Mordred Quirrell?”

Hermione’s look of befuddlement was mirrored on Draco’s face. “What? You mean Snape didn’t tell
you?”

“Snape’s at St. Mungo’s, under Auror guard,” Hermione reported coldly. “Unless you’d care to join
him, I would suggest you start talking.”

Draco may not have been the smartest young wizard Hogwarts had ever produced, but he knew when to
take a threat seriously. “Snape left me here to guard something. He wouldn’t tell me what, but it’s
being kept in Mordred Quirrell’s old wine cellar. That’s the door you tried to open earlier,” he
pointed out with a smirk. “As for the real Mordred Quirrell, he’s tied up downstairs.” Hermione
gave him a look of incredulity. “I know you don’t trust me, Granger, but think. I need the old bat
alive to keep the polyjuice from making me look even more like a corpse than I already do.” Draco
sent a sneer in the direction of the door Harry and Hermione had been unable to enter earlier.
“Dunno why I bother to keep him tied up. Snape’s had him under the Imperius Curse for months now.
All he does is drool and mutter useless rubbish.”

“Well, then, I suppose when I turn you in to the MLE, they won’t be able to charge you with murder.
They will, however, charge you with attempted murder. I might even get a reward for my troubles.”
Draco’s face went paler. “What? You mean *you* didn’t know? You’re one of the most wanted
wizards in Britain.”

“You can’t turn me in,” Draco replied, his voice panicky. “I…I have information.”

“Do you really think you can make a deal with me?” Hermione asked angrily. “You almost killed
Dumbledore!”

“But I didn’t!” Malfoy protested, his voice sounding oddly human and frail for the first time.
“Please, you have to believe me, I’m here to help you. That’s why Snape left me here. I’m supposed
to show you something.” He gave a slight nod of his head, careful not to make any sudden moves.
“Downstairs.”

“Oh and I suppose you have no idea what it is,” Hermione posited with a scoff.

Draco confirmed this with a nod. “Snape was pretty clear on that. I expect he’s set up some
especially nasty traps down there, if anyone starts snooping around.” While Hermione shook her head
in disbelief, Malfoy continued, “I can disable the wards and lead the way myself, if that would
make you feel better about it.”

“The only thing that’s going to make me feel better about this is seeing you in Azkaban, getting
exactly what you deserve. For right now, though, I think I’ll settle for getting out of here,
dropping you off at the Ministry’s doorstep and then coming back to see if you’re telling the
truth. But first…” Hermione turned slightly to point her wand at Harry, who was still paralyzed and
invisible. “Finite…”

In a flash, Draco Malfoy withdrew another wand from the back of his ill-fitting robe.
“Expelliarmus!” he cried.

Hermione cast a shielding charm just in time to deflect the disarming spell. “You were hiding a
wand in that thing?” she asked with a frown.

Draco shrugged. “It was a bit of a tight fit. But the expression on your face when I whipped it out
makes it well worth the effort.” His smile was wicked. “New arrangement. We don’t hex each other
into oblivion, you *don’t* go screaming your head off to the Ministry’s stooges and we leave
Wood and the Weasel behind to see what Snape’s got waiting for us in the wine cellar.”

“What if I don’t like this ‘arrangement’?” Hermione asked, trying her best to hide her surprise
that Malfoy thought Ron, rather than Harry, was under the invisibility cloak.

Malfoy sniffed. “You know, Granger, I always thought you’d be the second toughest Gryffindor in
your year to duel. Although considering that the toughest would be Potter, that’s not really saying
much. Still, I think I could take you.”

Hermione gave a soft laugh. “No you don’t, or you’d be hexing me instead of trying to make deals.
Still…” Curiosity and concern for Harry warred in her mind with her natural distrust of Draco
Malfoy.

Draco seemed to sense that he’d have to tip the scales. “Does the word ‘horcrux’ mean anything to
you? Because it’s written all over the pieces of parchment downstairs.” Hermione shot him a
scathing glare. “Yeah, I know what Snape said. But I only follow the rules when they suit me. Now
are you coming or not?”

Harry desperately wanted to beg her not to, to scream at her not to trust Malfoy, but he could only
watch in mute frustration as she reluctantly said, “Alright.” As if on cue, they both lowered their
wands, although they did not pocket them. “You should know…if anything happens to us, there are
people who know we’re here.”

“People?” Draco asked skeptically. “You mean, other than your boyfriend and the Scot with the
broomstick up his arse?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione assured him confidently. “Why, erm, there’s…Luna Lovegood.”

Malfoy hooted with laughter. “Ha! You’ve told Loony Lovegood where you’re going! That’s rich.
Everyone will believe her when she says you’ve gone missing.”

Harry winced inwardly. He and Hermione would definitely have to work on her deception skills.
Although, being her boyfriend, he didn't want her to become too talented at lying. Just good
enough to fool idiots like Malfoy. As he watched the two of them descend the staircase, he hoped
fervently that Hermione knew what she was doing.

**To be continued...in a chapter called "Down in the Hollow"...I sincerely hope you
enjoyed...if you wish to review you can...I'll try to have the next chapter out before and/or
around the end of the month...thank you and good night!

ITL**

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14. Chapter 13: Down in the Hollow
----------------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling. If I were, I'd be writing/promoting/retooling to include more H/Hr
scenes (here's hoping!) "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows", rather than writing
Off Balance. On the plus side, however, you get this chapter now instead of in July.**

Chapter 13: Down in the Hollow

You could learn a lot about a person when you were forced to stare at all of their worldly
possessions for over an hour. For instance, Harry now knew that Mordred Quirrell was the proud
owner of an antique Parthian flying carpet, a strange-looking object which resembled an oversized
Put-Outer and something labeled ‘a genuine golem’s tachrichim’. He, of course, had no idea what in
the world a golem’s tachrichim might be. ‘Hermione would probably know,’ Harry thought to himself.
‘Or maybe it’s more of a Luna Lovegood thing. I suppose I’ll find out one of these days, assuming
Malfoy doesn’t decide to kill me first.’

Harry cursed inwardly, which was just about all that he could manage in his petrified state. He had
been hoping to take his mind off of his longtime Slytherin nemesis, who was the cause of his
current predicament, if only for a moment or two. So far, however, staring at carpets and shrouds
wasn’t helping all that much.

If there was anything in the world more frustrating than being paralyzed while one of your most
hated enemies was doing something dangerous with the woman you loved, Harry did not care to know
what that something was. *This* was frustrating enough. His emotions were a jumble: one moment
he wanted to throttle Hermione for being so reckless and gullible as to follow Draco; the next he
felt the strong need to see her again, to know that she was alive and unharmed. Mostly, though, he
just wanted to hex Malfoy. ‘Maybe turn him into a newt or something,’ he thought wickedly. ‘Some
guardian of a horcrux he’d be then.’

‘What’s Snape playing at, anyhow?’ Harry wondered to himself. ‘He left Draco here to guard
Hufflepuff’s cup, but why? And for whom?’ Only a few hours ago, Harry would have sworn that Snape
was a loyal Death Eater who had been fooling Dumbledore and working for Lord Voldemort all along.
Now, if Draco was telling the truth (an unlikely notion, true, but still one worth considering), he
wasn’t entirely certain. And Harry hated being uncertain, particularly when it came to Snape.

Just at the point when he was beginning to feel like a part of Mordred Quirrell’s collection of
rare magical objects himself, Harry heard the bittersweet sound of the wine cellar door opening. A
mix of terror and elation filled him until he caught sight of Hermione’s familiar bushy brown hair
in his peripheral vision, at which point elation took over completely. He tried to call out her
name, only to be painfully reminded that he could not move his mouth.

“Unpetrify him,” Hermione ordered in her practically patented no-nonsense voice.

“What? Is your wand broken, Granger? Or can’t you perform a simple ‘finite’?” Malfoy sneered. Draco
was apparently still alive and talking, much to Harry’s chagrin.

“If you want Harry to be in a forgiving mood, it would be best if you undid it yourself,” Hermione
explained with a smug smile. “Otherwise he might do something unpleasant, like turn you into a
newt.” Harry wanted very much to smile at that moment. Perhaps great minds did think alike.

“Bloody hell,” Draco exclaimed, suddenly wide eyed. “You’ve got Potter under that invisibility
cloak?! I…I thought…Weasley…” He gulped nervously. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“It wasn’t very high on my list of priorities,” Hermione retorted dryly. “Now are you going to free
him or…”

Draco Malfoy managed to stop looking scared out of his wits for a moment and pointed his wand at
Harry. “Finite incantatem,” he said reluctantly. In an instant, Harry could feel his body beginning
to move around again on its own, his chest rising and falling as his lungs filled themselves with
fresh air. After blinking a few times to give his eyes some much-needed rest, he turned his
attention to Malfoy, shooting him with a cold glare before he decided whether or not to shoot him
with anything else.

“Harry, don’t,” Hermione cautioned, her left hand finding Harry’s chest underneath the invisibility
cloak and pressing against it gently. With her other hand, she pulled the cloak from his face,
draping it over his shoulders. Hermione shot him a pleading look. “Trust me.”

There were only a few things Harry would have rather done at that moment than turn Malfoy into some
sort of vile creature with an equally foul odor. Fortunately for Draco, one of those things was
making Hermione happy. “Alright, Hermione,” Harry agreed, lowering his wand slowly. “I trust
you.”

“You two are really sickening,” Malfoy scoffed loudly. “Don’t you ever get tired of fawning all
over each other?”

Harry looked ready to kill, but Hermione interceded once again. “If you’d like to keep us happy and
your limbs intact, why don’t you check on Oliver Wood?” The Puddlemere keeper still lie slumped
over one of Mordred Quirrell’s chairs, sleeping peacefully. “You might even see if you can wake him
up. He’s been out for a while.”

“I only gave him a watered-down sleeping draught,” Draco replied dismissively. “He’ll wake up
in…”

“Do it, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted coldly. Draco scowled at him, but obeyed anyway, crossing the
room to stand next to the slumbering form of Oliver Wood.

“What happened down there?” Harry asked immediately after Draco was out of earshot. “Why aren’t we
destroying a horcrux right now? For that matter, why aren’t we destroying Malfoy right now?”

“Because there isn’t a horcrux to destroy,” Hermione whispered in reply, tactfully choosing to
ignore his second question.

“What?” Harry asked, perplexed. “But…Hufflepuff’s cup…you mean it wasn’t there?”

“Oh, it was there,” Hermione answered with a harried look on her face. “What was left of it,
anyway. Professor Quirrell destroyed it five years ago.”

Harry’s confusion deepened. “Professor Quirrell was working for Voldemort! Why would he destroy one
of his master’s horcruxes?”

Hermione looked at Harry with a worried expression. “Quirrell discovered a way to transfer the
piece of Voldemort’s soul that was in the cup into himself.”

Harry gaped at her in disbelief. “You mean, he turned himself into one of Voldemort’s horcruxes? A
living horcrux?” Hermione nodded quickly. “But why?”

“Power,” she told him simply. “Taking on a piece of someone else’s soul, of their magical essence,
would make that person’s magic exponentially stronger.” Hermione looked half-horrified and
half-relieved. “We’re dealing with very ancient magic, Harry. The practice of making horcruxes goes
back thousands of years.” She let out a soft sigh. “Malfoy hasn’t been protecting a horcrux, he’s
been guarding what looks like a lifetime’s worth of research on horcruxes. I, er, made copies of
what I thought might be useful.” She sheepishly indicated a ridiculously thick ream of parchment
underneath her arm.

Harry shot Hermione an impressed look. “Well, I suppose that’s one more horcrux we won’t have to
worry about destroying. After we drop Malfoy off with the MLE, we could probably even head back to
Hogwarts if you…”

Hermione was already shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Harry.”

“What? Going back to Hogwarts or…” Harry’s jaw dropped. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that we
let Malfoy go?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione countered defensively. “But if he’s taken by the Ministry, he’ll tell
them everything about the horcruxes…about us. Anything to save his own worthless hide.”

“I heard that,” Malfoy said from across the room.

Both Harry and Hermione ignored him. “Hermione, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater.”

Hermione crossed her arms defensively. “I know that.”

Harry wasn’t through fuming. “He nearly killed Dumbledore! If Snape hadn’t beat him to it, maybe he
would have!”

Hermione’s voice rose in exasperation. “Harry, I know…”

“Hermione, you’re the one who’s supposed to be talking me out of doing things like this,” Harry
pointed out as he took a step closer to her. “You’re supposed to be the sensible one! Letting Draco
Malfoy live as a free man doesn’t sound very sensible to me!”

Suddenly, all of the frustration on Hermione’s face disappeared, her expression now one of
contemplation. “Have you ever thought about why Dumbledore trusted Snape?”

Temporarily bemused by Hermione’s change in topic, Harry frowned deeply. “Yeah. I reckon I gave it
some thought after Snape killed him, if that’s what you mean.”

“He had to have known that Snape willingly became a Death Eater,” Hermione thought aloud. “No one
can be forced to take the Dark Mark. Yet he trusted him enough to let him into the Order, and to
make him a teacher at Hogwarts. Why?” When Harry didn’t answer, she continued. “Dumbledore knew
that he needed a double agent, that he had to know what was happening on the other side, and that
that need outweighed the possibility that Snape might betray him and the Order.”

“Which, of course, he did,” Harry pointed out. “What exactly are you getting at, Hermione?”

“Dumbledore made a very difficult choice, the kind that great leaders have to make,” Hermione
continued, her eyes now locked on Harry’s. “He chose to do what was right for the war effort,
despite his own personal misgivings.” Hermione turned to look at Draco Malfoy, who was checking
Oliver Wood’s pulse with his wand. “I can’t make this decision for you, Harry, but I can tell you
this. Dumbledore didn’t want information about Voldemort’s horcruxes falling into the hands of the
Ministry and he certainly wouldn’t want Voldemort to know that you were searching for them. Right
now, the only people who know what we’re doing and could tell anyone about it are you, me and Draco
Malfoy.” Hermione thought about that a moment. “Well, alright, Luna Lovegood too, but that was just
an unfortunate fluke. The point is that Malfoy could be very dangerous if he fell into the wrong
hands. But if we left him here…”

“Who’s to say he won’t go running off to Voldemort the first chance he gets,” Harry argued,
although at this point he was only playing devil’s advocate. “Why don’t we just take Quirrell’s
research with us and obliviate Malfoy?”

Hermione tilted her head and gave Harry a look which said, ‘Give me at least some credit’. “If I
could have taken the research with me, I would have. Powerful wards have been put in place to
prevent the parchment from being removed. As for memory charms, I can’t say I’ve had much practice
with them.”

Harry smiled mischievously. “If we make a mistake, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“St. Mungo’s ends up with two pompous, overbearing amnesiac blondes in the Closed Ward?” Hermione
guessed with a laugh. Harry chuckled a bit at that, although thoughts of Ron’s condition made their
laughter short-lived.

Draco chose that moment to return to their side. “The sleeping draught’s wearing off and I’d rather
not be here when your errand boy decides to wake up.” Malfoy gave Harry an appraising look. “I
assume you’ve decided against turning me in.”

The smug expression on Draco’s face made Harry want to break something and he was leaning pretty
heavily toward that something being Malfoy’s jaw. But Hermione was looking at him expectantly and,
more than anything, he did not want to let her down. “You can stay here,” Harry begrudgingly
conceded. “Although I have some conditions. No one else is to know about what we’re doing, or about
the horcruxes. And you can’t leave here.”

“I’ll set up wards to make sure of that,” Hermione added. The smugness immediately drained from
Draco Malfoy’s face.

“Alright,” Malfoy agreed petulantly, “but I have some conditions of my own. I need fresh provisions
and more ingredients for the polyjuice potion. The supply Snape gave me is close to running out.
Oh, and I need some new dress robes, too. These have too much of that ‘old man’ stink. Even my best
freshening charms don’t have any effect.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Is there anything else that would please you, your majesty?” she asked
with a mocking curtsy.

Draco grinned wolfishly. “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to some female companionship. It’s been a while
since Pansy Parkinson’s had her head in my lap, if you know what I mean.” Hermione’s face began to
redden. “Don’t flatter yourself, mudblood. That wasn’t a come on.”

A few moments later Oliver Wood regained consciousness. His first two questions were “What happened
to Mordred Quirrell?” and “Why is Hermione hexing a newt?”

***
The days that followed were filled with research (always more Hermione’s forte than Harry’s),
delivering supplies to Malfoy (a task begrudgingly carried out by Harry) and pursuing a rather
thick volume called *The Alma Fuerza Cetro and Other Ancient Magicks of the Soul*, which
Hermione informed him was referenced multiple times in Quirrell’s notes on the horcruxes. On the
day that particular book became available, Hermione began reading it voraciously, which was good
for the horcrux hunt, but bad for his suddenly improved love life. Not that he was complaining,
really. Voldemort and his horcruxes had to come first. It’s just that snogging Hermione was so much
more fun.

“This book used to be stored in the Department of Magical Relics,” Hermione pointed out cheerily as
Harry looked at her through bleary eyes, the after effect of a full day of poring through horcrux
research. “It’s one of the few volumes that escaped the fire that destroyed the department’s
headquarters forty years ago.” When Harry looked nonplussed, Hermione added, “You dreamed about it,
Harry. That’s more than a little bit coincidental, don’t you think?”

Harry wanted to shrug, but suppressed the urge. “Seems that way,” he replied noncommittally. They
continued reading in silence, and Harry soon found other urges much harder to suppress. Like the
urge to stroke Hermione’s hair or kiss her or…

Exhaling wearily, Hermione slammed *The Alma Fuerza Cetro and Other Ancient Magicks of the
Soul* closed. “Half of what’s written here isn’t even translated, you know. It’s going to take
us weeks to go through this.” Harry was even less thrilled by this prospect than Hermione was. “I
think it’s time for a break.”

“A break?” Harry asked as he continued to stare in incomprehension at the handwriting of his first
DADA teacher, attempting to make sense of it. What was that word scribbled in the margin? ‘Tsar’?
‘Spar’? “Since when did you start suggesting that we…” But before he could finish that question,
Hermione was sitting in his lap, her lips pressed against his and her shoulder leaning gently
against his chest.

All other thoughts flew from his head as the kiss deepened and they held each other tightly, their
hands boldly exploring with their lips often bravely following after. Eventually they managed to
stop for a moment, each gazing happily into the other’s eyes. “I think I like these kind of
breaks,” Harry informed Hermione with a gleeful smile. “What do you call them?”

Hermione played along, a pleased little grin lighting up her own face. “I was thinking…snog
breaks.”

Harry snorted. “It’s not a very original name, is it?”

Hermione feigned taking offense. “Oh, and I suppose you think you can do better.”

Harry kissed her, quickly and gently, to see if it would erase the mocking pout from her face. It
did. “Mmm…maybe. How about…?” Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Harry’s head. “Scar.”

“Scar?” Hermione asked with a laugh. “What kind of name for a kissing break is…” Upon seeing the
serious look on Harry’s face, Hermione scooted off of his lap, stood, and watched as he completely
turned his attention to the lengthy tome she had just been examining.

“The word in the margins was ‘scar’,” Harry reported, his tone now completely business-like. “‘A
scar like lightning’. There’s an illustration on page eight-hundred and…” Harry’s fingers found the
page in question before he could finish that thought. “Here it is.”

The wood carving depicted on the page was several millennia old and showed a woman grabbing a baby
away from a large man wearing a cape. As it was a magical carving, the woman, probably the baby’s
mother, was then shown throwing herself over the child as the man, who was now clearly a wizard,
pointed his wand at it. As magic flashed out of the wizard’s wand, the mother fell over lifelessly.
Soon after, a glowing bolt of lightning appeared on the baby’s forehead. “Your scar,” Hermione said
breathlessly.

“What does it say, Hermione?” Harry asked urgently. “Beneath the drawing. What does it…?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered him, her voice filled with disappointment. “The language it’s
written in is long dead and this part of the book has never been translated.” She turned her eyes
away from the page in question for a moment to examine Harry more closely. “What are you
thinking?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Harry answered honestly. “Maybe it’s another prophecy about me, like
the one Trelawney made to Dumbledore. Only much, much older.”

Hermione’s hand found one of Harry’s and gave it a supportive squeeze. “Or maybe what your mother
did for you had been done before.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Maybe.” That was one too many maybes for Harry, who ran his fingers through
his hair, visibly frustrated with their lack of knowledge. “This is all just speculation. We need
real answers and I think I know where we might get some.” Harry looked up at her with a grave
expression. “Hermione, I think it’s time for us to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

***
As luck would have it, Hagrid was scheduled to return to Hogwarts the very next day. As Harry’s
luck would have it, however, Hagrid didn’t actually return to Hogwarts until several days later,
his return delayed by a snowstorm in the Alps. Harry was very anxious to explore his parents’ home,
and even considered going with someone other than his half-giant friend, like Remus Lupin. Still,
he had given his word to Headmistress McGonagall that he would take Hagrid with him to Godric’s
Hollow and he would not go back on it, not after McGonagall had gone to such great lengths to bend
the rules for him.

Once they received word via owl post that Hagrid was finally back at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione
made plans to meet him at a rendezvous point not far from his hut, on the edge of the Forbidden
Forest. They would sneak in at night, hoping not to attract the attention of any Ministry-appointed
instructors, or as Harry called them, “Scrimgeour’s three stooges.” Hagrid was to provide
transportation to Godric’s Hollow and Harry and Hermione would provide the firepower if they ran
into any trouble. Given the extreme likelihood that they would run into trouble, Harry also
suggested that Hagrid bring along his umbrella (which was, just in case any of Scrimgeour’s stooges
asked, *not* a wand).

Harry’s Firebolt sailed low over the treetops which formed a dark canopy over the Forbidden Forest,
as he looked for the clearing Hagrid had told them about, or at least a place near there where he
could land safely. Harry had not ridden his broom in a good while and enjoyed the feeling of the
wind in his hair and the open sky over his head, even if the chill of autumn made goose pimples
form on his skin. Hermione was clutching him tightly, her face buried in his neck and her legs
practically wrapped around his own, all of which was also extremely pleasurable. Still, he had to
land sometime.

“I think this is it,” Harry announced over the wind, indicating with a nod of his head a large,
flat patch of grass only a few hundred meters from Hagrid’s hut. “I’m going to take us down.” He
interpreted the muffled whimper he heard from Hermione as tacit approval and pointed his broomstick
towards the ground, aiming for a large bushy patch in the middle of the clearing. With great
effort, speed and concentration, Harry managed a perfect, ten-point landing, easily the best of his
flying career…except for the fact that he slammed right into Rubeus Hagrid.

Hagrid’s otherworldly groan filled the clearing, echoing eerily through the trees. Harry felt as
though he had collided with a mountain, but after a quick check of his extremities he did not seem
to be seriously hurt, although he would likely be sore for quite some time. Hermione seemed shaken
by the crash, but otherwise appeared to be unharmed. “Are you alright?” he asked, the ‘concerned
boyfriend’ look on his face not quite lost in the pale moonlight.

“I think so,” Hermione answered, taking the time to adjust her clothing and check herself for
injuries. “There are some bruises in places I never thought I’d have them, but I don’t think
anything’s broken.”

“I… I guess I didn’t see Hagrid,” Harry said in bewilderment, not quite knowing how that could be
possible. Hagrid wasn’t exactly easy to lose in a crowd. As he looked frantically around for the
Hogwarts gamekeeper, however, he found that he still didn’t see him, although he could hear him
moaning only a few meters away. “Hagrid?” Harry called out in a stage whisper. “Where are
you?”

Harry thought he saw a faint, dark blur move against the backdrop of the moonlit forest. “Sorry
abou’ that,” he heard Hagrid’s familiarly jolly voice call out. “I asked Professor McGonagall to
put one of those disillusionment charms on me before I left. Didn’t want to draw a whole lot of
attention to meself.” He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Guess I didn’t do a very good job o’
that, did I?”

“No, I’m afraid you didn’t,” Hermione replied, although her tone was gentle and understanding.
“Keep talking. Once I find you I’ll remove the disillusionment charm.”

“Careful, ‘ermione,” Hagrid cautioned. “These woods aren’t exactly the safest place to be this time
of night. Especially now.” The familiar look of curiosity crossed Hermione’s face as she followed
the sound of his voice. “The centaurs are all in a huff about summat. Couldn’t tell ya what, but
they’re out for blood. They attacked a couple o’ wandering students just last night. The new
teachers want something done about it and they’re not talking about having a nice, long friendly
chat with the centaurs, either.” He shook his large, transparent head. “The way some of ‘em talk,
you’d think they already knew all about the Alliance o’ Magical Creatures.”

“What’s the Alliance of Magical Creatures?” Hermione asked as Hagrid slowly became visible
again.

“Nothin’,” Hagrid said quickly. “I never said nothin’ about any Alliance o’ Magical Creatures. In
fact, I’m supposed to obliviate ya now that ya heard about it.” Hagrid looked thoughtful. “’Course
I’m not technically allowed to obliviate ya…”

“Hagrid,” Hermione interrupted patiently. “We promise we won’t tell another living soul about the
Alliance of Magical Creatures. Don’t we, Harry?” She turned around quickly to see that Harry was in
a low crouch, looking at something lying in the grass. “Harry?”

“My Firebolt’s destroyed,” Harry reported numbly. He was staring at the splintered pieces on the
ground, as if unable to move. “It’s gone, Hermione.”

Hermione, instantly realizing why Harry was upset, sank to her knees next to him and threw one arm
around his shoulder. Hagrid, however, was somewhat more oblivious. “I know it’s the top o’ the
line, Harry, but it’s just a broom. It can be replaced.”

“Not this one,” Hermione responded sadly. “It was a gift from Sirius.”

“Oh,” Hagrid retorted sheepishly. “Right. Sorry, guess I wasn’t thinkin’ about that.” The
half-giant scratched his head. “I know there’s nothin’ I could do that would make up for losing
somethin’ Sirius gave ya himself, o’ course.” A twinkle reminiscent of Dumbledore sparkled suddenly
in Hagrid’s eyes. “Except maybe for...” For the first time, Harry looked up, his interest piqued.
“C’mon. Let me show ya.”

“I was gonna give it to ya anyway, after I took it out for this one last ride,” Hagrid explained as
they trudged closer to his cottage. “Ah, here it is. Close your eyes.” With some small amount of
hesitation, Harry did so. “Now open ‘em again.” Again, he did as Hagrid asked. “Ta da!”

Sitting in front of him was an oversized motorcycle, recently polished and shining in the dim light
emanating from Hagrid’s hut. “This motorcycle was Sirius’ most prized possession when he was about
your age,” Hagrid explained. “Once he lost one of his little girlfriends to a muggle who was ridin’
on one, he decided he had to have one, too. Built it himself. It’s not a broom, but it flies just
as well as one.” Hagrid slapped Harry on the back, knocking the wind out of him. “I’m sure he’d
want you to have it. It’s yers, Harry.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry answered, not quite knowing why this incident had affected him so. “That
means a lot.”

“Think nothin’of it,” Hagrid replied bashfully. “Are we ready to go, then?”

Behind Sirius’ old motorcycle, they had found ‘Witherwings’ happily eating old ferret pelts. It was
agreed that Hagrid should fly Sirius’ motorcycle while the two of them rode behind him on
Witherwings, as no one thought the hippogriff would take kindly to carrying Hagrid. Within a few
minutes, all three were aloft and en route to Godric’s Hollow.

***
Following Hagrid’s lead, Harry landed the hippogriff formerly known as Buckbeak in a patch of woods
about half a kilometer from a small muggle neighborhood. Harry waited for Hermione to dismount
first, shakily clutching his arm as she descended, and then did so himself. As Hermione performed a
spell to make the motorcycle invisible, Hagrid tossed the hippogriff a dead ferret while Harry
tethered the flying beast to a tree. “Are you sure Buckbe…Witherwings will be safe here, Hagrid?”
Harry asked. “Won’t the muggles see him?”

“When it comes to magic, Harry, muggles usually only see what they want to,” Hagrid answered him
gruffly. “Your aunt and uncle are fine examples o’ that.” Hermione soon joined them both as they
began walking out of the small grove of trees. “And you can call ‘im Buckbeak again, if you want
to. There’s no Ministry professers around now to overhear.”

“Do you think we could take care of him?” Hermione suggested hopefully. “It might not be very safe
for him at Hogwarts, with so many Ministry employees there.”

Hagrid considered it for a moment. “Tha’s actually not a bad idea, ‘ermione. Maybe after I take you
to where…” Hagrid’s eyes widened dramatically. “Blimey!”

Harry withdrew his wand on instinct. Hermione did the same only a moment later. “What is it?” they
both inquired.

“They built over it!” the half-giant exclaimed angrily, as he began to lumber along at a slightly
faster pace. “The muggles! They’ve built over Godric’s Hollow!”

The house was a simple Victorian building with dark brown trim which looked to be in reasonably
good condition. As Hagrid continued to sputter in his outrage, Hermione took the time to examine a
sign on the front lawn. “It looks like the house is for sale.”

“An outrage, tha’s what it is,” Hagrid bellowed sourly. “A crime against your parents’ memory. That
house should have stood as a monument to…to…”

“It’s alright, Hagrid,” Harry assured his old friend. “At least someone’s gotten some use out of
the place in the last sixteen years. I just hope that…” A sound from inside the house made Harry
stop dead in his tracks. “Listen, do you hear that?” Both Hagrid and Hermione paused to listen to
the sound of someone opening and closing a door inside. “Someone’s here.”

“Ya think it’s the muggles who own the place?” Hagrid suggested.

Harry looked doubtful, but nodded slightly. “Maybe.” He then motioned for them to follow him again.
“Let’s find out.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Harry,” Hermione said in a panicked whisper. “If muggles live
here, there isn’t likely to be anything left over from when your parents did. We should probably
just…”

As the three of them neared the door, it suddenly opened from the inside, revealing a short woman
with a shorter haircut, a red pair of granny glasses slipping down her long nose and her gray hair
almost completely hidden behind a blue chapeau. “Oh!” she called out in surprise as she clutched
her chest dramatically. “You gave me a fright, dears.” The woman then giggled playfully. “You’re
the couple that called about the house yesterday, aren’t you?”

Always one to seize on a convenient cover story, Harry nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s us.” Hermione
gave him a cross look, but said nothing. “Sorry about dropping in on you so unexpectedly…”

“Nonsense,” the elder woman replied. “I’ve been waiting here for hours with nothing to do but dust.
Some ‘open house’ this turned out to be.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “To tell you the
truth, there hasn’t been that much interest in the house. I can’t imagine why. It’s a perfectly
charming neighborhood and the asking price is very reasonable.” The woman frowned. “I’m so very
sorry, but I can’t seem to recall your names.”

“I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione introduced herself with a shy smile, “and this is my fiancée,
Harry Potter.”

The older woman squealed with delight. “You’re getting married? Oh, that’s just marvelous, dear,
just wonderful. Have you set a date?”

“Not yet,” Hermione answered quickly. “I’m afraid my husband-to-be is dragging his feet a
little.”

The other woman laughed at that while Harry’s face turned beet red. “My name’s Regina, by the way.
Are you ready to see the house?” After a moment’s hesitation, Harry and Hermione agreed.

“I’ll jus’ be waitin’ outside then,” Hagrid, who had been deathly silent until then, explained in a
whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Regina said as she pointed to Hagrid in confusion. “This is your…”

“Friend,” Hermione answered at the same time Harry said “Uncle”. They shared a sheepish look.
“Hagrid. Er, he’s my uncle and Hermione’s friend. He’s how we met, actually.”

“How nice,” Regina enthused. “You’re welcome to tour the house, too, you know. I can always make
room for one more.”

“Well,” Hagrid replied as he scratched his beard thoughtfully, “if yer sure I wouldn’ be
intrudin’…”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Hermione assured him, grabbing his overlarge arm as though to pull him
along with her. “Come on, Hagrid. Let’s see the house.”

***
About a half an hour later, Harry was ready to concede defeat. Hermione had been right, as was
usually the case. This wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was downright torturous. “Now this is the
kitchen. As you can see, the cabinets were all hand-made and the finish was professionally done.”
Harry smiled politely and nodded. When he had occasionally been able to get a word in edgewise, he
had asked Regina about some of the things around the house; questions about how old everything was,
or who had originally owned it. Her answers, effusive and elusive as they were, proved
worthless.

“All of the appliances are new and come with the house,” Regina explained enthusiastically. “The
floor has just been retiled and doesn’t it look fab? With no one to maintain it, the kitchen has
developed something of a rat problem, but I guarantee you I’ll have that taken care of before you
could move in.” Regina clapped her hands together excitedly. “So what do you think?”

‘That this has been a colossal waste of time,’ Harry thought to himself. Aloud, he said “It’s
great. But of course we will be looking at other…”

Hermione had one of those deep and thoughtful expressions on her face, the kind that he had learned
to both appreciate and fear. “Does this house have a cellar?”

The perpetually blissful expression on Regina’s face fell abruptly. “Why do you ask, dear?” she
managed, her voice instantly cold and sour.

Harry, curious to see what the woman was being skittish about, stepped in at this point. “I’m
afraid my future wife is a great lover of books. If there’s a cellar, that’s where we’ll probably
end up keeping them all.”

“Well, you know,” the other woman began furtively, “the house has a wide assortment of shelves
which would be ideal for…”

“Regina,” Hermione interrupted her, all pretense of politeness gone. “Can we see what’s in the
cellar?”

Grumbling under her breath, Regina led them to a door on the other side of the house from the
kitchen. Harry motioned for Hagrid to go along with them (he had been reluctant to accompany them
throughout the house as he constantly had to duck to enter each new room) and in only a few moments
the four of them stood before the door as the flustered saleswoman fumbled for her keys. “I think
you’re going to be disappointed. There’s nothing to see. I was told the previous owners never even
went down here.” Eventually, she found the proper key and unlocked the door, only to reveal a set
of thick boards, haphazardly arranged and nailed in place, barring the door. “You see? It’s boarded
over. It would take one of our carpenter crews a few days before they could even…”

At a nod from Harry, Hagrid began to remove the boards covering the entranceway by hand, one by
one. “This is…highly irregular, I…I don’t think this is the proper procedure for…” Suddenly, Regina
fell silent. Also, not coincidentally, she fell to the floor.

Harry moved quickly to check her pulse. Thankfully, it was there, steady and strong. “I think she
must have fainted.” It was a fine theory, except that it was quickly disproved by a stunner, fired
from the bottom of the stair, that hit Hagrid squarely in the chest.

The half-giant staggered for a moment, but remained standing. “Cor, Harry,” Hagrid remarked as he
sagged against the wall, which made an unpleasant cracking sound in protest. “I think there’s
someone in the cellar.”

Given how much physical abuse Hagrid had taken tonight, he could be forgiven for stating the
obvious. Harry and Hermione took shelter along the wall, crouching down together in a defensive
position. Harry leaned in to whisper in Hermione’s ear. “I’m taking the cloak and going down
there.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “I’m coming with you.”

Harry wanted to argue with her, to beg her to keep herself safe so that she could get help in case
anything happened to him. But the fight would take too long and, ultimately, he would probably
lose. Harry withdrew his invisibility cloak from his knapsack. “Come on then. Let’s go.”

Harry and Hermione stood close together under the cloak, slowly descending the cellar stairs and
hoping not to make too much noise. Old staircases tend to creak, however, and as Hermione’s foot
landed awkwardly on the third step down, another stunner came at them, splintering the door. They
had ducked just in time. “You can’t get me down here,” a jittery, breathy voice came from below.
“I’m safe. Safe. Safe as houses. Houses are safe.”

Moving at a crawl, the two of them continued to descend the stairwell, their wands at the ready.
Harry’s lips moved close to Hermione’s ear. “I think I can see him well enough to disarm him,” he
whispered softly. Hermione gave him a look full of resolve, one that told him she would be ready
for the fight that would be inevitable if he missed. Harry pointed his wand at a faint shadow below
him. “Expelliarmus!”

A sharp cry of shock and the welcome sound of a wand rolling down the wooden steps made Harry smile
in triumph. Carefully, although at a quicker pace, they followed the sound of the quivering,
sniveling man below until they could make out his features. His ugly, familiar features. “Hermione,
that’s…that’s Peter Pettigrew.”

Forgetting all about Hermione, the cloak and any concern he might have for his own safety in the
space of a few seconds, Harry descended the few remaining stairs that separated them, plunging his
elbow into Wormtail’s stomach and his wand into the ex-Marauder’s throat. “How dare you come here,”
Harry furiously spat at him. “How dare you ever set foot in here after what you did.”

Soon Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder. “Please don’t do anything rash, Harry,” she advised him.
Hermione was looking at him with a sort of desperation, a longing that had nothing to do with
romance. “Let’s just take him upstairs and...”

“So he can talk his way out of it,” Harry growled, shoving his wand further into Peter Pettigrew’s
neck, “or escape by turning back into the rat he is…again. No, Hermione. This ends here.”

Pettigrew had broken down completely, tears streaming down his face as Harry leaned into him
threateningly. “Please, please, I didn’t mean to do it, please,” he blubbered.

“So that’s it, then?” Hermione asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re just going to kill
him?”

“He betrayed my parents,” Harry reminded her coldly. “He’s the one who brought Voldemort back to
life. If it weren’t for him, my parents would still be alive, and so would Cedric and Sirius
and…and Dumbledore… All of their deaths are on his head.”

“Voldemort’s the one responsible for all of those murders, Harry,” Hermione reminded him, her body
slowly inching its way between Harry’s and Pettigrew’s. “You once told Sirius and Lupin that you
didn’t think your parents would want their best friends to become murderers. Do you really think
that they’d want you to kill someone?”

“Well, I have to anyway, don’t I?” Harry demanded, turning to face Hermione for the first time. She
recoiled slightly from him, an unfamiliar look of terror in her eyes. “The prophecy says that it’s
kill or be killed. I have to be the one to…”

“I would have been with you, I swear I would have,” Pettigrew continued to mutter pitifully as they
spoke. “It…it was Severus, he ordered me to come here.” Harry and Hermione both turned to listen to
him. “I would never have left you, but you told me to listen to him, to follow his orders and…and I
did. I waited here, waited for the boy… but he never came. I swear I never wanted to leave your
side, Master, I swear it.”

“He’s gone mad, he has,” Hagrid declared from the top of the staircase. The half-giant had found a
flashlight and was shining it down on all of their faces. “He thinks Harry’s You-Know-Who.”

“Harry?” Peter parroted in incomprehension. Suddenly the fear in his demeanor was gone and a look
of comprehension dawned on his face. “Harry. Sweet, innocent boy. You couldn’t hurt me. You could
never…”

Harry shoved Peter Pettigrew against the wall, lifting him off of the ground. “Try me.”

“Please, Harry,” Hermione begged, sadness heavy in her words. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.
Let’s…let’s take him to Azkaban.”

“Azkaban’s too good for him,” Harry answered her, although his voice was now choked with emotion
instead of cold and ruthless, as it had been only a moment before.

“There’s nobody Azkaban’s too good fer,” Hagrid interjected solemnly. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”
Slowly, Hagrid descended the stairs, his arms extended. “Let me take ‘em there, Harry. You
shouldn’t have to be the one ta do it. Not after everything ‘e’s put you through.”

“I…” Harry looked between Hagrid, Hermione and Peter Pettigrew in succession, his resolve wavering.
He suddenly felt utterly exhausted. Harry pulled away from Pettigrew and watched him fall to the
ground with a painful thump. “Get him out of here, Hagrid,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a
whisper. “I don’t want to have to look at him anymore.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Peter Pettigrew said gratefully as he groveled at Harry’s feet. “I
owe you my life, boy. Twice over now I owe you my life. I won’t forget. I won’t forget. I
won’t…”

“You owe your life to Hermione and Hagrid,” Harry replied bitterly. “Not me.”

“C’mon, you worthless piece o’ slime,” Hagrid said with disdain as he picked Peter Pettigrew up
like a rag doll. “You’re comin’ with me.”

As Hagrid and a gibbering Peter Pettigrew ascended the cellar staircase, Harry and Hermione stood
in the darkness, neither daring to look at the other. “What do you want me to say, Hermione? That
I’m sorry?” He waited a moment for her to answer. When she didn’t, he continued, “I’m not. Peter
Pettigrew deserves to die.”

“But you don’t deserve to have to become a murderer,” Hermione countered angrily. “The wizarding
world developed a system of justice for just this reason, Harry, to end centuries of blood feuds
and revenge schemes. To give people peace instead of constant warfare. Justice rather than
vengeance.”

“Justice,” Harry scoffed, his arm waving dramatically despite the darkness. “How much justice have
my parents received over the last sixteen years? Their best friend was sent to prison while the
real wizard who betrayed them lived as a free man. What would they say if they knew that I could
have ended his life, twice now, and couldn’t do it?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione answered as she sadly shook her head. “What would they say if you
*had* killed him? Do you really think they would be proud of you?”

“Maybe you should ask them,” came a voice from below them. Harry and Hermione, startled by the
interruption, quickly turned their wands in the direction of the voice.

“Who’s there?” Hermione asked. She had lit her wand and was searching the cellar for any sign of
another living soul. Harry, meanwhile, was kicking himself. Why had he sent Hagrid away so soon?
What if there were an entire contingent of Death Eaters, lying in wait for them? What if they were
completely surrounded by evil wizards?

“Um, Harry,” Hermione interrupted his thoughts shyly. “I think maybe the voice came from this
portrait.”

“She’s a bright one, isn’t she?” came a warm, male voice that Harry was certain he had heard
before. Once Harry was standing next to Hermione, examining the portrait, he knew why.

“Mum? Dad?”

**Yes, I know. It's another cliffy. I still don't like them as a rule, but sometimes
they're necessary. The next chapter will be a bit of a change, as the story will not be told
from Harry's perspective, but from the viewpoint of three different female characters. Tune in
next time to see if this story-telling device works or fails miserably. Toodles!

ITL**

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15. Chapter 14: Strange Bedfellows
----------------------------------

**I'm not J.K. Rowling. I'm some other person entirely, who isn't British or a
woman or willing to inflict Harry/Ginny on a largely unsuspecting populace**

Hermione’s first thought was that if Ginny were here, standing beside Harry instead of her, they
would be looking at a mirror image of themselves. Lily and James Potter, seeming very much alive,
peered out from their portrait at their son with happiness and relief etched on their faces,
although Lily’s eyes (which were, as people had often remarked, the same shade of green as Harry’s)
possessed a longsuffering weariness. Aside from those distinctive (and, Hermione had always
thought, quite attractive) eyes, Harry and James could have passed for twins as easily as Fred and
George did. Although, now that Hermione examined James Potter’s face more closely, there was
something a little different about the nose…something not just everyone would pick up on.

Her second thought was that if Ginny were here, standing beside Harry instead of her, she wouldn’t
have been nearly as confused about her role in all of this as she was now. She still didn’t
understand why Harry had suddenly become romantically interested in her, after six years of
friendship, with no prior indication that he’d harbored those sort of feelings for her. Hermione
knew that he’d never had those sort of feelings for her because she had been searching for them,
desperately, since their fourth year at Hogwarts. They simply hadn’t been there: not when she had
tried to get him to invite her to Slughorn’s party last year, not when he was oblivious about Cho’s
jealousy in fifth year, not when Viktor Krum had confronted him with the fact that she “spoke of
him very often”. Harry wasn’t interested in her. She had accepted that. She had even tried to move
on and to find happiness with someone else.

But then Harry had kissed her. He told her he loved her. And everything else went out the
window.

Her best guess was that he was lonely, lost and in desperate need of something or someone to hold
onto. It’s why she had suggested that they take Ginny along on the horcrux hunt. It was one of the
reasons why she had been so hesitant to start a relationship with Harry right now. The fact that
they were ‘dating’ (or ‘together’ or whatever other euphemism might apply to their unusual
circumstances) made her more than a little terrified at the idea of meeting Harry’s parents for the
first time. Considering that they had died while their son was still a baby, Hermione had never
anticipated meeting the Potters and certainly hadn’t thought of ever talking to them as Harry’s
girlfriend. Perhaps irrationally, she felt a certain pressure to impress them.

Hermione examined Harry’s face carefully, watching great joy war with deep sadness on his face.
Right now, what he needed most was not necessarily a girlfriend, but the same supportive Hermione
that he’d always had by his side. She smiled at him warmly. Perhaps she was the girl who was
supposed to be standing beside him right now after all.

Harry and the magically captured images of his parents talked about everything and nothing all at
once, as though they could squeeze a lifetime of important and mundane conversations into only a
few minutes. James and Lily took in the events of Harry’s life with wonder, (“Of course you made
the Quidditch team in first year!” James had crowed. “The broomstick doesn’t fly too far from the
closet, after all.”), grief (Lily had nearly wept over news of Dumbledore’s death and James even
got a little teary-eyed when he learned what had happened to Sirius) and an abiding sense of regret
and longing.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you,” Lily had remarked sorrowfully. “Growing up
alone and unwanted, and then coming into our world and learning about all of this.” Tears she had
been fighting for what felt like hours began to spill over. “I’m so sorry you had to go through
that.”

Harry was a bit choked up himself. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known what would
happen.”

James grimaced sheepishly. “Actually, Harry, we did.”

Harry nodded in acquiescence. “Of course. You knew about the prophecy… and that Voldemort wanted to
kill me…”

“There’s more to it than that,” Lily explained, that look of melancholy back in full force in her
very expressive eyes. “I’m not quite sure you realize…”

At that moment, a light bulb burst above their heads, raining sparks down on them as a violent
tremor shook the room. The four of them were thrown into pitch darkness, causing Hermione to
relight her wand. “Maybe we should take this conversation someplace else,” she suggested with just
a hint of worry in her voice. “I don’t know if it’s safe here.”

“I’m afraid it’s here or nowhere,” Lily continued, a sense of determination entering her voice.
“The spell I used to create this portrait of us is localized. It’s tied to the wards that have kept
the cellar intact and undisturbed all of these years.” The room shook slightly once again as she
spoke. “Godric’s Hollow wasn’t designed to sustain this level of magic over such a long time. I
don’t think we have much of either left.” Lily’s eyes met Harry’s. “What do you know about
Voldemort’s horcruxes?”

Harry blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback by the quick change in topic. “Dumbledore told me
about them, last year. He thinks Voldemort made seven of them; I know that he made at least five. I
destroyed one at the end of my second year and another one just over a month ago. Two more were
destroyed by Dumbledore and my first year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. If there are seven
of them, that leaves three and I know one of them is Ravenclaw’s quill. Hermione and I haven’t had
any luck at getting our hands on that one, though.”

Lily and James both looked impressed with Harry, at least until Hermione spoke. “We found the
Animus Signatus potion that you gave to Regulus Black at Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Potter. We used it
to discover that Ravenclaw’s quill was a horcrux, but then it lost its magical potency. I thought
it would be worthless until I noticed that it had begun to undergo flocculation. I mixed in some
mandrake root with the floc to create a new substance which should serve the same purpose, although
it will now require physical contact before it can positively identify a horcrux.”

Lily and James turned their impressed look onto Hermione. Harry stared at her quizzically. “What?”
Hermione demanded. “She said she wanted to know everything we knew about the horcruxes. That’s
everything.”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” James remarked in his best suave voice. “Harry,
please tell me this is your girlfriend.” The portrait image of Lily elbowed portrait James in the
ribs. “Ow! What was that for?” he demanded. “I was only admiring her enormous…brain power.”

Lily scoffed. “Since when have you ever admired a girl for her brain power?” As James smiled
wickedly, she turned away from him with a pout. “We haven’t the time to talk about Harry’s love
life and it’s no business of ours even if she is his girlfriend,” Lily reprimanded him
sharply.

Hermione blushed furiously as Harry threw one arm around her. “Actually, she is,” Harry explained,
as nervousness entered his voice for the first time. Lily’s scowl vanished and her face brightened
immediately. The Potters seemed eager to learn anything they could about the son that they had
never known. “We were both rather stupid about our own feelings for awhile, but it all seemed to
work out in the end.”

An embarrassed laugh escaped Hermione’s lips. “Speak for yourself, Harry. I’ve felt this way about
you for…” The ground shook beneath them again, so violently that Hermione felt her legs give out
from underneath her. Harry caught her before she hit the ground, but had to brace himself against
the wall, which now had a rather large crack in it.

Portrait Lily’s expression was now all-business. “Listen to me, Harry. After Regulus came to me and
told me about the horcruxes, James and I began searching for them ourselves. When a dagger that had
belonged to Godric Gryffindor was stolen from one of James’ relatives, we thought for sure that it
was Voldemort who had taken it, and that he was making another horcrux. It took us months to track
it down, but we finally got our hands on Gryffindor’s dagger, just before we went into hiding with
you.”

Harry looked every bit as interested in this piece of information as Hermione was. “And was it a
horcrux?” he asked anxiously.

“No, it wasn’t,” Lily explained sadly. “When we began to look for something related to the
Hogwarts’ founders, something of Gryffindor’s in particular, we thought the dagger had to be it.
Everything else of Gryffindor’s was accounted for. What we didn’t consider was just how perverse
and twisted Voldemort’s mind had become. He didn’t merely want an object that had belonged to
Gryffindor, he wanted…”

The floorboards above them let out a long, slow moan and part of the cellar ceiling collapsed,
raining down debris on their heads. It was now Hermione who had to come to Harry’s rescue, pushing
him out of the way as a stray wooden beam came very close to striking him in the head. “Harry, we
can’t stay here!” she exclaimed worriedly.

Harry, however, made no attempt to move out of harm’s way. In fact, his eyes had never left the
portrait. “It was me, wasn’t it?” Harry asked in a voice that was almost too soft to be heard.
“Voldemort wanted me.”

Lily nodded her head as tears flowed freely from her face. “Harry, I’m so sorry. Living horcruxes
are…are rare, that’s why we never even thought about…”

“I’m…” Harry began, a blank expression on his face revealing nothing of what had to be going on in
his mind. Hermione’s own thoughts were reeling in horror; she was torn between getting Harry and
herself to safety and learning more from James and Lily. “I’m one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

James’ expression was grim as he looked at Lily. “Tell him about the protection spell.”

“Right, of course,” Lily responded, shaking her head slightly as though to clear it. “I read about
a spell that was used by a very powerful witch queen in ancient times to keep her son from being
turned into a horcrux by his father. That was how ancient wizard kings used to maintain their
dynasties, you know. They passed down pieces of their soul, from generation to generation,
until…”

Another support beam fell behind them and made a rather large hole in the wooden staircase. “How
about the short version, love?” James suggested.

“I knew I was going to die anyway,” Lily informed them tearfully, “so to make sure that my death
meant something, I sacrificed myself to create a magical barrier between the piece of Voldemort’s
soul that he thrust into you and your own spirit. Otherwise his soul, his essence, would have
controlled you. In time, it would have destroyed your soul.” Lily’s eyes bored into Harry’s. “When
Voldemort realized what I had done, that’s when he tried to kill you. But his magic couldn’t harm
you, because of the barrier. Listen to me, Harry: whatever happens, that barrier mustn’t come
down.”

“It already has been,” Harry confessed, his voice hollow. “When Voldemort came back, two years ago,
he used my blood to make his new body. He…he destroyed the barrier.”

“Two years ago,” she repeated in an astonished whisper. James and Lily Potter shared a worried
look. “Then it’s already begun,” she announced, a tone of defeat entering her voice for the first
time. “You haven’t much time.”

A series of cracks and moans above them heightened Hermione’s anxiety. “Harry, let’s go!” she
cried, grabbing Harry’s arm tightly.

“What do you mean, I haven’t much time?” Harry asked confusedly. “What’s going to happen?”

“That’s entirely up to you, Harry,” James answered him. “You should go now.”

“Are there anti-apparition wards set up here?” Hermione asked loudly, so she could be heard over
the sounds of the house breaking apart around them.

“No,” Lily replied. “Find others to help you, Harry. That’s key.” Her voice was nearly drowned out
by the incessant groaning of the wall behind them. “Frank and Alice Longbottom were dear friends of
ours; I’m sure they would be glad to help you in any way they could. And there was a Slytherin in
our year who knew all about the horcruxes…”

“Snape,” Harry guessed, his voice suddenly filled with contempt.

“No,” James assured them. “It was…”

But before he could finish, the wall holding the portrait collapsed, splitting the picture in two,
tearing the life-like images of James and Lily in twain. As a mountain of dirt, stone and plaster
began to descend upon them, Hermione only had time enough to call out Harry’s name before he
disapparated in front of her. Completely unwilling to stay there now that Harry was out of harm’s
way, Hermione apparated away as well.

From outside Godric’s Hollow, Hermione watched as the house seemingly destroyed itself from the
inside out, an implosion brought on by magical instability. She let herself weep then, her emotions
now too powerful and conflicting to ignore. She cried for the home and the family that Harry had
never known. She cried for James and Lily, who had given their lives to allow their son a chance to
have his own. But most of all, she cried for Harry and herself.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Hermione thought bitterly. ‘Not to either of us. Not now. Especially not now.’ His
life had already been filled with so many horrors and misfortunes, all of it courtesy of Lord
Voldemort. Knowing that a part of that maniac’s soul was somewhere inside Harry was almost too much
for her to bear. For a moment, she allowed herself to curse the cruelty of fate for having done
this to him, after he had endured so much and suffered so greatly.

But it was only for a moment. Hermione quickly wiped away her tears. She could not allow herself to
give in to her emotions. Harry needed her. He needed calm, sensible Hermione, even if she wasn’t
entirely sure that that was who she was right now. He certainly didn’t need ‘emotional, weepy
girlfriend Hermione’ who fell apart at the idea that life with Harry wasn’t all sunshine and
roses.

Hermione thought of doing a ‘point me’ spell to find Harry, but quickly realized where he’d be once
she saw a large grey headstone just outside the boundaries of the yard, resting underneath a
spreading willow tree. A thin, dark figure knelt before the stone almost worshipfully, his head
bowed and his body completely still. “Harry?” she called out, her voice cutting through what felt
like oppressive silence.

For a few moments she wondered if he’d heard her, as she had spoken in what was barely a whisper.
Harry did not move, choosing to stare at the names on the headstones in mute contemplation. ‘James
and Lily Potter,’ it read simply, ‘Beloved and missed by all who knew them.’ At long last, he
spoke. “I never even had a chance, did I?”

A cold breeze rolled slowly across the grassy field, blowing Hermione’s hair back as she moved
towards him. “Harry, I…I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” She immediately chided herself for how
useless that must have sounded, coming from her.

Harry didn’t seem to notice. “I never had a chance to beat him. How could I? He was here the whole
time.” Hermione placed the palm of her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “That’s why the occlumency lessons
didn’t work. It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. How could you be expected to help me shut Voldemort
out of my mind when he was already there, all of the time, watching and waiting…” His tone grew
suddenly icier and more despondent. “He probably knows everything by now. There’s no longer any
point in trying to keep things from him.”

“We can’t think that way,” Hermione said in a voice that was both mournful and determined. “Harry,
we can’t just give up. Think of what Dumbledore said…”

“Dumbledore must have known,” Harry stated numbly, seemingly not caring that he had interrupted
Hermione. “That’s why he gave me the carpe diem potion.”

“What?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “Why would you say that?”

Harry turned to face her for the first time, his face devoid of emotion. In truth, this worried
Hermione more than if he had been wailing and screaming. ‘He’s shutting himself down,’ she thought
to herself. ‘Turning his feelings off, so he won’t have to deal with the pain.’ “At Bill and
Fleur’s wedding, Luna said that carpe diem potion was sometimes used to treat multiple personality
disorder.”

Hermione frowned deeply. When had Harry spoken with Luna at the wedding? “She did?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, his voice low. “Of course, she also said it was good for treating wounds
of the toad-toed findlewatt…”

“It makes sense, I suppose,” Hermione mused aloud. “The potion makes certain personality traits and
characteristics dominant over other ones; perhaps...” Harry had long since stopped listening to
her. “Harry, talk to me. Let me in. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Harry turned his head slightly to look at her. “You want to know what I’m feeling right now?
Determination.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to kill Voldemort and end this.”

Hermione couldn’t quite hide her surprise. She had expected Harry to wallow in his own misery for a
while. It was certainly what she had wanted to do upon first learning that Voldemort had made Harry
into one of his horcruxes. He looked at her expectantly. “Will you help me?” he asked.

Her heart broke a little at the doubt in his eyes. Of course she would help him. She always had.
“You know I will,” Hermione agreed instantly.

“Good,” Harry said as he began slowly walking away from the grave. “We should get started straight
away. With everything we have at our disposal and how brilliant you are at research, this shouldn’t
take long.” Hermione was pleasantly surprised at Harry’s positive attitude and was just about to
say so when he added, “I reckon the thing that would be most helpful is a spell that would destroy
both Voldemort and me at the same time, but he may be expecting something like that. We should come
up with all sorts of different ways to off us both, just in case.”

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed in horror.

“We’ll find and destroy the last horcrux and then Ravenclaw’s quill first, of course,” Harry
amended, as though that might remove her objection to his plan of action.

“You’re…you’re talking about killing yourself,” Hermione queried softly, her voice deliberately
calm and even.

“Of course,” Harry answered her with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m a horcrux. All of the horcruxes have
to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to die. So I have to die, too. It’s only logical,
Hermione.”

“Well, I don’t accept that!” Hermione cried out, grief and anger equally evident in her voice.
“There has to be some other way!”

“I suppose I could live to a ripe old age,” Harry said, a tinge of bitterness entering his tone,
“but then so would Voldemort. I’d still be alive, but thousands of people would die because of him.
I don’t think there’s any real choice there.”

“There’s always a choice, Harry,” Hermione countered, pushing herself in front of him to stop him
from walking away from her. “You can choose to fight; to find some other way to defeat Voldemort;
to live…”

“Don’t you think I want to?!” Harry snapped, real emotion registering on his face for the first
time. “I can’t fight Voldemort, Hermione! All the times I’ve faced him, I’ve only been lucky. Head
to head, without Dumbledore to help me, I don’t stand a chance. Especially now.” His voice began to
tremble. “Hermione, I think I’m losing myself. The dreams, the bursts of wandless magic that I
can’t control, I think it’s him, taking over. Without Mum’s barrier or the potion, there’s nothing
to stop him anymore.” Harry looked down at Hermione in sorrow. “That’s why it all has to be done
quickly. Otherwise, I’ll end up like Professor Quirrell, a mindless slave to Lord Voldemort…”

“Professor Quirrell,” Hermione thought aloud as the cogs in her brain spun around. “Of course!” she
cried out excitedly. “Professor Quirrell was working on a way to transfer a part of his soul to
another subject before he died. A way to keep some part of himself from being completely corrupted
by Voldemort.”

Harry looked skeptical. “Did it work?”

“Well…no,” Hermione admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that it won’t. I get the feeling Quirrell was
doing it for vanity’s sake, rather than because he truly wanted to be free from Voldemort. Also, he
was performing these experiments on mountain trolls. They weren’t exactly ideal test
subjects.”

Harry shook his head dismissively. “I think we’re just fooling ourselves, Hermione. I’ve been
living on borrowed time ever since I was a baby.” He turned to look back at his parents’ grave, one
last time. “If I have to die in order for it to be finished, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I can’t stop you,” Hermione informed him matter-of-factly. “But if you expect me to help you come
up with a plan to kill yourself, you can think again. I won’t do it.”

“Aren’t you listening to me, Hermione?” Harry yelled back at her. He stepped closer to her, his
eyes blazing with fury. “It’s not my life you’re trying to save anymore, it’s Voldemort’s. Is that
really what you want?”

“What I want is for you to care half as much about your own life as I do,” Hermione replied hotly.
“I am *not* going to watch you die, Harry James Potter! I’ve put my life on the line time and
again to help you fight a basilisk, a dragon and any number of dark wizards, all because I can’t
bear the thought of my life without you. If, after all that, I have to help you fight yourself,
too, then I suppose that’s what I’ll do,” she finished pointedly.

“You heard what my parents said,” Harry shot back at her. They were now standing so close together
that their breath intermingled, forming a single vapor that shot into the cool night sky. “I
haven’t much time until he takes over. It could be months or weeks or even days.” Harry gave
Hermione a look of deep frustration. “If you were really smart, you’d be running away from me right
now. Go back to school. Start concentrating on your life, instead of mine. I’m a lost cause,
Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head quickly. “No, you’re not. Don’t ever say that!” In that moment, she had
something of an epiphany. Hermione Granger had been wearing two hats lately, playing both the best
friend, the confidante and fellow adventurer that Harry had always had with him, and the
girlfriend, the young woman who held Harry’s heart in her hands, the one who loved him more than
anything else in the world. She could no longer take turns loving him and being his best friend. It
was time to do both.

“I’ve wasted so much time being afraid of you,” she admitted, a sob escaping her throat as she
spoke. “Afraid of us. I was scared, Harry. Ever since the Department of Mysteries, I’ve been scared
of what we could become. When Dolohov’s spell hit me…”
Storm clouds seemed to form in Harry’s eyes at the memory. “Well, naturally, I was worried about
how close I had come to dying, at least at first. But then I got to thinking about what happened to
you.” Harry sent her a questioning frown. “You panicked, Harry. You lost control of your emotions
because you thought I was dead.” Hermione let out a soft sigh. “We were best friends then, as close
as we’ve ever been. If we had been more than friends, how much worse would it have been for you?”
The look Harry gave her was all the answer she needed. “So I decided to keep my distance from you
and to put all of my ‘more-than-friendly’ feelings for you aside. At least for the time
being.”

“You were right to do it,” Harry told her flatly, although he nearly choked on the words as he said
them.

“No, I wasn’t,” Hermione countered emphatically. “I was dying inside, all throughout last year. I
was living a lie. I never felt so stupid. The ‘brightest witch of her age’ was reduced to total
idiocy.” She leaned in closer to him, so that she could almost whisper into his ear. “When you
kissed me, you opened a door inside of me that I thought I had closed forever. It was exciting at
first, but eventually all of those little nagging fears came back. I wondered how long it would
last, or how quickly you’d get tired of me.” Harry looked as though he might reassure her, but then
tears that he had valiantly fought to hold back began running down his cheeks, almost in betrayal.
“But I’m not afraid of you anymore, Harry. I can’t be. I need you. I need you more than I could
ever admit to myself.” She caressed his face with the palm of her hand, wiping away his tears. “I’m
in love with you, Harry Potter. Not half way. Not part of the time. Completely.”

Harry looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. It was a look that made her
head swim. “You’re incredible. Do you know that?” he asked rhetorically, his voice quivering a
little. “I find out I have Voldemort’s soul inside of me and you still want to be with me.”

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered back to him as she kissed him gently. “Of course I do.” Hermione brought
her forehead to rest on Harry’s. “Don’t give in to him,” she advised him softly. “Fight this with
me. Let me help you. We’ll find some other way, a way where you don’t have to die. I
promise.”

Harry closed his eyes, seemingly deep in thought. “Alright,” he conceded, his eyes opening slowly.
“Alright, Hermione, you win. We’ll do it your way.” Hermione smiled widely and threw her arms
around him, kissing him passionately all the while. “But…you have to promise…if anything goes
wrong…I have to know that I can trust you to…”

“Harry,” Hermione said authoritatively as she placed her index finger over his wet, swollen lips,
“I think it’s time to stop talking. Let’s go home.”

Harry nodded quickly and without another word they walked away from what remained of Godric’s
Hollow. They found Buckbeak in the woods exactly where they had left him, mounted the hippogriff in
turn and flew off into the night sky. And, for the first time, Hermione wasn’t afraid to fly.

***
Harry had just escorted Buckbeak into his old room (if by ‘escorted’ you meant cajoled, prodded
and, after more than a few painful scratches, bribed with dead ferrets) when he collapsed on
Sirius’ old bed in pure exhaustion. He seemed to barely have the energy to slip out of his sweater
and toss it onto the dresser. “What a day,” Harry remarked with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I’ve
ever been this tired.” He caught a glimpse of Hermione out of the corner of his eye. “Hermione, are
you coming to…?” His eyes widened noticeably when he saw all of her, or at least more of her than
he had ever seen before. Hermione Granger stood in front of Harry Potter in nothing but her
underwear. “Bed,” he squeaked.

“Well,” Hermione replied coyly, “I wasn’t exactly planning on taking a stroll down Diagon Alley
dressed like this.”

“You’re…you’re not wearing your pajamas,” Harry pointed out rather stupidly. “You’re not wearing
much of anything, really.”

Hermione walked up to him slowly. “I was hoping you’d notice that.” She sat next to him on the bed
and gave him a look that said they were going to have a long, serious talk about the consequences
of having sex. As she started to speak, however, Harry began kissing her. Quite a lot. And rather
expertly, if she did say so herself. Her train of thought was quickly lost.

They didn’t do much talking as the night went on. The point had become moot anyhow.

***
It had been well over a year since Ginny Weasley had been to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. She
remembered it as that creepy old house Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, had owned and let the Order
of the Phoenix use for its meetings. When Headmistress McGonagall informed her that she believed
Grimmauld was where Harry was staying, she had been skeptical at first. ‘Why would Harry go back
there when he could stay at Hogwarts?’ she had asked herself, but had held her tongue around
McGonagall. Hogwarts’ new Headmistress had been unusually short with Ginny when she’d interrupted
her breakfast to give her the assignment of telling Harry where the next Order meeting would be.
She did not want to give the Headmistress cause to ask someone else to go.

‘She probably just wanted an actual member of the Order to do it,’ Ginny complained to herself. ‘I
dunno why they don’t just let me join now. I’m going to when I’m of age anyway.’

McGonagall had insisted that she floo into a safe house only a few blocks away from Grimmauld Place
as a precaution. Ginny grumbled about it under her breath, but complied anyway, finding herself in
the fireplace of an abandoned building filled only with dust, cobwebs and a few pieces of furniture
that nobody could possibly want. Briefly taking the time to clean herself off, and wishing that she
could perform a cleaning charm away from Hogwarts without getting into trouble, she exited the
building and soon made her way through the mostly muggle neighborhood to the old, bleak-looking
house.

Ginny could barely contain her excitement at seeing Harry again. ‘I wonder if he’s missed me,’ she
wondered. ‘Maybe he’ll change his mind about letting me come along when he sees that McGonagall
trusts me.’ Swallowing her disgust, she rapped softly on the front door using the serpent-shaped
knocker and waited to see who would answer. To her surprise, it was that dreadful old house elf
that used to think up ways to make everyone miserable when she had stayed there over the summer
before her fourth year. Ginny had hoped the wretched little creature would have croaked by
now.

“The little pureblood girl comes back,” Kreacher proclaimed with a wicked smile. “Perhaps she wants
to practice throwing dung at Kreacher again…”

“Is Harry here?” Ginny demanded impatiently. If the wrinkly old house elf had not been barring the
door, she would have barged in and seen for herself.

“Young Master Potter is here,” Kreacher replied knowingly, “but he may not stay for long. It would
be best for the blood traitor girl to speak to him now, before he goes away again.”

Ginny eyed Kreacher suspiciously as he stepped back to allow her entrance. “Thank you,” she said
tersely and quickly bounded up the stairs. Once she was on the second floor, she took the time to
straighten her robes and fix her hair in the broken remains of a nearby mirror. It was then that
she heard Harry’s voice.

“So, never with Krum, then?” she heard him ask curiously. ‘How odd,’ Ginny thought. ‘He must be
asking Hermione something about Viktor Krum. But what?’ The former star Bulgarian seeker had become
a bit of a curiosity at Hogwarts, as he always skulked about the castle with a brooding expression
on his face, never speaking to anyone.

“Harry!” Hermione answered him with a teasing laugh. “I was barely fifteen! Honestly!”

As Ginny crept closer to the sound of their voices, Harry chuckled and said, “Well, he was a famous
international Quidditch player. I wouldn’t have thought less of you if you had.” Through the thin
walls of Grimmauld, she could hear him let out a playful snort. “Well, maybe just a little bit
less.”

“Git,” Hermione retorted automatically.

“And…I suppose this means…” Harry began awkwardly. ‘What *are* they talking about in there?’
Ginny asked herself, her curiosity bringing her to within a hair’s breadth of the door to Sirius’
old bedroom. “You didn’t sleep with Ron.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. Were they really so hard up for things to talk about that they were having a
conversation about Hermione’s sex life? “No, I never did,” she answered him, her voice so quiet
that Ginny could barely hear what she was saying. “Now, what about you?”

“I never slept with Ron either,” Harry replied cheekily. One of Ginny’s brown eyes peered through a
crack in the door. She could just make out Harry’s form on Sirius’ old bed. His hair was
disheveled, he wasn’t wearing his glasses and he was shirtless, which made her heart beat just a
little faster. Ginny’s fingers pressed lightly against the bedroom door, making it open
slightly.

“I wasn’t asking about you and Ron,” Hermione pointed out irritably. “I was only wondering exactly
how far you had gotten with…” Here the door swung open wide, giving Ginny the chance to see exactly
what she had fervently hoped not to. Harry and Hermione were both lying in bed. They were acting
especially friendly with each other. In fact, they were snuggling close together. And Ginny was
pretty sure they were *naked* underneath those blankets. “Ginny!” Hermione cried out in
surprise as she tore her eyes from Harry’s for half a second to finally notice she was there.

“Not very far,” Harry answered her, oblivious to Hermione’s change in tone. “We only dated for two
weeks, you know.” As the seconds slowly ticked by, Harry’s gaze finally followed Hermione’s
pointing index finger to find Ginny Weasley standing at the other end of the room, her mouth open
in shock. “Oh.” He winced. “Ginny, I…I didn’t realize you were…” he began in a soothing tone of
voice. Ginny bolted before he could finish.

Hot tears ran down Ginny Weasley’s cheeks nearly as fast as she ran down the stairs. ‘Stupid,’
Ginny chided herself. ‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I should never have come here, I should never have
seen this. Even if it had been happening all this time, under my nose, I should never have seen
it!’

“Ginny, wait,” Harry called after her from the top of the stairs. He had hastily thrown on his
glasses, a pair of jeans, and an apologetic expression. “I…I didn’t mean for you to find out this
way.”

“So you’re not going to lie this time?” Ginny asked cattily. “I was expecting to hear about how
occlumency works better when both participants are naked. Then I could pretend to believe you and
make a joke about how glad I was that I didn’t walk in on one of your occlumency lessons with
Snape.”

“I’m sorry this hurt you, Ginny,” Harry told her gently as he began walking down the stairs.

“But you’re not sorry that you slept with her,” Ginny shot back coldly.

“No,” Harry admitted with a sigh. “I’m not.” As Ginny turned away from him with a frustrated growl,
he asked her, “Why are you here, Ginny?”

Fumbling through the pockets of her Hogwarts robes, Ginny reached in and removed the piece of paper
with which Headmistress McGonagall had entrusted her. “I was supposed to give you this. It’s where
the Order’s having their next meeting.” She laughed bitterly. “I guess it was stupid of me to think
you might want to spend time with me. Not when you could be with *Hermione*.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you know,” Harry chided her. “You’re not my girlfriend anymore. We
broke up, remember?”

Ginny spun around, her eyes flashing angrily. “We ‘broke up’ so that you could fight Voldemort, not
so that you could shack up with Hermione and go gallivanting across England!” When Harry didn’t
reply, she went on. “And what about Ron? Wasn’t he dating Hermione?” Harry looked pained. “What,
did you both just forget about him?”

Harry looked at her sadly. “No, we didn’t forget.” He inched closer to her. “Everything’s
complicated right now, Ginny, and it looks like it might stay that way. If you can’t accept the
fact that Hermione and I are together now, I’m not going to let that be my problem.”

Ginny shook her head as tears began falling freely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were
supposed to get back together after it was over…after the end. After you beat Vol…Vol…
You-Know-Who.”

“I don’t know what was supposed to happen,” Harry said slowly and deliberately, “but this is what
did happen.” He looked down at his hands, as if gathering his courage. “I love her, Ginny.”

“Well, isn’t that perfect?” Ginny demanded furiously. “You love her and she loves you. Now you can
fly off into the bloody sunset together. Except Hermione hates to fly, but I reckon you already
know that.”

“How long have you known?” Harry asked her simply.

“What?” Ginny scoffed. “That Hermione hates to fly? For ages, for as long as I’ve known her…”

“How long have you known that she was in love with me?”

Ginny glared at him defiantly. “Since fourth year. Why? What does it matter?” Harry was clearly
taking the time to mull something over, which Ginny really didn’t have the patience for right now.
“She never loved you like I did, Harry. Hermione was obsessed with not ruining your friendship. She
was always supportive of the two of us getting together.” Her eyes grew stormy. “But I suppose she
got selfish, living here with you, alone. You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if she used a love
potion on you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry assured her, his voice even.

“Oh, don’t I?” Ginny asked incredulously. “Have you looked at both of us lately? Who in their right
mind would ever dump me for her?”

“You should probably stop talking, Ginny,” Harry told her, his tone angry for the first time.
“You’re not doing yourself any good.”

“You know what?” Ginny snapped back. “You’re right. I’m out of here.” Ginny grabbed the rumpled
piece of paper she had come in with and darted toward Grimmauld’s fireplace. McGonagall could find
someone else to be her little messenger. She grabbed a handful of floo powder and read the address
written on the piece of paper aloud. If they wouldn’t let her join the Order, she would find out
what they were up to the way she usually did: by spying. She was through playing by everyone else’s
rules.

As she disappeared in a puff of smoke, Ginny’s mind raced. ‘Why, Harry?’ she thought to herself in
a whine. ‘Why Hermione and not me?’ Everything she had done, from joining the Quidditch team to
dating Michael Corner and Dean Thomas to taking Felix Felicis potion all throughout last year, had
been for nothing. After chasing the boy of her dreams for so long, he had eluded her, unfairly
choosing to be with someone else just as she had him in her grasp. Had Hermione used a love potion
on Harry? Somehow she doubted it. Whatever else you might say about her, Hermione was a very moral
witch. So what did she do to catch Harry’s eye?

Before she could ponder the answer to that question, Ginny began looking around at her new
surroundings. ‘What an odd place for a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix,’ she thought to
herself. ‘It looks like an old man’s house. Smells like one, too. And so many magical knickknacks
lying about. Wait, is that…?’

Ginny froze. Sleeping in an armchair in the corner of the living room was one Draco Malfoy, one of
the most wanted wizards in England. ‘What’s he doing here?’ A gleeful feeling came over her
suddenly. Ginny Weasley had captured Draco Malfoy! She could hardly wait to tell Harry!

It only took a moment for her to remember that he had taken up with Hermione and that she was still
furious with him. That information was still taking some time to sink in.

As she approached him, Malfoy’s eyes began to blink open slowly. They widened considerably once he
realized that he wasn’t alone. “Bloody hell, Weaselbit! You nearly scared me to death.”

“That isn’t really how I was hoping to kill you,” Ginny growled at him, more than willing to take
out her current frustrations on scum like Draco.

Malfoy rubbed his eyes sleepily, ignoring her very serious threat of bodily harm. “I suppose Potter
sent you with this week’s supplies, then?” he asked in a bored tone of voice.

Ginny frowned. “What are you talking about? Does Harry know you’re here?”

“Oh, come off it, Weasley, you’re not that stupid,” Draco replied skeptically. “You had to have
come from Grimmauld, otherwise you’d have pustulant boils all over your skin, thanks to Granger’s
wards.” Malfoy observed Ginny’s blank face with amusement. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“No,” Ginny admitted reluctantly. There was a menacing gleam in her eye as she pointed her wand at
him. “But I think you’re going to tell me all about it. Now.”

“You don’t need to get violent, Weaselbit. I’ll tell you.” Draco Malfoy had that familiar superior
smirk plastered on his face. “Something tells me your foul mood has more to do with Potter than me.
What did he do, ditch you for the mudblood?” Draco laughed aloud at the anguished look on Ginny’s
face. “Cor, he did.”

“Shut up and tell me what’s going on!” she shrieked at him, almost stabbing Malfoy with her wand as
she thrust it towards him.

“Potter and Granger left me here,” Draco explained patiently, “I’m supposed to guard information
about the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. I dunno from who. Sneaks like you, I suppose.” Malfoy grinned.
“I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”

“What’s a horcrux?” Ginny asked in confusion.

Draco laughed contemptuously. “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they?” He raised a pale
blonde eyebrow. “How would you like to know about something that could get you into a lot of
trouble?”

As Draco Malfoy took the time to tell her everything he knew about Voldemort’s horcruxes and
Harry’s search for them, three thoughts occurred to her. The first was that she was really and
truly insulted that Harry had left her out of the loop on this, particularly considering what had
happened to her in first year. The second was that she was even more insulted that Harry and
Hermione had chosen to tell Luna Lovegood about the horcruxes while keeping her in the dark.

Her third and final thought was of a more personal nature. ‘It was all because of Viktor Krum,’ she
realized. ‘He was the reason Harry noticed Hermione was a girl. Then Harry saw Hermione with Krum
at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. That was when he started acting strangely around her.’ Harry had
become jealous and possessive; he had probably wanted to make sure that Hermione didn’t end up with
an oaf like Viktor Krum.

Ginny Weasley suddenly began looking at Draco Malfoy in an entirely different way. ‘Two can play
this game,’ she thought to herself smugly. If Harry wanted to get Hermione away from Krum that
badly, he’d be beside himself when he saw her with someone he hated. Draco Malfoy was that perfect
someone. As Malfoy stopped talking, she grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him close to
her. “Kiss me,” she ordered him.

“What?” Draco replied, his expression puzzled. “I’m not going to kiss you, you pathetic blood
traitor sl…” Whatever insult he was going to hurl at her was cut off by her lips on his. It didn’t
take long for him to start kissing her back.

***
Minerva McGonagall sat at a small, worn little table in a safe house in the middle of nowhere,
surrounded by four wizards who, up until a few months ago, she thought she had known quite well.
Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody flanked her on either side, with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur
Weasley sitting on each end. Together, the five of them had made up an executive committee, a
temporary leadership council designed to govern the Order in the wake of Dumbledore’s death.
Unfortunately, no one had been able to agree on a more permanent arrangement, so the five of them
were still called upon to lead the Order at every meeting. It was a tiresome process, but one that
had proven necessary.

As Sturgis Podmore spoke of his efforts to re-open diplomatic channels with the goblins, McGonagall
rubbed the bridge of her nose gently. If the Order of the Phoenix had seen rockier times, she did
not remember them. Lord Voldemort was slowly gaining ground across the country, as the Ministry and
the Order reeled from numerous reverses, both in the field and in the mind of the wizarding public.
Elphias Doge and Hestia Jones had been killed during a routine surveillance mission only the night
before. Everyone had been shaken up by it. And then there was the matter of Harry Potter.

Harry sat near the back of the room, fidgeting restlessly and looking more than a little bit bored.
She could hardly blame him, as she was somewhat bored herself. After the fight she had put up to
get him into the meeting, however, she expected some form of gratitude.

Alastor Moody’s magical eye roamed the room suspiciously, lingering for a few painstaking moments
on Harry. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody had strongly protested Harry’s inclusion in this
meeting, since he was still enrolled in school and therefore ineligible to be an official member of
the Order. McGonagall and Lupin had been adamant that he be allowed to participate, given that many
of the organization’s members were interested in Harry’s whereabouts and welfare. Perhaps he might
even be asked to explain what exactly it was that he was doing to combat Lord Voldemort. Everyone
was certainly curious about that.

What McGonagall and Lupin did not mention was that more than a few of their members wanted Harry
not only to join the Order of the Phoenix, but to lead it as well. In truth, McGonagall was not
sure how she felt about the matter herself. No one could ever really replace Dumbledore, after all,
as she herself was discovering daily at Hogwarts. Still, Harry deserved the chance to prove
himself. He’d certainly done so against Voldemort, time and again.

Or so she’d argued in front of the executive committee, at the very least. The motion had carried,
as Arthur Weasley voted with Lupin and herself to allow Harry to attend this meeting. The lack of
unanimity on the issue still unsettled her, however, and she hoped that Harry might do or say
something to impress them during the course of the meeting. So far, he’d done little besides eye
the front door longingly.

‘You haven’t done much more than that yourself,’ Minerva reminded herself wryly. ‘Give the boy
time.’ The only problem with giving Harry time was that she wasn’t sure how much of it any of them
had before Voldemort did something disastrous.

As dead silence filled the room, Minerva McGonagall realized that Sturgis Podmore had stopped
speaking. As the chair of the executive committee for this meeting, she was expected to decide the
next course of action. “Er…very good, Sturgis. It sounds as though significant progress is being
made in reaching out to one of the most difficult and inaccessible creatures in the magical world.
Speaking of which, I understand that Hagrid has a report prepared on his recent trip to the realms
of the giants.”

“Well,” Hagrid said nervously as he stood without reaching his full height, hunching over to seem
less intimidating, “i’s not really much of a report. It’s more like…news. Not really good news,
either. So why doesn’t somebody else go next, I’m sure there’s somebody who has good, happy…”

“Rubeus,” Lupin said as he leaned forward and looked Hagrid straight in the eye. “It’s alright.
We’re not expecting miracles. Just tell us what you found out.”

Hagrid let out a long sigh. “None o’ the gurgs I talked ta wanted anything to do with the Order of
the Phoenix,” he declared unhappily. “They’re all excited about joinin’ up with You-Know-Who and
his Alliance o’ Magical Creatures, which I’m sure all of us know about by now.” Here the half-giant
shot a pointed glance at Harry.

Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned. “Is that all you discovered in your journey, Hagrid? You were gone
for several months.”

“Well,” Hagrid hedged with a chuckle, “I did hear some rumors about an intelligent mountain troll
tha’s taken over a whole mess o’ trolls in Rumania. Supposed to be organizin’ ‘em for the Death
Eaters.” Hagrid waved his massive right arm dismissively. “I’ve heard rumors about dragons hatchin’
from flobberworm eggs before, too. Doesn’t make it amount to nothin’.”

From the back of the room, Harry Potter’s eyebrows rose. His eyes grew wide. He appeared to be
realizing something. “Professor McGonagall,” he cried out. “Er, Headmistress,” Harry corrected
himself quickly.

McGonagall smiled thinly. “In a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry, you may refer to me as
Minerva.”

“With your permission, Headmistress,” Harry went on urgently, “I’d like to investigate this rumor
of an intelligent mountain troll on the Order’s behalf.”

Moody eyed him skeptically. “Do you really expect us to sign off on some half-baked mission halfway
across the continent at a time like this, Mr. Potter? Death Eater activity is hot in Eastern Europe
right now. Do you propose to fend off what could be a sizable army of dark wizards all by yourself,
just to learn more about a troll?”

“No, sir,” Harry answered politely. “I wasn’t proposing to go alone. I was hoping that Hermione
Granger would come with me.” At that, the room began buzzing with chatter, as every member of the
Order seemed to have something to say on the matter. Amid all the clamor, Harry’s eyes found
McGonagall’s. “Trust me,” Harry mouthed.

“Silence,” McGonagall called out in her best classroom voice. “Remus,” she began authoritatively,
“would you be so kind as to accompany Harry on this mission?”

“I’d be glad to,” Lupin replied with a small, wry smile.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” she continued, all the while ignoring Moody’s grumblings of outrage, “if
you feel the matter is urgent, Remus, Miss Granger and yourself may leave in the morning.”

She didn’t know why she had given in to him so easily on this, especially when the Order needed him
here. Perhaps it was something in his eyes, something that reminded her of Dumbledore. McGonagall
saw it gleaming there again and soon recognized it easily. It was hope.

**The next chapter shall be called "Life Among the Mountain Trolls". Read on and
enjoy!

ITL**

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16. Chapter 15: Life Among the Mountain Trolls
----------------------------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic, Warner Brothers, UNICEF, the
Harlem Globetrotters, the American Bar Association or Hormel. I'm just a fanfic
writer.**

Chapter 15: Life Among the Mountain Trolls

The oppressive darkness vanished in an instant as flickering torchlight appeared in the open
doorway. A haggard-looking old man with a dour expression on his face took the time to hang up his
cloak and place the brightly glowing torch which now illuminated the room in a nearby torch holder.
‘That’s Septimus Prince,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Snape’s grandfather. Snape’s long-dead
grandfather. That means I’m having another dream as Voldemort.’ In vain, Harry Potter attempted to
push Lord Voldemort’s presence from his mind, to regain control of his own thoughts and to dream
about anything other than this moment in the Dark Lord’s life. The memory continued without
interruption, however, just as though he were watching it in a pensieve. He wanted very much to
scream, but found that his voice was not his own. When he spoke, it was with Voldemort’s familiar
contemptuous hiss. “Septimus.”

“Tom Marvolo?” Prince’s weary voice called out. As he had seen it before in a previous dream, Harry
knew that they were inside the older man’s quaint little bookstore, Pages of Mages. Or was it
called The Book Nook? Harry had little time to consider the matter, as Voldemort walked silently
through the shelves towards Prince’s shadowy form. In his wake, all the volumes on every bookshelf
fell to the floor, filling his ears with the deafening sound of pages rustling and book spines
cracking. As Lord Voldemort neared him, Septimus quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Is something on
your mind?”

“You knew,” Voldemort said, his tone dripping with venom. “All of this time you knew everything.”
The elderly squib looked back at him incredulously. “I used the Ravenclaw boy to see inside the
Chamber. I know now where it leads.”

Septimus Prince sniffed dismissively. “Are you Slytherin’s heir or aren’t you? If anyone would know
what lies inside the Chamber of Secrets, wouldn’t it be you? I don’t know why you would
expect…”

The bookshop owner fell silent as Voldemort’s wand made contact with his throat. “I tire of you
answering my questions with pointless questions of your own. It’s time for you to be honest with
me.”

“Perhaps you should be honest with yourself first,” Prince retorted in a strangled voice.

Voldemort laughed then, an evil cackle that echoed throughout the room. “That’s rich, coming from
you.” He withdrew a piece of paper from Septimus’ robes and held it up to the torchlight. “What’s
this, then? Another spell you’ve written that you’ll never be able to cast? ‘Sectumsempra’?” As he
read the spell, a deep gash opened on Prince’s throat, forcing him to clutch his hand around it to
stop the bleeding. “A cutting spell, eh? I like it. Although, as long as we’re being honest with
each other, ‘diffindo’ usually does the job just as well.” More cuts formed on his face, making
blood trickle down his chest in a small stream. “You swore to me that you’d tell me everything you
knew about Lord Slytherin.”

The defiant look in the old man’s eyes said that he would not be cowed, not even by Voldemort.
“Some oaths supersede others.” Without moving his wand or his arms, the Dark Lord lifted Septimus
Prince into the air and an invisible hand seemed to crush his windpipe. “I was going to tell you
everything…in time…” he rasped.

“Who else did you swear an oath to?” Voldemort demanded.

“The Knights…of Walpurgis,” Septimus managed to choke out. At that, Voldemort released him, letting
him fall to the floor. Prince began coughing loudly, but his coughing soon turned to bitter
laughter. “Your naiveté would be charming if it weren’t so pathetic. Did you really think that you
garnered so many followers so quickly because of your magnetic personality and quick wit? Don’t be
a fool. They knew exactly what it meant that you were the Heir of Slytherin.” Voldemort turned away
from him. “Do not feign shock, Tom Marvolo. Power never comes cheaply. There is always a price to
be paid.”

Voldemort’s hands became clinched fists. “How many knew about the Temple of Osiris?”

“All of the important ones,” Septimus answered simply. “The Knights have been waiting for
Slytherin’s return for centuries.”

“So that’s it?” Tom Marvolo Riddle asked petulantly. “I’m to be nothing more than a sacrifice? A
lamb being led to the slaughter?”

Prince’s tone grew solemn. “It is your destiny.” As Voldemort let out a low growl, Septimus
attempted to appease him. “Consider the matter rationally, Tom Marvolo. Salazar Slytherin was the
greatest dark wizard who ever lived. You are merely his heir.”

“I am not merely an heir,” Voldemort snapped. “I refused to bear my filthy muggle father’s name and
I can defy Slytherin as well. I can become more powerful than he ever dreamed!”

Septimus Prince pursed his brow in thought. “That would require quite an undertaking. You would
have to build an entirely new group of followers, ones who had nothing to do with the Knights.
Moreover, the Knights of Walpurgis themselves won’t take kindly to this move. They will attempt to
stop you.”

“Then I’ll kill them all,” Voldemort declared furiously.

Prince smiled evilly. “I don’t expect that will be necessary. Once you kill most of them, the rest
will likely be persuaded to join your cause.” He gave a mock bow. “Of course, you’ll need the names
of those most likely to be so persuaded.”

Voldemort’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “And I suppose that’s what you’re offering me, in
exchange for your life?” Prince nodded curtly. “You should have been a politician, Septimus. You
have a gift for randomly choosing a side and then making it your own.”

“I’ve always been on your side, Tom Marvolo,” Septimus Prince replied, as if offended that
Voldemort would believe differently. When the Dark Lord scoffed, the older man continued
unabashedly. “Who told you to forsake Slytherin in the first place? Who advised you to re-examine
the Chamber of Secrets?”

Voldemort’s eyes widened in realization. “You.”

In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Lord Voldemort and Septimus Prince appeared frozen in
place. Harry could feel his own consciousness slipping away from the memory and a voice beckoning
him. “Harry?”

Concerned brown eyes were searching his as he awoke, his eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to
the light. “Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked with a frown. “You were having a dream again,
weren’t you? As him.” There was no need to specify who ‘him’ referred to.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry told her, his voice full of regret and loathing. “I’ve been trying to
shut him out of my thoughts using occlumency, but no matter how much it seems to work during the
day, the dreams still come at night.”

Hermione brushed Harry’s long bangs out of his eyes with her fingers. “You don’t have anything to
apologize for, Harry. This isn’t your fault. We’ll just have to keep working at it.”

Harry tilted his head slightly on his pillow and gave Hermione an appreciative look. “You entered
my mind again, didn’t you? Using legilimency.”

Hermione grimaced sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I just thought that I might be able
to help you.”

Harry gave her a wide smile. “You did. Somehow, you always manage to.” Her hand intertwined with
one of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He then realized, rather embarrassingly, that she was
practically sitting in his lap. “Um, Hermione? You’re in my bed.”

She smiled wryly. “I rather thought you might be used to that by now.”

“Yes, well, I am, actually,” Harry stammered, “but I thought we agreed to sleep in separate beds on
this trip.”

“I agreed,” Hermione corrected him. “You were the one who insisted. Although I’m still not sure
why.”

As Hermione scooted off of his lap, Harry sat up and reached for his glasses. “After what he said
to me at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Remus would take the mickey out of me if he knew we were
sleeping together.” Hermione looked puzzled. “Well, not ‘sleeping together’, I suppose. We’ve been
doing that for awhile now. You know what I mean, though.”

“But he won’t be suspicious that we’re rooming together, when you could have stayed with him and I
could have bunked with Tonks?” Hermione asked him pointedly. Harry only shrugged by way of reply.
“There’s another reason you’re not telling me about, isn’t there?”

Harry didn’t answer her as he rose from the bed, donned a pair of slacks and went to one side of
the room to look out the window. It was deemed unsafe for the four of them to apparate to Eastern
Europe (and, in any case, neither Harry nor Hermione were sure they had enough experience to
apparate that far), so they decided to take what had been the safest, most reliable way to cross
wizarding Europe for over a century. It was a train that ran the length of the continent, taking
anyone who cared to pay the fare from the Grindelwald War Memorial in Brest all the way down to the
flying carpet shops of Istanbul. It was known by all who had ever ridden it as the Disorient
Express.

Harry was watching a majestic Alpine sunrise through the window, but, much like at Ministry
headquarters, the windows weren’t showing him what was really going on outside. If they did so,
they would have shown the train traveling at all sorts of odd angles and at extraordinarily high
speeds. “Is it me?” Hermione asked him softly.

Harry turned to face her. “What?”

Hermione was blushing with embarrassment. “You know, when we…hadsex…was it not…?”

Harry shook his head. “Whatever you’re about to ask me, Hermione, the answer’s no.”

“It’s alright for you to feel that way,” Hermione assured him. “From what I hear, the first time
is…”

“The first time was wonderful,” Harry interrupted as he put his arms around her waist and gave her
a tender kiss, “and I’m sure the second time will be just as brilliant.” He smiled at her impishly
and then began planting kisses up and down her neck. “Not to mention the third, the fourth, the
fifth, the sixth…”

Hermione laughed playfully. “Really, Harry, what kind of girl do you take me for?”

“The kind of girl who’s madly in love with me,” Harry replied with a laugh.

“I’ve made it kind of obvious, haven’t I?” Hermione asked him with a wide grin. Each of their hands
roamed freely over the other’s body and what little clothing they were wearing was getting looser
and lower all the time. “Harry?”

“Mmm hmm,” Harry muttered as best he could with his lips so thoroughly occupied. If his mouth
hadn’t been so close to her ear, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“The real reason that you insisted on separate beds…” Harry broke away from her abruptly, as if
stung. “It’s Voldemort, isn’t it?”

Harry could not look her in the eye. “Yes.” As Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a
disapproving glare, he explained. “I can feel him getting stronger all the time, Hermione. If he
took control of me during a dream, if he hurt you…”

“I know you, Harry,” Hermione countered forcefully. “You’ll do everything in your power to fight
him.” She closed the short distance between them and brought her hands to rest on his bare chest.
“And I want to be there with you when you do. Being together makes us stronger. Don’t you feel that
way, too?” Harry could not deny that this was true. “Trust me, Harry. I know what I’m getting into
by being with you.”

Harry let out a mirthless chuckle. “You’re an incredibly brilliant witch, Hermione, but I don’t
think there’s any way that you could possibly know that.”

Hermione began chewing on her lip, clearly thinking something over. “Maybe you should go back on
the carpe diem potion, at least until we can figure out a more permanent solution.”

‘Death is permanent,’ Harry thought to himself, but did not dare say aloud to Hermione. Although he
had agreed to go along with her plan to find some other way for him to defeat Voldemort that didn’t
involve his own death, Harry was not entirely optimistic about the possibility of such a plan’s
success. A permanent solution to this problem, if it existed, was bound to be both elusive and
extremely risky. Idly, he wondered why Dumbledore himself hadn’t been trying to find a better
solution than the carpe diem potion. The elder wizard always seemed to have a counter to
Voldemort’s best moves. “I dunno. I don’t really want that ruddy monster in my chest to come back.
It might not fancy you as much as I do.”

Hermione smiled weakly. “I think you should be worrying more about Voldemort than some imaginary
monster. We should consider this seriously, Harry.”

Harry suddenly leaned in closer to her, so close that the bridges of their noses touched. “Can’t it
wait?” Harry’s lips captured her own, the Alpine sunrise was turned to moonlit Viennese woods with
a flick of his wand and they decided, without ever discussing the matter, to completely abandon the
plan to sleep in separate beds.

***

As the dawn broke (for real this time), the Disorient Express was only a few minutes away from its
scheduled stop in Bucharest. Harry and Hermione were both already dressed and ready to meet Remus
Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who had been sent by the Order of the Phoenix to escort the two
teenagers on this mission to find a legendary intelligent troll who might just contain a shred of
the soul of Janus Quirinius Quirrell. Of course, neither Remus and Tonks nor the Order had any idea
what the mission’s real purpose was. If Harry were being honest with himself, he would have
admitted that he wasn’t entirely certain either. At the moment, however, the most pressing thing on
his mind was, “Hermione, why does your knapsack weigh a ton?”

Even though Hermione was currently searching the room to make sure they hadn’t left anything
behind, he could almost sense that she was rolling her eyes. “Because I like to be prepared for
every eventuality.”

“Alright,” Harry conceded, “but why can’t we use a shrinking charm on it? Or something to make it
lighter?”

Hermione sighed, walked over to him and took her knapsack back from his sagging arms, throwing it
over her shoulder casually. “Because I don’t know what that would do to the Animus Signatus potion
in its current form. Now, do you have any other questions before we leave?”

“Just one,” Harry replied. “If the troll does turn out to be a horcrux that Professor Quirrell
made, what are we going to do about it?”

Hermione cast a quick silencing charm on the door to make sure that they wouldn’t be overheard by
anyone, something that Harry immediately regretted not doing before he asked the question. “Study
it, I suppose. Try to figure out how Quirrell did it. There’s a kind of advanced switching spell
that I think he may have used, but I need to be sure.”

Harry looked skeptical. “Advanced switching spell?”

“The switching spell we learned about in Transfiguration class only covers physical objects. When
you delve into the metaphysical, it gets a bit more complicated. Not quite impossible, but almost.”
Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes worriedly. “If we could find some way to switch the shred of
Voldemort’s soul that’s inside of you with something else…”

“Then we could destroy the object that it goes into,” Harry finished, following her reasoning
without difficulty. “Just as if it were a normal horcrux.” The idea of there being a ‘normal
horcrux’ was slightly ludicrous, but both of them were now so used to the evil objects that neither
commented on that fact.

Hermione gave him a sad look. “I don’t think it could be an object, Harry. It would have to be
another living being. That’s why Quirrell chose trolls to experiment on.”

Harry’s face fell. “So…someone else, or something else, would have to die because of me.”

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Not because of you. Because of Voldemort.” An
alarm on Hermione’s watch suddenly began to beep. “Come on. It’s time to meet Remus and
Tonks.”

***

“This stop is Bucharest. Bucharest, Romania. The last stop before Istanbul. Everyone exit carefully
and remember, if you find you have to vomit, please use the proper receptacles. Thank you for
riding the Disorient Express.”

“Ah, Romania,” Tonks said cheerfully as she stepped down from the train’s platform. “I remember the
first time I ever came here. It was straight after I graduated from Hogwarts. Me and my old
boyfriend Theseus decided it would be good for a laugh to visit this vampire that used to be good
friends with his father.”

Hermione made a face. “That doesn’t sound like it would be good for a laugh.”

“Well,” Tonks elaborated, “I had fun, but Theseus was a bit of a pill. He kept complaining about
these little holes in his neck. It must have run in the family, because his father had the same
problem.”

“I thought you told me you’d never been to Romania before,” Remus said with a knowing smile. “If I
didn’t know better, I’d think you made that story up just to make me jealous.”

Tonks looked hurt. “Now why would I do that?” Remus and Tonks shared a quick kiss just as Harry
turned around to ask them a question.

“Is, erm, Charlie supposed to meet us here?” he asked, trying to ignore the fact that his former
teacher was kissing someone.

Lupin looked dazed for a moment, then replied, “Yes. Er, I mean, no. We’re supposed to meet him at
an Order safe house about twenty kilometers from here. We were told to arrange for our own
transportation.”

“Ooh, what about these?” Tonks gushed as she ran up to a kiosk not far from the station. “Flying
carpets. I’ve never ridden one before.”

Remus shook his head. “That would make our presence here too high profile, love.”

Tonks did not seem to be dissuaded. “But wouldn’t it be romantic? Just the two of us, soaring
through the sky…”

“Tonks dear, it wouldn’t be just the two of us,” Lupin pointed out. “Harry and Hermione would have
to go as well. Or did you forget about them?”

The young metamorphmagus began playing with the collar of Remus’ shirt. “Let them take their own
flying carpet. I’m sure they’d find something to do up there.” It was all Harry and Hermione could
do to avoid looking embarrassed.

Lupin gently brushed away her hands. “This isn’t a romantic getaway, Tonks. It’s official Order
business.” His eyes quickly found another nearby sign. “Here we are. Broom rental.”

Tonks put a pouting expression on her face. “Spoilsport.”

Remus paid the man for two brooms and soon the four of them were in the air and invisible, courtesy
of the disillusionment charm. “Isn’t this just as romantic as any flying carpet?” Lupin asked Tonks
as they ascended into the sky.

Tonks winced. “I’m getting splinters in places that you won’t be going for awhile,” she informed
him coldly.

With the two Order members leading the way, Harry and Hermione found themselves flying over the
foothills of the Carpathians within the hour. Eventually, he spotted a rustic little shack on a
mountaintop with smoke billowing out of its chimney. Remus and Tonks began their descent towards
it. “That must be it,” Harry said to Hermione. Her hands clutched his arms tightly as they too
began to drift closer to the ground.

The two brooms landed softly and the four of them dismounted at once. Remus motioned for all of
them to be silent. “Even though this entire area is under Order protection,” he whispered, “we can
never be too careful. There could be Death Eaters about. So we all have to be very, very…”

An earth-shattering roar interrupted him, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls and the crackle
and roar of a blazing fire. “Woah, Molly, woah,” the easily recognizable voice of Charlie Weasley
called out as he chased after a large Hungarian Horntail that had apparently decided that it no
longer wanted to be kept in a pen.

“I think our cover’s already been blown,” Tonks noted wryly.

Once Charlie began gently stroking the scales near its ears, the dragon stopped in its tracks and
sat heavily on the ground. “There’s a good girl,” Charlie Weasley cooed.

“Wotcher, Charlie,” Tonks called out in a very friendly voice. The second-oldest Weasley brother
started and then spun around quickly, his wand out.

“Easy there, Charlie,” Remus said calmly. “We’re all friends here.”

“Remus, Harry, Hermione,” Charlie called out in recognition. “And…is that Nymphadora Tonks? Blimey!
You’re all grown up, aren’t you?”

Tonks blushed prettily. “None of us get to stay seventeen forever, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned and goggled at her at the same time. “No, I suppose we don’t.”

Remus Lupin cleared his throat noticeably. “We should probably get moving, love, don’t you think?
Urgent Order business and all of that.”

Charlie laughed, thinking that perhaps Remus was making a joke. “Yeah, investigating some wild
rumors about a troll raising an army for You-Know-Who. That’s not exactly what I’d call
‘urgent’.”

“Harry would disagree with you,” Remus pointed out icily. “He insisted that we investigate the
matter fully and as soon as possible. And, quite frankly, I agree with him. Underestimating the
ability of Voldemort to exploit potential strengths within the magical world was exactly the sort
of thing that we did too much of in the last war.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Remus,” Charlie replied, casting a sidelong glance at both Tonks and
Harry. “Come on. Let me show you what you’ll be riding.”

As Charlie walked ahead of the four of them, Tonks whispered harshly in Lupin’s ear. “So we went to
school together. That doesn’t give you the right to be a berk to him.”

“He was flirting with you,” Remus countered angrily, “and I wasn’t being a berk.”

“No he wasn’t and yes you were,” the metamorphmagus argued through clenched teeth. Harry and
Hermione had remained deathly silent throughout, too afraid to speak and desperate to pretend that
they were hearing none of this.

Charlie led the four of them to a corral where about half a dozen adult dragons were being kept.
Near the gate, two large Hungarian Horntails were nuzzling each other affectionately. “These are
the dragons you’ll be riding,” Charlie announced proudly. “Molly you’ve already met,” he indicated
the one to his left, “and this is her mate, Arthur Pen Dragon.” Charlie Weasley turned around to
face them with a goofy grin. “Get it?”

All four of their faces were now completely blank. “I’m sorry,” Harry said shakily. “I could have
sworn that you just said we were going to be riding these dragons.”

“You are,” Charlie replied gleefully. Harry’s face suddenly grew pale. Hermione looked as worried
as he had seen her in recent memory. Remus was trying hard not to appear amused by the situation as
Tonks smiled politely. “I know you’ve had a bad experience with the Hungarian Horntail, Harry, but
trust me, these two are as tame as pygmy puffs.” As he spoke, Molly snorted a jet of flame that
singed Charlie’s hair. He nonchalantly put the fire out with a spell he had apparently learned for
just such an occasion. “Well, mostly. So…which one of them do you two want to ride?” he asked Harry
and Hermione.

The idea of mounting a dragon named after Molly Weasley was singularly unappealing to Harry. “How
about Arthur?” he tried in a high-pitched voice.

Charlie nodded his approval. “Ah. Good choice. Arthur loves to be handled by young riders.”

Remus scowled at that remark, but said nothing as Charlie handed both the werewolf and Harry a map
of the area, with the supposed base camp of the troll king marked by a red ‘X’. “Good luck, you
four,” Charlie said half-heartedly. Clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation, he retreated
into the small safe house as the two dragons took flight.

***

It had taken them the better part of a day to reach their destination, at which point all four of
them were physically exhausted. They decided to stay the night on top of a hill only a few
kilometers from where most of the mountain trolls had congregated. Once it had been decided that
two of them would patrol the area to make certain that it was safe to set up camp there, Tonks had
grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her off into the Transylvanian wilderness without so much as a
goodbye. This left Harry Potter and Remus Lupin sitting alone together in awkward silence, with
only a couple of lovesick dragons to keep them company.

“So…” Harry started, staring at the fire they had built and wondering what to say next. He couldn’t
come up with anything.

“So…” Remus repeated. His former DADA teacher seemed equally unwilling to start a
conversation.

“Is there something you want to tell me about what’s going on between you and Tonks?” Harry said at
the same time that Lupin asked, “Is there something you want to tell me about what’s going on
between you and Hermione?”

They both laughed lightly. “Great minds think alike, I suppose,” Remus remarked bashfully. “You
first, if you don’t mind.”

Harry fought the urge to sigh. How could he explain what had happened? Things had changed between
the two of them so quickly and yet slowly, too, so slowly that he had hardly known it was
happening. Still, he had to start somewhere and he wanted to be honest with his father’s old
friend. “I love her, Remus. I think I have for a while.”

Lupin smiled mysteriously. “You know, when Ron and Hermione were named prefects in your fifth year
and Molly Weasley had that little celebration for them, I saw the look of jealousy in your eyes. I
couldn’t help thinking that maybe you were jealous of Ron not just because he got the prefect’s
badge, but because he would be getting to spend so much time alone with Hermione Granger. James
felt the same way when Lily became a prefect and he didn’t. That’s why he worked so hard to become
Head Boy.” Harry had little difficulty believing this. “So imagine my surprise when you began
dating Ginny Weasley.”

Harry grimaced. “That wasn’t exactly my proudest moment.” He did not want to tell Lupin about the
after effects of the carpe diem potion nor about the monster in his chest.

“The Weasleys are among the nicest families you’ll ever meet, Harry,” Lupin told him earnestly.
“They’ve been vital to the survival of the Order of the Phoenix these last few months. And I’d say
they’ve been the closest thing to a family that you’ve ever had, wouldn’t you?” Harry nodded.
“Dating their youngest daughter and then ending things with her abruptly, only to turn around and
date your longtime best friend, who, incidentally, is also her brother’s girlfriend…well, that can
get a little dicey. I hope you found a nice, respectful way to tell her about you two.”

“She knows,” Harry gulped. “She’s not happy about it, but she knows.”

“Dumbledore never married, you know,” Lupin threw out suddenly, making Harry learn forward
curiously. “He knew how powerful he was and that he would spend his life combating the dark arts,
so he chose not to share that life with anyone. I always admired that about him. Because of
my…condition…I thought I would do the same. And then Tonks came along, so full of love and so sure
that she could handle my life. I couldn’t resist anymore. I got lonely.” He let out a long sigh.
“Now I’m wondering if I made the right decision.”

“You seem to make each other happy,” Harry assessed. “Well, when you’re not around Charlie Weasley
anyway.”

“Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right,” Lupin admitted. “Tonks is so much younger than me. She has
her whole life ahead of her. After the war ends, once she’s free to do whatever she wants, is she
really going to want to be with me?”

Harry thought the matter over for a moment. “I think maybe you’re just going to have to trust her.
If what you have is meant to last, it will.”

Remus Lupin took a sip of water from his canteen and then gave Harry a grateful look, his eyes
twinkling with amusement. “And here I thought I’d be the one giving you advice.”

Harry smiled back at him. “Well, I have been dating longer than you have. Of course, the last two
girlfriends I had have ended up screeching at me over Hermione, so I’m not sure I’m an expert on
girls yet.”

Remus winced. “Things went that badly with Ginny, eh?” Harry nodded his head sharply. “Can I offer
you a little free advice, Harry?” Once again, he nodded. “Our whole world is waiting for you. To
lead us. To inspire us. But most of all, to defeat him. Whatever the role the Order or the Death
Eaters or the Ministry ends up playing, ultimately this war is going to come down to you and
Voldemort.” Harry looked somewhat embarrassed by this. “I’m not saying that you have to become
Dumbledore overnight. Just don’t make us wait too long.”

***

“So,” Remus Lupin began, sounding every bit like the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that he
once was, “what do we know about fighting mountain trolls?”

It was just after dawn the next morning. Harry and Hermione were huddled together by a fire, their
hair seeming even more untamed than usual. Tonks did not look to be fully awake yet and was
experimenting with ways to camouflage her own hair. “Well,” Harry tried, “when Ron and I fought one
in first year we used its own club against it.”

“I’m well aware of your exploits as an eleven-year-old, Harry,” Lupin replied with an indulging
expression on his face, “but we will not be facing only one troll, nor will a simple levitation
spell be enough to carry the day. We need to think bigger.”

“We could pelt them with rocks,” Tonks suggested, only half-seriously. Lupin gave her a reproving
glare. “What? It’d be fun.”

Hermione gave Tonks a serious look. “Didn’t you say that the Ministry has developed a method of
dealing with renegade trolls?”

“Well,” the Auror hedged, “there is something that really knocks magical creatures for a wallop.
‘Corpus vile.’ If the spell isn’t done right though, it wouldn’t just stun the troll. It would kill
it.”

“That won’t do for the king,” Harry told her glumly. “We need him alive.”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. “Erm, Remus, Tonks?” Hermione interjected. “I think I
have a plan that might work.”

***

The howling wind threatened to blow the map out of Harry’s hands as he took the time to reassure
himself that this was the place. Not that there was much need, given that he could see a slew of
mountain trolls gathering below. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Hermione in a loud
voice.

“No,” she yelled back honestly. “But it’s the best shot we have.”

Harry nodded and gave Arthur a gentle kick that (hopefully) told the dragon that they wanted to
land. In the space of a minute, Arthur Pen Dragon had come to rest in the middle of a grassy patch
on top of the mountain. They weren’t far from a large opening in the rock face and they were soon
completely surrounded by angry-looking trolls. Many of them were wielding clubs and large
rocks.

An unearthly bellow suddenly brought silence to the entire mountain. From the opening in the rock
face, a larger-than-usual troll emerged wearing a fur cape and a comically oversized crown. Slowly,
the troll king made its way down to where Harry and Hermione remained perched on their dragon,
anxiously waiting to see what would happen. “He doesn’t seem that intelligent to me,” Hermione
observed skeptically.

As if to reinforce this notion, the troll opened his mouth as though he might speak, but only let
out a large belch. Unfortunately for Harry and Hermione, however, this appeared to be the signal
the trolls had been waiting for to begin to attack. Large rocks made painful contact with dragon
hide and clubs were being raised threateningly in the air. “This is my least favorite part of your
plan,” Harry whispered to Hermione.

“Just stay on the dragon and wait for…” Hermione smiled in victory as she saw their salvation
soaring through the air. “Molly.” The female dragon didn’t seem to be taking very kindly to the
trolls’ treatment of her mate and began breathing fire down in streams, driving the trolls back. As
Harry began to dismount from their dragon, Hermione put her hand on his arm. “Wait. Give her just a
few more seconds.” In the trolls’ desperate attempt to fight off Molly, they began slinging stones
at her, a few of which connected with her head. “Now!” Hermione exclaimed.

Arthur Pen Dragon, equally incensed at the attack on Molly, took to the air just as Harry and
Hermione slid off the dragon’s back. Walls of flame now separated the two teenagers from the bulk
of the mountain trolls, as the dragons furiously pursued the hapless trolls. “How did you know that
would work?” Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione gave him a knowing look. “I just thought of how I always react when you’re in danger.”
Harry smiled at that. Hermione withdrew a vial of black, chunky liquid that used to be the Animus
Signatus potion from her knapsack. “Now it’s time to see how this part of the plan goes. Remember,
green means the troll’s a horcrux, red means…” A large wooden club slammed down in front of them,
as it became apparent that at least one of the trolls hadn’t been driven away by the dragons.

Harry glanced between Hermione, the troll in front of him and the troll king, who looked ready to
make a hasty retreat. “I’ll take care of this one,” Harry told her confidently. “You go after the
king.”

Hermione hesitated for only a moment. “Harry, are you sure? I…”

Harry just had time to push her out of the way as the troll’s massive club swung in her direction.
“Go!” he exclaimed. Hermione followed after the troll king quickly, the remnants of the Animus
Signatus potion cradled in her arms.

As the large, ugly-looking troll in front of him grunted and smashed his club on the ground, Harry
hit it in the face with a stunner. The brute shook it off quickly. “OK, stunners don’t work. Let’s
try…” Harry didn’t get a chance to try anything else, however, as a large stone hurled from behind
him struck the troll in the head. The magical creature abruptly collapsed. Harry turned around to
see that the rock had been thrown by Remus Lupin, who was standing next to a triumphant
Tonks.

“See?” Tonks said to Lupin with a smug smile. “I told you it would be fun.”

“Come on,” Harry said with a beckoning motion to the others. He was not about to leave Hermione to
fight Quirrell on her own.

Harry, Remus and Tonks followed the path Hermione had taken, only to find her crouching behind a
boulder, watching and waiting for her opportunity to use the remains of the potion to discover
whether or not the creature was a horcrux. “I need to get a clear shot at it. We can’t afford to
mess this up.”

Remus’ lycanthropic olfactory sense picked up the smell of what she was holding immediately.
“Animus Signatus potion? Do you really need to throw that on the troll?” Hermione and Harry nodded
in unison. Lupin sighed. “Very well. What if I provided you with a distraction?”

Hermione frowned. “What kind of a distraction?”

The mischievous look in Remus’ eyes made Harry truly understand for the first time why the werewolf
had been a Marauder. “Something like this.” All at once, Remus Lupin dashed in front of the troll,
waving his arms like mad. As the troll began lumbering towards him, Remus scooped up an armful of
rocks and began throwing them at his head.

Hermione stepped further into the cave and then levitated the jar containing the potion in the
direction of the so-called ‘troll king’, eventually smashing it against his legs. As the solution
made contact with its skin, it turned a bright red. “He’s…he’s not a horcrux,” Hermione bemoaned
softly. “But it made so much sense…”

At that moment, the troll king got the bright idea of throwing one of the large stones back at
Lupin, knocking him to the ground. “Remus!” Tonks called out in dismay. She eyed the troll with
pure hatred. “Corpus vile!”

“No, don’t,” Hermione cried out, hitting Tonks’ arm and deflecting the spell. “We may need it
alive!”

“Hermione, get down,” Harry cautioned as he watched the troll’s gaze go from Remus Lupin’s fallen
form to an angry Tonks to Hermione. Just as he pulled his girlfriend behind a large boulder, a hex
struck the rock, shattering it to pieces.

“Where did that come from?” Harry asked confusedly.

A light dawned in Hermione’s mind. “I think I know.” She rose from her hiding place, despite
Harry’s frantic warnings to the contrary. “Let me try something.” Hermione pointed her wand at the
troll’s club. “Wingardium leviosa.” The blunt wooden object began to float above the troll’s large,
gray hand.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered urgently, “I don’t think that’s going to work this time.”

Hermione paid him no mind. “Finite incantatem.” The three of them watched as the club landed to the
immediate right of the troll…and hit something that did not seem to be there. Immediately, the
belligerent troll scratched his head in confusion and sat down on the cave floor with a large
thump, looking about as threatening as a lost kitten. “I think we’re about to find out what’s going
on here.”

Cautiously, Harry and Hermione approached the darkened area of the cave where the troll had been,
while Tonks attended to Lupin. As they approached the troll’s club, Hermione’s hand reached out and
pulled back an invisibility cloak to reveal a shrouded figure wearing a Death Eater mask. As Harry
grabbed his wand, Hermione removed the mask to reveal…no one that they had ever seen before.

“He was being controlled by a Death Eater the whole time,” Harry remarked as he stole a glance over
at the now-slumbering ‘troll king’.

“He must have used the Imperius Curse,” Hermione reasoned. When she saw the Death Eater’s leg
twitch, she immediately petrified him. “We should take him back to the Order safe house and give
him veritaserum. Maybe he can tell us something about what Voldemort’s planning.” Harry nodded his
head. Perhaps this mission wouldn’t be a total loss after all.

***

Back at Charlie’s Dragon Shack, Tonks poured veritaserum into the young, dark-haired Death Eater’s
mouth as Remus prepared to interrogate him. Harry and Hermione simply sat back and watched in
fascination, their wands at the ready. “What is your name?”

Against the dark wizard’s will, his mouth opened to answer. “Kerry Yerik Carlock.”

Lupin wrote the name down on a piece of parchment. “And what were you sent here to do?”

“To build an army of trolls for the Dark Lord. The time is coming when…” His voice trailed off as
his body began to convulse. The Dark Mark on his arm burned brightly. “Fools,” a voice that was
decidedly not Carlock’s cried out as his eyes shone red. “None of you are prepared for what is to
come. The end will be here before any of you know it.”

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered in recognition.

“Potter,” he called out in a hiss. Both men were now speaking parseltongue, as Lupin, Tonks and
Hermione looked on in perplexity. “Be at Hogwarts on Halloween or everyone you’ve ever cared about
will die a horrible death.” The snake-like hissing fell silent thereafter as the Death Eater’s body
collapsed in defeat.

“What just happened?” Remus asked in confusion.

“He’s dead,” Tonks declared in equal bewilderment as she checked his pulse.

Before Harry could attempt to explain what had just happened, Charlie Weasley burst into the room.
“I’ve just received an owl, Harry. You’re going to want to go back to England straight away.” Harry
and Hermione both stared at him in surprise. “Ron’s awake.”

**The next chapter is so shocking, I can't even reveal the chapter title! Not that I was doing
that anyway, but still...

ITL**

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17. Chapter 16: The Pureblood Prince
------------------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic. This means I did not write
"HBP".

I'm so terribly sorry if this chapter confuses anyone. I'll be happy to explain (almost)
everything in my replies to reviews.**


Chapter 16: The Pureblood Prince

The ride back to their scheduled apparition point in northern France aboard the Disorient Express
wasn’t nearly as much fun as the journey to Romania had been, and considering that one of the
highlights of that trip had been a vividly grotesque dream as Voldemort, that was saying a lot.
Harry and Hermione were both on edge and had spoken little since boarding the train. Hermione was
sitting cross-legged on her bed and reading a book on troll migration patterns while Harry sat near
the window, brooding. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he tried after a few painful moments
of silence.

“That’s just the image in the window, Harry,” Hermione reminded him, her voice flat. “It’s actually
dreary and dismal in Bavaria today.”

“Of course,” Harry remarked with a bitter chuckle. “Why would Bavaria be any different than it is
in here?”

Hermione tore her eyes away from the large book on her lap and looked up at Harry. Although there
were dark circles under her eyes and she wasn’t wearing makeup, he still would have sworn that she
was the most incredibly beautiful young woman he had ever seen. Why didn’t he notice that more
often? ‘Maybe you’re just seeing it now because you’re afraid of losing her.’ “Do you feel like
talking about this?” she asked softly. “It seems like there’s some tension between us.”

“If you think that there’s tension between us,” Harry joked half-heartedly, “imagine how things are
in Remus and Charlie’s compartment.”

Hermione could only manage a small, forced smile at that. Anxious to see his younger brother now
that he was no longer comatose, Charlie Weasley had found, much to his dismay, that the Disorient
Express was booked solid for the next few days. As the Floo Network in Eastern Europe was still
problematic and transcontinental apparition was out of the question, Tonks magnanimously decided to
give up her own spot on the train to Charlie, much to Lupin’s chagrin. He declined to stay behind
with her, however.

“I couldn’t even tell you how I feel about this,” Harry admitted, as he turned away from the window
to fully face Hermione. “I don’t think I know the word to describe it.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “How about ‘conflicted’?” Harry nodded and took a seat
beside her. “I know that’s how I feel. Of course it’s wonderful to have Ron back, but…” She did not
bother to complete that thought. Harry could likely have finished it for her. ‘But how does this
affect our relationship?’

“I’m not giving you up for him, Hermione,” Harry declared, a sudden boldness coming over him. “I
can’t see you with him again. Not after…” There was little need to finish that thought, either, as
Harry lifted Hermione’s chin gently. “I don’t think I could stand to see you with anyone
else.”

Hermione’s voice was almost a whisper. “Love can be scary that way.” Tears threatened to fall as
their eyes refused to leave the other’s gaze. “Seeing you with Cho and then with Ginny was hard for
me. I tried to be happy for you, but it was painful to know that you’d never see me that way…that
you’d never want to be with me.”

“But I do want to be with you,” Harry assured her as he caressed her cheek. “I love you.”

Hermione managed to smile despite being near tears. “I’ll never get tired of you saying that to
me.”

“That’s good,” Harry replied. He kissed her then and tried desperately to sear the sensation in his
memory forever. “Because I’m planning on saying it quite a lot.” Their kisses began quickly, with
each seeking reassurance from the other, but soon became slower, longer and more passionate.
Harry’s hands went around her back and descended quickly to her waist as Hermione’s hands slipped
underneath Harry’s shirt.

“What if Charlie walks in?” she asked between kisses. They had both been worried about any of the
Weasleys finding out about their relationship before Ron did. Other than Ginny, of course, who
already knew.

“I don’t care,” Harry told her honestly. For the moment at least, neither of them cared about
anything but each other.

***

All of wizarding England was buzzing about the news coming out of St. Mungo’s. The press had
descended upon the wizard hospital like a barbarian horde, eager for any piece of information they
could get their hands on. “Severus Snape Finally Awake,” blared one headline. “Dumbledore’s
Murderer to be Formally Charged Tomorrow.” “Will Harry Potter Testify?”

“It’s like they don’t even care about Ron,” Harry muttered as he waded through the crowd. His hair
was sandy blonde and his bangs had been strategically placed over his scar; an impromptu disguise
that Hermione had dreamed up.

“They don’t,” Charlie remarked, his tone barbed and bitter. “People like you and Severus Snape make
for flashy headlines. Ron’s lucky if he even merits a mention in any of these stories.”

Harry, Hermione and Charlie Weasley soon arrived at the healer’s station to see if Ron had been
moved from the Closed Ward. To their mild surprise, he hadn’t. Barely keeping themselves from
running as they took the route that was so very familiar to them, the threesome walked briskly to
the stairwell and climbed it quickly, all the while ignoring the various unflattering remarks from
the portraits hanging along the wall.

As Charlie opened the door and entered the hospital ward, Hermione’s arm held Harry back a moment.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Harry nodded, but his expression was filled with worry. “As awkward as this might become, I don’t
think I could live with myself if I didn’t go see him.” Hermione seemed mollified by that and the
two of them followed Charlie without further hesitation.

“It makes no sense at all,” a familiarly pompous voice cried out as they walked through the Closed
Ward. “Why is that red-haired boy getting all of the attention, when I’m the one who defeated the
Hebrides Hydra?!”

Finding Ron wasn’t especially difficult. Even if Harry and Hermione hadn’t traversed this hall
several times, it would have been impossible to miss the sea of red heads that had congregated
around Ron Weasley’s bed. “Ron?” Hermione called out tenuously.

“Look dear,” Molly Weasley cooed, “Harry and Hermione are here to see you.”

Ron was sitting up in his bed, looking very alert and happy to be so. He was flanked by his parents
on either side, with Bill and Fleur standing next to Molly and Fred and George standing across from
them, not far from where Arthur Weasley was leaning protectively over his youngest son. “Harry’s
become a blonde! And here I thought you told me nothing much happened while I was out.”

“Git,” Harry responded, although not even a hint of anger was in his voice. With a simple tap of
his wand, his hair returned to its normal color. “It’s good to see you again, mate.”

“Really good,” Hermione added enthusiastically. “How are you feeling?”

Ron tried valiantly to look like a dozen healers and half that many family members hadn’t already
asked him that question. “Like I overslept and missed all of my classes for a week. Only you’re not
yelling at me, so I guess I couldn’t have.”

Harry’s expression was as serious as Hermione’s. “Do you remember what happened?”

There was something in Ron’s face at that moment; a somewhat sly look that Harry would not have
ordinarily associated with his best mate. “Yeah. I know what happened.” Harry almost asked him
something else, but had to stop himself once he realized that there were other people around who he
did not want to learn about Voldemort’s horcruxes.

“So…I know Bill finally made an honest woman out of Fleur…” Fleur Weasley blushed slightly and
grabbed Bill’s arm. “…George managed to get himself blown up, but at least he took Rita Skeeter
with him…” George Weasley pumped his fist triumphantly. “But I haven’t heard anything about the two
of you yet,” he said as he looked at his two best friends. “What have you been up to?” Harry and
Hermione eyed each other guiltily. “Did you ever find that feather we were looking for?”

“Feather?” Harry repeated in incomprehension, but Hermione picked up on his meaning straight
away.

“Oh, right,” Hermione answered him with a fake laugh, “the feather. One of our new professors at
Hogwarts is keeping that for us.”

“Yeah,” Harry affirmed, having now caught on to the fact that he was referring to Ravenclaw’s
quill. There was still something that was bothering him about Ron. Something in his eyes… “Doesn’t
seem like he’s going to let us take a look at it, either.”

“It’s not Percy, is it?” Fred asked with a distasteful expression. “He seems like the type to hold
onto a feather. Maybe he’s put it in his cap.”

George frowned. “Does Percy even own a cap?”

“Yeah,” Fred answered instantly. “We gave him that one for Christmas, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” George replied, smiling widely at the memory. “It said ‘Warning: when cap is removed,
head will inflate.’ Brilliant, that was.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder if he’s kept
it.”

“So no luck finding anything else like that feather, either, then?” Ron asked with raised
eyebrows.

Before Harry could stop her, Hermione answered. “No. I’m afraid not.”

Harry was now eyeing Ron suspiciously. Why was he so curious about the horcrux hunt? Why was he
insisting on asking questions about it here, in front of everyone? Why not wait until they were
alone? “Maybe this isn’t the best time to be talking about feathers, Ron,” he said slowly.

The other Weasleys looked terribly confused by all of this, but said nothing. “No, you’re right of
course,” Ron agreed, his eyes bright and his expression sunny. “It’s just that this situation
reminds me a little of finding the Emerald of Edessa at the Shrine of the Serpent. Sometimes
feathers and emeralds can be tricky things to get your hands on.”

Harry’s entire body tensed. The memory of Lord Voldemort failing to retrieve the Emerald of Edessa
from the Shrine of the Serpent flashed through his mind briefly. There was no way that Ron could
know about that, unless…

His lips moved within a hair’s breadth of Hermione’s ear, but romance was the farthest thing from
his mind. “I need you to get everyone out of here. Now.”

“What?” Hermione asked in an incredulous whisper.

“I don’t care what you tell them, but get as many people out of the Closed Ward as you can,” Harry
instructed her authoritatively. When she shot him a questioning look, he ran the palm of his hand
down the length of her face lovingly, not really caring what this looked like to anyone else.
“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ll take care of the Weasleys, you just get everyone else out of
here.”

As all of the Weasleys looked suspiciously at Hermione when she departed, Harry motioned for Bill
to come closer. He led the two of them out of earshot of the others. “Do you trust me?” he asked
the eldest Weasley brother sincerely.

“Of course,” Bill replied with a sharp nod.

Harry’s eyes were blazing with intensity. “I need you to get yourself, your wife, your parents and
all of your brothers away from Ron now. Leave me alone with him.”

“Harry, do you know what you’re asking?” Bill questioned, his eyes wide with shock. “Ron’s been in
a coma. We’ve barely even had a chance to talk with him.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Harry replied, mostly to himself. “Look, I can’t explain this to
you now. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Bill took one last look at Harry and then turned to address his parents. “Mum, Dad, I think Harry
would like a moment alone with Ron.”

“Alone?” Molly questioned in disbelief. “Why alone? What’s going on here? All this talk of feathers
and emeralds…”

“We just got him back,” Arthur Weasley reminded Harry with a note of pleading in his voice. “You
can’t expect us to leave him now.”

Ron cleared his throat loudly, silencing everyone. “Actually, I reckon it might be a good idea for
Harry and me to be alone for a minute or two. There’s something we need to talk about that’s kind
of… private.”

Molly Weasley looked like she still wanted to contest the matter, but when everyone else began to
file out, she rose from the seat next to him and patted him on the head. “If you need anything at
all, dear, just have one of the healers page me.”

As his mother exited, Ron smirked in amusement. “One of these days she’s going to have to stop
treating me like I’m still five years old. Although, knowing her, it’ll probably be when I’m
fifty.”

Harry withdrew his wand from the waistband of his jeans and pointed it at Ron. “Who are you?” he
asked, distrust heavy in his voice.

Ron offered Harry his hand as though he might shake it. “Ron Weasley. You might remember me. We met
on the train to Hogwarts in first year.”

Harry was not amused. He had long been suspicious of what Snape had been planning to do to him
during their aborted attempt at a duel. Ron’s knowledge of the Shrine of the Serpent and the
Emerald of Edessa narrowed the possibilities considerably. “Other than me, there are only two
people who saw what happened when Voldemort tried to get the Emerald of Edessa out of the Shrine of
the Serpent. Voldemort himself and…”

“Septimus Prince,” Ron finished for him matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I know.”

Harry’s wand hand twitched. His first instinct was to use some kind of body bind spell on him or to
petrify him until he could get to the bottom of this. But this was *Ron*, after all, and so
far he had been cooperative. “How could you possibly know that?”

Ron seemed to be realizing something now, something that hadn’t occurred to him before. “You
haven’t seen all of his memories yet, have you?” Harry looked puzzled. Just how much did Ron know
about what was happening here? “That’s good. That means you’re still fighting him.” He scratched
his chin thoughtfully. “How are you at legilimency?”

“I’m an expert at it,” Harry boasted. “Dumbledore trained me himself.” Ron gave him a look which
said ‘I don’t believe you’ as well as if he’d said it aloud. “Alright, so that was a lie. I…I’ve
broken into people’s minds before, by accident, during occlumency lessons.”

“Try it again on me,” Ron instructed him calmly. “There’s something you need to see. I’ll do my
best to push it to the front of my mind, but you’ll have to do the rest yourself.” Ron closed his
eyes tightly. “Alright. Try it now.”

For a moment, Harry considered that this might be a trap. However, since he had no idea how such a
trap might work and he was very curious about what Ron wanted to show him, he acquiesced.
“Legilimens,” Harry called out and felt his mind probe Ron’s inquisitively. Almost immediately he
was plunged into a memory that he could not imagine was one of Ron’s. An elderly man lie in a
hospital bed, pale and shaking. His arm clutched a cup of water weakly and pressed it to his lips,
allowing some of it to flow down his throat and the rest to spill on his hospital gown.

“Do you need some help with that, Mr. Prince?” a kindly voiced female nurse asked him.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head with great difficulty. “My…my visitor…is he here?”

“Your family is just outside,” another nurse replied with a perplexed look.

“Not…my family,” he told them with a violent cough. “I’m looking for…”

Without warning, the two women in nurse’s uniforms collapsed to the floor, unconscious. A swooping
figure with serpentine facial features who was immediately recognizable as Lord Voldemort entered
the room, looking utterly unhappy to be there. “Tom Marvolo. You always did know how to make an
entrance.”

“Why did you summon me here, Septimus?” Voldemort demanded imperiously. “My time is too precious to
be wasted in useless muggle hospitals.”

Prince let out a short laugh. “I’m…so terribly sorry that my death is inconveniencing you. Perhaps
we could reschedule this for some other time…”

“Your death?” Voldemort questioned in astonishment. “How can this be? You’re barely even a hundred
years old.”

Septimus’ lips formed a grim smile. “I’m afraid barely even a hundred is a very long time for a
squib. Longer even than most muggles live.”

Voldemort could hardly conceal his contempt for the short lifespan of muggles and squibs. “I am
sorry. As completely infuriating as you could be sometimes, you were a true and loyal
f…follower.”

Septimus Prince shook his head slightly. “I’m not dead yet, Tom Marvolo. And you owe me a
debt.”

The Dark Lord scowled like a scorned child. “You were not terribly forthcoming with information
about Salazar Slytherin when we first struck the bargain. You kept things from me.”

“True,” Prince answered in a wheeze, “but eventually I told you everything. I’ve fulfilled my part
of the bargain.” His frail right hand reached out for Voldemort. “You promised me anything I wanted
in return, save for your own life.”

Lord Voldemort inhaled sharply. “Indeed I did. I have no choice but to give you whatever it is that
you want.”

The old man’s eyes had a desperation to them that was almost pathetic. “I’m…just a squib…but you,
you are tremendously powerful…you have the ability to do what I ask…”

“Spit it out, Septimus,” Voldemort commanded coldly. “Neither of us have any time to waste.”

“Make a horcrux,” Prince rasped, “from me. Tear out a piece of my soul and use your magic to
transfer it…” Here a bout of violent coughing silenced him temporarily.

“You want eternal life?” the Dark Lord asked, his tone dubious. “Do you truly think that living
forever like this would be preferable to death?”

“Of course not,” Septimus spat. “I do not prize immortality above all else, as you do.” Voldemort’s
eyes became dark, narrow slits but he said nothing. “I want a legacy. I want wizardkind to remember
me when I’m gone. I want part of my spirit kept alive…in a living host.”

“A living horcrux?” Lord Voldemort scoffed. “Why would you want me to make such a horrendous thing?
A living being will ultimately die, Septimus. It isn’t a proper anchor for the soul. It won’t even
keep someone alive who is young and healthy. It’s completely pointless when you’re near
death.”

“To you, perhaps,” Septimus conceded between shallow breaths. “To me…it is everything…it’s my
chance to live the life I always wanted…” When Voldemort still looked dubious, Prince pressed the
matter. “You swore to me…”

“Very well.” The Dark Lord rose to his full height, towering over the elderly squib. “Do you have a
host in mind?”

“Make it Eileen’s son,” Prince requested, his voice a gravely shadow of its former self. One
trembling finger pointed to a dark-haired lad around seven or eight years of age, standing just
outside the room. “Severus.”

The memory ended abruptly, leaving Harry feeling disoriented and confused. “What just happened?” He
felt his stomach churn in response to what he had seen. “Was that one of Septimus Prince’s
memories?”

Ron nodded. “Not very cheery things, are they? For someone who couldn’t actually do any dark magic,
the old bloke had a real obsession with it.” When Harry still looked clueless, Ron prodded him a
little. “Oh, come on, Harry. You can’t tell me that Hermione hasn’t rubbed off on you a little. Put
the pieces together. Figure it out.”

The gears in Harry’s mind turned more slowly than the ones in Hermione’s, but eventually he got
there. “Voldemort used some sort of spell to take a piece of Septimus Prince’s soul…and put it into
Severus Snape.” Harry’s face contorted in repugnance. “He was only a boy then. I can’t imagine what
that would have done to him.”

“I can,” Ron informed him with a casual shrug. “Of course it’s easier for me, because it happened
to me, too…”

“What?” Harry asked in befuddlement. “How do you mean?”

“The duel, Harry,” Ron replied by way of explanation. “Snape used a kind of switching spell. My
guess is he was trying to put the piece of Septimus Prince’s soul he’d had inside him since he was
a sprog into you and the piece of Voldemort you’ve had since you were a sprog into him.” Ron took a
second to make sure that he’d said that right. “Taking one for the team, you might say.”

Harry’s voice was soft and low. “So…Snape was trying to save me.”

Ron smiled knowingly. “You ought to be used to it by now, mate.”

“But the spell hit you instead of me,” Harry reasoned aloud. “So that means…”

“That a piece of Septimus Prince’s soul is inside me,” Ron finished for him. The thought hit Harry
like a ton of bricks. It had been difficult enough accepting that he had a piece of Voldemort’s
soul inside of him. This was completely unexpected. “I have all of his memories and even some of
his thoughts sometimes, which can be a little scary.”

“But…” Harry began cautiously, “you’re still…you, right?”

“I’m still me,” Ron confirmed, “although that was touch and go for a while. That’s why I was in a
coma for so long. The piece of Septimus Prince’s soul that’s inside me thought it would try and
take over. But I showed it who’s boss,” he crowed. “Hey, maybe I could coach you on how to do it,
too. ‘Course it might be more difficult, because Voldemort’s still alive. Also, he’s a really
powerful wizard, whereas Septimus Prince was just a squib. And then there’s the fact that he’s been
trying to kill you all these years…”

“You’re doing a right terrible job of inspiring me, coach,” Harry groused. He looked thoughtful for
a moment. “So how exactly did you know that I was one of Voldemort’s horcruxes? Septimus Prince
couldn’t have remembered that.”

Ron shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out, once I knew as much as Prince did about
Voldemort.”

Harry smiled proudly. “Saying his name now, are you?”

Ron let out a short laugh. “Well, I could call him ‘Tom Marvolo’ if it would make you feel
better.”

“Why did you bring up the Emerald of Edessa and the Shrine of the Serpent?” Harry asked
curiously.

“I figured it might pique your interest,” Ron replied casually. “If I’d have known you’d order
everyone out of the room, though, I would have done it straight off. Lockhart was driving me
bananas.” Harry chuckled at that. “Listen, Harry. This ‘I have a piece of some old squib who used
to hang around with Voldemort inside of me’ thing, it’s just between us, right? I mean, there’s no
need to worry Mum and Dad with it, right?”

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “Anything about the horcruxes stays between us. Although…we are going to
tell Hermione, aren’t we?” he asked, trying not to sound like the whipped boyfriend he may well
have become.

“May as well,” Ron said in a resigned tone of voice. “She’ll figure it out anyhow.” Ron took a
long, hard look at his best mate. “So…you and Hermione, eh?”

Harry felt as though he had been shot with a stunner. Suddenly the prospect of dealing with a Ron
who had been possessed by Voldemort seemed less daunting than facing a Ron whose girlfriend he’d
stolen. He wasn’t about to lie, though. “Yeah, Ron. Me and Hermione.” A terribly awkward silence
followed. Finally, Harry spoke. “Were we that obvious?”

“A little, yeah,” Ron acknowledged. “But it didn’t help that Luna went on and on about you two
during her visits. I guess she just wanted me to know that you were doing alright, but it got a bit
annoying sometimes. She said the two of you were getting closer. Actually, she said ‘Harry and
Hermione have grown closer together than two double plucked zip snonkers.’”

Harry laughed, despite the situation. “That sounds like Luna.” He was pleased that Ron had been
aware of Luna’s visits even while unconscious.

“I doubt she was aware of how much that hurt me,” Ron told Harry quietly. “I don’t think she knew
that Hermione and me were a couple.” He chortled humorlessly as a look of regret came over his
face. “Then again, I’m not sure that *I* knew Hermione and me were a couple. I sure didn’t act
like we were.”

Harry grimaced. “We never meant to hurt you, Ron. We were even going to hold off on having a
relationship for a while, but…”

This time Ron laughed with genuine amusement. “I can just picture that. ‘Oh Harry, we mustn’t. Not
while I’m still dating Ron, who is in a coma,’” he began in an exaggerated falsetto voice. “‘That’s
very noble of you, Hermione,’” Ron continued in a much deeper voice. “‘In fact, it’s so noble I’m
surprised I didn’t come up with it myself. Alright. We’ll wait to snog until Ron wakes up.’ Then,”
he finished, returning to his normal voice, “after I didn’t wake up for a while, I’m sure you just
decided the hell with it and snogged her anyway.”

“Erm, yeah,” Harry hedged, unwilling to admit that the entire waiting process had taken maybe
thirty seconds, “that’s pretty much what happened.”

“Look Harry,” Ron began in a more conciliatory tone, “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that
my pride isn’t hurt or that I don’t wish you’d have waited a few more years to figure out that
Hermione’s a beautiful, brilliant girl who’s crazy about you. You were right slow on that one,
anyway, but that’s not the point. The point is that we’ve all got more important things to worry
about right now.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “Voldemort’s got something planned, Harry.
Something you may not know about. We probably shouldn’t get into it here, but I think you should
know…it involves you.”

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. “Doesn’t it always?” The memory of the Death Eater they’d captured
in Romania speaking in Voldemort’s voice and threatening everyone he loved if he didn’t return to
Hogwarts by Halloween came wafting through his mind, unwanted and unbidden. Suddenly he felt the
urge to change the subject back to his love life. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings
between the three of us, Ron. If you’re mad about this…”

“What do you want me to be mad about, Harry?” Ron demanded. “Do you want me to be a prat and throw
a fit because you didn’t wait until Hermione and I officially broke up? The two of us were rubbish
together, Harry. You know that. You saw us. Besides that, our world is at war. Any of us might die
at any moment. When you’re obviously as nuts about each other as you and Hermione are, why
wait?”

Harry looked skeptical. “So…you’re not angry?”

“Oh, of course I’m angry,” Ron acknowledged. “But it’s stupid, I’ll get over it and in the meantime
there’s no point in taking it out on you. What’s done is done.” Ron smiled crookedly. “Besides, now
I’ve got memories of shagging Snape’s grandmother. That’ll put anyone off of romance for a good
long while.”

Harry laughed loudly at that. “Well, if you change your mind, I think Hermione was right about one
thing. Luna Lovegood does fancy you.”

Ron’s eyes now had a far away look to them. “She’s really an amazing girl, isn’t she?”

Harry wasn’t entirely certain whether he was asking about Hermione or Luna, but the answer would be
the same either way. “Yeah, she is.”

As if saying the phrase ‘Hermione was right’ had called her to him, Harry watched as Hermione
Granger re-entered the Closed Ward. “I had to tell the healers that Ron was suffering from a rare
condition that involved the projectile vomiting of stinksap. This better have been
important.”

It only took a few minutes for Harry and Ron to fill Hermione in on all the details. “Fascinating,”
Hermione enthused, her mind clearly turning over all of the implications of the unusual situation.
“So that’s why Snape called himself the Half-Blood Prince. It also has to be why he knew so many
spells at such a young age and why he was so fascinated with the Dark Arts.”

“It can’t have done much for his social life, either,” Harry threw in, thinking back to the memory
of Snape, the Marauders and his mother that he had seen in his fifth year. “I actually feel kind of
sorry for him, which is something I never thought I’d say. He never really got to live his own
life, did he?”

While Hermione gave Harry a very sympathetic look, Ron replied, “Well, he definitely won’t now. The
way the Daily Prophet’s talking, the public wants to lynch him before he even makes it to
trial.”

Hermione put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, do you really think that if Snape faked a Death
Eater raid to try to save you from Voldemort that he would have killed Dumbledore for any reason
other than because Dumbledore wanted him to?”

Harry thought that over for a few seconds. “No,” he answered frankly. “But the fact remains that he
did kill Dumbledore and until we know why, I think Azkaban’s exactly where he should be.” It did
not seem as though Hermione agreed, but she said nothing.

Ron looked like he desperately wanted to change the subject. “Hermione, we need to talk. Harry, you
can stick around for this, but I should warn you, it could get a bit messy.” He heaved a dramatic
sigh. “Hermione, I reckon we should break up.”

“W…what?” Hermione stammered. “I thought you told him about us,” she whispered to Harry.

“I did,” Harry replied through clenched teeth.

Ron pretended he hadn’t heard them. “I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, but…things just
aren’t working out. We’re two different people. Well, I mean, obviously we’re two different people.
I’m me and you’re you, but…you know what I mean. We’re different. Too different. We want different
things. I want to eat and play Quidditch. You want to read and snog Harry. It just wouldn’t work in
the long run.”

“I…think I understand,” Hermione said slowly. Harry did too. Ron was trying his best to give them
(and himself) some closure.

“I hope we can stay friends,” Ron added, his jovial veneer breaking a bit as his tone grew serious.
“Because this friendship that the three of us have…it’s something that doesn’t come along every
day. So, whatever happens…” He got a little choked up at that and couldn’t continue.

“Oh Ron,” Hermione said, her own emotions running high. “Of course we’ll still be friends.” Her
right hand clutched Ron’s left as she moved to his side.

“Best friends,” Harry added as he grabbed Ron’s other hand in what he hoped was a manly display of
friendship. However, since all of them were near tears, it probably didn’t matter anyway. Harry’s
smile vanished quickly, however, as a horrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“It’s nothing, really,” Harry assured her. “I was just wondering if Voldemort’s ever shagged
anyone.” The three of them thought about it for exactly two seconds. “Nah.”

***
“Why are we leaving in such a hurry?” Harry asked, his arms filled with Ron’s clothes as he
scrambled to keep up with Ron and Hermione.

“Best to get out of there before Mum and Dad come back,” Ron answered him. “If we don’t, they’ll
throw a fit that I’m going back to Grimmauld Place with you instead of Hogwarts.”

“Actually, Ron,” Hermione pointed out with a grimace, “we’re only going back to Grimmauld Place to
get our things. Then we are going back to Hogwarts.” While on the train, Harry and Hermione, after
thoroughly exhausting themselves doing other things, had come to the conclusion that going back to
school was their best option at this point.

“Oh,” Ron replied sheepishly. “Well then, why are we leaving in such a hurry?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “To avoid the press.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” Ron pointed out. “They’re swarming around Snape’s
room, waiting for the Aurors to take him to Azkaban.” Ron gave Harry a curious look. “D’you think
they’ll ask you to testify?”

“Probably,” Harry answered glumly, although he wasn’t thrilled by the idea. His feelings about
Snape had become murkier in recent weeks, and he was no longer sure what the wizard’s fate should
be. ‘He killed Dumbledore, but he’s tried his best to save my life on more than one occasion.’ “I
suppose I’ll have to get special dispensation from Headmistress McGonagall to do it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ron went on, his voice taking on a sense of urgency. “Mum said that Ginny’s
gone missing. Seems McGonagall sent her out on some errand for the Order and she didn’t come
back.”

Harry and Hermione both froze. “Ginny’s missing?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, “I couldn’t believe it, either. ‘Course it could be nothing. Knowing Ginny
she’s probably getting herself into a load of trouble over some boy.”

“‘Some boy,’” Hermione repeated, as if a thought were occurring to her. “Harry, you didn’t do
anything with that slip of paper with Mordred Quirrell’s address on it, did you? Because I couldn’t
find it before we left.”

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. Could Ginny have picked up the wrong piece of paper before flooing
out of Grimmauld? “Who’s Mordred Quirrell?” Ron asked innocently.

***
“Malfoy?!” Ron asked in complete disbelief as Harry, Hermione and Ron entered Grimmauld
Place.

“We found him there while we were looking for Hufflepuff’s cup,” Hermione explained patiently. “He
claimed he’d been left by Snape to guard Quirrell’s research on the horcruxes.”

“Malfoy?!?!” Ron repeated, his mouth still open in shock.

“There wasn’t much we could do with him, Ron,” Harry went on, attempting to defend actions that he
wasn’t very proud of himself. “He knew all about the horcruxes. If we turned him into the
authorities, he’d tell them everything…”

“Malfoy?!?!?!” Ron reiterated sharply, forcing both Harry and Hermione into silence.

Then something unexpected happened. “Will Young Master Malfoy be returning?” Kreacher asked from
his hunched over position near the stair, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “He was so much better to
work for than you…blood traitors and mudbloods…”

‘Dobby would probably disagree,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Wait a minute…’ “Kreacher, when was
Malfoy here?”

Kreacher recoiled instinctively, fully aware that he had said something he shouldn’t have. “Over
the summer,” he answered in a reluctant hiss. “Before Master Potter came.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What was he doing here?”

“Kreacher…Kreacher doesn’t remember,” the old house elf answered in a quivering voice, cringing to
prepare himself for his expected punishment. Instead, Harry just stood there, thinking. Why would
Draco Malfoy come here?

Ron huffed impatiently. “That barmy old house elf isn’t going to tell us anything, Harry.” He
stormed over to Grimmauld’s fireplace, fully expecting Harry and Hermione to follow. “Malfoy could
be doing awful things to my sister. I know you’re not dating her anymore, but I thought you’d at
least care whether she lived or died.”

Harry resisted the urge to snap at him. “We took his wand away, Ron. We’re not stupid.”

“Yeah well, you could have fooled me,” Ron grumbled irritably.

“Oh, come on,” Hermione beckoned them, trying to play peacemaker as she grabbed some floo powder
from the mantle. Once all of them were in place, she dropped the powder and spoke old Mr.
Quirrell’s address loudly and clearly.

When they arrived on the other end, Ron silenced them all with a gesture. “Do you hear that?” he
asked in a whisper. “It sounds like moaning.”

Harry listened closely. It did sound like moaning, and high-pitched moaning at that. Would Ginny
really have been careless enough to end up here? “It’s coming from this direction,” Harry told
them, indicating one of the back rooms. Quietly, the three of them crept through the old house,
trying to avoid setting off any of the little wizarding knickknacks that lined the walls.

As they approached a room near the end of the hall, the distinctive sound of Ginny screaming could
be heard inside. “That tears it,” Ron announced in a stage whisper. “I’m going in there.”

“Ron, don’t,” Hermione cautioned. The hesitant look on her face confused Harry. What was she so
worried about? “You might not like what you see in there. Let me go in first.”

“Of course I’m not going to like what I see,” Ron replied angrily. “Malfoy’s torturing my sister!”
Without another word, he burst through the door. Once inside, however, he let out a long, mournful
bellow that reverberated through the house. Harry dashed after him, but a moment later wished he
hadn’t.

***
“Bloody hell!” Ron shouted from inside the bedroom. “You had sex with Malfoy?! You had sex with
Malfoy?!?! You had *sex* with *Malfoy*?!?!?!”

“He has a bad habit of doing that now, doesn’t he?” Hermione asked lightly. She was standing near
the closed bedroom door, trying not to overhear what Ron and Ginny were saying but failing
miserably. “I wonder if he’s picked it up from Septimus Prince.”

Harry did not reply. In truth, he was nearly as upset with Ginny as Ron was, but he was more than
willing to let her brother give her the tongue lashing. Although he was no longer interested in her
romantically, he had still thought well of her and considered her a friend. Now, he didn’t even
know if he could stand to be in the same room with her.

“I think it becomes my business when you have *sex* with Malfoy!!” Ron screamed over Ginny’s
protestations.

“He hasn’t gotten any yet, has he?” Draco asked nastily. “Only a pathetic virgin could be this
interested in his sister’s sex life.”

“Shut up,” Harry told him sharply. The two of them had been given the unenviable task of watching
Malfoy as Ron and Ginny had it out. Neither of them had any desire to actually watch him, as he was
wearing nothing but a tightly fitting pink pair of Ginny’s pajama bottoms. “Hermione, did you know
that we were going to see Ginny and Draco doing…you know…that?”

“I kind of guessed,” Hermione admitted, looking somewhat ashamed as she did so. “It’s exactly the
sort of thing she’s always done to try to get your attention. Snog some other bloke so you get
jealous. At one time, it worked pretty well.” Harry nodded, acknowledging the truth of that
statement. “Of course, she probably felt like snogging wouldn’t be enough because…well, you could
probably figure out why.”

‘Because Hermione and I have been sleeping together,’ Harry thought to himself. “Well, it didn’t
work this time.”

Hermione regarded him sadly. “Didn’t it? You looked pretty distraught when you saw them
together.”

“It was a shock,” Harry admitted. “I won’t deny that. But as for making me jealous…it didn’t. Not
even a little.”

Hermione looked both relieved and hopeful. “And…if that had been me in there, with Malfoy?”

Harry shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been. You’re not built that way.”

“You’re right about that,” Draco remarked snidely. Harry hit him with a stinging hex in the back.
“Ow! Watch it, Potter!”

“I think I’m going to go downstairs and see if there’s not some way I can destroy everything with
the word ‘horcrux’ on it,” Hermione taunted him as she waved her wand in his direction.

“You’re too late,” Malfoy informed her smugly. “Everything’s gone.”

“Gone?” Hermione questioned in disbelief. “How could everything be ‘gone’?”

Draco shrugged. “Every piece of Quirrell’s notes disappeared this morning. It must have been
something Snape set up beforehand. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Harry had no great difficulty believing that. “In that case, you just earned yourself a ticket to
Azkaban, Malfoy. Without proof, you can babble on about the horcruxes to the Ministry all you want.
They’ll never believe you.”

“Fine with me,” Draco replied, grinning evilly and propping his bare feet up on a nearby antique
chair. “I get the feeling I won’t be there for long, though.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“You know what, Potter? I think I’m going to take your advice for once and shut up.” Just as Harry
looked ready to pummel Malfoy, Ron and Ginny exited the bedroom, still screaming at each
other.

“It’s my life, Ron!” she screeched. “You can’t tell me how I should or shouldn’t live it!”

“Fine!” Ron yelled back. “Don’t expect me to come running in and save you when he starts acting
like the poisonous snake he is, then.”

“I won’t!” Ginny retorted angrily. As she spun on her heel, she made eye contact with Harry. Not
seeing what she wanted to there, her eyes became teary. “I won’t,” she repeated, only now her voice
was dispirited, rather than defiant.

“Ron,” Hermione tried in a soothing voice, “why don’t you go ahead and take Ginny back to Hogwarts?
We’ll meet you there after we hand Malfoy over to the Ministry.”

“You’re…you’re sending him to Azkaban?” Ginny asked pitifully. No one answered her.

“Alright,” Ron agreed. He then quickly cast a ‘muffliato’ as Harry, Ron and Hermione huddled around
each other. “You might see if you can talk to Snape. Find out if Voldemort made any more horcruxes
after Prince died. There’s no guarantee that he only made seven.”

Harry nodded his agreement quickly. There were many questions that remained unanswered about
Severus Snape. It was time to get the full story from the horse’s pale, greasy mouth.

**The next chapter is called "The Trial of Severus Snape". I hope you enjoy and I hope
you got some enjoyment out of this one as well. All reviews are appreciated.

ITL**

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18. Chapter 17: The Trial of Severus Snape
------------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic, Warner Brothers or the people
who made "Spiderman 3". I do plan to go see that film several times, however.

OK, so this chapter didn't turn out to have as many Snape revelations as I'd hoped. Next
chapter for sure, though.**

Chapter 17: The Trial of Severus Snape

“You should have let me change clothes,” Draco Malfoy declared haughtily. Harry and Hermione were
walking behind him, their wands pointed at his bare midsection, as they marched into Ministry
headquarters. Draco was still wearing nothing but Ginny’s pink pajama bottoms, his pale torso and
the Dark Mark on his arm all too visible.

“Oh, so now you want to get out of Ginny’s pants?” Hermione asked him with a smirk. “And after you
seemed so eager to get into them.”

“Very funny, Granger,” Draco spat. “I agreed to give myself up, you know. There’s no reason for you
to treat me this way.” This elicited no response from either Harry or Hermione. “I’m one of the
most wanted dark wizards in England, for Merlin’s sake. You could have at least put me in something
that wouldn’t make me look like a poncy git.”

“I don’t think there’s any outfit that could do that,” Harry noted wryly. “Here we are.” The three
of them stood before the offices of the MLE. Wanted posters of known Death Eaters lined the walls
as sharply dressed witches and wizards sat at their desks, poring over paperwork. Harry approached
the nearest desk, which had a mousy-looking blonde sitting behind it. “Excuse me. I hate to disturb
you, but it seems that I’ve captured Draco Malfoy. I thought you might like to know.”

The woman looked very much like a fish who just realized that there wasn’t any water on the outside
of the aquarium. “I…I don’t have a form for that.”

Harry nearly growled in frustration. He had expected a team of Aurors to meet him at the door after
he had stated his business as ‘bringing a Death Eater in’. When they hadn’t, he had wondered if
perhaps no one at the Ministry believed him. ‘They believe me alright,’ Harry thought to himself.
‘They just don’t know what to do with a Death Eater when they have one.’

“Perhaps we could speak with one of your superiors,” Hermione suggested to the woman kindly,
although her eyes were stormy. He wouldn’t want to be Hermione’s enemy when her eyes were like
that.

“There’s no need to go to that much trouble, Miss Svensson. I can handle it.” From behind her, a
tall wizard with wispy gray hair, a thin beard, sharply chiseled features and a seemingly
ever-present smile approached. “So very nice to see you again, Mr. Malfoy,” he said with a cursory
glance at Draco.

Hatred burned in Draco Malfoy’s eyes. “You,” he hissed. “You’re the berk who tossed our house back
in second year.”

“My name is Sophocles Plante, and yes, I am the very same berk of whom you speak. And, to be quite
frank, I find the fact that I didn’t discover any illegal dark magical objects in your home a
testament to your parents’ Slytherin cunning rather than a statement of their innocence.” He
chuckled softly. “I am somewhat consoled by the fact that they’re both now in Azkaban. You’ll soon
be joining them.” Plante waved to two other men walking by. “Hobson. Luce. Before you take this
junior grade filth away, I want you to find him a shirt. I can’t stand to look at that monstrous
mark on his arm anymore.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded. Draco actually looked somewhat appeased by this, although his face
remained set in a scowl.

Sophocles Plante beckoned Harry closer. Harry obliged and the two of them stood near the desk of
the hapless Miss Svensson as Hermione continued to hold Draco Malfoy at wandpoint. “Excellent work,
Mr. Potter. I see your old Headmaster wasn’t wrong about you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You knew Dumbledore?”

Plante smiled and nodded. “Albus was a friend. In fact, that friendship helped me secure my current
position. When Minister Scrimgeour was looking for a replacement for Amelia Bones, the
embarrassment of having secured a warrant for Dumbledore’s arrest was still fresh in people’s
minds. They wanted someone who would not make that mistake again.” His face became suddenly ashen.
“I cannot begin to tell you how saddened I was by his passing. Although I imagine you were as well.
I’m told you were quite close.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, then remembering just how powerful this man was, “I mean, yes, sir.”

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement laughed heartily. “You needn’t call me ‘sir’,
Mr. Potter. You are not one of my employees, or at least not yet. Headmistress McGonagall has
informed me that you wish to become an Auror.”

Harry nodded his head. “Yes. At least, I think that’s what I’d like to do after I graduate from
Hogwarts.”

“You think?” Plante asked playfully. “You aren’t sure?”

“To be honest with you, Mr. Plante,” Harry began somewhat bashfully, “I’m not thinking that far
ahead yet.” ‘For some reason, I’m still hung up on the part where there’s a homicidal maniac that I
have to kill.’

“However dire the circumstances of your young life may be, Mr. Potter, it is always wise to think
ahead. Personally, I believe you’d make a fine Auror.” Harry couldn’t help but feel a certain pride
at Sophocles Plante’s assessment. “If you need any help along that road, I would be absolutely
delighted to offer my assistance.”

Harry looked down at his hands as he passed his wand between the left one and the right one.
“Actually, there is a favor I’d like to ask of you, but it doesn’t have much to do with becoming an
Auror.” Sophocles Plante now seemed very curious. “I want to talk to Severus Snape.”

Plante’s face and mood darkened. “You wish to speak with Albus’ murderer? What ever for?”

Harry tried to think of the best way to go about this. “Dumbledore and I were working on something
before he died, something that only a few people knew about. Snape was one of those people. There
are things that he might know that could prove crucial to defeating Voldemort.”

Sophocles Plante winced, although whether it was at the use of Voldemort’s name or for some other
reason, Harry could not tell. “I’ll see what I can do.” Plante tugged gently at his beard in
thought. “You know, Mr. Potter, you are the only witness we could call to testify about Severus
Snape’s cowardly act on that night. I know he was your teacher, but I certainly hope that you
aren’t contemplating leniency towards him.”

A look of deep sadness crossed Harry’s face. “I hope not, either.”

***
After surrendering his wand and traveling through several thick metallic doors, Harry Potter
reached the room where Severus Snape was being held. He was certain that, in addition to all of the
physical precautions, there had been wards put in place that would make the possibility of escape
nonexistent. Still, it took him by surprise to see Severus Snape standing in the corner of a
darkened room, staring out of a window and looking like a caged bat, wanting to fly free in the
night, eager to hunt for its prey. “The window isn’t real, you know,” Snape explained in a small,
bitter voice. “The imbeciles in charge placed it here in order to torment me. Now they’ve sent you
in, presumably for the same purpose.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Snape always did take pleasure in drawing his ire. “I think you know why I’m
here.”

Snape sniffed airily. “I doubt even you know why you’re here.” At long last, his former Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher turned around to face him. “I take it you’ve met my grandfather. How
is he these days?”

“Resting comfortably,” Harry answered quickly. Was Snape trying to goad him into saying something
about the horcruxes? If so, it wasn’t going to work. “Just as he has been for the last thirty years
or so.”

Snape scowled. “Perhaps your definition of a comfortable rest and mine are quite different.”
Between the two men there was only a long oak table and a single metal chair. “Have a seat, Potter.
I would imagine this isn’t a social call.”

“Hardly,” Harry retorted as he scooted the chair closer to the door and sat down. He was feeling
less and less charitable toward Snape all the time. “I need to know why you did it.”

Severus Snape walked slowly across the room, never bothering to make direct eye contact with Harry.
“Your needs are many. Wit, intelligence, tact, humility…the list could go on ad nauseum. Do not
take it upon yourself to question my motivations, as they are no concern of yours.”

“Damn it!” Harry exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table in anger. “I’m trying to give you a
chance! Why can’t you just tell the truth for once in your miserable life?!”

“Truth is subjective,” Snape replied. He was now standing over Harry as though they were back in
the classroom, with Severus Snape once again playing the role of Harry Potter’s instructor. “I have
spent a considerable portion of my life serving the two greatest wizards of our time. I gave them
each only a fragment of the truth to hold onto. I bent it and shaped it until it fit their view of
the world. Tell me, Potter, which one did I lie to? Whose truth is greater?”

“The truth is what it is,” Harry replied assertively. “It can’t be bent or distorted and still be
true.”

“You are as naïve as you are dimwitted,” Snape told him dismissively. “Albus Dumbledore was
unquestionably the greatest wizard I have ever known, yet I will never understand why he placed his
trust in you to save our world from the Dark Lord.”

“Dumbledore shouldn’t have trusted *me*?” Harry demanded in disbelief. “You’re the one who
killed him.” Severus Snape said nothing as Harry seethed in anger. “You were right about one thing,
though. I don’t know why I came here.”

“I do,” Snape said simply. “You wanted me to make things easy for you. To forswear my evil ways and
bend over backwards to prove to you that I’ve been ‘good’ all along. Or to play the villain to the
hilt and explain away everything you’ve seen that might lead you to another conclusion.” He
snorted. “Life is never quite so simple.”

Harry couldn’t deny any of that and so now it was his turn to fall silent. “Come now, Potter.
You’re being far too timid. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to seize the day?” The last three words
were emphasized by Snape.

Harry’s blood suddenly ran cold. “What did you just say?”

Severus Snape smirked. “Seize the day. Or, in the Latin, carpe diem. Think carefully on that before
you act.”

“You…you know about the potion,” Harry reasoned aloud. It made sense, he supposed. Dumbledore would
have had to have gotten his supply from somewhere and Snape was extremely gifted at making
potions.

“I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” Snape replied with a shrug of indifference. “Perhaps
you’re…hallucinating.”

Behind him, the door opened. “Time’s up, Potter,” a gruff Auror’s voice called out.

Just as Harry began to rise from the table, Snape grabbed his arm and, for the first time, made eye
contact. ‘I can tell you everything you want to know,’ Harry heard Snape’s voice inside his mind
say. ‘But not here. Not with Scrimgeour’s marionettes watching everything.’ Snape’s gaze turned
icy. ‘Also, your occlumency skills are as utterly pathetic as ever.’

“Hey!” the Auror barked harshly, aiming a stunner at Snape’s hand as the former potions master
retreated back into the holding cell. “No touching!”

“So terribly sorry,” Snape apologized in an insincere voice from the shadows. “I simply couldn’t
resist the prospect of having touched the hand of the great Harry Potter.”

“Come on, then,” the Auror called out to Harry, motioning for him to exit the room quickly. As he
did so, one Auror said to another, “Have the window taken out. He’s enjoying it too much.”

Harry’s brain seemed to be in a fog as he was given back his wand and escorted through a long, dark
hallway back to where he could finally see the light of day. He ascended the stairs alone to find
an anxious-looking Hermione waiting for him. “How did it go?”

“Miserably,” Harry answered with barely disguised anger. Intent on leading his girlfriend outside
where they could talk openly, he didn’t stop walking. “Snape is completely infuriating! I was only
trying to give him a chance to explain himself and he treated me like…well, like he’s always
treated me. Like I’m a clod of dirt on his shoe.” Hermione gave him a very sympathetic look. “He
said it was none of my business why he killed Dumbledore. And then…then he threatened me. At least
I think that was what he did.”

“Threatened you?” Hermione asked. Harry could see the curious expression on Hermone’s face in his
mind’s eye without having to look at her. “With what?”

As they finally exited Ministry headquarters, Harry exhaled slowly. “Snape knows about the carpe
diem potion, Hermione. He won’t hesitate to bring it up at trial, either.” Hermione gave his
shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He’ll probably say I was hallucinating when I watched him murder
Dumbledore.”

Hermione appeared deep in thought. “Your testimony would be completely discredited if he did that.
The Ministry wouldn’t have a case. Snape would go free.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. “But that’s only if I testify. Of course if I don’t
testify…”

“…then the Ministry would still have no case. Either way, Snape’s a free man,” Hermione finished
for him, sounding every bit as thrilled with the idea as Harry was. “He must have been planning
this all along. His great escape from justice.”

“They can still hold him as a Death Eater, can’t they? Like they’re doing with Peter Pettigrew?”
Harry asked desperately. “He has the Dark Mark on his arm. He was caught leading a whole team of
Death Eaters.”

Hermione shook her head. “All of the ‘Death Eaters’ that were captured during the raid on the
Quibbler were cleared. Snape must have had them under the Imperius Curse. As for the Dark Mark,
well, that’s nothing new, is it? They still have Dumbledore’s testimony on record from the first
war, vouching for his loyalty.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “Can’t they at least send him to Azkaban for using an
Unforgivable on all of those people?”

Hermione looked doubtful. “According to the *Daily Prophet*, no one actually remembers Snape
putting them under the curse. He must have used memory charms on them. In any case, he could always
blame Mundungus Fletcher, who, conveniently enough for Snape, is dead.”

Harry didn’t know whether he felt like laughing or crying. “This is crazy! I came here to get the
truth from Snape, but instead I get brushed off, insulted and threatened. I watched him kill
Dumbledore, but if I testify to that in court, nobody will believe me. And there may be more to
Dumbledore’s death than what it seems, but I can’t find out one way or the other until Snape’s away
from Scrimgeour’s thugs.”

“He told you that?” Hermione asked inquisitively.

“Not out loud,” Harry admitted. “He, erm, sort of invaded my thoughts.”

Hermione looked down. “And you didn’t want to tell me because I was supposed to have taught you
occlumency.”

Harry lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You did the best you could. Especially
considering that Voldemort’s in my mind, lowering my defenses, reading my thoughts…” Harry’s other
hand went to Hermione’s forearm. He ran it lovingly down to her fingertips, which he then held
gently. “I think he’s taunting me, Hermione. When he was showing me all of those memories about
Septimus Prince…I think that was his way of telling me that he knew Dumbledore’s plan to save me
didn’t work.”

Hermione gave him a brave half-smile. “That makes sense, I suppose.” He could tell she was still
beating herself up for not turning Harry into a master occlumens.

“You know, Hermione,” Harry began, one hand still on Hermione’s cheek and the other holding hers
delicately, “when I have days like this, when it seems like the world’s found a way to kick me in
the bum and the teeth at the same time, the only thing that makes me feel better is you. When it
feels like the slimy gits of the world have taken over, and everything in my life is rubbish, I
know it isn’t because you’re still here. You make me grin like an idiot. You make me excited about
life. You make me a better person.” He kissed her quickly then, not wanting to miss the soft glow
in her eyes as he said these things. However, as one quick kiss was entirely unsatisfactory,
Harry’s lips had returned to her own in no time. After several minutes of very passionate snogging,
they both came up for air.

“Apparently, I make you a better kisser, too,” Hermione pointed out breathlessly.

“See?” Harry pointed out teasingly. “You are a good teacher.”

Hermione’s hands were intertwined around Harry’s neck as she stood on tiptoe to give him a peck on
the lips. “Thank you, Harry. You always know just how to cheer me up.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry replied with a triumphant smile. “Would you say it was the speech or the
kiss that helped the most?”

Hermione made a show of considering his question. “Hmm. The kiss, I’d say.”

Harry appeared to be disappointed. “I wish I would have known that beforehand. Then I could have
just skipped the speech and gotten straight to the snogging.”

Hermione laughed lightly. “The speech was nice, too.” The look in her eyes was one that Harry had
come to associate with her love for him and his for her. It was fire and familiarity all at once, a
warm hearth burning in the home he had been dreaming of his entire life without realizing it. “Now
kiss me again.” Ever the gentleman, Harry obliged.

A few minutes later, Harry’s lips were busily occupied along Hermione’s neckline when she cried
out, “Remus!”

“You know, Hermione,” he pointed out in a muffled voice, “it’s generally considered bad form to
call out another bloke’s name when I’m doing this,” he kissed the nape of her neck, “and this,” he
kissed her shoulder, “and this.”

“Harry,” Hermione protested weakly as she reluctantly pushed him off of her. “He’s coming this
way.”

“Remus,” Harry called out with forced enthusiasm. “How nice to see you again.”

Lupin looked amused. “I’m not blind, Harry. I know when I’m interrupting something you’d rather be
doing, but this is important.” He put one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I need to know what you’re
planning on saying at Snape’s trial. The Order has reason to believe that his defense will be a
strong one. They’re going to pick apart your story, which means they’ll probably have a story of
their own. One where you don’t come out looking so well, I’d wager.”

Harry’s eyes darted between Hermione and Lupin. “Hermione, I think I need to tell Remus
everything.”

“Everything?” Hermione questioned with a raised eyebrow. “By ‘everything’, do you mean…?”

“Everything,” Harry repeated more forcefully. He turned to face Remus. “D’you think you can handle
it?”

“I believe I can,” Lupin answered him honestly. “Although you might spare me some of the details of
your love life. You are the son of one of my best mates from school, you know. There’s only so much
I can take.”

Harry first told him about Voldemort’s horcruxes, then about his and Dumbledore’s search for them,
which promptly transformed into Harry, Ron and Hermione’s search for the horcruxes upon
Dumbledore’s death. He informed Remus of their trip to Godric’s Hollow, of what had really happened
the night Snape ‘attacked’ Ron and finally related what Snape had said to him only minutes
before.

“Incredible,” was Remus’ first response. Harry and Hermione watched as their former Defense Against
the Dark Arts teacher took a seat on a nearby bench. “Absolutely incredible. I can’t say what took
me more by surprise: the fact that Voldemort made seven horcruxes, the idea that you’re one of them
or the fact that, if I’m understanding this correctly, Ron Weasley is one as well.”

“That’s part of what I was hoping to find out from Snape,” Harry told him earnestly. “Does the
piece of Septimus Prince’s soul that Voldemort put into Severus Snape count as one of the seven
horcruxes or is there one more we don’t know about?”

Remus rubbed his temples slowly. “It boggles the mind.”

“You can see now why we need the truth from Snape so badly,” Hermione pointed out helpfully.
“Destroying the horcruxes is the only thing that will make Voldemort mortal again.”

“People have been seeking the truth from Snape for as long as I’ve known him. Yet I don’t know of
anyone who has found anything even remotely close to it. Your task is an unenviable one.” Harry was
lost in his own thoughts, as Hermione’s remark about ‘destroying the horcruxes’ only made him think
of the piece of Voldemort’s soul which currently resided within his own mind.. “Whatever happens
today, Harry, you mustn’t testify. Your reputation will be damaged, but not nearly as much as it
would be if the rumors of your being a half-crazy glory hound resurface, which they would if the
truth about the carpe diem potion came out.” Lupin looked thoughtful. “For the life of me, I can’t
understand why Albus would have given you that potion instead of teaching you occlumency.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe he knew that it would be impossible to do with a piece of Voldemort’s soul
inside my mind. Hermione and I certainly haven’t been having much luck with it.”

Lupin did not seem convinced. “Perhaps.”

“But if Harry doesn’t testify,” Hermione reasoned, “Snape would be released immediately. He could
go into hiding or disappear somewhere before we even got the chance to question him.”

Lupin smiled proudly. “Alastor, Kingsley and I came here today to make certain that that wouldn’t
happen. In the event of his release, the executive committee of the Order of the Phoenix is
authorized to take Severus Snape into custody.”

Harry frowned. “Where will you be taking him?”

“Where the Order now has its strongest presence,” Remus answered him. “Hogwarts. Headmistress
McGonagall has appointed me as Special Assistant to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Shacklebolt and Moody will have similar titles. If that flies, more Order members will be brought
in.”

Hermione seemed to be considering something. “McGonagall’s beefing up security there, in light of
Voldemort’s threatened attack. But won’t you three land in trouble for kidnapping Snape?”

“Make no mistake about it, Hermione. Snape’s release will embarrass the Ministry. It may even force
Scrimgeour to resign. So I don’t think they’ll care where Snape goes, so long as he’s out of their
hair.” The werewolf’s expression became gloomy. “The war has taken an incredibly poor turn of late.
There are spies everywhere; magical creatures are lining up to fight on Voldemort’s side; the ranks
of the Death Eaters are swelling and yet…” Lupin’s voice trailed off.

“And yet what?” Harry asked quickly.

“It’s almost as if he’s waiting for something. Voldemort’s assembling his forces as though he’s in
a hurry, but there have been no major offensives, no tempting targets hit.” Lupin gave Harry and
Hermione a worried look. “Whatever it is that he’s waiting for, it has to be something huge.”

A sudden clamor from inside the building drew their attention. “They must be bringing Snape in
now,” Hermione concluded.

“Then we haven’t much time before this gets out of hand,” Remus Lupin declared, standing abruptly.
“I need to inform Alastor and Kingsley that we’ll be taking Snape.” When Harry cast him a slightly
anxious look, he continued, “I won’t tell them everything you told me, of course. Just that you
won’t be testifying.” Both Harry and Hermione looked relieved. “I’ll contact Minerva and let her
know that we may need to take additional security precautions. Perhaps I should owl Hagrid as
well.”

As a gaggle of reporters rushed by, Remus motioned for Harry to hide behind a large column. “You
should make only a single statement and do it while the press isn’t around. The man you’ll want to
talk to is Sophocles Plante; he’s the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry nodded slowly as a feeling of dread came over him. “We’ve met.”

Lupin’s voice became a whisper. “Good. Then you know what he looks like. Now, as for what you
should say, make it short and to the point. Do not recant your initial statement or make yourself
out to be a liar. Simply inform him that you cannot testify.” Remus patted him on the arm. “As soon
as you’re done, take Hermione and get out of here. Go back to Hogwarts and wait for us there. We’ll
find a way to sneak Snape into the castle. Is everything clear?”

“Very,” Harry answered, although everything actually felt very murky to him. As Remus Lupin jogged
into the building, Harry stepped back to stand beside Hermione. “I think Mr. Plante just might
change his mind about my fitness to be an Auror.”

***
As night fell, Harry Potter was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, turning his
kidney pie over with his fork unenthusiastically. Hermione sat across from him, giving him
occasional supportive looks and holding his hand under the table. Ron was seated right next to
Harry, digging into his second helping of roast beef. They were the only two students sitting
within fifty meters of him. He supposed he should have been used to being shunned by his fellow
classmates by now, but it never did get any easier. The evening edition of the Daily Prophet had
arrived by owl just before dinner, which led to pointed, icy glares and harsh whispers. More than a
few young Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked ready to walk across the hall to have a word with him,
only to be held back by older students in their house, usually former D.A. members. His fellow
Gryffindors had said little, but that only meant that they weren’t ready to speak to him either. On
the other hand, he had never been so popular among the Slytherins. A first year had even asked him
to autograph the article about Snape’s release.

“Don’t think it could have turned out better myself,” Ron said from beside him. Harry turned his
head slightly to glare at him. “Well, alright, maybe things aren’t so great for your social life,”
Ron admitted. “But think about it. If Snape had produced evidence that you were doped up on carpe
diem potion that was served to you here, in your food, without you knowing about it, they would
have had to close the school.” Ron thought about that for a moment. “Worse yet, they might have had
to close the kitchens.”

“Maybe they should have,” Harry countered moodily. “If Voldemort’s going to show up here on
Halloween, it might be best not to have hundreds of innocent children running around, scared out of
their wits.”

Ron shook his head. “The munchkins aren’t the problem and you know it. If the school’s closed, that
makes it that much harder for you to be here.” Ron scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes. “And
if they’d sent Snape to Azkaban for killing Dumbledore, we’d never hear another word from him.
Which, admittedly, would have sounded great a few months ago….”

“But the Ministry’s had to dismiss all charges against him,” Hermione remarked with a sigh, “so the
only leverage we could use to get him to talk is gone.”

“You two sad sacks really are perfect for each other, you know that?” Ron downed the last of his
pumpkin juice and then reached for the pitcher. “I prefer to see the glass as half full.”

Harry held his face dispiritedly in one hand, but his eyes darted to Ron’s glass. “From here it
looks entirely empty.”

“But that’s the genius of glasses, you see,” Ron said as he poured pumpkin juice into his cup.
“They can always be refilled.” At that moment, Luna Lovegood approached from the Ravenclaw table.
“Luna! Just the girl I wanted to hear from.” The blonde sixth year Ravenclaw smiled widely at him.
“Take a look at this and tell me what you see.”

Luna stared at the glass of pumpkin juice for a few seconds before answering, “It’s a glass of
pumpkin juice.”

Ron smiled victoriously. “You see? That’s what I love about Luna. She never overcomplicates
things.”

Luna Lovegood blushed prettily, then leaned over to speak in Harry’s ear. “I’ve heard memory loss
can occur after a coma, but this is worse than I thought. Has he forgotten about any other food
items?”

Harry watched with amusement as Ron shoveled the last of his potatoes into his mouth, making his
cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. “Somehow I don’t think so.”

Just as Ron appeared ready to invite Luna to sit down at the Gryffindor table in the very ample
space offered them by their fellow Gryffindors, a clearly out of breath Neville Longbottom ran
inside the Great Hall, making a beeline for where the three of them were sitting. “Harry!” he
exclaimed. “Professor Lupin’s here. He says for you to meet him near Hagrid’s hut.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. Although he knew this was coming, he had been dreading it. Would
anything Snape had to say be worth Dumbledore’s murderer not receiving justice? As he rose from the
table, Ron and Hermione followed suit. To his surprise, Luna and Neville did as well, following the
three of them as they exited the castle.

“Er, Harry,” Neville began with a slight stammer. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you
about.”

“Unless it has to do with why I didn’t testify at Snape’s trial, I’d be happy to talk about
anything you like,” Harry told him.

“No, nothing like that,” Neville replied with a relieved giggle. “Well, you know, well… maybe you
know, or maybe you did know at one time but don’t know now or tried not to know, but, um,
IsortoffancyGinny.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his tone deliberately noncommittal.

Neville refused to look at Harry. “And I know you fancied her for a good while last year and then
you dated her but you broke things off and so I was just wondering if you’d hex me for asking her
out?”

“Who Ginny dates is absolutely none of my business, Neville,” Harry replied, his voice pleasant but
firm. “If you’re looking for my blessing, you have it, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t think
Ginny’s taken our break up very well, though.” ‘Yeah,’ Harry added, ‘and I don’t think Voldemort
wants to become best friends with me and braid my hair, either. Way to understate, Potter.’
“Anyway, I don’t think I’m really the seventh-year Gryffindor boy you need to ask for permission to
date Ginny Weasley. Why aren’t you talking to…?” But before he even finished the question, it
became obvious why he wasn’t talking to Ron Weasley. Ron was chatting very amicably with Luna
Lovegood. In fact, he appeared to be playing with a necklace made from brightly colored feathers
and muggle dice that she was wearing around her neck. “Well, never mind then. Good call,
Neville.”

“I’d like to think that I know love when I see it.” Harry quickly saw that Neville was no longer
looking at Ron and Luna as he said this, but at Hermione, who had entwined her arm with Harry’s own
as they walked. Harry was so used to her presence by his side that he had barely noticed the
gesture. With an appreciative nod to Neville, Harry leaned down and kissed Hermione gently on the
lips, a promise of things to come.

As the five friends neared Hagrid’s hut, Lupin called out to them. “Harry! So very nice of you to
join us.” Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hagrid seemed less pleased by their appearance,
although Kingsley did manage a polite smile.

Harry looked around in confusion. “Where’s Snape?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion to whom you’re referring, Harry,” Remus told him in an overly loud
voice. “The four of us were just discussing a certain greasy gopher that recently escaped from its
pen. We were thinking of keeping the gopher under twenty-four hour guard in the dungeons until he
spills his guts, which he has so kindly agreed to do. We were also wondering if you might help us
herd him into the castle.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, immediately recognizing the need to speak in code. The walls very likely
had ears. “So, erm, where are you keeping the gopher?”

“Well hidden, isn’t he?” Mad-Eye Moody asked rhetorically. “He’s standing right here, among
us.”

Harry didn’t understand at first, looking frantically around for someone hiding under an
invisibility cloak or using the disillusionment charm. Hermione, however, being far more clever
than Harry could ever hope to be, had already figured it out. “Hello, Hagrid,” she called out to
the half-giant in an artificially sweet voice. “How are you feeling today?”

“Completely mortified,” came the voice from Hagrid’s mouth, although it was not the familiarly
gruff, warm voice of Harry’s first friend. It was Severus Snape’s oily deceitful tone.

“Brilliant,” Ron assessed jubilantly. “No one would ever suspect Hagrid of anything underhanded!
Well, you know, except for the time that they thought he was responsible for Aragog killing Moaning
Myrtle and kicked him out of school.” Ron fell silent suddenly at the memory.

“I take it you used polyjuice potion,” Luna commented as she examined ‘Hagrid’ closely. “Although I
wasn’t aware that it worked on giants.”

“Only on half-giants, Miss Lovegood,” Lupin explained with an amused little half-smile. “Luckily,
our gopher had some of the potion stored away. For just such an occasion, one would suppose.” Here
he stared suspiciously at Snape’s now gigantic form. “Not only would few suspect that we would
disguise the gopher as Hagrid, but it allows us to explain believably why said gopher would not be
carrying a wand.”

Hermione frowned. “But what happens if someone asks ‘Hagrid’ a question?”

“Then I shall pretend that I have a cold and all the brains of a bowtruckle,” Snape said coldly.
“Now if you’re through explaining your actions to these children, Remus, I’d like to get this
charade under way before I have to ingest any more of Rubeus Hagrid’s hair.”

Lupin bristled, but refused to be baited by Severus Snape. “Harry, it would look less suspicious if
you, Hermione and Ron re-entered the castle with the gopher, while we stay behind. Keep your wands
out, but try not to point them directly at Hagrid.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Harry replied shortly. He knew Lupin was his elder and that he had been
their teacher, but his father’s old friend had certainly been bossy lately. Had it somehow escaped
his attention that Harry was now of age?

‘Hagrid’ picked up on this quickly as the four of them walked back down the path to Hogwarts. “Do I
sense tension between you and the werewolf, Potter?”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped.

“Or perhaps the tension is between yourself and Mr. Weasley,” Snape tried. “He was the one who was
enamored of Miss Granger before our little incident at the Quibbler, wasn’t he?”

“Shut up,” Ron added, apparently not feeling very original.

Snape was not about to be quiet when he was getting the better of them like this, however.
“Personally I cannot fathom why either one of you would have a romantic interest in her. She’s
plain, bossy and not nearly so intelligent as she makes herself out to be.”

“Shut up!!” Harry and Ron cried in unison, only to be followed quickly by Hermione waving her
wand.

“Silencio.” As Hagrid’s normally kind eyes glared daggers at her, she explained. “It’s only until
we’re inside. Then I hope you’ll at least have the decency not to mouth off and blow your cover.
Hagrid certainly wouldn’t ever say those horrible things.” Snape rolled his eyes, but could do
nothing.

They entered the castle without incident, although ‘Hagrid’ bumped his head going through several
doorways, much to the amusement of Harry and Ron. Hermione removed the silencing charm as well, but
thankfully Snape’s biting wit had remained muzzled. At least until he saw a figure in Slytherin
robes, sitting at the table with some of his fellow instructors. “Tell me that isn’t who I think it
is.”

“That’s Commodus Brinecove,” Hermione informed him matter-of-factly. “He’s our new Defense Against
the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Wait,” said Ron with a pitying laugh. “You didn’t actually think they were going to keep the job
open for you, did you?”

“Brinecove shouldn’t be here,” ‘Snape as Hagrid’ declared roughly.

“Well, neither should you,” Harry reminded him. “But the incompetence of the Ministry put you both
here. Only he’s here legally, so I wouldn’t make a scene if I were you.”

“Albus and I agreed,” Snape went on, as though Harry had said nothing. “The temptation would be too
great. Hogwarts is the last place he should be.”

“The temptation to do what?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

Snape shook Hagrid’s head, as if suddenly remembering where he was. “Never mind. Take me to the
dungeons.” As several passing students eyed him strangely, he cleared his throat and said, in a
very exaggerated imitation of Hagrid’s voice, “I mean, I’m a gian’ oaf, I am and I’m goin’ down to
the dungeons to fin’ some grub for me pet dragon.”

Sheepishly the three of them shoved Snape through the ever-changing stairwells of Hogwarts until
they arrived at the dungeons. Headmistress McGonagall and the real Hagrid were already there to
meet them. Both of them looked about as happy to see him as they would have been to see a giant
swarm of stink beetles. “Inside,” McGonagall ordered him as she opened the door to a room that
looked like it had not seen a ray of light in several centuries.

As Hagrid bolted the door, Harry could once again hear Snape’s voice inside his head. 'Find me
tomorrow and I’ll tell you everything I know that might be of use to you. But not here. I don’t
want every dolt and madman Dumbledore recruited into the Order to hear what I’m going to say. Mr.
Weasley will know where I wish to take you.'

Once the three of them were out of earshot of McGonagall and Hagrid, Harry nudged Ron with his
elbow. “Snape says you know where he wants to talk to us tomorrow.”

Ron had a half-hearted smile on his face as he nodded. “I reckon I do. We’re going back down to the
Chamber of Secrets, mate.”

**And so, the next chapter is called "The Chambers of Secrets". Makes sense, right?
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and continue to enjoy the story as it winds down (only five
chapters to go) (or maybe six).

ITL**

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19. Chapter 18: The Chambers of Secrets
---------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or Warner Brothers. However, with
as many times as I've watched the International Trailer for Harry Potter and the Order of the
Phoenix, you'd think I own stock in the company.

This chapter is dedicated to my beta reader, who was unfortunately sidelined and unable to vet this
chapter. If any mistakes are spotted, that's why.

You might want to grab a Coke or something before you read this chapter. It's a long
one.**

Chapter 18: The Chambers of Secrets

“Harry Potter.” The soft whisper of his name echoed in his ears, so much so that he immediately
wondered where he was. It was a large room to be sure and Harry could hear a constant thumping
noise coming from behind him, which heightened his feeling of disorientation. Even though
everything was pitch black, he could still feel the weight of his wand in his hand.

“Lumos.” Light erupted from the tip of his wand, blinding him for only a second, but then slowly
revealing the nature of the room where he now stood. As the dim light began to cut through the
darkness, it revealed statues of people with animal heads towering over him. Behind them,
hieroglyphics lined the walls. ‘I’m in some sort of old Egyptian tomb.’

It was a good theory. Harry thought so, at least. That was until he saw what was causing the
thumping noise.

Colossal cylindrical columns ran down the middle of the expansive room, rising from the ceiling
only to crash with a tremendous impact onto the stone floor. They did this repeatedly and at
different intervals, acting like a set of huge stone pistons. Clearly, this was not just an old
Egyptian tomb. “Now why does something tell me that I’m going to have to get past these things
before I can get out of here?”

“Life’s path can be a difficult one to tread sometimes,” a welcome voice called out from behind
him. Harry turned and took in the familiar sight of an older wizard with a long, white beard,
half-moon shaped glasses and a twinkle in his eye. “But in the end, if we have made the right
choices, what lies ahead for us is always worth the trials we have endured.”

“Dumbledore,” Harry said with a relieved smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I can’t stay, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore remarked sadly. “The course of my current journey does not
allow for me to remain in any one place for too long. However, I felt honor bound to be here for
the big event.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean by ‘the big event’?”

“The final confrontation between Voldemort and yourself, of course,” the elder wizard explained.
“It will happen just beyond this door.” Here Dumbledore waved his arms in the direction of an
entryway just behind them. A massive stone slab barred the entrance.

“How do I get through?” Harry asked his old mentor curiously.

“Trust in yourself, Harry,” Dumbledore advised him sagely. “Remember what has allowed you to come
this far. Your own abilities are far greater than you know. They are what will get you through this
battle.”

“That’s great advice,” Harry told him with an amused half-smile. “But I was asking about getting
through the door.”

“Oh,” Dumbledore replied, not looking the least bit embarrassed. His eyes examined the entryway
carefully. “I would imagine your wand is the key.”

“My wand?” Harry asked in befuddlement. “You mean there’s a spell that can open it? Alohamora or
wingardium leviosa, maybe?”

Now it was Dumbledore’s turn to smile. “I am not here to give you all of the answers. I’m afraid,
even from my current vantage point, I still don’t have them.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, giving Dumbledore an expectant look. “Can you at least tell me if I
win?”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “The future may be predicted, prophesied about and
prepared for, but it is never etched in stone. The outcome of the battle is entirely up to you.”
Hogwarts’ former Headmaster looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see something which Harry
could not. “Now I must go, Harry. It seems you have another visitor.”

Before Harry could ask Dumbledore who he meant, his scar began to twinge. Immediately, the scenery
changed, bringing him to the middle of a forest at night. Cloaked figures in skull-shaped masks
surrounded him, some of them bearing torches. Below him was a figure on his knees with a dark green
sack over his head. “Who is this that kneels before me?” Harry could hear Voldemort ask as he felt
his own mouth move to speak the words.

Lucius Malfoy’s familiarly pompous voice answered. “His name is Commodus Brinecove, my Lord. A
member of Slytherin House with an impeccable pureblood lineage.”

Voldemort was not facing his followers now, preferring to stare off into the starry night sky.
“Will you vouch for him, Malfoy?”

When Lucius Malfoy said nothing, another voice spoke up. “I will, my Lord.” Voldemort spun around
and locked eyes with another of his Death Eaters, a figure clearly recognizable, even under the
cloak and mask, as a young Severus Snape.

“Very well. Lestrange, remove his hood.” Once Rodolphus Lestrange had done so, Commodus Brinecove’s
face was revealed, looking every bit as drawn and pale as it did now. His hair had yet to turn
mostly gray, however, and remained a very dark black. “You come before me tonight in an effort to
become one of my servants. Is this correct?”

Brinecove looked straight ahead, his face unflinching. “Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort stared down at him with suspicion. “Do you swear that you will follow my commands
faithfully and to the letter?”

Commodus Brinecove remained perfectly still, his eyes seeming to examine the ground. “Of course, my
Lord.”

“And you would sooner eat death than betray me?” Voldemort finished, as he now approached
Brinecove’s kneeling form.

“Yes, my Lord.” Voldemort lifted Brinecove’s chin so that their eyes met.

“Then show me.” Harry could see Voldemort’s fearsome visage reflected in Brinecove’s pupils.
“Legilimens!” Immediately, Commodus Brinecove’s memories flooded through Harry’s mind. They were
all a jumble and Harry felt as though he was only seeing about half of them, but two caught his
attention: one which showed Brinecove talking to Dumbledore and another where he was having a
conversation with a redhead who could only be Harry’s mother.

As Voldemort’s mind released Brinecove’s, the Dark Lord let out a roar of frustration. “He is a
spy!” At the word ‘spy’, complete silence reigned throughout the forest as the evil wizard turned
to address his Death Eaters. “A double agent, sent to me by Albus Dumbledore!” Voldemort rounded on
Brinecove. “You insolent fool! Did you really believe that you could deceive me?”

“I am not deceiving you, my Lord, I swear it! There’s been some sort of mistake! I am only loyal to
you!” Brinecove looked so shocked that Harry would not have been surprised if he’d fainted, right
there and then.

“May I have the pleasure of killing him, Master?” a younger version of Bellatrix Lestrange asked
eagerly.

“I’m afraid not,” Voldemort answered her, his voice almost a growl. “It was Snape who vouched for
him. He must be the one to kill this traitor.”

Just as another Death Eater, who was standing farther away from Voldemort than any of the others
who had spoken thus far, looked ready to say something, Snape spoke. “May I be so bold as to
suggest an alternate punishment, my Lord?”

“Snape is obviously too weak to carry out your commands,” Bellatrix hissed as she pointed her wand
at Brinecove. “Avada ke…”

“Crucio!” Voldemort’s enraged voice interrupted her, forcing her to drop to her knees in pain.
“Much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, Lestrange, you have spoken out of turn. Let us hear Snape’s
idea for Brinecove’s punishment.”

As Voldemort removed the Cruciatus Curse from Bellatrix Lestrange, Snape said, “I think Brinecove
would find death preferable to being sent back to Albus Dumbledore empty handed.” The other Death
Eaters seemed very uneasy with this idea. “For whatever reason, Brinecove idolizes the doddering
old simpleton. If he comes back alive and with nothing, Dumbledore will never believe that you
simply released him. He knows that you show traitors no mercy. He will shun Brinecove for as long
as he lives.”

No Death Eater dared say anything as Voldemort slowly walked toward Severus Snape. Eventually he
stood at eye level with Snape, breathing heavily and looking very angry. “Leave us. This meeting is
over. I wish to speak with Snape alone.”

“Master,” Lucius Malfoy interjected smoothly, “may I simply suggest…”

“I will not repeat myself, Malfoy,” Voldemort rasped, a look of loathing set in his eyes. Within
seconds, every wizard other than Voldemort, Severus Snape and Commodus Brinecove had apparated out
of the woods.

“If…if only I had taken the apparition test…” Brinecove blubbered pathetically.

“Stop your simpering! Crucio!” Voldemort turned his wand on Brinecove and watched him writhe on the
ground in pure agony for a few moments before turning his attention back to Severus Snape.

“If my suggestion was offensive to you, my Lord, I can only say in my own defense that I did not
mean for it to be,” Snape tried, clearly nervous at the idea that Voldemort might murder him as
they stood alone in this dark forest.

Voldemort shook his head. “On the contrary, I find your suggestion brilliant. So few wizards truly
know the difference between cruelty and brutality. They mistake one for the other. Killing your
enemy is nowhere near as satisfying as destroying everything that makes him what he is. Death comes
in an instant. Suffering can last a lifetime.” His eyes returned slowly to Commodus Brinecove’s
shrieking form. “For now, Brinecove may live. I wish to extend his suffering, if only for a little
while.”

“Then, if I may ask, my Lord, why did you wish to speak with me alone?” Snape asked meekly,
swallowing all of his fear and looking Voldemort straight in the eye.

“Because Dumbledore has sent a spy to me,” Voldemort explained with look of exasperation. “He wants
to unleash a mongoose into my den of vipers. In time, he will find one who is more convincing, or
better at occlumency. I know Albus. Once he seizes on such an idea, he will not let go of it.
Eventually, there will be a spy for the Order of the Phoenix inside the ranks of my Death
Eaters.”

“Surely this spy will be discovered quickly,” Snape pointed out. “He or she will not be able to
fool you for long.”

“Perhaps,” Voldemort conceded. “But then again, perhaps not. The more I think on it, the more I
believe I should give him his spy.”

“Pardon me, Master,” Snape replied, clearly startled by the notion. “I do not believe I understand
your meaning.”

“Suppose one of my Death Eaters were to defect to the Order,” Voldemort mused aloud. “This Death
Eater would then offer to act as a double agent for Dumbledore, supplying him with information
about my operations and activities. In actuality, however, he would be working for me, giving me
information about the Order and feeding Dumbledore only what intelligence I see fit.”

“This would be an extraordinarily dangerous mission, my Lord,” Snape pointed out. “Who would you
trust to undertake it?”

Voldemort’s bony finger hit Snape’s chest. “You. You are the only one I can trust.” The Dark Lord
began walking around Brinecove’s twitching body in the darkness and, with the flick of his wand,
built a large fire very close to where the Slytherin was crying out in pain. “You’ve seen these
young Turks I have around me, so full of single-minded ambition. I couldn’t possibly entrust them
with such power. But you…well, you have so much of your grandfather in you. He lied to my face so
many times but he never betrayed me, though he had many opportunities to do so. This mission
requires an expert liar who I can trust. Will you do it?”

“I…” Snape stammered. “If you order me to do so, Master, I cannot refuse.”

“This isn’t an order,” Voldemort explained. “I need you to do this voluntarily. Will you do it,
Septimus?”

If Snape had any desire to point out that his name was not ‘Septimus’, he did not show it. “Of
course, my Lord.”

Voldemort picked up Brinecove by his neck and held him over the fire. “Excellent. Now, whatever are
we to do with you?” As Voldemort reveled in the pain in Brinecove’s eyes, it seemed to spread like
wildfire into Harry’s mind.

Harry Potter woke up screaming loudly, as though he were under the Cruciatus Curse himself. Pain
flowed in waves through his head, and he felt as though his forehead might split itself open at any
moment. For the first time, he could feel Voldemort’s presence, not just in his mind, but
everywhere. It was as though dark magic flowed through his veins, allowing the evil wizard’s life
energy to surge through his body.

“Get out,” Harry whispered harshly, his hands pressed firmly against his forehead as he rocked back
and forth on the floor. “Get out of my head. Leave me be.”

He tried to think back to his occlumency lessons with Hermione, making a valiant attempt to shut
Voldemort out of his mind. His efforts at occlumency had been a wash, though, so he had no real
hope of it working. Astonishingly, however, it seemed to. It was as if he could feel a door closing
in his mind and Voldemort disappearing behind it. The pain vanished as quickly as it had come,
leaving him lying on the floor, breathless and sweating profusely but no longer under attack.

Harry rose slowly and looked around at his new accommodations. Headmistress McGonagall had given
Hermione and himself access to the suites of the Head Boy and Girl the night before. Unhappily for
them (and contrary to a quite popular Hogwarts rumor) the two rooms were not joined by anything,
nor were they even next to each other. A long hallway separated the Head Boy’s room from the Head
Girl’s, making the prospect of late night dalliances slightly more daunting.

Harry couldn’t help but grin at that thought. He always had enjoyed a challenge.

There was a little over an hour left until breakfast would be served in the Great Hall, but Harry
guessed Hermione would already be up and about by now, given what an early riser she usually was.
She would want to know all about Harry’s dream and his scar hurting, not to mention that their
occlumency lessons finally seemed to be paying off. Of course, if she wanted a good morning kiss or
two (or more)… well, who was he to say no?

Dressing casually, he crossed the hall to the Head Girl’s room and knocked on Hermione’s door.
Within a few moments, she opened it, revealing that Hermione was already decked out in her
Gryffindor robes, her bushy hair as tamed as it ever was without the use of Sleekeasy’s and her
Head Girl badge already pinned proudly on her chest. “Harry,” Hermione greeted him with a grimace,
“you look terrible.”

Harry tried hard to look hurt by that remark. “That’s not a very flattering thing to say to your
boyfriend, Hermione.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Harry, I’m still attracted to you. It’s just that you look
pale, sweaty and disheveled…and you’re not wearing your Head Boy badge,” she finished in a
disappointed tone.

“I had a dream,” Harry explained as Hermione’s expression suddenly became much more sympathetic. “A
Voldemort dream. It was all about Brinecove and Snape becoming a spy and then my scar started to
hurt. I mean, really hurt, like it never has before. It wasn’t just that, either. It sort of felt
like Voldemort was moving around inside me…wait a minute. I just had a horrible thought.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked.

“You’re not only dating me because I’m Head Boy, are you?” Harry inquired only
half-seriously.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I seem to recall falling madly in love with you several years before
you were even eligible to be named Head Boy. Of course, if you don’t believe me, you could always
hand in your badge. I heard that Headmistress McGonagall asked Ernie Macmillan to perform your
traditional duties while you were gone.”

Harry leaned closer to Hermione, his hands going to her waist and slowly snaking their way around
her back. “Do you really want Ernie Macmillan to be the one performing my traditional duties?” he
asked her in a low voice.

“N…no,” Hermione answered honestly as Harry’s lips began lightly caressing her neck. “I would have
preferred Terry Boot. He’s much more responsible.” Harry drew back a little to look into her eyes,
his bottom lip puffed out in a pout. Her eyes clearly revealed that she was teasing him, however,
and after a moment he picked her up and held her in his arms as she squealed in half-hearted
protest. “Put me down.”

“Oh, I will,” Harry assured her as he began to enter the Head Girl’s room. “I’m just still deciding
where exactly I want to…Ah!” A magical barrier at the threshold of the door stopped him dead in his
tracks and forced him to release Hermione. “Bloody hell!”

Hermione hid her laughter poorly behind one hand. “Sorry about that, Harry. I forgot to tell you
that the Head Girl’s quarters won’t allow any boy to enter, even the Head Boy. It’s just like the
girls’ dormitories.” Harry looked miffed. “Don’t worry, I don’t think the room suspects you of
anything underhanded. It probably just thinks you want to see me naked.”

“Smart room,” Harry muttered as he rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think my head can take much more
punishment today.”

Hermione sobered instantly. “I’m sorry, Harry. Before we got sidetracked, you were telling me about
Voldemort’s presence moving around inside of you. What happened?”

“That’s what I came over here to tell you,” Harry remembered with a grin. “I drove him out of my
mind using occlumency. All of those lessons must have worked after all.”

Without warning, Hermione threw herself around Harry, practically crushing him in a bear hug. “Oh
Harry, I’m so proud of you. You did it!”

“We did it,” Harry reminded her as she pulled out of his embrace slightly in order to look into his
eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione told him earnestly, her eyes shining brightly with pride. “I knew all
you had to do was believe in yourself.”

Harry kissed her tenderly. “It helped that you believed in me first.” They began to kiss again,
this time much more passionately.

As they came up for air, Hermione moaned slightly but shook her head, all too familiar with the
look of desire in Harry’s eyes by now. “We can’t right now, Harry. I have to be at breakfast early
to meet someone. Besides, we’re supposed to set good examples,” Harry began planting soft kisses on
her cheek, “for the other students,” and her jaw line, “especially the first years…Harry, I’m
serious this time. We can’t. Besides, you’re in desperate need of a shower.”

“Am I?” he asked coyly. Until now, he had forgotten all about the Heads’ bathroom, which,
conveniently enough, both of them could enter. “I suppose I could stand a nice long, hot bath. Care
to join me?”

Hermione looked sorely tempted, but was determined to stand her ground. “I told someone I’d meet
them and I’m not one to go back on my word.”

Harry kissed the bridge of her nose and then whispered in her ear. “I’ll wear my Head Boy badge,”
he promised in an enticing sing-song voice.

***
“Oy,” cried out a grumpy-looking Ron, “why are you two so late for breakfast? All of the good stuff
is already gone.”

“No reason,” Hermione answered at the same time that Harry said, “Overslept.”

Ron did not appear to be in the mood to dissect their alibi. “Yeah, well, my morning’s been rotten.
First, Viktor Krum comes by and asks where Hermione is and then, when he finds out you’re doing who
knows what somewhere other than here, he gets all in a tizzy and orders me to give this to you.”
Ron handed Hermione a rumpled piece of paper. “I sure hope you can read it because I couldn’t. It
must be in Vulgarian or something.”

“It’s Bulgarian, Ron, and how dare you read a message that was intended for me,” Hermione scolded
him.

“But I just told you I couldn’t read it,” Ron protested.

“That’s not the point,” Hermione said tersely. “The point is that you should respect the privacy of
others.” Hermione examined the note closely. “Ooh, it’s in code.”

As his girlfriend set about decoding a secret message from her ex-boyfriend, Harry made a conscious
effort to pretend not to care what was in the note. Ron, meanwhile, decided to continue complaining
about his morning. “So then Percy sits down next to me and starts laying into you, Harry. He’s
going on about how reckless you are and that it’ll never get me anywhere to be your friend and all
of that rot. When I told him to sod off, he assigned me the five weeks’ worth of Potions
assignments that I missed. Then when I pointed out that I was in a coma for those five weeks and
that he might have known that if he had ever come around to visit me, he got this look on his face
like he had swallowed a lemon and told me I only had until the end of the week to have everything
handed in.” Ron stirred his porridge slowly, looking very glum. “Lucky for me, Septimus Prince was
aces at potions. I guess, with him being a squib and all, it was one of the few magical subjects he
could handle.”

Harry looked at Hermione briefly to see if she might say anything about Ron ‘cheating’ at Potions
by using Prince’s memories. She seemed too engrossed by what Krum had written, however, and again
Harry did his level best to pretend not to care. “Just when I thought my morning couldn’t get any
worse, Ginny stomps in and demands to know if I want to play Keeper again. When I tell her that I
do, she says I have to have a try out. After two years on the team and two Quidditch cups, I have
to have another try out! And against that wanker she replaced me with, too.”

“Colin Creevey isn’t a wanker,” Hermione reproved him without looking up from Krum’s message. “He
was in the D.A.”

Ron scoffed. “That doesn’t prove anything. Zacharias Smith was in the D.A. and he’s a wanker.
Michael Corner was in the D.A. and he’s a wanker.”

Hermione finally put down Krum’s note and let out a small sigh. “Frankly, I don’t know why they
haven’t done away with Quidditch matches altogether.”

Ron dropped his spoon just as he was about to shovel in another bite of porridge. “What an awful
thing to say! You don’t hear me saying, ‘It’s a wonder they haven’t closed the library,’ do
you?”

“I’m serious, Ron,” Hermione countered. “We have more important things to worry about than
Quidditch.”

“Not everybody knows about the Halloween threat, though,” Harry pointed out. “McGonagall said it
would just panic the student body for no reason and draw fire from the Ministry. Brinecove,
Chambers and Percy would throw a fit if the Order members went around saying they knew Voldemort
was going to attack the school.”

“That’s sort of what Krum’s message is about,” Hermione admitted warily. “At Bill and Fleur’s
wedding, I asked him to come here and keep an eye on the teachers the Ministry appointed. This is
his report on their activities.”

“Well, what does it say?” Ron asked impatiently as Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

“I haven’t decoded it all yet,” Hermione snapped. “Give me enough time and I’ll share it with you.
If you ask nicely.”

“Did I hear you say you were decoding somethin’?” Seamus Finnigan asked from beside Hermione. His
voice startled all three of them, as few Gryffindors had spoken to Harry, Hermione or Ron since the
evening edition of the Daily Prophet had arrived last night.

Hermione, who might ordinarily have told Seamus to mind his own business, replied, “Yes I was,
actually.”

“You might want to talk to Neville, then,” Seamus suggested, although he refused to make eye
contact with Harry. “That’s all he does anymore is decode secret messages. He uses this special ink
that smells to high heaven. Nobody knows who the messages’re from, but he takes it all very
serious.”

“Thanks, Seamus,” Hermione replied with a smile of genuine gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. Oh and Harry,” Seamus said before he disappeared around the corner. Harry looked
up at him hopefully, expecting that perhaps Seamus would say something encouraging to him. “You’ve
got bath bubbles on your Head Boy badge. I thought you should know.”

Sheepishly, Harry brushed the bubbles from his badge, hoping nobody else had noticed. “So you’re
trying out for the Quidditch team again, aren’t you, Harry?” Ron asked, ever eager to change the
subject back to Quidditch. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Actually, considering how much I’ve been off the team the last two years, it will be the same
without me.” Harry shook his head. “Besides, where would I be playing? Chaser? I doubt Ginny would
change positions for me at this point.”

“I’m really glad you waited to say that until after you guys broke up,” Ron remarked to a scowl
from Hermione, “but I wouldn’t underestimate Ginny’s desire to win. She wants to put the best team
out there that she can.”

Harry shook his head. “I just don’t think I can concentrate on Quidditch right now, mate. It’s only
a few weeks until Halloween. Right now, I have to focus on Voldemort.”

Hermione nodded approvingly as Ron looked profoundly disappointed. Hermione then glanced at her
watch and indicated that it was nearly time for the three of them to go to class. “Remember, we’ll
be meeting Snape in the second floor girls’ lavatory at noon. Don’t be late.” Her last sentence was
directed specifically at Ron.

Ron hung his head sadly. “Skipping lunch to meet Snape in the girls’ bathroom. It’s like something
out of a nightmare.” Suddenly, his head shot up. “I can’t believe I almost forgot. Would either of
you mind if Luna came along?”

Harry and Hermione shared a knowing look. “I don’t know, Ron,” Harry answered for both of them,
suppressing a smirk as best he could. “We’ll have to think about it.”

Ron looked nervous all of a sudden. “Well, erm, the thing is, I sort of already told her she
could.”

“Really?” Hermione asked in feigned surprise. “In that case, I suppose we don’t have much choice in
the matter, do we?”

Ron, oblivious to Hermione’s moods as always, smiled and looked grateful. “Thanks, guys. You’re the
best.”

Their first class of the morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which at least meant that they
wouldn’t have to lug any books around. As Harry took a seat next to Hermione with Ron on the other
side of him, he could not help but stare at Professor Brinecove and think back to his latest
Voldemort dream. ‘Was Brinecove really hoping to become a spy for Dumbledore? Or did he have some
other reason for wanting to become a Death Eater?’ As he remembered Brinecove swearing his loyalty
to Voldemort, he missed what the Professor had said entirely and looked around in confusion as
everyone else in the classroom stood.

Hermione’s elbow nudged him hard. “Come on, Harry. We have to pair off and practice spells on each
other.”

As everyone found a partner and stood around their desks or in the front of the classroom, Harry
could hear someone clearing their throat. “Ah yes, where are my manners?” Brinecove said in his
usual boisterous classroom voice. “It seems that Headmistress McGonagall feels that the school
needed an Assistant Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and, quite frankly, I could not agree
more. There is no more important subject at this school and the more instruction you receive in it,
the better. I’m sure you all know Remus Lupin already, since he was your teacher in third year.”
Lupin was standing off in the corner, looking mildly amused. “Please treat him with the same level
of respect that you would afford to me.”

“I like Lupin too much to do that,” Harry muttered, eliciting a small smile from Hermione.

“Mr. Potter,” Brinecove called out, which immediately wiped the grin from his face. “I see you’ve
chosen Miss Granger as your partner. Very good. There are few if any in this classroom who could
challenge you with their spell work. Miss Granger has proven herself to be one of them.” Hermione
blushed in embarrassment while Harry squirmed uncomfortably as all eyes in the classroom were on
him, some of them glaring at him contemptuously. “Mr. Finnigan, as much as I’m sure you enjoy being
paired with Mr. Thomas, I’m going to have to ask you to be Mr. Weasley’s partner.” Reluctantly,
Seamus moved to Ron’s side while Dean partnered up with Neville. “No, no, Mr. Longbottom. That
won’t do. I need you to be paired with Miss Bones.” His eyes darted to the other end of the
classroom. “Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Finch-Fletchley…”

Professor Brinecove spent the next few minutes rearranging the students so that almost all of them
now had partners who were not of their own choosing. “Does he do this often?” Harry asked Neville
in a whisper.

“One time he spent the whole class reassigning us partners,” Neville reported with a frown. “We
didn’t even have time to practice any spells.”

“We will be learning a new spell today,” Brinecove announced, sounding almost giddy. “Miss Granger,
I would like you to try it on Mr. Potter. The spell is pronounced ‘corpus vile’.” Brinecove turned
to write the words on the blackboard.

Hermione’s eyes blazed with fury. “Professor, that spell is lethal to magical creatures. I won’t
use it on Harry!”

“Mr. Potter is not a magical creature, Miss Granger,” Professor Brinecove reminded her as he
finished writing ‘corpus vile’ on the board. “Furthermore, you may be called upon to kill a few in
the event of a Death Eater attack. This spell is very important for you to practice and master.
Miss Granger, if you would?”

“I most certainly will not,” Hermione declared defiantly. Harry himself did not know what effect
the spell would have on him, but decided it probably would not be the best idea to have to find out
the hard way.

“Very well. Five points from Gryffindor.” Brinecove nonchalantly leveled his wand at Harry. “Corpus
vile.”

“Protego!” Harry shouted as he used the shielding charm only a split second before Hermione could
call out, “Harry don’t!”

At first, Harry wondered why Hermione didn’t want him to cast the shielding charm, but soon
realized with horror what was happening. Brinecove’s spell ricocheted off of Harry’s shield and
sped toward the corner of the room where Remus Lupin was standing. Lupin just managed to duck as
the spell destroyed a tapestry that had been hanging behind him.

“Oh dear,” Brinecove called out in an insincerely apologetic tone. “I had completely forgotten that
you are a magical creature yourself, Assistant Professor Lupin. Please accept my apologies.” Lupin
was still crouching in the corner, his eyes burning with hatred. In the space of a moment, he rose
to his feet and marched out of the classroom.

“I’m going after him,” Harry told Hermione as everyone else in the class began buzzing excitedly to
themselves about what they had just seen. “You stay here.” As Hermione looked ready to protest,
Harry’s eyes met hers. “Please. It’s my fault this happened.”

“No, it isn’t.” Hermione stared daggers at Brinecove, making it clear who she felt was responsible.
“Don’t forget about our meeting with Snape.”

“I won’t.” As stealthily as he could amid all the commotion, Harry exited the classroom and
followed Lupin down the hall. “I’m sorry, Remus,” Harry called out as he approached. “I…I didn’t
think…”

“No, you didn’t,” Remus agreed angrily, spinning around to face Harry. “You didn’t even consider
that Brinecove might be trying to hurt me instead of you. Dark wizards use devious methods, Harry.
They’ll come at you sideways just when you least expect it. Sometimes you have to be able to think
like they do in order to survive.”

“So you’re saying I should have been sorted into Slytherin?” Harry asked in an attempt to lighten
the mood.

It didn’t work. “This isn’t a joke, Harry. People are counting on you to defeat Lord Voldemort.
Aside from attempting to destroy his horcruxes, what have you done to make yourself ready to fight
him?” Harry tried to think of something specific, but Lupin took the silence as his answer. “I’m
sorry, Harry, but the way things look now, you won’t be ready to face Voldemort in two years, let
alone two weeks. You’re simply not prepared.”

Harry took a step toward Lupin as he said, “Then prepare me.” Remus gave him a skeptical look. “I’m
serious. If you really don’t think I’m ready to face Voldemort, then do what you can to get me
ready. Train me. Teach me.”

“There isn’t a soul in the wizarding world who could get you ready to do battle with Voldemort,”
Lupin told him sadly. “The closest thing to it would have been Dumbledore, and he spent his last
year with you showing you memories of Voldemort’s life, for whatever reason.”

Harry shrugged for effect. “Then it’s hopeless. Except I don’t believe that and I can’t help but
think that, deep down, you don’t either.”

Lupin’s eyes became distant as he pulled away from Harry to look out a nearby window. “You’re
right. I don’t.” There was a lull in the conversation then, but finally Remus said, “Tonks sent me
an owl last night. She’s ending things between us.”

Harry was stunned. “I…I’m sorry.”

Lupin shook his head quickly. “There’s no need for that. I think we both knew it was coming. It’s
just…I’ve been thinking back on the relationships that have been the most important to me over the
years and wondering what I might have done differently. When I got to thinking about you, I
couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of regret. I could have been there for you more often, you
know. But after losing your parents and then Sirius…”

“You weren’t ready to let anyone get close to you again,” Harry finished for him. “I get that.
Believe me, I do.”

Lupin let out a soft chuckle. “I take it you realized the folly inherent in that lifestyle long
before I did.” Remus put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If I haven’t been treating you as though
you’ve come of age lately, it’s because it’s a concept that’s a little hard for me to wrap my head
around. It seems like only yesterday that I was teaching a certain eager thirteen-year-old wizard
the patronus charm.” Both Harry and Remus smiled at the memory. “And if I was too hard on you for
not being ready to face Voldemort…well, I think a lot of that may be because I’m not ready to send
you off to fight him.”

“You’re not sending me off,” Harry bristled slightly. “I want to go. If I’m the only one who can
beat him and end this, then I want to do it.”

Lupin stood back from him slightly to get a better look. “You have become a man, haven’t you?”
Harry’s only reply was a modest smile as the two of them began walking toward the Great Hall. “Your
parents would be very proud of who you’ve become.”

Harry thought back to Godric’s Hollow and of getting to meet his parents, through their portrait.
“Brinecove went to school with my parents, didn’t he?” Harry asked as casually as he could. When
Remus nodded, he continued, “Did you know him?”

Lupin shook his head. “Only by reputation. The social barrier between Slytherins and Gryffindors
was perhaps even greater then than it is now.”

“But my mother knew him,” Harry pointed out. This startled Remus. “I had a dream last night, as
Voldemort. I was able to see Brinecove’s memories when Voldemort used legilimency on him. There was
one of him talking to her.”

Lupin did not seem to be buying it. “I doubt very much that they were friends, as Brinecove didn’t
have any. He probably just had a memory of her that he particularly enjoyed remembering. Your
mother was a wonderful woman, after all, and quite a beauty as well.” Harry repressed a shudder at
the thought of Brinecove remembering how beautiful his mother was. “I’ll be taking over Snape’s
guard detail in just under an hour. I take it you’ll want me to arrange for him to be transported
to the second floor girls’ bathroom?” Harry gave the other man a quick nod. “You know, Harry, while
I can’t officially condone torture…”

“I don’t have anything like that in mind,” Harry assured him. “I just want some of my questions
answered.”

“Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind running one by him that’s been puzzling me,” Remus said
thoughtfully. “You’ve assumed that Snape was attempting to switch the piece of Septimus Prince’s
soul inside of him with Voldemort’s horcrux inside you as a way to save your life. But what if that
wasn’t the case?”

Harry frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“All I’m suggesting is that perhaps Snape had another motive for putting a shard of Voldemort’s
soul inside himself. One that had nothing at all to do with having your best interests at heart.”
Harry thought that over for a moment. He supposed it would be worth asking Snape about. He just
hoped he could get some straight answers from the greasy git for once.

***
“I knew that there was something unusual about this bathroom,” Luna assessed as she looked around
the second floor girls’ lavatory with a new sense of appreciation. “I always just thought it was
home to a nest of giant cockatrices.” Luna stuck her head underneath one of the faucets. “I didn’t
even know wizards had indoor plumbing a thousand years ago.”

“It is a bit odd, isn’t it?” Hermione asked no one in particular as she examined the row of sinks
that hid the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. “Maybe this used to be something else when
Hogwarts was built.”

Ron snorted. “Do you really think that some old Hogwarts Headmaster had renovations done and didn’t
figure out that there was a gigantic pit underneath the floor? It must have always been a
bathroom.”

“Were you really inside the pit?” Luna asked as she pulled her head out of the sink. Ron nodded.
“Tell me again how brave you were.”

“Yeah Ron,” Harry threw in teasingly. “Tell us.” Harry was currently tending to Buckbeak, who had
been staying with Hagrid ever since their return to Hogwarts. The hippogriff was to be their
transportation out of the Chamber of Secrets.

Ron suddenly became very still. “Snape’s coming.” His eyes then widened in horror. “Blimey! I think
I can sense him now, even when he’s not in the same room with me. There’s a power I’d just as soon
not have. Although it might have come in handy a little earlier. Saved me from a few detentions, at
least.”

Slowly and while making furtive glances all around, Severus Snape entered the second floor girls’
bathroom. Upon seeing the four of them, he sent Harry a disapproving glare. “I agreed to share
information with you, Potter,” he sneered, “not chaperone a double date. What is Miss Lovegood
doing here?”

“I asked her to come along,” Harry lied. “The more people I trust who know what you’re about to
tell me, the better.”

Snape heaved a sigh. “Very well, Potter. If we’re to proceed into the Chamber of Secrets, you shall
have to open it.” Harry promptly did so, speaking parseltongue to the snakes on the faucet pipes.
The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets revealed itself almost instantaneously.

After they fell through the tunnel, trudged through rat bones and rubble and Harry spoke
parseltongue yet again, the five of them stepped inside the Chamber of Secrets. It was just as
Harry remembered it: serpentine statues lined the pathway leading to a large stone likeness of
Salazar Slytherin. Harry could still remember exactly how he felt when he saw Ginny Weasley lying
on the stone floor, pale and lifeless with Tom Marvolo Riddle standing over her body. The memory
made him shiver involuntarily.

“Have you ever wondered why this place is known as the Chamber of Secrets?” Snape asked
unexpectedly. Ron looked like he knew the answer, but no one said anything. “It is because it leads
somewhere else, somewhere hidden and very secret. A place that not just anyone, not even a
parselmouth, could get to.”

A thought struck Harry. “It’s a tomb, isn’t it? An Egyptian tomb.” ‘Just like in my dream.’

Snape glared at Harry disdainfully. “Yes, Potter, in your usual ignorant manner, you are correct.
It is an ancient Egyptian tomb. Salazar Slytherin was a devoted member of the cult of Osiris, a
group of dark wizards who believed that they could discover the secret of eternal life through the
worship of an ancient wizard king who muggles mistook for a god.”

“But aren’t horcruxes the secret to eternal life?” Hermione asked. “Wouldn’t these dark wizards
have known about them?”

“As the three of you have proven, however ineptly, horcruxes can be destroyed,” Snape explained.
“It also requires the rendering of the soul into pieces. Some dark wizards consider this an
undesirable solution to the problem.” After glaring at Hermione for being so impertinent as to ask
a pertinent question, Snape continued. “The cult of Osiris believed that there were twenty-six
pieces of Osiris’ body scattered about Egypt and the Levant. Slytherin spent decades tracking them
down, although he came to Britain with only twenty-five of them. The last piece was rumored to have
been transformed into the Emerald of Edessa.”

“So that’s why Voldemort thought that the Emerald might be Slytherin’s horcrux,” Harry reasoned
aloud.

“Do not attempt to impress me with your limited knowledge of the matter at hand, Potter. Your
girlfriend can tell you how much I loathe know-it-alls.” Hermione frowned at him, but said nothing.
“Slytherin brought the pieces here, far away from where anyone else in the cult was likely to
follow him and built an underground temple to Osiris. He assembled the twenty-five pieces, long
since transformed into magical relics, inside this temple and helped the other founders form
Hogwarts only as a cover for his other activities. The cumulative magic accrued by the relics was
potent, potent enough to keep Salazar Slytherin in a sort of permanent stasis. In order to actually
grant Slytherin true immortality, however, the magic had to build inside the temple for a thousand
years. In addition, Osiris would require a sacrifice to be made; namely, the thing the wizard
seeking eternal life would hate to give up the most.”

“Naturally, this put Slytherin in a pickle,” Ron threw in with a grin as Snape glowered at him. “In
a thousand years, there wasn’t going to be anything around that he’d care about…except maybe for
the last of his line. That’s where the Knights of Walpurgis came in.”

“Am I telling this story or are you?” Snape demanded icily.

“Sorry. I just thought you might have gaps in your memory,” Ron remarked cheekily.

“As Slytherin lie dormant inside the temple,” Snape continued, “the Knights of Walpurgis waited for
centuries for the Heir of Slytherin to make himself known. When the Dark Lord appeared, there was
little doubt in anyone’s mind that this was who they had been waiting for. Once he eliminated his
fellow contenders to become the last of Slytherin’s line, they made their move. They flattered him,
telling him that he would be the one to bring about Slytherin’s return, without informing him of
the Temple of Osiris. That is how my grandfather first met the Dark Lord, in his capacity as
librarian for the Knights of Walpurgis.”

“But the Knights only wanted Voldemort as a sacrifice, so that Slytherin could come back and lead
them,” Harry thought aloud as he began putting together what he had seen in dreams with what Snape
was saying. “He wasn’t too happy about it, either.”

“Indeed,” Snape agreed with a haughty sniff. “The Dark Lord rejected this idea out of hand, but was
intrigued by Slytherin’s plan to achieve immortality. In fact, he decided to become immortal
himself by denying his ancestor what he has waited a millennium for. He plans to gain everlasting
life by taking the magic that is rightfully Slytherin’s and bestowing it on himself.”

“A thousand years from when Salazar Slytherin lived,” Hermione thought aloud. “That wouldn’t be too
far from now, would it?”

“It will happen in this year,” Snape confirmed and Harry felt a cold chill run through his body.
“Thirteen days before the cult of Osiris’ great mystery festival would have begun on the
seventeenth of Athyr.”

“Halloween,” Ron translated for the rest of them. “Bloody hell.”

Harry regarded Snape seriously. “What’s Voldemort’s planning to do?”

“There are three things he must do to achieve immortality from the Temple of Osiris,” Snape said
solemnly. “First, he must eliminate Salazar Slytherin after he is awakened. Secondly, he must drink
from the Chalice of Horus. Lastly, but by no means leastly, he must sacrifice you to Osiris.”

“Me?” Harry asked, clearly startled by the idea. “Why me?”

“Voldemort must sacrifice what he would hate to lose the most,” Snape elaborated with a wicked
smile, “and while there is no love lost between you, the piece of his soul you harbor is worth a
great deal to him.”

Luna Lovegood, who had been absently using sticking charms to place feathers on the serpent
statues, stopped abruptly and faced Harry. “You’re a horcrux?”

Harry swallowed hard, still trying to come to terms with the idea that Voldemort was planning on
sacrificing him to an Egyptian god. “Yeah, I am.”

To his surprise, Luna smiled happily, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. “It’s funny, isn’t it?
You spent all of that time looking for something that was inside of you the whole time.” She ran
her fingers down his face delicately, as though she were brushing something off of his cheek.

“Hey!” Ron called out, clearly made jealous by Luna’s actions. “I’m a horcrux, too, you
know.”

Luna gave him a humoring nod. “Yes, of course you are, Ronald.”

Hermione still looked aghast at what Voldemort was planning. “Would he really destroy a piece of
his own soul? Even for a chance at immortality?”

“What do you think the Dark Lord has been doing since he was sixteen years old?” Snape demanded
coldly. “He has cared for nothing other than prolonging his own life since he was merely a boy and
has taken out pieces of his own soul six times to achieve that end. However, a soul that is torn
cannot receive immortality by drinking from the Chalice of Horus. The Dark Lord knows this. In his
mind, Harry must die in order for him to achieve immortality.”

Harry was trying to work this out in his mind. “So all I have to do to defeat Voldemort is
live?”

“To the Dark Lord’s way of thinking, yes,” Snape obfuscated.

A weight seemed to fall off of Harry’s shoulders. “So that’s good, then. I’ll just avoid the Temple
of Osiris.”

“I’m not certain your great victory over the Dark Lord will be so cheaply won, Potter,” Snape
informed him disdainfully. “You are the one he prefers to sacrifice, but his murder of Salazar
Slytherin may be deemed an acceptable alternative in Osiris’ eyes. Also, as Mr. Weasley and myself
have proven, living horcruxes aren’t quite the same as Marvolo’s ring or Slytherin’s locket. They
are mutable; they can change and adapt. It’s possible that the horcrux’s presence in you will not
be enough to prevent the Dark Lord from achieving his ultimate goal.” The former potions master
barked a disgusted, bitter laugh. “Furthermore, the prophecy names you as the only one who can kill
the Dark Lord. If you can believe any of the nonsense Trelawney spouts, you will have to enter the
temple if we’re to have any hope of stopping him.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, as though the weight of the world had returned to them without warning.
“So Voldemort’s known for years that he would need to destroy the horcruxes,” Hermione reasoned out
loud. “But he would have to do it slowly and in a controlled manner, so that he couldn’t be killed
in the meanwhile.” A thought occurred to her suddenly. “Has Voldemort been helping Harry to destroy
the horcruxes?”

Snape actually managed to look impressed. “Very perceptive, Miss Granger. That is, in fact, exactly
what the Dark Lord has been doing.”

“Helping me?” Harry asked incredulously, well remembering the basilisk venom and the ‘atash
inflammare’ spell, both of which had nearly killed him during the process of destroying one of
Voldemort’s horcruxes. “How has he been helping me?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. For the first time since they had entered the Chamber, Ron no longer looked
like he knew what Snape was about to say. “This I’ve got to hear.”

Severus Snape sneered. “If you had given the matter even a small amount of thought, you would have
figured it out yourself long ago. The Dark Lord has been testing you, Potter, to determine whether
or not you were worthy to be sacrificed. In your first year at Hogwarts, he deliberately corrupted
your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, and coerced him into stealing
Hufflepuff’s cup. Once Quirrell had the cup, he was ordered to transfer that piece of the Dark
Lord’s soul into himself, so that he could inhabit the poor stuttering dimwit and face you
directly. Professor Quirrell was your first test. Miraculously, you passed it.

“The Dark Lord then schemed to deliver his schoolboy diary to Lucius Malfoy, one of the most
cowardly of his Death Eaters and the one with the most to lose if his status as a Death Eater were
to be revealed. In what was hardly a coincidence, this was at a time when the Ministry was raiding
homes, searching for banned dark magical objects. He knew Malfoy would have to put the diary
somewhere safe and somewhere far away from himself. The Dark Lord had thought that perhaps he would
send it to Hogwarts with his son, Draco. Instead it ended up in the hands of sweet, innocent Ginny
Weasley who, I must say, did far more damage with it than Mr. Malfoy ever could have. Eventually,
and with a great amount of help from Dumbledore and Miss Granger, you passed that test as
well.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry conceded with a quick nod. “Those two are pretty obvious. But what about the
other horcruxes? What could Voldemort have possibly done to help me find Slytherin’s locket or
Ravenclaw’s quill?”

“The Dark Lord might have been able to prevent Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban,” Snape explained
patiently. “He most definitely could have arranged for his execution once Peter Pettigrew had
returned to his side. Pettigrew knew Sirius as well as anyone and, given time and the opportunity,
would have been able to track him down. However, the Dark Lord hoped that Sirius might lead you to
where his brother Regulus had hidden Slytherin’s locket. In fact, he did, but you were too
thickheaded to see it at the time.” Harry thought immediately of finding Slytherin’s locket at
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in his fifth year, but not recognizing it for what it was. “As for
Ravenclaw’s quill, once I noticed how enthralled you were by the dubious charms of Miss Cho Chang,
I persuaded Professor Flitwick to award her Ravenclaw’s quill, in hopes that you would discover
that horcrux as you had the diary in your second year. Alas, once again, your hormones overruled
what little intellect you possess and you never noticed what was right in front of you.”

“By persuaded,” Hermione asked, “you mean…?”

“My methods of persuasion are varied, Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted her. “Do not always assume
the worst of me.”

Ron frowned. “What about Marvolo Gaunt’s ring?” At the mention of the ring, Snape visibly blanched.
“Voldemort didn’t give Harry any clues about it.”

Snape stiffened. “Ideally, it would have been a ‘safe’ horcrux, kept under lock and key until the
Dark Lord felt the time was right to have it destroyed. However, since Mr. Potter did not find
Ravenclaw’s quill or Slytherin’s locket as quickly as anyone might have hoped, the Dark Lord
allowed Dumbledore to discover it in an obvious location.”

“Why did you kill him?” Harry asked bluntly, sounding more like a child coping with the loss of a
parent than the grand inquisitor that he’d hoped to be once he got Snape alone.

Severus Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Do you honestly think that I took pleasure in the act?
That it was something I wanted to do?” When Harry did not reply, he continued. “I killed him
because he asked me to, Potter. I killed him because there was no one else who he trusted enough to
do the job. I killed him because I was the only one who could.”

“He asked you to?” Luna asked in confusion. “Why would he ask you to murder him?”

Snape looked singularly unhappy to be answering a question from Luna Lovegood, but did so anyhow.
“A horcrux is not a thing easily destroyed by those who cannot coax the sliver of the Dark Lord’s
soul out by speaking parseltongue. The magic Dumbledore used to destroy Marvolo Gaunt’s ring was
both powerful and very dark, so much so that it took some of his life force with it at a time in
his life when he had precious little of it to spare. In short, Dumbledore was dying. When I told
him both of the Unbreakable Vow I had taken to kill him in the event that Draco Malfoy could not
and of the nature of the switching spell I planned to use to rid Potter of the horcrux within him,
a look of steely determination came over his face. It was as though, at long last, he knew exactly
what to do to solve all of his problems.”

“What does the horcrux switching spell have to do with Dumbledore’s death?” Hermione asked with a
perplexed frown.

“In order for a piece of soul to leave one person’s body and enter another’s, there must be an
emotional bond between them,” Snape elaborated.

“Like between you and your grandfather,” Ron threw in helpfully. Snape nodded.

“Gee, Snape,” Harry said sarcastically, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” Severus Snape retorted. “The bond that exists between us is hatred. However, in order
for the spell to work the hate we felt for each other had to be greater than any we had ever felt.
You had to hate me more than you did the evil wizard who had killed your parents.”

Hermione looked like she was following his reasoning. “So that’s why you had to be the one to kill
Dumbledore.” Ron and Harry turned to glare at her. “What?”

“When I killed Dumbledore, it not only made Potter hate me more than he did the Dark Lord, it also
made me despise him more than ever before.” Now all eyes were back on Snape. “Albus Dumbledore may
well have been the only wizard who ever trusted me. Not the piece of my grandfather’s soul that I
had within me, but me. He was a wonderful friend and a truly great wizard. The very idea that I had
to shorten his life in order to help this ungrateful, untalented disrespectful fame-obsessed brat
made me furious.”

“How dare you,” Harry snarled. “How dare you try to make me feel responsible for Dumbledore’s
death.”

“How typical of you, Potter,” Snape declared dismissively. “Never recognizing how much the
sacrifices of others have contributed to your longevity, success and fame.”

As Harry and Snape looked like they might come to blows, Hermione held Harry back. “At least wait
until he’s through answering our questions,” she whispered in his ear. Then, turning around to face
Snape, she added one of her own. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. If there had to be an
emotional bond between you and Harry in order for the horcrux switching spell to work, why were you
able to switch with Ron?”

“Two reasons, I’d think,” Ron answered unexpectedly. “The first is that I hate Snape a lot and he
hates me just as much.” Snape acknowledged this fact with a small nod. “The second reason has to do
with my natural mental defenses being weakened by the flying brain at the Department of Mysteries.
I reckon that made it easier for the horcrux to worm its way inside me.”

Hermione looked mildly irritated that Ron had answered her question and decided to ask Snape
another one. “Do you think that it would be possible for us to try the switching spell again? If
Ron would be willing, that is.” With a brave smile, Ron acknowledged that he would be.

Snape scowled. “After the first attempt at the spell, Mr. Weasley should consider himself quite
fortunate that he is not a vegetable. If the spell is tried twice, he might not be so lucky. As
much as that outcome wouldn’t bother me at all, I would imagine the four of you and the rest of his
family might feel differently.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Ron stated, earning him an adoring look from Luna Lovegood.

“Well, I’m not,” Harry said authoritatively. “I won’t put Ron in a coma again just to rid myself of
the piece of Voldemort’s soul that’s inside of me. Not if I can kill him without destroying the
horcrux first.”

“Indeed,” Snape confirmed, “just as the horcrux that currently resides inside Mr. Weasley did not
give my grandfather eternal life, the piece of the Dark Lord’s soul inside you can in fact remain
there while the Dark Lord himself dies.” Snape looked thoughtful for a moment. “It wouldn’t even
lower the odds of your victory very much. At worst, they would go from infinitesimal to
nonexistent.”

Ron still looked worried. “You’d have to fight a two-front war, mate. You’ll be facing Voldemort
both within your own mind and in the flesh. Are you sure you can handle that?”

Harry did not feel very sure, but nodded anyway. “I’ll keep practicing my occlumency lessons. I
thought I might train some with Lupin as well.”

“No amount of occlumency or training will prepare you to face him, Potter,” Snape said snidely. “It
will take nothing short of a miracle for you to emerge victorious.”

“I think we’ve heard enough from you,” Hermione cautioned as she pointed her wand in Snape’s
direction.

“Don’t tell me the interrogation is over,” Snape replied in mock surprise. “And all of my limbs are
still intact. Will wonders never cease?”

“There’s one more thing I want to know,” Harry called out to him. “The night that Brinecove tried
to become a Death Eater, you saved his life. Why?”

“The same reason I saved yours in your first year,” Snape answered cagily. “I felt I owed him a
life debt.”

“Yet you don’t trust him,” Harry continued. “You said that he didn’t belong at Hogwarts.”

Snape shook his head. “No, I don’t trust him. Neither did Dumbledore.” Before Harry could ask any
follow up questions, Snape said, “Commodus Brinecove has been desperate to get back inside of
Hogwarts since he was eighteen years old. He even applied for the position of Arithmancy teacher,
having had no more experience in that field than Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. I have my suspicions
about his reasons, but nothing I’d care to share with you.”

Hermione frowned. “You’ve been very forthcoming about everything else. Why are you suddenly so
tightlipped about Brinecove?”

“I swore an oath to Dumbledore that I would do everything within my power to make sure that Mr.
Potter survives the final battle and that the Dark Lord does not. The oath does not require me to
reveal everything I know about Brinecove.” Snape sighed wearily. “I tire of answering your moronic
inquiries. Are we quite finished here?”

As no one could come up with another question for Snape, the five of them began walking away from
the statue of Salazar Slytherin which loomed over them. “You’ll want to push hard against this
snake statue. That should reveal the entrance to the Temple of Osiris.” Ron pointed to one that was
roughly in the middle. “See? Luna’s already stuck feathers inside its mouth so it’ll be easy to
remember which one it is.”

Hermione gave Ron an impressed look. “It’s nice to have someone else around who knows things once
in a while.”

“Oh yeah,” Ron bragged. “I know loads of stuff now. Septimus Prince probably read more books than
you have.”

“Is that even possible?” Harry wondered aloud to a snort from Ron and a betrayed glare from
Hermione. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Snape walking behind them, a look of
melancholy plastered on his face.

Just then, Harry felt very strangely. His head started to throb and his heart began to race.
Suddenly, he dropped to his knees in pain.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, a look of deep concern etched on her face.

“No,” Harry managed as he held his head in his hands, trying to stop what he was sure was happening
from happening. “It’s Voldemort…taking over…” His scar wasn’t hurting as it had before, but he
could feel that familiar dark presence inside him, moving about, growing stronger by the
second…

“We have to get Harry to Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione told Luna and Ron in no uncertain terms.
“Now!”

Harry could only manage an ear piercing scream as he felt himself losing consciousness.

**I really am evil. Only four chapters remaining (several of them may be as long as this one was,
too.)

Thanks for reading!

ITL**

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20. Author's Note plus teaser
-----------------------------

**Author's Note: In honor of my beta's return, I've made some corrections (some of
them long overdue) to previous chapters (including the last one, which I posted on Wednesday), so I
thought I might as well tell you good Portkey readers about it. Also, I thought I'd give you a
sneak peek at the next chapter, "An Army of Keepers". Please do enjoy!**

Harry Potter’s eyes opened slowly, his bleary eyesight and pounding head making him doubt what he
saw once his eyelids fluttered open. After donning his glasses, however, there could be no doubt:
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were standing over him with their wands drawn. “Don’t take this
the wrong way, mate,” Ron advised him in a tone that was guarded but friendly. “We have to be sure
it’s you.”

Groggily, Harry began to remember what had happened. The three of them, Luna and Snape had been
inside the Chamber of Secrets when he had suddenly felt Voldemort’s presence inside of him, as
though the Dark Lord might be trying to possess him. He supposed he must have lost consciousness
soon after. But he felt fine now; he could no longer sense the evil presence of Lord Voldemort in
his mind. “I understand, Ron. Besides, turnabout’s fair play, right?”

Ron smiled at that, well remembering how Harry had greeted Ron once he mentioned the Emerald of
Edessa upon waking up from a coma. His smile vanished as Hermione shot him a ‘get serious’ look.
“Ask him a question,” she whispered audibly in his ear.

“Alright,” Ron said smugly. “What’s four times four?”

Harry looked puzzled at Ron’s choice of a question. “Sixteen.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think Voldemort can do simple math, Ron. Let’s try something only
Harry would know.” Hermione thought about this for a moment. “The first time that we, erm…”

“Made love?” Harry guessed with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Kissed,” Hermione corrected him forcefully as Ron looked very uncomfortable. “Where were
we?”

“In the master bedroom at Grimmauld Place,” Harry answered matter-of-factly. Just as Ron heaved a
sigh of relief, he added, “The same place where we were when we first made love.”

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red and Ron let out an exasperated groan. “This is exactly the
sort of thing that you don’t find out when you ask math questions,” the redhead pointed out.

**More will come soon! Thanks again for reading!

ITL**

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21. Chapter 19: The Power He Knows Not
--------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or Warner Brothers. However, I am
associated with insane trolls.

OK, so this chapter isn't called "An Army of Keepers", it's called "The
Power He Knows Not". "An Army of Keepers" should be out in a week's time and
I'll try to have an update ready every Friday or Saturday from here on out. Thanks for your
patience and understanding.**

Chapter 19: The Power He Knows Not

Harry Potter’s eyes opened slowly, his bleary eyesight and pounding head making him doubt what he
saw once his eyelids fluttered open. After donning his glasses, however, there could be no doubt:
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were standing over him with their wands drawn. “Don’t take this
the wrong way, mate,” Ron advised him in a tone that was guarded but friendly. “We have to be sure
it’s you.”

Groggily, Harry began to remember what had happened. The three of them, Luna and Snape had been
inside the Chamber of Secrets when he had suddenly felt Voldemort’s presence inside of him, as
though the Dark Lord might be trying to possess him. He supposed he must have lost consciousness
soon after. But he felt fine now; he could no longer sense the evil presence of Lord Voldemort in
his mind. “I understand, Ron. Besides, turnabout’s fair play, right?”

Ron smiled at that, well remembering how Harry had greeted Ron once he mentioned the Emerald of
Edessa upon waking up from a coma. His smile vanished as Hermione shot him a ‘get serious’ look.
“Ask him a question,” she whispered audibly in his ear.

“Alright,” Ron said smugly. “What’s four times four?”

Harry looked puzzled at Ron’s choice of a question. “Sixteen.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think Voldemort can do simple math, Ron. Let’s try something only
Harry would know.” Hermione thought about this for a moment. “The first time that we, erm…”

“Made love?” Harry guessed with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Kissed,” Hermione corrected him forcefully as Ron looked very uncomfortable. “Where were
we?”

“In the master bedroom at Grimmauld Place,” Harry answered matter-of-factly. Just as Ron heaved a
sigh of relief, he added, “The same place where we were when we first made love.”

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red and Ron let out an exasperated groan. “This is exactly the
sort of thing that you don’t find out when you ask math questions,” the redhead pointed out.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hermione asked Harry as her eyes softened. “We were so worried about
you.”

“I feel a little weak,” Harry answered honestly. “Woozy, too.”

“But you don’t feel evil?” Ron asked pointedly. Twin glares from Harry and Hermione made him add,
“Just making sure.”

Harry shook his head in bemusement. “I dunno what happened, exactly. One minute I was fine and the
next there was Voldemort. It was like he was pushing me aside, or trying to make me weaker….does
any of this make sense?”

“It does to me,” Ron said confidently. “He’s fighting you for dominance. This is exactly what
happened with me and Septimus Prince. Two souls weren’t meant to exist in the same body, Harry.
It’s unnatural. Eventually, one soul or the other has to end up on top.”

“So how did you do it?” Harry asked, his interest clearly piqued.

Now it was Ron’s turn to roll his eyes. “Give me a little credit. Would you really bet on a
hundred-year-old squib who’s been dead for forty years over me? Besides, I had home field
advantage.”

Hermione sat down beside Harry on the bed, her hand clutching his tightly. “Voldemort’s bound to be
a tougher opponent.”

Harry nodded his agreement. “I don’t even really have home field advantage. Voldemort’s been inside
my brain almost as long as I’ve been alive. He was just fenced in by Mum’s barrier for most of
it.”

“I’d get serious about learning occlumency if I were you,” Ron advised him, his demeanor now
completely sober. “You might even ask Snape to teach you again.”

Harry made a sour face as Hermione’s eyes brightened. “Or you could ask Professor Chambers. His
legilimency course worked for me.” The expression on Harry’s face did not change noticeably. “That
reminds me,” Hermione said suddenly as she reached inside her knapsack. “I have a copy of your
Transfiguration assignment.”

Ron let out a short laugh. “Yeah, mate. We have to turn in a foot and a half on how it makes us
feel to transfigure our feet into blocks of ice.” Ron looked thoughtful. “I’m trying to figure out
how to stretch ‘really, really cold’ into several paragraphs.”

Hermione scowled at Ron, but then turned her attention solely back to Harry. “Professor Chambers is
a bit, erm, flaky, but I really think he could help you.”

Despite the fact that Harry didn’t share her faith in Professor Chambers, he did appreciate her
deep concern for his well-being. “I’ll consider that, Hermione. Thank you.”

It was only another moment before Madame Pomfrey arrived to shoo Ron and Hermione away, despite the
latter’s vehement protests. Harry hated to see Hermione go, but reluctantly agreed with Hogwarts’
resident Healer that bed rest should be his primary concern (and not necessarily the sort of bed
rest that he tended to get when Hermione was around). After taking a series of potions, including
one for dreamless sleep, he soon found himself drifting off again.

He awoke several hours later to find a stocky figure standing over him in the darkness. “Take
this,” an older man’s deep voice instructed him. Harry grabbed an oddly shaped vial of liquid from
the man’s hands and began to examine its contents. “Don’t drink it. That’s acromantula venom, lad.
One of the deadliest substances known to man.”

Harry squinted in the darkness as he tried to make out the face that went with the man’s familiar
voice. “Professor Slughorn?” he guessed.

“I haven’t very much time left,” Slughorn told him in an urgent tone. “But I don’t regret anything.
I knew I had to tell you, once I found out.”

“Found out what?” Harry asked in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“The Dark Lord will not rest until he is once again inside these walls,” Slughorn reported shakily.
Now that Harry got a better look at him, his eyes seemed glassy and his demeanor stilted. “Hogwarts
will be betrayed from within. Dumbledore’s murder made it possible.”

“How?” Harry questioned him frantically. “How do you know about all of this?”

“I…” he stammered. “I…can’t reveal…” The old man then fell to his knees, as though he had been
knocked down by an invisible hand. Slughorn seemed to be having trouble breathing and his hands
went to his throat.

“Madame Pomfrey!” Harry called out, rising from his bed to do what he could for the old Potions
Master. Before he could do much, Madame Pomfrey was at his side, applying a damp cloth to
Slughorn’s forehead and uttering calming phrases. Soon, Horace Slughorn was lying in the bed that
was sitting next to Harry’s. “Is he going to be alright?” Harry asked as his former teacher lost
consciousness.

The Healer shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter. Professor Slughorn is dying.”

***

The next morning Harry had been allowed to leave Hogwarts’ hospital wing. He was eager to do so, as
he was curious to find out what had happened to bring Professor Slughorn back to the old castle.
Harry was also very curious to know how Draco Malfoy, who he had discovered several beds down from
Slughorn, had returned to Hogwarts and why his chest was so heavily bandaged. ‘And why he isn’t in
Azkaban.’ Upon entering the Great Hall, however, it became clear that his questions were going to
have to wait.

Headmistress McGonagall was standing before the student body, along with just about every member of
the Order of the Phoenix he’d ever met, plus a few others who he hadn’t. “As I’m sure most of you
are aware by now, we have some new faces on the Hogwarts staff. You’ve most likely already seen
Assistant Professors Lupin, Moody and Shacklebolt around the castle and you may well recognize some
of our other new faculty members as well. However, to avoid confusion, I think a proper
introduction is in order.” McGonagall gestured to each person in line in turn. “Nymphadora Tonks,
Assistant Transfiguration Professor. Charles Weasley, Assistant Care of Magical Creatures
Professor. William Weasley, Assistant Charms Professor. Arthur Weasley, Assistant Professor of
Muggle Studies.” The list went on as Headmistress McGonagall gave phony titles to every member of
the Order of the Phoenix present.

There were, however, two people standing near the podium who were not members of the Order.
Eventually, McGonagall came to them as well. “We are proud to have one of our more recent alumni,
Oliver Wood, back with us as Special Assistant to Madame Hooch. Also, Mister Dorian Flemingworth,
recently of the Department of Mysteries, has agreed to become our Assistant Professor of
Divination.” Once the Headmistress had dispensed with the introductions, she turned her attention
to Professors Brinecove, Chambers and Percy Weasley. “I would also like to address the rather
persistent rumors that have been swarming about the castle. It seems that some of you believe these
new faculty members have been added in order to strengthen the power of an organization known as
the Order of the Phoenix inside Hogwarts. I would like to stress to our friends from the Ministry
of Magic that this is not the case and that the very existence of such an organization has yet to
be proven. Thank you.”

Harry quickly scanned the Great Hall and found Hermione sitting with Ron and Viktor Krum at the
Gryffindor table. ‘Wonderful. My girlfriend is with her two ex-boyfriends. This day just gets
better all the time.’ After crossing the distance between them, Harry wedged himself in between
Hermione and Ron. “What’s McGonagall doing, mentioning the Order of the Phoenix in public like
that?”

“She may as well,” Ron replied bitterly. “It’s all over the Daily Prophet.”

“What?” Harry asked as he picked up the latest copy of the wizard newspaper.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded him. “Harry doesn’t need to see…”

But it was too late. ‘Scrimgeour Blasts Harry Potter,’ the headline blared. ‘Minister Cites
Internal Security Report Detailing Potter’s Links to Subversive Group.’ “He’s calling the Order of
the Phoenix a subversive group now?” Harry asked aloud.

“He almost did so at Fleur’s vedding,” Viktor Krum said, looking every bit as grumpy as Ron ever
said he looked. “I think he vas vaiting for this report to come out before he said anything.”

“The Deparment of Internal Security has been investigating the so-called Order of the Phoenix for a
year now, in accordance with Ministerial Decree #6743,” Harry read. “The report details the
organization’s repeated willingness to harbor half-breeds and traitors, such as Severus Snape. ‘It
is Potter’s connection with this secret group that undoubtedly led him to recant his testimony
against Snape which allowed the notorious Death Eater, Albus Dumbledore’s murderer, to go free,’
Minister Scrimgeour declared in a speech before the Wizengamot yesterday.” Harry read through the
rest of the article quickly, only to find another point of interest a few paragraphs down. “The
report was largely prepared by former Deputy Minister for Internal Security Commodus
Brinecove.”

As Harry fumed, he could suddenly hear Brinecove’s voice coming from a wizarding wireless set
sitting in front of Hermione. “I’ve heard just about enough of your whining, Chambers. Minister
Scrimgeour placed me in charge of this delegation. If I say we wait, then we wait.”

At Harry’s perplexed stare, Ron explained. “We’re listening in on our teachers’ private
conversations. Cool, huh?” He gestured toward Viktor Krum. “It was all Vicky’s idea.”

Harry sent Viktor Krum a quizzical look. “How did you…?”

Hermione and Krum silenced Harry as another voice emanated from the wireless set. “How much longer
can we wait, Commodus? McGonagall is obviously moving more of this ‘Order of the Phoenix’ in so
that she can seize control of the school. She could make that move at any moment now…” Their words
then turned to soft whispers and eventually became completely inaudible.

“Listening beetles,” Krum answered Harry as he placed a small insect-like creature with a metallic
shell onto the table. “I got the idea from a letter Hermy-own-ninny wrote me several years ago
about that horrible Rita Skeeter voman.”

“They’re little magical listening devices,” Hermione elaborated. “Aren’t they clever?”

“Very,” Harry agreed unenthusiastically. “So…Viktor. You’ve been eavesdropping on these
Ministry-appointed morons. Are they up to no good or not?”

“They are usually much more careful about vot they say,” Krum reported unhelpfully. “Today has been
the exception, rather than the rule. However, they have spoken often of a plot to kill you.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “They’re trying to kill me?”

Krum grunted. “Naturally, they do not talk about their own involvement in the plot. They don’t seem
very sad about you dying, though.”

“Viktor thinks that the explosion at Bill and Fleur’s wedding was their first attempt on your
life,” Hermione explained in a voice tinged with worry. “He also thinks that it won’t be their
last.”

‘I wasn’t aware that Viktor Krum could think that much,’ Harry thought to himself but did not say
aloud. “Somebody at the wedding tried to warn me. They slipped me a note, saying someone was trying
to kill me. I just assumed they meant Voldemort and that it was somebody’s idea of a joke.”

Everyone fell silent as the wizarding wireless crackled to life again. “I know perfectly well what
they’re up to,” Percy Weasley declared prissily. “They’re building up an army again, just as they
were two years ago. Only now they’ll want Potter to take up where Dumbledore left off. He’s looking
to overthrow Minister Scrimgeour.”

“Hi, Harry,” Neville said from behind him, startling him a bit. “Is it alright if I sit
here?”

“No,” Viktor Krum said coldly. “There are things being discussed at this table vich do not concern
you.”

Hermione turned to glare at Viktor Krum. “No one asked you, Viktor. I believe Neville was talking
to Harry.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the exchange between Hermione and Krum. “Sure, Neville. Have a
seat.” As Neville Longbottom joined the three of them, Viktor Krum turned off the wizarding
wireless set, picked it up and carried it off with him, an angry glower set on his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” Neville asked, a look of genuine concern etched on his face.

“Not a thing,” Ron assured him with a smile. “Frankly, I think you did us all a favor.”

“So I suppose everyone’s heard about what happened last night?” Neville began a little nervously.
“About Professor Slughorn and Draco Malfoy, I mean.”

“I haven’t,” Harry answered honestly as Ron and Hermione remained silent. “I was in the hospital
wing last night, so I saw them both, but I don’t know what happened.”

“They came through the Forbidden Forest,” Neville told them with wonder in his voice. “No one knows
why or what they were doing, but…the centaurs attacked them. They shot Malfoy with one of their
poisoned arrows.”

“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving bloke, if you ask me,” Ron remarked.

“I heard that someone poisoned Professor Slughorn,” Neville added in a low voice. “It must have
been someone here at Hogwarts, because he was fine when he brought Malfoy in.”

“How did you find out about all of this, Neville?” Hermione asked with a look of curiosity on her
face.

“Ginny told me,” Neville reported matter-of-factly. “I assumed everyone knew. How else would Ginny
have known if…”

Harry, Hermione and Ron shared a fearful look. “Ginny’s been talking to Malfoy,” Hermione said,
speaking for the three of them.

Now it was Neville’s turn to frown. “Why would Ginny be talking to Malfoy?”

“We, erm, caught them together while we were away from Hogwarts,” Harry explained tactfully.

“By ‘together’, you mean…” The chagrined expressions on Harry, Ron and Hermione’s faces were not
hard for Neville to read. “Oh.”

“Professor Slughorn talked to me last night, before he lost consciousness,” Harry told the others
as Neville fell deathly silent. “He gave me this.” Harry withdrew the vial from the inside of his
robes to show Ron and Hermione.

“What is it?” Ron asked. “A potion?”

“It’s acromantula venom, isn’t it?” Hermione guessed. “Professor Slughorn took it from Aragog last
year.”

Harry nodded. “He said he wanted me to have it. Slughorn also said something about Hogwarts being
betrayed from within…and that Dumbledore’s murder made it possible. He never got a chance to
explain what he meant by that.”

Neville looked as though he had come to a quick decision. “I need to show you guys something. Will
you wait here while I get it?” The three of them nodded as the pudgy blond boy skittered off.

“You don’t think it’s some plant of his, do you?” Ron asked warily as he finished up the last few
bites of his breakfast. “I don’t fancy getting stinksap on my robes this early in the
morning.”

Hermione screwed up her nose in disgust. “Even stinksap would have to smell better than that awful
stuff you’re wearing.”

Now that Hermione mentioned it, Harry had noticed a rather pungent odor when he had first sat down,
but had assumed it was coming from Viktor Krum. “What do you have on, Ron?”

“It’s a cologne that Luna made for me,” Ron admitted with a blush. “Essence of Gurdyroot.”

Hermione snickered. “Well, you may smell like an overgrown onion, but at least you won’t have to
worry about Pulping Blimpies.”

“I don’t smell like an onion,” Ron protested, “and it’s Gulping Plimpies that Gurdyroot helps to
ward off, not Pulping Blimpies.”

“It might as well do both, because neither of them actually exist,” Hermione countered with a
longsuffering expression. “Honestly, that stuff smells worse than that perfume you bought me for
Christmas in fifth year.”

Ron seemed trapped by that remark, so Harry felt it was safe to interject something a bit more
topical into the conversation. “How did Malfoy get out of Azkaban?”

Hermione picked up the Daily Prophet angrily and turned the paper to page 7A. “This is what should
have made the front page.”

Harry scanned over the article quickly. “MLE Recommends Snape Accomplice Be Remanded to Hogwarts,”
he read aloud. “Draco Malfoy has been released into the custody of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry after a controversial decision by the Magical Law Enforcement Division not to
prosecute an underage wizard for war crimes. ‘A seventeen-year-old boy needs an education, not a
dementor’s kiss,’ says MLE spokeswoman Dolores Umbridge.”

“It’s barmy,” Ron complained loudly. “There aren’t even any more dementors guarding Azkaban.
They’ve all gone over to Voldemort.”

Harry couldn’t help but think back to his fifth year at Hogwarts. “From what I’ve seen of Umbridge,
I would have thought she’d be more in favor of the dementor’s kiss than an education.” Harry shook
his head sadly. “I can’t believe they actually released him.”

“He’s a Malfoy,” Ron grumbled. “He may be a Death Eater, but he’s rich and his family still has
connections.”

“Not to mention the fact that he was in Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad,” Hermione added. “If
Umbridge had anything to do with his release, this could well be a way of returning a favor.”

“Here it is,” declared an obviously out of breath Neville Longbottom as he returned from the
Gryffindor dormitories with an ink bottle and what appeared to be a carefully arranged pile of gum
wrappers. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

“Old gum wrappers and a bottle of ink?” Ron questioned in disbelief.

“I know that’s all it looks like, but hear me out,” Neville said in a pleading voice. None of the
three of them said anything else as Neville continued speaking. “When I came of age, I inherited
all of my parents’ old things, including diaries, notes…and this special bottle of reappearing ink.
I didn’t know what it was used for until I accidentally spilled some on one of the Drooble’s Best
Blowing Gum wrappers Mum and Dad have been giving me.”

“You kept all of the ones they gave you, didn’t you?” Hermione asked. Neville nodded shyly. “Here’s
one I was given while we were visiting Ron. I held on to it for you.”

“Great,” Neville said with a smile as he took the gum wrapper from her. He then poured some of the
ink on the wrapper, watching the red ooze seep through the glossy paper. “It usually takes a minute
or so for the message to appear.”

Harry gave Neville an inquisitive look. “What kind of message?”

“My parents were working on a case before they…before the incident,” Neville explained in a soft
voice that was almost a whisper. “They were investigating Hogwarts. There were rumors that a
faculty member was a Death Eater. This was before Dumbledore hired Snape, of course.”

“Who was it?” Ron asked with a frown.

Neville shrugged. “No one knew. That’s what Mum and Dad were supposed to find out. They didn’t get
very far, though, before…Well, before they were driven mad.” Neville held up the gum wrapper so
that the others could see it. “The message is always the same. It’s appeared on every gum wrapper
Mum and Dad have ever handed me, once I use the ink on it.”

“‘Beware the carrier,’” Hermione read aloud. “What does that mean?”

“I wish I knew,” Neville answered her glumly. “I was hoping that it was code or that it was
mentioned somewhere in their journals, but there’s nothing…” At a shushing gesture from Hermione,
Neville became very quiet. Harry soon realized why she had done so, as Percy Weasley walked up from
behind them, a disapproving scowl set on his face.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Percy said pompously as he picked up the ink bottle, “Hogwarts’ policy on
contraband strictly forbids the use of reappearing ink, as it is easily turned into a tool for
cheating. I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate this.”

Before Ron could say something very angry and likely inappropriate, Neville said imploringly,
“Please, sir, it was something of my parents’. I don’t have very much that was theirs anymore. I
promise I won’t use it to cheat.”

Percy’s face broke out in an expression that actually looked sympathetic. “Very well, Mr.
Longbottom. As long as you keep it in your dormitory and I never see it in a classroom, you may
hold onto it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Neville replied gratefully. “I’ll take it straight up to the dormitories.” With
that, Neville rushed off, bottle of ink in hand.

“That was actually decent of Percy,” Harry remarked with a look of surprise.

“After we saw Neville’s parents that time in the Closed Ward, I asked Mum and Dad about them,” Ron
explained. “They said Alice used to sit for them sometimes. Maybe Percy has fond memories of the
Longbottoms.” Entering the Great Hall shortly after Percy Weasley were Professors Chambers and
Brinecove, who were looking around suspiciously. “He’s still a git, though.”

“Hermione,” Harry said without looking at his girlfriend, his eyes fixed on the two professors,
“would you mind asking Professor Chambers if he would give me an occlumency lesson? Maybe sometime
later today?”

Hermione’s expression brightened immediately. “Of course, Harry.” She rose and walked over to their
Transfiguration professor, capturing his attention quickly.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Do you really think that that fraud Chambers is going to be able to teach you
occlumency when Snape and Hermione couldn’t?”

Harry shook his head. “No. But it does give me a chance to speak with Professor Brinecove alone.”
With that, Harry followed in Hermione’s footsteps, calling out to the DADA Professor as he began to
give Professor Chambers and Hermione a wide berth. “Do you have a moment?”

“For you, Mr. Potter, I have all the time in the world,” Brinecove answered with a coy grin. “You
are one of the most gifted students I’ve come across, although you have developed an unfortunate
habit of storming out of my classroom. I would prefer that, in future, you stay for the duration of
the class, no matter how boring it may get.”

Harry did his best not to say anything that would earn him a detention, as he had no idea what sort
of sick punishment Brinecove would dream up for him, but his class had not been ‘boring’ in the
least. In fact, Harry was quite certain that if his name had been on Mrs. Weasley’s family clock,
he would be in ‘mortal peril’ every time he went to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. “I
wanted to talk to you about Ravenclaw’s quill.”

Brinecove’s cheery demeanor vanished. He was now all business. “What about the quill, Mr.
Potter?”

“I need to borrow it for a while,” Harry informed him vaguely. “I can’t really explain why, but
it’s important.” Harry didn’t know quite what to say to get the current Head of Slytherin House to
give him the quill, other than to tell Brinecove about the horcruxes, which he definitely did not
want to do.

Commodus Brinecove shook his graying head sadly. “I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but in light of the
serious attempt to steal the quill this summer, I’m afraid I cannot permit students to have access
to it. Not even such a promising student as yourself.”

“But you don’t understand!” Harry retorted angrily. “The quill is important! If I don’t…if it
isn’t…” But how could he explain to Brinecove why he needed to destroy the quill when he hardly
understood the reason himself? As much as Voldemort seemingly wanted the horcruxes gone as badly as
Harry did, if Ravenclaw’s quill were destroyed before Halloween, Voldemort would be mortal. Harry
could kill him before he even reached the Temple of Osiris. One good ‘Avada Kedavra’ would do the
job.

Brinecove’s eyes met Harry’s and seemed to take on a sinister glint. “I know exactly how important
Ravenclaw’s quill is, Mr. Potter. That is why I’m keeping such a close watch on it.” Harry frowned,
thinking back to what Snape had said about Voldemort’s original plan for Marvolo Gaunt’s ring: a
safe horcrux that would be kept intact until the time was right for Voldemort to enter the Temple
of Osiris. ‘That must be what Brinecove’s doing with Ravenclaw’s quill,’ Harry deduced.

Before Harry could say something profane to Brinecove, Hermione and Professor Chambers joined them.
“So, Mr. Potter,” Chambers began bombastically, “Miss Granger tells me that you would like a
private occlumency lesson. I’m flattered, of course, but I have to warn you…private lessons are not
cheap. My time is quite valuable, you see, and…well, I can’t just let everyone learn the ancient
and respected art of guarding the mind, can I?”

Harry bristled at the very idea of a Hogwarts teacher charging students for their lessons, but said
nothing once he saw the encouraging look in Hermione’s eyes. “Fine. I’ll pay you.”

“Excellent,” Professor Chambers responded, his eyes lighting up suddenly. “We’ll meet after your
last class, hm? Say around…three o’clock?” Harry nodded, but did not pay his Transfiguration
teacher any further attention, concentrating solely on Brinecove.

“I’ll have the quill before Halloween,” Harry told Brinecove with an angry sort of confidence. “One
way or the other.”

Professor Brinecove smiled thinly. “I like your style, Mr. Potter. Very well, I accept your
challenge. You will try to take Ravenclaw’s quill from me before Halloween and I shall do my level
best to keep it from you.” The older man scratched his chin. “This may well be good for a laugh
someday.”

As Brinecove walked off, both Harry and Hermione stared after him. “He really is quite strange,
isn’t he?” Hermione asked Harry with a furrowed brow.

“They both are,” Harry declared, looking at Brinecove and Chambers disdainfully as the former
joined the latter over a cup of tea. “Honestly, does the Ministry ever hire anyone normal?”

Their eyes darted to the now much enlarged faculty table, where Mad-Eye Moody had singed a hole
through Tonks’ pink spiked hair with his wand, presumably by accident. “I don’t know,” Hermione
mused, mostly to herself. “Kingsley Shacklebolt seems normal enough.”

Harry’s eyes soon wandered to the other end of the table where all of the professors and assistant
professors were sitting, only to find Dorian Flemingworth chatting with Luna Lovegood. “Then again,
sometimes ‘normal’ can be overrated.” Harry looked the older man over for a moment, well
remembering his dream as Flemingworth when he was a young Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. He had written the
definitive essay on the properties of Ravenclaw’s quill and had been possessed by Voldemort through
the quill, which had enabled him to access the Chamber of Secrets. Harry turned his head to one
side thoughtfully. Their new Assistant Professor of Divination just might be willing and able to
help him destroy Ravenclaw’s quill. “I think I’d like to have a word with Assistant Professor
Flemingworth.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed happily, guessing instantly what Harry was up to. “Just don’t threaten
him. He may not take it as well as Professor Brinecove did.”

As Harry approached the teachers’ table, he couldn’t help but overhear some of Flemingworth’s
conversation with Luna. “…and that’s how we ended up on this very ceiling with our trousers on
backwards. Tell me, child, is your Uncle Deimos still living in Portugal?”

Luna’s face fell. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

“That’s a shame. It truly is.” When Flemingworth saw Harry approaching Luna, he stopped talking and
pointed him out to his old friend’s niece.

“Hi, Harry,” Luna greeted him enthusiastically. “This is Dorian Flemingworth. Dorian, this is Harry
Potter. Harry, Dorian. Dorian, Harry,” she finished, crossing her arms and pointing at each of them
in turn for emphasis.

“I know who he is,” Harry and Dorian said at the same time. This was followed by an awkward pause.
“There was something important I wanted to talk to you about,” both men again said
simultaneously.

“You’ve obviously rehearsed this conversation,” Luna declared as she gathered up her things (some
of which appeared to be attempting an escape) and slung them over her shoulder. “Ronald and I have
those every so often. Since I don’t have any lines in this one, though, I should probably be
going.” Luna paused to whisper something in Harry’s ear. “Don’t step on his cues. He won’t like
that.”

“My reputation seems to have proceeded me,” Dorian Flemingworth remarked with a small smile once
Luna had left. “I had no idea people would still remember the mischief that Deimos Lovegood and I
used to get ourselves mixed up in.”

A half-smile formed on Harry’s lips. “Ravenclaw House doesn’t usually attract troublemakers.”

“True,” Dorian confirmed. “We are a notoriously stodgy lot. But I’m sure you didn’t come over here
to talk about my past. What’s on your mind, Mr. Potter?”

“Actually, I did want to talk about your past,” Harry said, causing the middle aged Ravenclaw to
frown. “You were awarded Ravenclaw’s quill when you were at Hogwarts, weren’t you? You wrote an
essay about it?”

“Indeed,” Dorian Flemingworth affirmed, his expression now a grim one. “I also recommended to
Professor Flitwick and Headmaster Dumbledore that the practice of awarding the quill to students be
discontinued after it caused me to have blackouts and memory loss. They dismissed it as just
another one of the pranks that Deimos and myself often pulled.”

“Ravenclaw’s quill is more dangerous than you know,” Harry told him, his voice grave. “I’ve been
trying to get my hands on it for months, but I’m afraid Professor Brinecove has it stashed
somewhere where I can’t get to it. You diagrammed the magical properties of the quill…is there any
way that I could destroy it from a distance?”

Flemingworth shook his head. “I’m sorry. If the quill could have been destroyed easily, I would
have done so when I was a student at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked downcast for a moment, then remembered what else Flemingworth had said. “You said
there was something important you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yes,” Dorian Flemingworth answered him, “but it would be preferable if we discussed the matter
elsewhere. Although the din in the Great Hall may be deafening to some, you never know who will be
able to overhear what you say here.”

“I have Potions class in a few minutes,” Harry pointed out, if only because he knew Hermione would
chide him for being late or skiving off classes. He had absolutely no desire to be taught by Percy
Weasley.

“I’m a faculty member now. I’ll write you a note.” Flemingworth motioned for Harry to follow him.
“Come on. Let’s go to the Divination tower.”

***
“I’ve noticed that you’re not taking Divination, Mr. Potter,” Dorian Flemingworth pointed out as
the two of them approached the tower. “Is that a personal preference or is it simply an unnecessary
step in your chosen career?”

“A little of both,” Harry said, attempting to dodge the question of what his ‘chosen career’ would
be.

Flemingworth clucked disapprovingly. “That’s too bad. I’ll be taking over Professor Trelawney’s
class and I’ve heard nothing but good things about Professor Firenze. Given how many of our
teaching positions have been filled by Ministry appointees, I’d wager Divination’s the best taught
class at Hogwarts right now.”

Harry frowned. “What happened to Professor Trelawney?”

“Officially, a touch of the flu,” Dorian answered. “Unofficially, more than a touch of cooking
sherry. With Brinecove breathing down McGonagall’s neck, they can’t afford for any of their classes
to fall below the Ministry’s standards.” The two of them entered the Divination Tower and ascended
the stairwell. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what is your opinion of Divination?”

“I believe it works sometimes, if that’s what you mean,” Harry replied, his expression growing more
and more befuddled as Assistant Professor Flemingworth grabbed a crystal ball and placed it in
front of Harry as he took a seat. “I’m rubbish at it, though. Always have been.”

“I believe that every witch and wizard has a bit of the sight in them,” Flemingworth went on. “That
doesn’t mean that they can make prophecies or see the future, but they do have a certain
sensitivity to the possibilities that are available to us. Magic does not only exist inside of you
when you use your wand, Mr. Potter. It flows through us. It is an energy which can be harnessed.
Those who harness it well and wisely can become truly great. Albus Dumbledore was such a wizard.
His death was a cataclysmic event in our world. It has thrown the flow of magic, what should be the
equilibrium of light and dark, off balance.”

“Dumbledore,” Dorian Flemingworth went on as he sat opposite Harry, a small round table with a
crystal ball the only thing sitting between them, “wrote me a letter before he died, asking me to
do something for you. Once Headmistress McGonagall offered me this position, I gladly accepted it,
hoping to get the chance to do what he asked. And now I have. Mr. Potter, if you would, put your
hands on the orb.” Cautiously, Harry did just that, placing his fingers on the glass delicately.
“Are you familiar with the Department of Mysteries?” Harry nodded. “Yes. Albus indicated that you
would be. Perhaps that will help with the disorientation. Now close your eyes, or you could end up
with a very painful headache.”

Harry almost asked Dorian Flemingworth why he would feel disoriented, but before he could do so,
Flemingworth’s hands covered the other half of the orb and suddenly they were no longer sitting in
the Divination tower at Hogwarts. They were standing inside the Department of Mysteries, in one of
the long dark corridors that Harry remembered well from his fifth year. “How did you do that?”
Harry asked as he looked around in amazement. “You can’t apparate or disapparate on Hogwarts
grounds.”

“Physically, we are still on Hogwarts grounds,” Flemingworth explained. “Psychically, however, we
have entered the Department of Mysteries. Come this way and stay close. It is remarkably easy to
get lost on the astral plane.”

“Astral plane?” Harry questioned in complete befuddlement. “Why are we on the astral plane? What’s
going on?”

“I’ve known since I was a boy that I had the gift of sight,” Flemingworth explained as he guided
them through the dark, winding halls of the Department of Mysteries. “I could not prophesy, but I
could see things that others could not. My spirit could go places where my body was not.”

“Astral projection,” Harry said to himself as they rounded a corner. “So where are you taking
me?”

Dorian Flemingworth continued to look straight ahead as they glided around the deep recesses of the
Ministry of Magic. “To a locked room, deep inside the Department of Mysteries, where few have ever
dared to go.”

Harry thought back to the room inside the Department of Mysteries which Dumbledore had described
when he had first informed Harry of the prophecy. The room that contained a force that was at once
more wonderful and more terrible than death. According to Dumbledore, this force was the power that
the prophecy spoke of; the power the Dark Lord knows not. “What’s inside the room?” Harry inquired
curiously.

“The most powerful magic of all, Mr. Potter,” Flemingworth answered in an awestruck voice. “Love.”
They floated on in silence for a few moments, finally stopping in front of an ordinary-looking door
with a shiny brass handle. “Here we are. You may go inside anytime you like.”

Harry eyed Dorian Flemingworth suspiciously. “You’re not coming with me?”

Flemingworth chuckled. “The last time I set foot inside this room, my wife and I had to go on a
second honeymoon. I’m afraid I cannot afford to make that mistake again. I can assure you, however,
that no dangers await you. Dark magic cannot exist inside this room.” Harry gave the door one last
hesitant glance. “I’ll be right outside. Since we’re on the astral plane, you will still be able to
hear me, even through the door.”

Boldly, Harry stepped into the closed door and phased through it, only to come out on the other
side none the worse for wear. Once he took a look around at his new surroundings, however, he was
unimpressed. “There’s nothing here.” The room was completely empty, save for Harry’s intangible
form.

“Pure love can amplify magic a hundredfold,” Dorian Flemingworth’s voice called out from the hall.
“Thus, no magical items can be kept inside. What you must see will arrive momentarily. Love is
patient, Mr. Potter. It would be wise for you to be so as well.”

Before Harry could say anything more, a small flash of bright light appeared. Within moments, it
enlarged itself and began swirling around him, nearly blinding him with its brilliance. Once he
could look into it, he saw images from his own life: his parents playing with him as a baby, Hagrid
rescuing him from the Dursleys on his eleventh birthday, Hermione telling him he was a great wizard
just before he faced Professor Quirrell in first year, Dumbledore coming to visit him in the
Hospital Wing after he defeated Quirrell, learning that Sirius Black was not the man who had
betrayed his parents, but his kind and loving godfather…

The moments soon became names and faces and the feelings that went with them, some of them quite
strong. “How do you feel now, Mr. Potter?” Dorian asked.

“Powerful,” Harry answered honestly. At the moment, he felt like he could take on a hundred
Voldemorts. More memories of his parents, Dumbledore and Sirius flashed across the stream of light
that surrounded him. “Why am I seeing so much of Mum and Dad and Sirius and Dumbledore?”

“Because your love for them is no longer requited in this life,” Flemingworth explained. “Given
enough time in that room, you will feel the emotions of everyone who has ever truly loved you.
Sometimes it takes a while for the feelings of the living to connect to each other.”

Harry soon saw what Dorian Flemingworth was talking about, as Ron’s strong, brotherly affections
for him came on like a wave. Then he felt Remus’ emotions: complex yet no less powerful, an almost
fatherly love from someone unlikely to have children of his own. It brought tears to Harry’s eyes
just thinking about it. Those tears came in handy when his emotions connected with
Hermione’s.

“Oh!” Harry cried out in spite of himself. The strength and depth of her emotions was overpowering.
It made him want to weep and shout for joy all at once. ‘No wonder Mr. Flemingworth had to take his
wife on a second honeymoon,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Hermione and I are going to have to spend
some time alone together when I get back.’

As all of these feelings flooded through him, his heart swelled with a profound sense of happiness
and fulfillment. A strong emotion welled within him, stronger than any he had felt before. It felt
like his love for Hermione combined with his love and admiration for Dumbledore combined, but
multiplied by several hundred. Before Harry could think much on this, however, he found himself
back in the Divination classroom, looking across the table at Dorian Flemingworth. “What
happened?”

“You saw what you needed to,” Dorian assured him. “I have done what Dumbledore asked of me.”

“But…what does that mean? How is love supposed to help me defeat Voldemort?” Harry demanded to
know.

“I do not know, Mr. Potter,” Flemingworth answered simply. “I suspect the answer to that is
something that you’re going to have to figure out for yourself.”

**Thank you so, so very much to all of you who are continuing to read this story. Reviewers are my
faves, though. Just saying.

ITL**

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22. Chapter 19 3/4: An Army of Keepers
--------------------------------------

**I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or Warner Brothers. I do proudly
ship H/Hr however and am willing to associate myself with any pumpkins and/or hippogriffs involved
therein.

OK, so the whole 'one week' thing didn't work out, but here it is anyhow. I am still
going to do my darnedest to get "Off Balance" finished before Deathly Hallows and do an
update (or two) of "Going On" as well. Whether my darnedest is going to be good enough or
not, I don't know. I'll leave that judgment up to you good people. Anyway, enjoy this
chapter!**

Chapter 19 3/4: An Army of Keepers

“You’re not at all in the right position, Harry,” Hermione instructed him as she chewed on her
bottom lip pensively. “Move your leg a little to the left. No, my left. There, that’s it.
Perfect.”

“Is he in the lotus position now, Miss Granger?” Harry could hear Professor Leon Chambers ask
casually. Harry’s eyes were shut tightly and his hands balled up in fists over his legs, which were
bent at the knee, and his feet now touched his thighs. While he had wanted to spend some quality
time with Hermione, this was not exactly what he had in mind. Still, he had asked her to set up
this little occlumency lesson and it would be rude of him to walk out now, no matter how much he
really wanted to.

“Yes, Professor,” she answered dutifully.

“Excellent,” Chambers told her as he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We can get started.” He
could hear his Transfiguration professor taking a seat a meter or so from where he was sitting.
“Open your mind, Mr. Potter. Oooopen your miiiiiind.”

“I thought I was supposed to be learning to close my mind,” Harry muttered.

Chambers’ voice was mildly chastising. “Your mind is like a great doorway between cosmic realms,
Mr. Potter. In order to close it, you must first learn to oooopen it.”

‘Voldemort already has learned to ooopen it. That’s the problem,’ Harry thought to himself
bitterly.

“I sense…negative thoughts,” Chambers declared. “Negative energy. Refocus those thoughts. Make them
happy. When anger exists inside you, the cosmic doorway is locked. Positivism is the key. The key
is always in front of you, Mr. Potter. Use it.”

Harry didn’t quite know how to do that and was about to tell Professor Chambers so when Hermione’s
hands found his shoulders, rubbing them gently. Suddenly, he remembered her love for him that he
had experienced rather vividly inside the Department of Mysteries. Positive thoughts were no longer
hard to come by. “That’s it, Mr. Potter. You are one step closer to achieving the inner balance you
seek. Now, do not be alarmed, but my mind is going to reach out and begin to seek entry into
yours.”

“Shouldn’t my eyes be open?” Harry asked, although he almost immediately wondered why he’d
bothered.

“That is a myth, Mr. Potter. Eye contact is not necessary in order for true legilimency to take
place.” Harry suppressed a groan. ‘If this bloke knows more about legilimency than Dumbledore or
Snape, I’ll eat Hagrid’s rock cakes.’ “Now, what I want you to do is to find that cosmic door
inside yourself and keep it closed, no matter how strongly my mind presses against your own. Can
you do that?”

“I think so,” Harry answered honestly. ‘If your legilimency skills are as phony as everything else
about you, this should be a piece of cake.’ Once Chambers had said the word ‘legilimens’ aloud,
Harry waited patiently for the feeling of another mind probing his own. After a few moments where
nothing at all happened, Professor Chambers stood up slowly.

“You may open your eyes now, Mr. Potter,” Chambers told him. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve
wasted your money. You are, without a doubt, the most accomplished occlumens I’ve yet come across.
You do not need further instruction.”

Harry’s eyes flew open and became very wide. “What?!”

Hermione looked quite surprised as well. Her smile was a happy one but her eyes betrayed a certain
amount of disbelief. “Are you certain, Professor?”

“Very much so,” Chambers confirmed heartily. “It almost seems a shame to keep your ten galleons for
this hour. However, since I did potentially deprive someone else who is legitimately in need of my
services…”

Over Professor Chambers’ shoulder, Harry could see Commodus Brinecove approaching in the distance.
This gave him an idea. “Professor, if you wouldn’t mind, could I try legilimency on you? Since I’ve
already paid for this hour and everything.”

Chambers appeared to consider his proposal. “Well, I suppose there would be no harm in it. Be
warned, however… I am not so bad at occlumency myself.” The balding middle aged man with a pony
tail sat back down on the carpet. “Simply allow me to assume the lotus position and then you
may….Yes, hello, Professor Brinecove,” Chambers called out as the DADA teacher entered the
Transfiguration classroom. “May I help you?”

“There is a matter we need to discuss,” Brinecove informed him in a low voice. “But it can wait
until you’ve finished your lesson. I’m rather anxious to see how this goes.”

‘So am I,’ Harry thought to himself. “Very well. Mr. Potter, you may begin when ready.” Professor
Chambers was sitting exactly as Harry had been, his eyes closed and his arms and legs in the lotus
position. ‘Did I really look that stupid?’ Harry wondered.

As Professor Chambers furrowed his brow in concentration, seemingly prepared to ward off any attack
on his mind, Harry’s eyes met Commodus Brinecove’s. Between the plot to kill Harry, Ravenclaw’s
quill, the life debt that Snape had once owed him, his conversation with Harry ’s mother or his
youthful attempt to become a Death Eater, there was bound to be something in Brinecove’s mind that
was worth taking a look at. ‘Let’s see how much eye contact really matters in legilimency.’
“Legilimens!” Harry called out, thrusting his wand vaguely in the direction of both the seated
Chambers and Brinecove, who was standing just behind him.

Harry’s mind pushed past Commodus Brinecove’s mental defenses easily, but then an odd thing
happened. Once inside, he could not see Brinecove’s thoughts at all, nor experience his memories.
It was as though he were running up against a rubber wall again and again, bouncing off no matter
how many times he took a good run at it.

Breaking eye contact, Harry nearly cursed aloud. He had accomplished nothing and now Brinecove
would have a valid pretext to punish him. At best, he could expect a detention. At worst, he might
be expelled. Commodus Brinecove’s knowing smile had not vanished, however, and he did not speak as
Leon Chambers rose from the floor with a look of triumph. “Better luck next time, Mr. Potter. It
was a good try, but you did not manage to open the cosmic doorway inside my mind. If it’s any
consolation to you… you’ve been thwarted by a master.”

Harry shook Chambers’ hand when he extended it. “So it seems,” Harry replied, his eyes never quite
leaving Brinecove.

“Professor Chambers,” Brinecove said in an urgent tone. “If you have a moment, I’d like to speak
with you in private. I’m afraid something unfortunate has happened.” As Brinecove and Chambers
walked off to stand at the far end of the hallway outside, Hermione gestured for Harry to follow
her into a darkened corner.

“Listening beetles,” she mouthed and Harry instantly knew what she meant. He leaned over her,
catching the scent of a pleasantly light but fruity shampoo that she frequently used as he did
so.

“Professor Slughorn is dead,” Brinecove’s voice came softly out of the tiny wizarding wireless set
Hermione held in her hands. “The entire school’s been effectively shut down for the day and all
faculty members are to be questioned by the Headmistress herself as to their whereabouts at the
time of the attack.”

“But…” Chambers sputtered. “But she couldn’t possibly suspect…”

“I don’t think she suspects any of us,” Brinecove said as Chambers sighed heavily. “Still, we
should be careful. Who knows what she might find out if one of us slips up?”

Harry stole a look down the hallway before Hermione pulled him back. Professor Chambers now wore an
indignant look on his face. “Well, it won’t be me.”

“See that it isn’t,” Brinecove said threateningly. “There’s something else, too. Azkaban’s been
attacked. All of the inmates have been set free. Every Death Eater, murderer and madman that was
being held there is now on the loose. There have been calls for the Minister of Magic to declare
martial law.”

Harry and Hermione eyed each other worriedly. “Do you…do you think he will?” Chambers asked with a
gulp. When Brinecove said nothing, he asked, “Where do you think the Death Eaters will go?”

Brinecove snorted. “Everything points to the same thing, doesn’t it? The Dark Lo…You-Know-Who is
building an army, probably the largest army we’ve seen yet in this war. I don’t think there’s any
way to know what he might do with it.”

Harry shook his head. He did know what Voldemort was planning to do with his army: he was bound to
send it here, on or before Halloween. The only question that remained was what to do about it.
‘There’s only one thing to do,’ Harry thought resolutely. ‘We have to build an army of our
own.’

***
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Harry’s wand tapped the Marauder’s Map and the outlay
of Hogwarts promptly appeared on the parchment. He was perched on the stairs leading up to the
Gryffindor boys’ dormitory with Hermione sitting next to him, her head leaning over his shoulder as
she examined the map carefully.

“It looks like everyone’s here,” she remarked, as the two of them stared down at the perfectly
sketched rendition of the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Neville
Longbottom’s names appeared right where Harry knew there to be a very comfortable couch and Harry
smiled when he saw how close Luna and Ron were on the map. Standing nearer to the fireplace were
Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody, who were probably discussing
Order business. Bill Weasley and Oliver Wood were seated in armchairs on either end of the couch,
as Charlie Weasley and Hagrid stood in one corner, likely engaged in a conversation about
dragons.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. Everyone who he had invited was here except for Kingsley Shacklebolt and
Nymphadora Tonks, who were on Auror detail just outside Hogwarts grounds. “Not very surprising, is
it? Most of them are or were Gryffindors. I didn’t really think any of them wouldn’t show.”

Hermione gave him a quick, comforting kiss on the lips. “You’re worried about this, aren’t you?
About what you’re going to say.”

Harry exhaled sharply. “How do I ask eleven good, decent people to put their lives on the line for
me?”

“You asked me, didn’t you?” Hermione pointed out encouragingly. “And I said ‘yes’.”

Harry smiled thinly in spite of himself. “So should I give them each a good snog first, too? Would
that help my case any?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Harry,” Hermione replied coyly. “You might enjoy it with
Luna but I think by the time you got around to snogging Hagrid you’d realize you made a huge
mistake.”

Harry laughed at that. “Very true. But even Luna isn’t really my type.”

“Oh?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Well, then, just what is your type? Are you still into
‘pretty Quidditch players who flip their hair’?”

“Nah, not really,” Harry said playfully as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Right now, I’m
more into brilliant girls with understated good looks and a heart of gold.” Just as his lips
hovered over hers, he pulled back slightly. “You don’t know anybody like that, do you?”

“I should certainly hope not,” Hermione replied with a small, wry smile. “I wouldn’t want you to
dump me for her.”

“Not a chance,” Harry assured her with a chaste kiss. Soon, the kisses became much less chaste. By
the time the two of them would ordinarily have been ready to move things to the bedroom, the clock
below chimed loudly, rattling them both and reluctantly making them break away from each
other.

“You’d better get down there, Harry,” Hermione said through ragged breaths. “You wouldn’t want to
be late. Not for this.”

Harry nodded sharply. “Right.” Harry began to descend the stairs, then turned around and regarded
Hermione with a perplexed look. “You’re not coming?”

“How would it seem if I came down from the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory with you?” Hermione asked
pointedly.

“Better than it would look if you came down from the boys’ dorms without me, I’d say,” Harry
remarked cheekily.

Conceding Harry’s point, Hermione followed him down into the Common Room and took a seat between
Luna and Neville on the couch. This left Harry standing alone in the middle of a dozen people, some
of them old friends, some merely acquaintances, who he now needed to convince to help him lead an
army. An army which did not yet exist. It was a task vital to ensuring Voldemort’s defeat and one
that he was not entirely prepared for. Still, he had to try. After all, the worst thing they could
do was say ‘no’.

‘Actually, that’s not true,’ Harry’s brain informed him traitorously. ‘They could run to any of the
Ministry’s flunkies and tell them that I’m trying to start a revolution. But they’re not very
likely to do that, are they?’ Alright, so none of these thoughts were terribly helpful. ‘They’re
all staring at you. Think, Harry. What would Dumbledore do? Tell a joke, maybe?’ Harry thought
about that for a moment. ‘Why don’t I know any jokes?’ he asked himself in a panic. As several of
the invitees began to look restless, Harry steeled himself. ‘Alright, it’s now or never. When all
else fails, be honest.’

“I’m not much for making speeches,” Harry began. “I reckon most of you know already that
Voldemort’s preparing to attack Hogwarts on Halloween. For those of you who don’t…well, he is. He’s
doing it because he wants something that Salazar Slytherin put here a thousand years ago. Something
that will make him immortal. He won’t hesitate to kill anyone who stands in his way and he’ll take
the school apart brick by brick to get there if he has to. He won’t be alone, either. His forces
are as strong as they’ve been since the last war. So we’re looking at what’s probably going to be
the largest battle in either war against Voldemort. Except, of course, our side doesn’t have an
army. So it’ll be more like a slaughter.”

McGonagall looked stung. “I can assure you, Mr. Potter, the Order of the Phoenix stands ready to
protect the castle from any force that might assail it.”

Harry shook his head. “The Order isn’t going to be enough. Not this time. Voldemort already knows
how they think; how they fight.” Harry walked the length of the common room with a thoughtful
expression on his face. “Voldemort’s coming with the largest force he can gather. We only have a
real chance to beat him if we do the same.”

“When you say ‘we’,” Remus Lupin interjected, “who do you mean?”

“Everyone in this room,” Harry answered him. “I’ve asked all of you here because I need you to help
me build an army…and to lead it, once it’s built.”

There were murmurs and whispers circulating around the room now; so many of them that Harry
couldn’t keep track. “McGonagall’s right for once, Potter,” Moody growled. “The Order can take care
of this on its own. There’s no need to bring amateurs and kids into this fight.”

“I can’t speak for everyone here,” Oliver Wood pointed out defiantly, “but I don’t intend to just
stand by and watch as an evil wizard army tries to destroy Hogwarts. When you owled me and asked me
to come here, Harry, I didn’t know that this was what you had in mind, but…I’m in. Sign me
up.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wood,” McGonagall said primly, “you are a professional Quidditch player,
not an Auror. I fail to see what kind of serious role you or any of the other students might play
in a wizard’s army.”

Harry grinned devilishly. He had been hoping for this very thing: a chance to show what his chosen
officer corps could do. “Oliver, you wrote a paper in your fifth year that was called ‘An
Unconventional Defense of Hogwarts’, didn’t you?” Wood nodded. “The essay diagrams Hogwarts’
natural magical defenses…but I’d wager it also does more than that, doesn’t it? Voldemort went to
great lengths to make sure that it was taken out of the castle by Professor Quirrell. So what does
it propose exactly?”

“Well, I, erm,” Wood began nervously, “sort of studied the muggle Battle of Britain and came up
with the idea of using an air force to protect the castle.”

“An air force?” Arthur Weasley questioned with a frown. “You mean using those muggle Oreo
planes?”

“Brooms, more like,” Oliver explained patiently. “I got the idea during a really rough Quidditch
practice. It, erm, was just a theory, though,” he added sheepishly.

“It’s more than that now,” Harry said authoritatively. “Oliver, I want you heading up Hogwarts’ Air
Defense Force. Anybody who’s a fifth year or above and can ride a broom will be eligible to join.
You can start training them right away if you like.”

Mad-Eye Moody glared angrily at Harry. “You’re talking about conscripting children!”

Harry refused to back down, well remembering how he had felt about joining the fight when he was in
fifth year. “I’m talking about letting young people who are willing and able to fight have a chance
to defend their home.” He then turned his attention back to Oliver Wood. “I don’t want you to work
with just brooms, though. Luna, do you think you could train some people to ride thestrals?”

“As long as the people I would be training could see them,” Luna Lovegood consented. “Of course,
there aren’t very many thestrals at Hogwarts now. I could probably lure some more in with freshly
baked blodberry muffins, though.”

“Hagrid,” Harry called out, eager to turn the subject away from blodberry muffins, “do you think
you could give Luna a place to keep the thestrals?”

“I don’ see why not,” Hagrid agreed with a bewildered look.

“Good,” Harry replied quickly, “I’d also like you to work with Charlie Weasley on something. Could
the two of you have some dragons ready for battle by Halloween?”

“Well, I…” Hagrid began to hedge but Charlie cut in with, “Not a problem, Harry.”

“Great.” Harry turned to face Neville Longbottom who seemed to have been following the proceedings
reasonably well, although his face had a dazed look to it. “Neville, I need you to reorganize the
D.A.”

“M..me?” Neville stammered. “Why me?”

“You were the best in the club at learning new spells, other than Hermione.” Ron made a soft
cracking sound under his breath, perhaps to indicate that Harry was whipped. “And I need Hermione
inside the castle. Someone needs to lead the students in battle. Will you do it, Neville?”

“Yeah,” Neville agreed shakily. “Of course I will. I’ll do it,” he added, almost as though he was
having trouble convincing himself that he could.

“Why do you need me inside the castle?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Because, Miss Granger,” Harry elaborated in a purposefully businesslike tone, “you’re heading up
our interior defenses. Specifically, I want you to lead a special house elf division.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as though she had just been given exactly what she wanted for Christmas. “Oh
bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “Hermione’s got herself an army of house elves. Give me Voldemort any
day.”

“That’s the spirit, Ron,” Harry said, only barely suppressing a laugh. “Remus, I’d like you to be
in overall command of our forces on the ground.”

Lupin looked ever-so-slightly amused. “Does this mean that I will outrank Mr. Longbottom?”

Neville looked like he wanted to sink into the couch as Harry replied, “Yes, it does. You’ll be in
charge of all of the students, the Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix who choose to
fight.”

“Are you asking the Order of the Phoenix to make Remus Lupin its leader then, Mr. Potter?”
Headmistress McGonagall asked pointedly.

“Of course he isn’t,” Mad-Eye Moody interrupted crossly. “He intends to take over the Order
himself. The boy wants all the power that Dumbledore had, but none of the responsibility.”

“That’s not fair,” Charlie Weasley said, rising to Harry’s defense quickly. Soon the room filled
with angry conversation, as various members of the Order of the Phoenix began arguing among
themselves over Harry’s merits as a leader.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, you know,” Harry said quietly. At his words, the roar became softer,
eventually dying out as he continued speaking. “It’s times like this that I think back to the day
when I turned eleven, before I knew about wizards or magic. I keep seeing that little boy in my
mind’s eye; the one who only wanted someone to remember his birthday. I was so thrilled to find out
that I was special; that there was this whole world where someone like me belonged. Where I could
fit in. I had no idea what that world was going to be like but I knew that it had to be better than
the one I had grown up in. It couldn’t possibly be worse.

“Whenever I find myself wondering what it is that I’m fighting for, I remember that boy. I remember
the world that he wanted to live in. I think about all the other children everywhere who want to
live in that same world. That’s why I’ll do anything I can to make sure that that world exists one
day. Even if that means giving up my own life.

“I know you all have questions about this; about me. I understand that. I know I’m not ready yet to
be another Dumbledore, but I’m not that little boy anymore, either. I’m not standing here now
because I want to take over the Order of the Phoenix. I’m not interested in gaining power or
positions. I’m here because there’s no one else who can defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore believed that.
Now I’m asking you to believe that, too.

“You can choose to help me. You can stand up and fight Voldemort or you can hide in the shadows and
hope that he goes away on his own. I’ve already made my decision. I would suggest that everyone
here do the same.”

“And what about us, Potter?” Moody asked grumpily. “Don’t we get a choice? You haven’t even told us
yet what you’re going to be doing during this grand battle scheme of yours. Are you planning on
hogging all the fame and glory by leading us from the sidelines while we do all the work?”

“I won’t be the one leading the army,” Harry answered simply. The room became deadly silent. “I’ll
be inside the castle with Hermione,” a glare silenced Ron before he could make another cracking
noise, “in case Voldemort breaches our defenses. What he wants is inside the Chamber of Secrets. I
have to defeat him before he gets to it. Because if I don’t stop him now, there will never be any
stopping him.

“None of you have to fight if you don’t want to. But if you do…show me by doing something. Say his
name. No more ‘You-Know-Who’s or ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s.” Harry did not flinch at all as he
said, “Voldemort.”

Most of the twelve people surrounding Harry Potter were reluctant, but Remus Lupin stepped forward
boldly. “Voldemort.”

Hermione soon joined him, rising to her feet with a look of determination on her face.
“Voldemort.”

Ron was next. “Voldemort.”

Luna Lovegood, after turning her head both ways and examining everyone carefully for a few moments,
stood next to Ron. “Voldemort.”

A few more long moments passed before Bill Weasley shrugged his shoulders and said,
“Voldemort.”

Never one to be outdone by his older brother, Charlie Weasley followed soon after.
“Voldemort.”

“Voldemort,” Hagrid said in a quiet voice.

Headmistress McGonagall stepped forward dramatically as Alastor Moody looked on in disgust and
Arthur Weasley raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Voldemort.”

Oliver Wood and Neville stood at the same time and said “Voldemort”.

All eyes turned to the Weasley patriarch and the former Auror with the artificial eye. Finally,
Arthur managed, “V…V…Voldemort.”

Moody’s teeth were clenched and a look that Harry could only describe as sadly furious was set in
his one remaining natural eye. “Voldemort,” he said in a rough voice.

Harry exhaled slowly. “Good,” was all he could bring himself to say, but he felt like pumping his
fists in the air and shouting. “I’ll meet with each of you separately later to discuss specifics.”
Harry’s eye caught something suspicious on the Marauder’s Map, which was sticking out of his robes.
“Right now, though, I think I’d like to speak with Remus, Ron and Hermione. Alone.”

Given the need to conceal what they were doing from the Ministry’s appointed instructors, the
invitees filed out of the Gryffindor Common Room quickly but not as a group. As they departed,
Neville, who wore an anxious expression on his face, returned to the boys’ dormitory. Harry waited
until he was alone with his father’s old friend, his best mate and his girlfriend to pull out the
map and point out a name that now appeared there. “Peter Pettigrew’s inside the castle.”

Ron’s eyes widened, Hermione looked worried and Remus Lupin frowned as he took the map from Harry.
“He certainly didn’t waste any time, did he?” Lupin asked rhetorically. “He can’t have been out of
Azkaban for more than twelve hours. Then again, he was a Marauder. He knows about all of the old
secret passages.”

Harry gave Remus Lupin a beseeching look. “We should seal all of them off and post a guard at each
one. We can’t possibly hope to protect Hogwarts if we can’t control who comes in.”

“We can’t have a Death Eater running around loose in the castle, either,” Hermione said as she
shivered slightly. “We have to find him.”

“Finding a rat in a castle this size won’t be easy,” Ron pointed out. “But I think I could do it.
He used to be my rat, after all. And it’s not like you gave me anything else to do,” he muttered
ruefully.

“Actually, I think finding Pettigrew would be a good job for Hermione’s new house elf unit,” Harry
said with a grin. “They know the castle better than even the Marauders did and I expect they can
tell an animagus from the more common variety of rat.” As Ron looked downcast, Harry broke out into
a wide smile. “Do you remember when Mad-Eye Moody asked me if I was going to hog all the fame and
glory for myself?”

“Yeah, and you said you weren’t going to be leading the army,” Ron remarked matter-of-factly. “But
you never said who…” Ron looked stunned as Harry’s grin widened. “You want me to do it?!
But…Harry…I’ve never…”

“You know how Voldemort thinks better than anyone,” Harry reminded him. “You’ve always been a whiz
at wizard’s chess, so you’re a natural tactician. And there aren’t more than two people in the
world who I trust as much. All I really need you to do is coordinate orders between Wood’s forces
in the air and Lupin’s on the ground, but…essentially, you’ll be in command.” As Ron hesitated,
Harry appeared to be rethinking his decision. “That is, unless you don’t want the fame and glory.
Maybe Bill or Charlie would be willing to…”

“No, I’ll do it,” Ron agreed quickly. “I’m just surprised that you picked me, is all. And that you
took so long to tell me about it.” Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Is this payback for the little ‘whipped’
noises I was making during your speech?”

“You might have something there, Ron,” Harry replied teasingly.

“I must confess that I’m more than a little surprised you chose me for a leadership position as
well,” Remus asked with a look of concern. “Do you really think people are going to trust a
werewolf to lead them in battle?”

“They will if you give them reason to,” Harry replied, “and I have every confidence that you’ll do
just that. The members of the Order of the Phoenix will follow you without too much trouble, I
think, and all of the students who’ll be fighting remember you as the only decent Defense Against
the Dark Arts teacher they’ve ever had. As for the Aurors, well…I was going to ask you to talk to
Kinglsey Shacklebolt and Tonks on my behalf, to see if they might do some recruitment. D’you think
you can handle that?”

Lupin swallowed nervously but nodded, clearly unhappy about having to talk to Tonks so soon after
their break up. “I believe so, yes.”

Hermione glanced up at the clock. “It’s nearly time for us to be making our rounds, Harry,” she
reminded him.

“Alright,” Harry acknowledged, “I’ll catch up with the two of you later.” Harry snatched the
Marauder’s Map back from Remus, causing the older wizard to look affronted. “This might be a good
time for the two of you to talk strategy, you know.”

As the Head Boy and Head Girl neared the portrait hole, Ron turned to face Remus Lupin. They made
such an unlikely duo that Harry had a hard time suppressing laughter as each sized the other up. “I
don’t know how you feel about it, but I think our strategy should be to kick Voldemort’s arse,” Ron
said, his tone exaggeratedly brave.

“Yes, of course,” Lupin replied in mock seriousness. “But perhaps we should try to kick him
someplace else first, as a diversion. Somewhere very near Voldemort’s arse. Just so he doesn’t see
the arse-kicking coming.”

“You do realize that you’ve created a monster, don’t you?” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear as
they exited the portrait hole. Harry could only chuckle at that. Monster or no, he had every
confidence in his best mate and former teacher. ‘I only hope I’ll do as well against
Voldemort.’

***
“All clear in here,” Harry called out in a stage whisper as he exited the Charms classroom, joining
Hermione as she walked down the third floor corridors. The last time Peter Pettigrew had been
spotted on the Marauder’s Map he had been on this floor. Harry chose not to walk around with the
map in use, as he did not want it to fall into the hands of Professors Brinecove, Chambers or Percy
Weasley, who might easily confiscate it.

“I’m sure the house elves will find him in no time, Harry,” Hermione assured him. “They’re really
quite capable creatures, once they get over their feelings of inferiority.” Hermione seemed
positively giddy with glee. “Oh, I can just see it now. I can teach them spells, build up their
confidence, knit them some nice, new uniforms…”

“Maybe we should hold off on the uniforms for now,” Harry said tactfully. ‘Unless you want Dobby
wearing them all, that is,’ he added to himself.

“Harry,” Hermione began warily as the two of them walked past the Hospital Wing. “You didn’t just
put me inside the castle during the battle to keep me safe, did you? Because I’m your girlfriend, I
mean. You wouldn’t do that, right?”

Harry had been expecting this. “Hermione, if I wanted to keep you safe during the battle, I’d send
you somewhere far away from here. Like a wizarding school in Siberia.”

“There’s rumored to be one there, you know,” Hermione pointed out nervously. “Sort of a reform
school for Durmstrang drop outs. I don’t imagine it would be very safe.”

Harry stopped walking, took Hermione’s hands in his own and looked into her eyes. “I need you
inside the castle because I have a sinking feeling that no matter how hard we try to keep him out,
Voldemort’s going to find a way in. I need someone I trust in charge here once I go off to fight
him. And there’s nobody that I trust more than you.”

“Really?” Hermione asked in a very small voice. “Not even Remus or…or Ron?”

“No one,” Harry assured her as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I love you more than I ever
thought I could love anyone.”

“I feel the same way about you,” Hermione confessed. “I don’t know what I’d do if…if…” Her eyes
began to tear up and Harry suddenly ached to hold her. As if she had read his mind, she fell into
his arms easily, her head resting easily on his shoulder. “Oh Harry. I feel as though there are a
million things we should be talking about, but I don’t really want to talk about any of
them.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Harry said in a soothing voice. Ever since his journey to the
Department of Mysteries, Harry had longed to be in her arms again, to show her that he loved her
every bit as much as she loved him. There had always been something holding them back, however.
“I’d skive off the rest of our rounds, but with Peter Pettigrew on the loose…”

“Maybe we should check the map again,” Hermione advised. “Just to see where he’s gone.”

As soon as he had solemnly swore that he was up to no good, Harry searched the map diligently for
Pettigrew. “He’s gone. I mean really gone. He’s not anywhere on the map. See?” Harry leaned down to
show Hermione that Peter Pettigrew was nowhere to be found, only to find that Hermione seemed to be
much more interested in kissing him.

“Hermione,” Harry said between kisses, “this is serious. Pettigrew could be…anywhere…”

“We should…talk to Remus about it…in the morning…” Hermione replied as she finally stopped kissing
him. Her eyes were still filled with passion as she gazed up at him, however. “I’m afraid there’s
not much that we can do about it until then.”

Harry smiled at her mischievously. “There isn’t, is there?” His lips hovered over her forehead for
one tantalizing moment, then began to lightly plant kisses all over her face. “I wonder what we
could do in the meanwhile.”

***
Happily, while Harry could not gain entrance to the Head Girl’s room, Hermione had no such trouble
entering the Head Boy’s. The results of this revelation were predictable yet very enjoyable. “We
must have broken a dozen school rules just now,” Hermione pointed out lazily from beside Harry as
they languished together in his bed.

“You told me not to stop, you know,” Harry countered. “Several times. In a very firm tone.” He put
his arm around her and squeezed her close to him. “And if I don’t listen to the Head Girl, who
will?”

“You are quite the charmer, Harry Potter,” Hermione told him with an indulgent laugh. “You always
were able to get me to break the rules, despite my better judgment. And I’ll bet if I stay in this
bed with you all night, you’ll get me to break a few more. But,” she continued, causing Harry’s lip
to puff out slightly in a pout, “I can’t. If Headmistress McGonagall caught me here, we’d both lose
our badges.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “We don’t need no stinking badges,” he said in the best fake Mexican
accent he could manage. For emphasis, he began gently nibbling at the nape of her neck.

“Harry,” Hermione said through gales of pleased laughter, “stop. Please. I beg of you. Or I’ll be
here all night. We need the freedom of being Head Boy and Head Girl, Harry. You know that as well
as I do.”

The pout had not yet left Harry’s face. “But what about my occlumency lessons? I was hoping you
might help me with those.”

Hermione looked down, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Professor Chambers said you didn’t need occlumency
lessons anymore.”

“Professor Chambers doesn’t have dreams as Voldemort every night,” Harry reminded her as a shadow
passed over his face. “Also, he’s a gigantic fraud, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Well, he did manage to teach me legilimency,” Hermione said in a meek voice, “but I think he is
wrong about your not needing occlumency lessons. Maybe he just isn’t ready to deal with what’s
inside your mind.”

“I know I’m not,” Harry muttered. “But I don’t think Chambers even saw into my mind. I sure didn’t
feel anything if he did.” After a moment’s thought, he had to amend that statement. “Well, I did
feel annoyed every time he told me to oooopen my mind.”

“He’s a bit of an eccentric who believes in things that I don’t,” Hermione said, “but you could say
the same thing about Luna Lovegood.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quickly, “except Luna doesn’t charge people to hear her talk about snorkacks.”
He snorted derisively. “Seriously, if that man could read my thoughts, then he’d probably be here
now, pounding at my door, threatening to sue me for mental slander…”

Both teens fell silent as there suddenly was a pounding at Harry’s door. Hermione shrunk under the
covers. “Go see who it is, Harry,” she said fearfully.

“Why me?” Harry asked.

“Because it’s your room,” Hermione replied, clearly horrified at the entire situation. “It could be
Headmistress McGonagall. Honestly, the things I let you talk me into…”

Warily, Harry sat up in his bed, threw on a pair of pajama bottoms and walked to the door. He
opened it only a crack but soon felt it shove hard against him, allowing a shadowy figure wearing a
blue hood and a long black cloak to enter the room, his wand pointed at Harry. “Avada kedavra!” a
deep male voice called out.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed just as he ducked underneath the green jet of light. Harry rose quickly
to fire a countercurse, but the blue hooded figure had already darted back down the hallway
outside. Before he could vanish from sight, however, Harry had followed him into the hall and fired
a jelly legs jinx at him.

As the mysterious figure scrambled about, his hood fell away from his face, revealing the familiar
visage of Severus Snape. Before Harry could do anything else to stop him, however, Snape threw a
glass vial to the floor, which released a great puff of smoke. Harry could no longer see well
enough to fire a spell and began coughing violently. By the time the smoke cleared, Snape was
gone.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione called to him frantically as she ran to his side. “What
happened?”

“It was Snape,” Harry declared breathlessly. “He’s escaped. We need to find him.” Striding across
the Head Boy’s room purposefully, he grabbed the Marauder’s Map from his trunk and said, “I
solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

“That’s odd,” Hermione said as she looked at the map from over his shoulder. “Snape’s still in the
dungeons. There are two members of the Order guarding him”

“There’s no way he could have gotten back there so quickly,” Harry assessed. “It must have been
someone else using polyjuice potion.” Harry’s eyes searched the map for someone walking near the
Head dorms, but every hallway leading there was empty. “But…if it wasn’t Snape…who else would want
to kill me?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione answered him shakily. “But we need to find out.”

To Be Continued...

**It's a little short for the wait, but I guarantee you the next two chapters will make up for
it. You guys have been great, I hope you'll really enjoy the last three chapters.

ITL**

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23. Chapter 20: Conflict
------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic, Warner Brothers or anybody else
rolling in the dough because of a certain seventeen-year-old wizard. I just write fun stories about
him where he has a decent love interest.

I'm really sorry this chapter is so late. I had every intention of updating this story a week
and a half ago. I still hope to have the next one out before Deathly Hallows is released.**

Chapter 20: Conflict

An otherworldly bellow echoed across the Forbidden Forest as a centaur’s arrow struck a giant in
the eye, forcing its colossal frame to the ground with a loud thump. Its brothers and sisters kept
pushing forward, however, creating a thunderous, deafening rumbling sound that carried for miles
around, no doubt frightening some of the first and second years who were being kept deep inside the
castle. The centaurs were not cowed, however, and a hail of arrows descended on the giants, with
some breaking through their flesh and others bouncing off harmlessly.

From the Astronomy Tower, Ron Weasley watched what was happening below through a pair of
omnioculars that had arrived only a few days ago in a care package from Fred and George. “D’you
know what this reminds me of?”

Harry Potter was leaning against the window, watching the sun go down over the horizon. It took him
a moment before he figured out what Ron was talking about, but eventually the realization dawned on
him. “That time Voldemort took over the Cotswolds. He made all of those magical creatures fight
each other, just so he could see which ones would be the best to recruit.”

“Hard to believe that a goblin won,” Ron remarked as he pulled the omnioculars down and turned to
face Harry. “The quintaped looked like such a sure thing. Then it got beaten by a nundu.” Ron
frowned. “How did Voldemort get a nundu into the Cotswolds anyway?”

“Very carefully,” Harry answered matter-of-factly.

“Well, however he did it, it was one hell of a fight,” Ron said, losing himself for a moment in
Septimus Prince’s memories. “Not that I actually think that it was fun or anything.”

“No, of course not,” Harry replied as he shook his head emphatically. “It was…horrible.”

“Terrible, really,” Ron agreed in a half-hearted mutter. He turned back to look at the carnage
below, as the centaurs and giants battled each other for control of the Forbidden Forest. “I wish
there was something that we could do to help.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Wood’s Air Defense Force already flew out there to help the centaurs and got
nothing but friendly fire for their troubles. The centaurs don’t want us there any more than
Voldemort’s army of giants does. We can’t afford to fight both of them. Not now, anyway.” As Harry
watched the sun go down over the Scottish highlands, he reminded himself that he would not see it
again until it was Halloween. Tomorrow would be the day Voldemort began the battle in
earnest.

“What about Firenze?” Ron asked. “Couldn’t he talk some sense into them?”

“I asked him about it, but he just spouted off something about the stars being aligned a certain
way and galloped off,” Harry grumbled. “I didn’t really want to press him too much. I’m just glad
he’s willing to fight on our side.”

As Ron watched centaur’s arrows plunge deeply into a row of giants’ knees, he winced. “Yeah, I’m
going to have to agree with you on that one.” Ron put the omnioculars down again and looked Harry
straight in the eye. “Do you have any special plans for tonight?”

“I asked Remus for one last training session,” Harry answered honestly, “and I need to talk to
McGonagall about moving the first and second years as far away from the Chamber of Secrets as
possible…”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I meant with Hermione.”

“Oh.” This gave Harry pause. He hadn’t given the matter of what they would do the night before the
battle much thought.

“This could be our last night on Earth, mate,” Ron reminded him needlessly. “Luna and I are
planning on taking the grand tour of Hogwarts’ nicer broom closets, but I figured you and Hermione
would be planning something, I dunno, classier. Like a candlelit dinner or a romantic shag by the
lake. Not that I want details, mind you.”

“I haven’t been able to give Hermione as much romance as she deserves,” Harry said with a twinge of
regret in his voice. “We’ve not really had a proper date yet. I don’t think I’ve been a very good
boyfriend to her.”

Ron snorted. “Somehow I don’t think Hermione’s terribly upset that you’ve spent more time trying to
defeat Voldemort than you have snogging her. She’s just not that kind of girl.” Ron gave Harry an
appraising look. “Do you love her? I mean, really love her? Can you picture yourself getting
married to her, having kids and then bragging endlessly about their high NEWT scores?”

Harry couldn’t help the wide smile that broke out on his face. “Definitely. Yes, I love her. I
really do.”

“Then let me talk to McGonagall, cut the training session with Lupin short and give Hermione a
night she won’t ever forget,” Ron advised with eyebrows raised. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for it
later.”

“I’ll thank you for it now,” Harry said earnestly. “Thanks, Ron.” Just as Harry turned to exit the
Astronomy Tower and Ron turned his attention back to the battle below, Harry thought of something.
“You and Luna might want to spend a little extra time in the third floor broom closet next to the
trophy room. It has candles that give off the scent of rose petals when you burn them.”

“Good to know,” Ron told him with a small nod of thanks. “Now get out of here and go find Hermione
before she decides to spend the night curled up with a book instead of you.”

***
The Day of the Match

Nearly a week earlier, the castle was all abuzz about the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match.
Some, notably Hermione, felt that holding a sporting event this close to an imminent attack on the
castle by Lord Voldemort was an unnecessary distraction. Headmistress McGonagall, on the other
hand, believed that it would provide a morale boost for the school and help everyone forget about
their problems, if only for a little while. Harry would never have admitted it to Hermione, but in
this particular instance he agreed with McGonagall. Besides, this was his first chance to watch a
Gryffindor Quidditch match from the stands with his girlfriend sitting beside him. This was a
time-honored golden opportunity for Hogwarts’ boys to get in a discreet bit of snogging,
particularly if they had the good fortune to be dating someone who was not at all interested in the
sport.

Harry gave Hermione a warm smile as he threw his arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.
There was definitely something to be said for dating a girl who wasn’t a Quidditch player. “Is
there someplace you usually sit?” Harry asked Hermione politely as they neared the stands.

Hermione considered that for a moment. “When you were playing, I always picked a place where I
could watch you without any difficulty. When you weren’t playing, I never much cared where I sat.
Today, though, I think I’d just like to sit in the shade. We wouldn’t want to get too hot.”

Since the weather had lately seemed much more like winter than the middle of fall and both of them
were wearing heavy scarves and mittens, Harry knew that avoiding the hot sun was not her true
motivation for suggesting somewhere shady. Apparently, the boys weren’t the only ones who knew of
the joys of Quidditch match snogging. “That sounds like a good idea,” Harry told her with a coy
smile.

From the Quidditch pitch, Ginny Weasley did not need omnioculars to see Harry Potter and Hermione
Granger sitting together someplace secluded, no doubt hoping to turn the match into an excuse for a
prolonged make out session. ‘It just isn’t fair,’ Ginny pouted to herself ‘I would have put out for
him, too. He has to know that by now. I slept with Draco Malfoy, for pity’s sake!’

Ah, but that had been the rub, hadn’t it? The plan to make Harry jealous by sleeping with Malfoy
had backfired completely, making him want nothing to do with her instead. ‘Maybe he’ll come around.
Maybe if he thinks that I wasn’t just using Draco to make him jealous he’ll want to step in and
rescue me.’

As Ginny watched Draco Malfoy giving last minute instructions to his fellow teammates, a small
smile crossed her lips. Of course he was on the wrong side of the war and could be completely
insufferable at times, but he had many of the same qualities she had found attractive in Harry. He
was stubborn, handsome in his own way, and, perhaps best of all, very wealthy. ‘And not a bad
lover, either,’ she thought to herself with a coquettish giggle.

Ginny’s smile grew wider as she gave her own team a short pep talk before the game. This was going
to be the most lopsided Quidditch match in the history of the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. Back in
September, Professor Brinecove had suspended the entire Slytherin Quidditch team for pranks that
they’d pulled on Muggleborn first years. The idiots had then managed to extend that suspension by
somehow jinxing Brinecove so that the words ‘Mudblood lover’ regularly appeared on his clothing.
The only break Slytherin had gotten was when Brinecove decided that the suspension did not apply to
Draco Malfoy (as he had not been at Hogwarts at the time) and allowed him the opportunity to
assemble a new team. He had done so, but his team was comprised completely of reserves and amateurs
who’d had little time to practice. Perhaps it was not as certain a victory as if Slytherin had had
to forfeit the match, but it would be much more satisfying.

Ginny tried her best not to watch Harry snuggling close to Hermione as Madame Hooch gave her
traditional ‘clean game’ speech, only this time with a frowning Oliver Wood at her side. As soon as
the snitch was in the air, however, her mind was entirely on the game. She would not give Draco
Malfoy the satisfaction of beating her in her first match as Quidditch captain.

***
The Battle’s Eve

Despite what Harry had told Ron, there was something he needed to do that was slightly more
important than spending a romantic evening alone with Hermione. He needed to get Ravenclaw’s quill
away from Professor Brinecove. With Bill Weasley’s help, he had concocted a plan to steal the quill
while the duplicitous head of Slytherin House was otherwise occupied. Harry had come up with
several interesting ideas on how to distract the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (many of
which were quite painful), but after grabbing his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map from
the Head Boy’s room, he quickly realized that he wouldn’t have to use any of them.

Upon consulting the map, Harry discovered that the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Division,
Sophocles Plante, was meeting with Brinecove (as well as Professor Chambers and Percy Weasley) in
the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry did not know what the meeting was about, but
suspected that it had something to do with the battle going on in the Forest. Almost all of the
Aurors who had been assigned to guard Hogwarts were standing outside the classroom and they were
bunched so closely together that Harry could not make out their individual names on the map. Harry
could only guess that Plante did not have the Aurors gathered there because he was happy with the
Ministry’s three appointed professors. Perhaps this was just the distraction he needed. The Head of
the Magical Law Enforcement Division had been an old friend of Dumbledore’s and, if nothing else,
would prevent Brinecove from punishing Harry too harshly if he were caught.

‘Great,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Now all I have to do is get past several dozen Aurors, sneak
into the classroom, perform an extremely difficult spell nonverbally, take the horcrux and sneak
back out again before Brinecove knows I’m there.’ It was far from the ideal situation, but with
time running out, he had little choice. He had to get the quill and destroy it. It was now or
never.

As he neared the proper corridor on the Second Floor, he tossed the invisibility cloak over himself
fully and, with a whispered ‘mischief managed’, tucked the Marauder’s Map away inside his robes. He
crept along as quietly as possible, hoping not to attract any attention from all of the Aurors
standing around nearby. As much as he didn’t care about Tonks or Kingsley Shacklebolt noticing
something out of the ordinary, the others would finger him for sure. Thankfully, he entered the
classroom undetected, taking the opportunity to slip through the open door as an Auror exited the
room.

“This was not your call to make, Chambers,” Brinecove exclaimed angrily, pounding his desk for
emphasis. “I represent the Ministry here!”

Slowly and quietly, Harry tiptoed along the edge of the far wall, deciding to approach the Box of
Set, where Professor Brinecove was keeping Ravenclaw’s quill, from behind. “Not anymore you don’t,”
Plante replied sternly. “Professor Chambers was right to contact me. If an army of giants invading
the Forbidden Forest does not constitute an emergency, I do not know what does.” Plante tugged
thoughtfully at his gray beard. “I shall have to issue a Ministerial proclamation in the morning.
The school will be shut down and all faculty members and students confined to their
quarters.”

“With all due respect, Sophocles, I think that’s premature,” Brinecove countered with a
glower.

“Premature?!” Chambers squawked. “Might I remind you that there are *giants* outside?

“He’s right, Commodus,” Sophocles Plante said solemnly. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to
reassert direct Ministry control over…”

“Imperio!” Brinecove called out suddenly, waving his wand in the direction of Sophocles Plante. The
elder wizard seemed to be in a stupor as the DADA teacher’s Unforgiveable Curse hit him, his eyes
now possessing a dazed look. Harry froze only a few meters away from where the Box of Set lay on
Professor Brinecove’s desk, unwilling to risk being found out now that he had seen this. ‘What the
bloody hell is going on here?’ he thought to himself.

Professor Chambers reacted almost instantly, leveling his wand at Brinecove threateningly. Before
he could do or say anything, however, Percy Weasley raised his own wand. “Obliviate!”

Leon Chambers slumped to the ground, landing in a heap at the redhead’s feet. “Remain here with
Chambers, Mr. Weasley. Sophocles Plante and I have an announcement to make to the Aurors outside.”
Percy nodded swiftly as Brinecove led Plante outside the classroom.

Harry stared after Brinecove for a few moments, trying desperately to make sense of what he had
just seen. ‘Alright, Potter. Get a grip on yourself. Figure out what they’re up to later, get the
quill now.’ Carefully keeping the invisibility cloak from slipping, Harry raised his wand and
pointed it at the Box of Set. With only Percy in the room, he decided not to risk performing the
spell nonverbally. “Regis cetro,” Harry whispered.

As soon as the words left Harry’s lips, he saw the quill in his mind’s eye, even though it was
still imprisoned inside the Ancient Egyptian box. The spell and his own mind were supposed to
create a magical field that would be temporarily more powerful than the curses protecting the Box
of Set. Once that was done, it was only a matter of using wandless magic to make a feather float.
‘At least it’s something I’ve had practice doing. Of course, I was never actually
successful…’

Cold sweat beaded up on Harry’s forehead. Bill had said that this spell would take a great deal of
concentration, but this was already taking a heavy toll on him mentally and he wasn’t sure how much
longer he could last. What must have been seconds seemed like hours as Bill’s ‘royal scepter’ spell
finally took effect, engulfing Ravenclaw’s quill in a faint red glow. Once he was sure that the
spell was in place, Harry began to gently push Ravenclaw’s quill along, moving it only with the
power of his mind. It was slow going, and Harry nearly passed out from the strain the spell was
putting on his mind, but it was working; the temporarily intangible quill was now inching its way
outside of the box. He was finally close to getting the last horcrux.

Harry could not afford to pay much attention as Commodus Brinecove re-entered the room. “Professor
Weasley, would you mind escorting Professor Chambers and the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement
Division elsewhere? I have some business to attend to.”

“As do I,” Percy sniffed haughtily. “However, I suppose mine can wait while I do as you ask. You
should know that while I am willing to help you in this fool’s errand of yours, I neither approve
of your methods nor your blatant disrespect for Ministry of Magic officials.”

“I would suggest that you reexamine your priorities, Mr. Weasley,” Brinecove replied in a menacing
tone. “Rufus Scrimgeour’s term as Minister of Magic will be brief, but what we do here tonight
could well affect wizardkind for thousands of years. Remember that.”

Percy said nothing else, leading Harry to guess that he had left the room with Plante and Chambers,
and for a few moments a pall of silence fell over the room. As Harry began to quiver from the loss
of magical energy, Ravenclaw’s quill lie only a few centimeters away from the outermost edge of the
Box of Set. In a few moments, he could finally destroy it. There would no longer be anything
stopping him from killing Voldemort.

“Stupefy,” Brinecove incanted softly. Since Harry’s eyes had been on the box, he did not see the
stunner coming at him and had no chance to avoid it. It hit him in the forehead, forcing him to
recoil slightly, but did not cause him a terrible amount of pain. His concentration had been
broken, however, and Harry could no longer see Ravenclaw’s quill in his mind’s eye. His chance to
take the horcrux had passed.

“It was a valiant effort, Mr. Potter,” Brinecove said evenly. “Truly it was. If I could afford to
let anyone know what just happened here, I’d even give you house points for it.”

Since it was obviously doing him no good, Harry threw the invisibility cloak aside and rose to his
feet. “You’re working for Voldemort, aren’t you?” Harry demanded coldly. “You’re protecting
Ravenclaw’s quill, you put Sophocles Plante under the Imperius Curse and now you’re trying to
overthrow the Minister of Magic!”

Commodus Brinecove’s lips pursed and his peppered black and grey eyebrows knitted together. “I
never said any such thing.”

“I just heard you!” Harry exclaimed angrily. “You said Scrimgeour’s term as Minister of Magic was
going to be short, you…you said…”

“It would be best for everyone if you did not repeat what you have heard here tonight, Mr. Potter,”
Brinecove warned in a deceptively calm voice. “Nor should you relate anything that you’ve seen.
People might get the wrong impression, just as you seem to have done.”

Harry’s teeth clenched together and his wand was now pointed threateningly at Professor Brinecove.
“Oh, I think I have the right impression. I’ve had the right impression of you all along.
Dumbledore was right. You’re a Death Eater.”

Anger flashed in Brinecove’s eyes. “No, I’m not!” he yelled. “You don’t understand what’s happening
here! You don’t know what’s at stake! There are people who are trying to…”

Harry could hear the gentle creak of the door opening behind Brinecove and saw Remus Lupin’s
familiar face peeking into the classroom. “I would say that I hope I’m not interrupting anything,
but it’s perfectly obvious that I am. What exactly is going on here, Professor Brinecove? Is Mr.
Potter in trouble?”

Brinecove hesitated for a moment and then seemingly came to a decision. “No,” he answered in his
usual friendly tone of voice. “Not at all. The Head Boy and I were merely having a friendly
disagreement. I made a careless remark about him being the most unpopular Head Boy in recent
memory. He contended that it was our current Potions Master instead. No hexes were fired in anger,
but…perhaps it’s a good thing you came in when you did, Assistant Professor Lupin. Otherwise I
might have been forced to deduct house points.”

“Mr. Potter was supposed to meet me half an hour ago,” Lupin said by way of explaining his presence
here, “for advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. When he was more than five minutes late,
I concluded that his tardiness was not the product of his dalliances with Miss Granger and, on a
hunch, guessed that he might be here.” Lupin had a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said this
and Harry couldn’t help but suspect that Remus had been talking to Bill Weasley.

Brinecove’s eyes widened. “I had no idea Mr. Potter was interested in advanced Defense Against the
Dark Arts lessons. I would be more than happy to instruct him myself.”

“In your dreams,” Harry said under his breath.

“I think what Mr. Potter means is that he’s not quite ready to face you in combat yet,” Remus tried
diplomatically, even though everything in Harry’s body language said exactly the opposite.

“Very well,” Professor Brinecove conceded. “I will leave you two to it, then.” Commodus Brinecove
turned to leave his own classroom, but as he neared the doorway, he turned back around and regarded
Lupin seriously. “Be sure and watch your back, Assistant Professor Lupin. You are about to face a
very tricky opponent, who may strike at you when you least expect it.”

***
The Day of the Match

“And Slytherin’s pathetic offense fails to score again, despite mediocre goal-tending by Ronald
Weasley,” Zacharias Smith announced, his voice enhanced by the sonorus spell.

“Another brilliant save by Gryffindor’s handsome Keeper!” Luna Lovegood called out
enthusiastically. “Go Ronald!”

In an effort to keep the commentary fair, it was decided that two students would call the game, one
from each house that was not playing. Since this was a match between Gryffindor and Slytherin,
Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith and Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood had been given the honors. “Finnigan’s got
the Quaffle now. He passes to Thomas. Thomas is in scoring position…and the Quaffle goes through
the hoop. That makes the score 90-0, Gryffindor,” Smith related unenthusiastically. “But that means
the game is still in reach for either one of the two teams’ Seekers.” Both Zacharias Smith and Luna
Lovegood paused as the sound of a song coming from the Slytherin side of the bleachers suddenly
filled the stadium.

“Oh dear,” Luna fretted. “I hope it’s not another one about Ronald.”

Ginny had followed Draco Malfoy’s every move on her broom but neither of them had spotted the
snitch, which did nothing to defuse the air of tension that now existed between them. “What’s the
matter, Weaselbit? Are you afraid I’ll run away from you? That you weren’t quite good enough in the
sack to keep me around?”

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ginny retorted angrily. “I’ll have you know that…” But before she could
finish, she heard the words of the song, echoing through the Slytherin section of the stands.

“Ginny Weasley is the witch
Harry Potter had to ditch
All her robes are hand-me-downs
Because her parents are not rich”

Ginny glared angrily at Draco Malfoy. “You did this, didn’t you? You told them about Harry breaking
up with me. Who else would have known?”

Draco Malfoy’s eyes became very wide. “The whole school knows! Everyone’s seen how googley-eyed
Potter is over Granger, although, of course, they’re a bit mystified as to why.”

As Ginny fumed, the song continued,

“Gryffindor has got the itch
Got the itch to make a switch
Harry Potter in the stands
For Ginny Weasley on the pitch”

Harry squirmed uneasily. For the first time since catching her en flagrante with Draco Malfoy, he
actually felt sorry for his ex-girlfriend. “I can’t believe they’re doing this.”

“They’re just trying to rattle her,” Hermione reasoned. “They’re trying to get her angry and make
her forget all about the snitch.”

Harry watched as Ginny exchanged heated words with Draco Malfoy as they hovered near each other.
“It looks like it’s working. Trouble for them is it’s working on Malfoy, too.”

“I didn’t write it, I swear,” Draco assured her. “Just because I was behind that stupid ‘Weasley is
Our King’ song doesn’t mean that I had anything to do with this one.”

Unhelpfully, the Slytherin faithful offered up another verse,

“Ginny Weasley is the witch
Who won’t ever catch the snitch
Ask the girls in Gryffindor
They’ll say she‘s nothing but a…”

“That’s enough!” Draco bellowed at the crowd as he buzzed the Slytherins in the stands, an angry
scowl set on his face. Ginny had already flown well away from him, however, making a deliberate
effort to pretend to look for the snitch. Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Malfoy
sped off after her.

“And Gryffindor scores again!” Luna reported happily. “That makes it 110 to nothing.”

“But the seekers still haven’t spotted the snitch,” Zacharias Smith pointed out in a tone of voice
that was almost pouting. “In fact, they seem to only be chasing each other.”

***
The Battle’s Eve

“You’re not concentrating, Harry,” Remus Lupin chided him as Harry only bared missed being hit by
his second stunner of the night. “You have to focus. Your enemy can strike you from anywhere at any
time. Petrificus totalus!” Harry evaded the spell with a simple protean charm. “You have to be on
your toes constantly. If Commodus Brinecove has taught you nothing else about defending yourself
against the Dark Arts, as I’m sure he hasn’t, I would hope you’ve at least learned that by now.
Furnunculus!” Thankfully for his complexion (and love life) Harry dodged that curse, which would
have made boils break out all over his skin.

“Constant vigilance,” Harry said through ragged breaths, quoting Mad-Eye Moody in a beleaguered
voice.

“For you, Harry, constant vigilance has to be more than just a slogan,” Lupin elaborated grimly.
“From now until the moment you face Voldemort, it has to be the way you live your life. With
Dumbledore dead, you are our world’s only hope against him. You can’t afford to get sloppy.
Rictusempra!”

Harry blocked the tickling charm effortlessly as well. “I don’t think Death Eaters will be using
Tickling Charms and boil curses on me, Remus,” Harry pointed out.

"No, I'm afraid they won't," Lupin admitted. "In a way, I wish that I could
work on the Unforgiveable Curses with you, but, unlike certain other professors, I don't have
Ministry approval to do so. As a werewolf, I barely even have Ministry approval to exist."
Remus gave Harry the sign they had come up with which meant 'time out'.

The confident Harry who had been blocking Lupin's spells with shielding charms was gone and in
his place was a more uncertain young man, confused as to what to do next. "I'm not sure I
can use the killing curse on Voldemort. The one time I tried to use an Unforgiveable...well, it
didn't go very well." The memory of him trying to use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix
Lestrange flashed through his mind.

"You will not be able to defeat Voldemort by using Unforgiveables, Harry," Lupin said
sagely. "That is his strength, not yours. You need to do what you do best."

Harry did not know exactly what it was that he did best, but simply nodded his head in agreement
with Remus' truism. "Play to my strengths. I seem to recall Mad-Eye Moody telling me that
once, too." He looked up at Lupin with a smirk. "OK, so it was really Barty Crouch, Jr.,
but it was still good advice." Harry's wand hand fell to his side and his shoulders
slumped slightly as he asked, "Is this the end of the lesson?" Harry could not help but
think of spending the rest of the night with Hermione, cuddled up in the Head Boy's room.

"Alright," Remus said permissively. "I think we've done enough for one..."
A knock on the classroom door startled them both.

"Were you expecting someone?" Harry asked Lupin curiously.

"I asked Professor Weasley to brew a batch of Wolfsbane Potion for me," Remus replied.
"But I don't know why he would look for me here."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You asked Percy to brew Wolfsbane Potion? And he
agreed?!"

"Yes, but reluctantly," Lupin answered with a nod. "You might recall that Snape did
as well. Potions Masters are a strange breed, Harry. Their pride in their craft can sometimes
supersede their own sense of morality."

"I don't think you should trust Percy," Harry said in an urgent tone of voice.
"Tonight, I saw him..."

"I trust this has something to do with Professor Brinecove," Remus interrupted in a soft
voice. When Harry nodded, he continued, "Then perhaps we should discuss it after we see who
our visitor is." Lupin walked to the door and opened it, his wand drawn. To Harry's relief
and Remus' embarrassment, it was Tonks.

"Wotcher," she greeted them both with a smile. "Is this a bad time?"

"No," Remus Lupin said in a timid voice as he averted his eyes. "Please, come
in." Despite the awkwardness, Lupin could not completely hide the fact that he was happy to
see her. "You'll have to excuse the mess. I haven't been able to do a thing with this
place in three years." Tonks giggled at that. "What brings you here tonight?"

"You," she answered bluntly. "Could we maybe speak in private?" Tonks asked
with a nod of her head in Harry's direction.

Remus' happy demeanor vanished. Apparently, he was in no mood to be alone with his
ex-girlfriend right now. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Whatever you have to
say to me, you can say it in front of Harry."

Harry would very much have liked to disagree with that statement, but it was clear that Lupin
wanted him there, whatever the reason. Tonks nodded, her eyes not quite meeting Remus'.
"Alright. I suppose I deserve that." Now her eyes did meet his. "Look, I'm
sorry, OK? I was stupid. You were being a little jealous and overprotective and well...I
overreacted. I still think we can make this work, though, if you're willing to give me a second
chance."

Remus frowned. "Are you certain that now is the best time to be making that decision?
Voldemort's army is looming outside and many lives will likely be cut short. I wouldn't
want us to do anything in the heat of the moment that we'll regret later."

Tonks took Lupin's hands in her own. "I won't regret it. And if you were being honest
with yourself, I think this is what you want, too."

Remus Lupin made a conscious effort not to blush, but failed. "I...I have missed you. And,
since I'm being honest with myself, I don't know if there's anybody else who would put
up with me." Tonks smiled widely. "We'll need to build each other's trust back
up, though. That could take time."

"We may not have much," Tonks reminded him. "I was hoping we could do all that
relationship stuff later and just snog now."

Lupin considered that for a moment, then nodded. "I wish I could come up with a convincing
argument to counter that, but I just can't seem to. Meet me in my quarters in half an hour. I
need to finish up a few things here first."

Harry had discreetly said nothing during their heart-to-heart and now turned his eyes to face the
wall as they shared a quick kiss. "I look forward to it," Tonks said in a coo. As she
walked away from him, Remus had a contented smile on his face for the first time since he had
arrived at Hogwarts. "Oh and Remus?" Lupin turned to face her once again with an
expectant look on his face. "Corpus vile."

Before Remus had time to react, the spell struck him in the chest, making him slump to the ground
lifelessly. He stammered something Harry couldn't understand, his eyes beginning to glaze over
and his right hand clutching his chest, as though it were causing him a great deal of pain.
Harry's gaze fell angrily upon Tonks. "What did you do to him?!" he demanded.

Tonks' laugh was now a short, harsh bark. "Don't you remember, ickle baby Potter? That
spell is lethal to magical creatures, if you do it wrong." She placed a particular emphasis on
that last word, as though it gave her great joy that she had indeed done the spell incorrectly.
"I'm afraid my little cousin always was a bit clumsy."

"You're...you're not Tonks," Harry said accusingly. "You're Bellatrix
Lestrange." As though that revelation had removed her disguise, Nymphadora Tonks’ visage
vanished, leaving only the familiar face of Voldemort’s most loyal Death Eater. Well remembering
how dangerous she could be, Harry wasn’t going to take any chances with her.
"Expelliarmus!"

Bellatrix did not even attempt to block the spell, watching with only casual interest as her wand
flew across the room. “Very good, Potter. You’ve disarmed me. The wolf doesn’t look like he’ll last
long, though. So you can save him or you can have your revenge on me, but you haven’t the time to
do both.” Bellatrix cackled. “Then again, judging by your performance at the Department of
Mysteries, I’d wager you can’t do either. Come on, Potter. Show me how you’ve grown up. Use an
Unforgiveable on me. Let your hatred guide your magic.”

Harry shook with rage as he pointed his wand at her. “A…avada…avada kedavra!” he tried.

Green light sputtered weakly from Harry’s wand, giving Lestrange ample time to avoid the spell.
“How pathetic. You’re nothing more than a child, walking around in a man’s clothes. I’ve killed
your precious godfather and now your most beloved teacher and still you don’t have the stones
to…”

“Avada kedavra,” a voice from behind her called out. A green jet of light struck Bellatrix
Lestrange in the back, causing her to fall forward. Once her body hit the floor, Harry could see
Percy Weasley standing over her, a cauldron of Wolfsbane Potion cradled in his left arm. He shot
Remus Lupin a sad, bewildered look. “Remain here. I’ll fetch Madame Pomfrey.” When Harry looked
like he might object, Percy interrupted him with, “I give you my word as a Weasley that I’ll return
as quickly as I can.”

Harry nodded, his eyes already beginning to tear up as he saw how pale Remus had become. “Alright,
go, but please hurry.” As soon as Percy Weasley left the room, Harry fell to one knee to kneel by
Lupin’s side. “It’s going to be alright, Professor. You’ll be fine. Just hold on. Please hold
on.”

Lupin’s head shook slightly as Harry’s hand moved to support it. “Too late…I’m afraid. I can feel
the wolf inside of me…dying…”

“Just the wolf, though, right?” Harry asked, an unconvincing laugh escaping from his mouth as he
tried desperately to keep tears from running down his face. “Not you.”

“The wolf…is me, Harry,” Remus told him with a wan smile. “It took me too long…to realize…” His
words were cut off by deep, gasping breaths that suddenly overtook him.

“You just have to wait for Madame Pomfrey,” Harry told Remus firmly. “She’ll be along any minute
now. She’ll be able to…” Lupin let out a soft moan as his harsh, stilted breathing stopped. Harry
checked his wrist for a pulse but found none. Remus Lupin was dead.

***
The Day of the Match

“Slytherin has got the itch
Itch to rule the Quidditch pitch
If there’s a witch who’ll scratch that itch
Then Ginny Weasley is the witch”

From the stands, it was now plain to see that Ginny Weasley was livid with Draco Malfoy and that
neither of them were truly paying attention to the game going on around them or the Golden Snitch
(which had flown right by them on several occasions, as though to remind them of what they were
supposed to be doing). Gryffindor’s Chasers were shooting her dirty looks and even Ron was
beginning to glower at his little sister. Harry shook his head slowly. “I can’t really tell who’s
the angriest out there.”

Hermione snorted. “It has to be Oliver Wood. He looks like he wants to take over Gryffindor’s team
himself and bench Ginny for the rest of the season.”

Harry’s eyes darted to his former Quidditch captain, whose reddened face was recognizable even from
here. “I see what you mean. I wonder if he…”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted as she placed her hand softly on his cheek and turned his head to
face her. “Weren’t we supposed to be not watching the match?”

Harry smiled and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “That’s right. We were. How ever could I have
forgotten that?”

After several minutes of blissful snogging, the sound of an older woman clearing her throat
interrupted them. Both Harry and Hermione turned around in their seats and pretended to be watching
the match. “Headmistress McGonagall,” Harry addressed her respectfully. “Quite a match, isn’t
it?”

McGonagall was not amused. “Draco Malfoy caught the snitch five minutes ago, I‘m afraid, which gave
Slytherin House the win. I must admit that I’m disappointed you weren’t our Seeker for this match,
Mr. Potter, and that you paid so little attention to the game itself.” Hermione blushed a very deep
shade of red. “However, I did not come up here to discuss either of those things with you. As you
know, all former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts get their own portrait. Dumbledore’s is
now awake. It wishes to speak with you in my office.”

Harry was dumbfounded. “Dumbledore wants to talk to me?”

“Not Dumbledore,” McGonagall snapped coldly. “His portrait.” Her eyes began to blink rapidly.
“I…apologize, Potter. This has been a difficult day for me. Will you please see him? He’s been
quite insistent. I believe his portrait to be as stubborn as he ever was.”

Harry hesitated only for a moment. “Alright.” As he rose to follow McGonagall, he asked her, “Can
Hermione come along?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Headmistress answered in a slightly softer voice. “Albus was quite specific
in his instructions. He wishes to speak with you alone.”

***
The Battle’s Eve

Harry Potter stormed through the castle, grievous anger fueling him onward as he wound his way down
into the dungeons. As he neared his destination, he caught sight of two male Order members he did
not recognize. “I need to see Severus Snape,” Harry said in a deceptively calm voice.

The younger one spoke up first. “I’m afraid we’re under orders from Remus Lupin not to…”

“Lupin’s dead,” Harry told them, his voice now hollow. “Let me see him.”

Too stunned to argue any longer, the guards opened the door, allowing Harry to enter without
another word. Snape was sitting in the far corner, reading a book on someone named Rudolf Hess by
candlelight. “So,” Snape began in a disinterested tone of voice, “once again your father figure has
died and once again you’ve come to blame me. I grow weary of this game.”

“You knew,” Harry said, his voice chillingly cold. “You had to have known. Voldemort tells you
everything…”

“I have no idea what you’re blathering about,” Snape sniffed contemptuously.

With a wave of his wand and a quickly muttered “levicorpus”, Snape was turned upside down, his
ankles now a meter or so above Harry’s head. “You know, I think I may have been wrong about Percy
Weasley. Not only did he actually kill a Death Eater when he saw one, unlike some other Potions
Master I know, but he was willing to give me some of his own private stock of Veritaserum.”

Snape’s glare was murderous. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Harry did not flinch. “Watch me.” After chaining Snape’s ankles to the wall, Harry performed a
body-bind hex on him, forced his jaws open and poured the Veritaserum into his mouth. He then
removed the hex and cast another spell which locked Snape’s jaws shut. Once his former teacher
swallowed the potion, Harry removed that spell as well but kept his wand trained on Snape. “Did you
know that Bellatrix Lestrange was a metamorphmagus?”

“Yes,” Snape answered reflexively.

“Did you know that she was impersonating Nymphadora Tonks?” Harry continued.

Snape did not look at Harry as he said, “No.”

Harry wanted to pound the wall with his fists in anger. “How could you not have known?” he
demanded.

“The Dark Lord has been very secretive of late,” Snape reported dutifully. “He does not want his
left hand to know what his right hand is doing.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you really swear an oath to Dumbledore that you would do
everything you could to make sure that I survive the final battle and that Voldemort
doesn’t?”

Snape grimaced. “Those were not the precise words that were used, but yes, I did swear such an
oath.” Severus Snape heaved a sigh. “This interrogation is pointless. The one you should be asking
these questions of is Commodus Brinecove.”

Harry frowned. “Brinecove? Why? D’you think he knew about Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“His job is Internal Security, is it not?” Snape asked rhetorically. “He should have known that
Tonks was not who she said she was from the moment he looked into her eyes.” That thought gave
Harry pause. Hadn’t Brinecove tried to use the very same spell on Remus which Bellatrix Lestrange
had used to kill him? “Did you know that it was Brinecove who was responsible for Regulus Black’s
death?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “Oh yes. It was he who Regulus was referring to when
he wrote of ‘someone Sirius has never trusted’. And it was also he who let the Dark Lord know that
Regulus had not hidden the horcrux where he had ordered him to.”

Harry had a puzzled look on his face, well remembering the note Regulus Black had left his brother
Sirius, which he had discovered in the Master’s Study at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. “You know
about the letter? But how?”

Had Snape not been under the influence of Veritaserum, Harry would not have expected an answer. As
he was, however, “One of the first places I thought to hide young Mr. Malfoy over the summer was
Grimmauld Place. I confunded Kreacher, making him think that Draco was now Master of the House. It
was he who discovered the room and copied the letter, allowing me to read it. It was also Malfoy
who placed Slytherin’s locket there, where only you could find it.”

Harry began to tremble with fury at the thought of Brinecove betraying Sirius’ brother…of him
trying to kill Lupin. “You’re contemplating revenge against Professor Brinecove, aren’t you?” Snape
asked pointedly.

Harry spun around angrily. “So what if I am? He deserves it, doesn’t he?”

Snape smirked. “Your desire for vengeance will be your undoing, Potter. You’ve already done things
that you disapproved of your father doing. What will be next? An Unforgiveable?” Harry turned back
around, unwilling to face his father’s old nemesis any longer. “No. Since it was Percy Weasley who
actually killed Bellatrix Lestrange, I would imagine you’re still unable to perform one
successfully. Tell me, have you managed to retrieve the last horcrux from Professor Brinecove?”
Harry shook his head ‘no.’ “Did you know that the Box of Set only works so long as the person who
placed the object inside the box is alive?”

“Are you telling me that if I kill Brinecove, I can just take the quill from the Box?” Harry asked,
although he was still not looking at Snape.

“Indeed,” Snape answered immediately.

It was tempting. Brinecove was no doubt a Death Eater, a liar and, on balance, no better than a
murderer. If he could get his hands on the last horcrux and destroy it, Voldemort would be mortal
before he could even reach the Temple of Osiris. Thinking of what Snape had told him of the Temple,
Harry asked, “What about the relics of Osiris? Couldn’t they be destroyed?” Presumably, this would
mean that Voldemort could not achieve eternal life once inside the temple, which was nestled
beneath the Chamber of Secrets.

“Perhaps,” Snape conceded. “But not with parlor tricks like speaking parseltongue. They will be
immeasurably more difficult to destroy than the horcruxes and there are more of them. Your best bet
is to concentrate on getting Ravenclaw’s quill.”

Harry turned and gave Snape a look of fierce determination. “Then that’s exactly what I’ll
do.”

***
The Day of the Match

Harry did not know what he would say when seeing Dumbledore’s portrait for the first time. This
would be completely different from looking at Dumbledore’s image in the pensieve will. Harry would
be able to interact with this version of his old Headmaster, almost as if the elderly wizard were
alive and well once again. The prospect was both exhilarating and depressing, all at once. ‘No
wonder McGonagall’s been on edge. Everyone knows how close they were. I can’t imagine it’s easy for
her.’

“You may go in anytime you like,” Headmistress McGonagall told him as they reached the door to her
office, which had been Dumbledore’s only a few months earlier. “I will remain here, in order to
give you two some privacy.”

Harry entered the Headmistress’ office slowly, although whether out of fear or reverence he could
not truly say. “Do not be afraid, Harry,” Dumbledore’s warm, welcoming voice called out. Stepping
up his pace a little at those words, Harry quickly found himself standing in front of the portrait
of Albus Dumbledore. “It seems I cut a far less imposing figure now that I’m inside a frame.”

Harry smiled at that. “Rubbish. You’re as terrifying as ever, sir.”

“Have Hogwarts’ rules become so rigid in my absence that the students must now address a picture as
‘sir’?” Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I am given to understand that the Ministry has
personally selected certain faculty members, but I had no idea that a former Headmaster’s portrait
now outranked the Head Boy. Dolores Umbridge would no doubt be pleased.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Harry told him earnestly. “Do you…erm…that is to say…is your
memory…?”

“I remember everything that happened to me up until my death, if that is what you are asking,”
Dumbledore informed him sagely. “I would in turn ask you if all of Voldemort’s horcruxes have been
destroyed, except that I know they have not been, as you’re still standing here.”

Harry averted his eyes from the portrait and began to examine the carpet. “Why didn’t you tell
me?”

“There was so much about your past that it would be hard for anyone to understand, let alone come
to terms with,” Dumbledore answered him. “I tried to let you know as much as I could as soon as I
thought you were ready. Tell me, do you think it would have been proper to tell you that a piece of
Tom’s soul resided within you when you were in first or second year?”

“No,” Harry countered with a twinge of irritation in his voice. “But after fourth year would have
been nice. As long as Mum’s barrier held Voldemort in, there wasn’t much he could do. But
now…”

“You’ve been having dreams, I take it,” Dumbledore interrupted with a slow nod. “Severus told me
that might happen.” When the mention of Snape’s name made a shadow cross Harry’s face, Dumbledore
frowned. “I would have thought you’d know by now why Severus did what he did.”

“I do,” Harry grumbled by way of reply. “It just doesn’t make me like him any better.”

Dumbledore acknowledged that with a small smile. “Ah. I see.” The image of Dumbledore inside the
portrait tugged at his beard. “I think you should know, Harry, that my death was not a murderous
deed, but an act of sacrifice. I went willingly. If it had not been Snape who cast the killing
curse, it would have had to have been someone else. Do you think you could have done it?”

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. “Of course not! I would never…” Harry let out a small sigh. “I
suppose I see your point. I guess I just don’t understand why all of the choices have to be so
hard.”

“That’s what life is, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Now about the horcruxes…”

“There’s only one left to be destroyed,” Harry told him. “Well, that is unless *I* have to be
destroyed…”

“I thought Severus would have covered that with you by now,” the older wizard remarked. “A living
horcrux does not guarantee the wizard who made it eternal life.”

“He did,” Harry replied, relief obvious on his face. “I just wanted to be sure. I would have
destroyed the last horcrux by now…except that it’s being guarded by Commodus Brinecove.”

“I remember Brinecove well, if not fondly,” Dumbledore replied with a grimace. “You must take it
from him and destroy it, Harry. Otherwise you will not be able to defeat Lord Voldemort.”

Harry let out a short, mirthless laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to defeat him anyhow. I’ve seen
how powerful Voldemort is. I’m nowhere near his level.”

“He is the superior wizard,” Dumbledore conceded. “But you are the better human being. In the end,
it is that fact which will carry the day.”

“But how?” Harry asked. “How does me being a better person or love or any of this feel-good rubbish
help me defeat an evil wizard?”

“It’s hardly rubbish, Harry,” Dumbledore assured him. “There are still things left I cannot tell
you, but know this. You have proven time and again that you did belong in Gryffindor. The bravery
you have displayed while combating Voldemort has been truly remarkable. But in the end, when
everything is said and done, loving someone is the bravest act of all.”

Harry hid his frustration well. It seemed that nobody really had any more idea of how to defeat
Voldemort than he did, they just wanted to tell him what a stand-up bloke they thought he was. That
was all well and good, except it wouldn’t help him in the final battle. “I’m trying to prepare
everyone for Voldemort to attack the school. I’m leading an army now, but…I don’t really have any
clue what I’m doing.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore began with a crooked half-smile. “Did I ever give you the impression that I
knew what I was doing?”

“Yeah you did, actually,” Harry confessed. “Quite a lot.”

Dumbledore’s smile now brightened his entire face. “Well then, I suppose I did my job. Now it’s
time for you to do yours.”

***
The Battle’s Eve

Harry waited until he was safely inside the Head Boy’s room to collapse. Perhaps it wasn’t manly at
all, but his body was soon wracked with sobs and tears began to flow freely down his face. Losing a
friend was hard, but knowing that he was killed by someone else Harry thought was a friend was
harder. ‘I should have picked up on something. Some subtle hint that it wasn’t really Tonks.’ Upon
reflection, Harry realized that Tonks and Charlie Weasley had been talking to each other at the
hospital when Ron first went into a coma. Then when he, Hermione, Remus and ‘Tonks’ arrived in
Romania, Charlie acted like he hadn’t seen Tonks since Hogwarts. ‘She must have used a memory charm
on him.’ Maybe he had figured out who she really was and had threatened to tell the others. He
supposed it was all irrelevant now.

A soft knock on the door elicited no response from Harry. “It’s Hermione. Please let me in.” Harry
rose slowly and opened the door, prompting Hermione to envelop him in a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry,
Harry. Is…well, is there anything I can do for you?”

“I was going to give you a big romantic evening,” Harry told her in a deeply sad voice. “A
candlelit dinner in the Room of Requirement or a nice long walk by the lake. But now…” He couldn’t
stop a sob from escaping, despite the fact that he definitely did not want Hermione to see him like
this. “Now all I want is to hold you. All night long. Just so I can tell myself, for one night at
least, that I’ll never let you go. That I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione replied softly, “you can’t promise me that. No one can.”

“I know,” Harry answered her as he shut his eyes tightly, willing the tears to go away. “I just
want to be able to pretend for a while. That’s all.”

The two of them spent the night before the battle together in the Head Boy’s room. They embraced
and offered kisses of reassurance to each other. Although they did not make love, spending the
night together this way felt much more intimate than sex. Harry had never been so sure that
Hermione was the only girl he would ever truly love.

When morning came, the two of them awoke from their peaceful slumber to find a panicked Dobby
standing at the foot of their bed. “Excuse me, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby doesn’t mean to disturb
you, sir, but the giants has broken through the forest. Everyone is lining up to fight. Including
Dobby, sir.” The house elf stuck his chest out proudly, as if Harry might pin a medal there.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said with a smile as she scrambled out of Harry’s bed and grabbed her
wand. “Tell everyone we’ll be there as soon as we…”

“There is something else Dobby should be telling you,” the house elf’s squeaky voice went on. “The
castle is changing, Harry Potter, sir.”

“What do you mean, ‘changing‘?” Harry asked with a quizzical expression.

Dobby shook his head violently. “Dobby doesn’t know, sir, but some of the other house elves are
very frightened. Things aren’t in places where they should be. Dobby isn‘t worried, though. Dobby
knows Harry Potter will know what to do.”

“Very good, Dobby,” Harry said appreciatively. “We’ll be along in a minute.” As Dobby vanished,
Harry gave Hermione a look of confusion. “What do you think all that’s about?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, “but perhaps checking the Marauder’s Map would be a good
idea.”

“A brilliant idea, more like,” Harry threw in as he grabbed the old map, giving a short, sad look
to the word ‘Moony’. “Wood said the castle might reconfigure itself slightly during the battle,
maybe that’s all that Dobby was…”

“Harry, look!” Hermione exclaimed. “The Astronomy Tower!”

“It’s half gone,” Harry acknowledged as he ran his finger over where the tower should have been.
The walls were no longer sketched along the pinnacle of the tower and it looked as though a hole of
some kind had appeared just where they used to be. The names Severus Snape and Septima Vector
appeared near the hole, while it looked as though Commodus Brinecove was ascending the stairs to
the top of the tower. “Come on,” Harry beckoned Hermione as he grabbed his invisibility
cloak.

As the two of them walked by the Great Hall, Neville grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, thank goodness
you’re here. We need to know who’s going to lead the army, now that Lupin’s…well…you know…”

“You are,” Harry told him authoritatively.

“But…but…Harry…” Neville stammered as he grew very pale. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“You’re never going to know what you couldn’t possibly do until you try,” Harry told him. “Now go
out there and make me proud, Neville. I know you can do it.”

Once Harry and Hermione arrived at the base of the Astronomy Tower, they consulted the Marauder’s
Map once again. Severus Snape’s name was now gone and Commodus Brinecove and Septima Vector were
practically on top of each other. “What do you think’s happening up there?” Hermione asked.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Harry answered honestly. “But we’re about to find out.” Hermione looked
very worried, but followed Harry up the stairs without another word. What they found there was a
large magical portal that seemed to have torn a hole inside the Astronomy Tower…and one Professor
Commodus Brinecove, standing over the dead body of Professor Vector.

**The next chapter is called "The Devil You Know" and will reveal Commodus
Brinecove's secret and feature the final battle between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. I
sincerely hope you enjoy it!

ITL**

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24. Chapter 21: The Devil You Know
----------------------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic, Warner Brothers or anybody who
had anything to do with "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". In point of fact, I would
like to disassociate myself completely from that book.

Alright, so I didn't get this out before "DH"'s release. Or even the day after
"DH"'s release. In any case, here it is. I sincerely hope you take something away
from it, even if it's boiling hatred.

Warning: If you're tempted to flame me at any point during the chapter, please finish reading
it before you do so. I realize that it's a very long chapter, and all reviews are still
welcome, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would do that for me. Thanks.

Also, I just want to say that Portkey and all of its readers have been great to me and that I'm
not leaving. Also, the next thing I will be working on will be the next chapter of "Going
On". Please enjoy!**

Chapter 21: The Devil You Know

Commodus Brinecove appeared to do a double take as his eyes darted from the dead body of Professor
Vector to the surprised and angry faces of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, both of whom had
their wands trained on their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. “This isn’t what it looks
like,” Brinecove said, his eyes betraying just a hint of desperation.

“Really?” Hermione countered skeptically. “Because it looks like you killed Professor
Vector.”

Before Brinecove could say anything in reply, Harry added, “I’d wager he’s the one who opened that
portal as well.” Here his head nodded to indicate the large swirling magical portal that had formed
where one of the Astronomy Tower’s walls had once stood. “You were the one Professor Slughorn was
talking about when he said that Hogwarts was going to be betrayed from within. That’s why you
killed him.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Mr. Potter. Septima Vector murdered Horace Slughorn,” Professor Brinecove
informed the two of them wearily. “She was a Death Eater. That’s why I had to kill her.”

“D’you really expect us to believe that?” Harry scoffed, inching closer to Brinecove threateningly
as he spoke.

“It’s true,” Brinecove almost shouted, his voice having trouble carrying over the roar of the
portal. “When Dumbledore was murdered here, it created a tear in the magic protecting the castle,
much as a murder allows one to tear their own soul and create a horcrux. Not a large one, mind you,
but large enough for someone who knew what they were doing, someone like Professor Vector, to
create a portal to the outside world. One which would allow the Dark Lord entrance to the
castle.”

Harry quickly withdrew the Marauder’s Map from his robes, solemnly swore that he was up to no good
and searched for Voldemort on the map. Sure enough, Tom Marvolo Riddle’s name appeared a hundred
meters or so from the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. Harry nearly cursed aloud at his own
stupidity. The army that he had so carefully built was elsewhere, preparing to face a vast array of
inferi, dementors, giants, goblins and Death Eaters that had appeared just outside the castle. Only
a small contingent of house elves stood between Voldemort and the Chamber of Secrets.

“You haven’t much time, I’m afraid,” Commodus Brinecove said in an urgent tone of voice. “You need
to go after him.” Behind them, the portal finally collapsed, creating an eerie stillness in the
Astronomy Tower.

“I’m not going anywhere without destroying Ravenclaw’s quill first,” Harry told him. He spotted the
Box of Set resting near Professor Vector’s fallen body. “Snape told me that if the person who put
something inside the Box of Set dies, that something can be taken out by another person.”

Brinecove quirked an eyebrow. “This would be the same Severus Snape who just used the portal to
leave Hogwarts and abandon you in your hour of greatest need?” Harry was not overly surprised by
this, as he had seen Snape’s name on the Marauder’s Map alongside Vector’s only moments earlier and
it was clear that his former Potions master was no longer here. “Would you really kill me for the
sake of this quill, Harry Potter?” he asked, holding up the Box of Set as he spoke.

“I…I should,” Harry sputtered furiously. “You killed Professor Vector, you…you tried to kill
Lupin…”

“Harry,” Hermione said in a very quiet voice. “I think Professor Vector really was a Death
Eater.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed as he turned and gave his girlfriend a look of disbelief.

“Remember the message the Longbottoms kept sending to Neville?” Hermione reminded Harry. “‘Beware
the carrier’? In Latin, ‘Vector’ means ‘carrier’. Professor Vector must have been the Hogwarts
teacher they were investigating.”

“Very astute, Miss Granger,” Brinecove assessed with a thin smile. “A hundred points to
Gryffindor.”

Harry took another step closer to Brinecove, his wand still pointed at the Defense Against the Dark
Arts teacher. “You used the same spell on Remus that Bellatrix Lestrange did! You were trying to
kill him…”

“‘Corpus vile’ is only lethal to magical creatures if it is used incorrectly,” Brinecove pointed
out. “At worst, the only thing the spell would have done once it was deflected by your protean
charm was stun him. The only reason I used it was to keep Lupin on his toes. I…suspected that
someone might try and use it against him.”

“You knew!” Harry countered angrily. “You knew and you didn’t tell him!” Brinecove recoiled
slightly, as if tacitly admitting that Harry’s accusation was true. “Snape said that you should
have been able to tell that Tonks was really Bellatrix Lestrange just by looking her in the
eye.”

Brinecove’s eyes flashed with anger. “Severus always did have a fondness for revealing others’
secrets without actually telling what they are. Very well. If I had looked into Lestrange’s eyes I
would have known it was her, but unfortunately I never got the chance.”

A frown creased Hermione’s brow as her curiosity drove her to ask, “How exactly would you have
known?”

“Ever since I was a boy,” Brinecove began, “almost as soon as I arrived at Hogwarts in fact, I came
to realize that I had a magical ability that others around me did not. A form of the Sight, if you
will.” Harry gave Hermione a dubious look but said nothing. “Whenever I look someone in the eye, I
see a moment in their life. It can be from their past or their future, but it is always a defining
event. A moment of great joy or accomplishment. A glimpse of a past triumph or a peek at their
future happiness.

“I saw Remus Lupin’s death in his eyes the moment I met him. I knew it would be the ‘corpus vile’
spell that killed him, just as I knew that it would be someone who looked like Nymphadora Tonks who
did the job, years before she was even born. Just as I knew that it would be Septima Vector’s
betrayal of Hogwarts that would allow Voldemort to enter the castle. I knew it the moment I made
eye contact with her.”

Hermione shook her head. “Why would Professor Lupin’s ‘greatest moment’ be his death?”

“I’ve often wondered about that,” Brinecove answered thoughtfully. “I didn’t know the man that
well, but I would imagine it was the fact that he finally escaped from the werewolf’s curse, if
only in his last dying seconds.”

“You could have warned him,” Harry growled angrily. “You could have stopped it from
happening.”

“What would I have told him, Mr. Potter?” the older wizard scoffed. “That his girlfriend was going
to kill him? Do you really think he would have believed me?” Harry fell silent at that. Lupin
likely wouldn’t have believed him and, in all likelihood, Harry wouldn’t have, either. “I have only
told two others what I’ve seen in their future and I’ve since sworn never to do so again. One of
them was your mother, Harry.”

Hermione’s eyes brightened. “You saw her giving her life to save Harry, didn’t you?”

Brinecove nodded. “It was the bravest act I have ever witnessed. Your mother was quite a remarkable
woman. She was the kindest person I’ve ever met, with the possible exception of Dumbledore.”

“You…” Harry began tentatively, “you really did admire Dumbledore, then?”

“More than anyone else in the world,” the other man answered earnestly. “Every time I looked at
him, I saw something different. An old memory of what he’d received for Christmas one year or a
young couple he’d once set up on a date getting married. He was truly one of a kind.”

It was somewhat astonishing, but Harry was actually on the verge of believing this berk. “In his
memory, what did Dumbledore get for Christmas?”

“Believe it or not, it was socks,” Brinecove told him, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

Harry did believe it, but there were still some things nagging in the back of his mind; things that
didn’t quite add up about Commodus Brinecove. “If you liked him so much, why didn’t Dumbledore
trust you? Was it because of Regulus Black?”

Brinecove’s mood appeared to darken. “I suppose Severus told you about that as well. There isn’t a
day that goes by that I don’t think about what happened to him.”

A light seemed to go on inside Hermione’s head. Harry positively adored that light. “You were the
one Regulus trusted who Sirius didn’t, weren’t you? The one Regulus wrote to him about.” Harry
already knew this was true from what Snape had told him, but wanted to see what Brinecove would
say.

“I never meant for anything to happen to him,” Brinecove declared solemnly. “It was my fault. If
only I hadn’t been so arrogant, if only I had actually learned occlumency…”

“What did happen?” Harry asked, thinking back to what the Headmistress had told him about Brinecove
at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. “I thought McGonagall said you were a natural at occlumency.”

Commodus Brinecove shook his graying head. “I never needed to be. Whenever anyone made eye contact
with me, that person’s ‘greatest moment’ appeared in my mind, blocking anyone’s attempt at
accessing my own thoughts. That was, at least, until the Dark Lord tried it.”

“Voldemort.” Harry’s pulse quickened. He had not thought to ask Brinecove until now what he had
seen when he had looked into Lord Voldemort’s eyes. ‘Maybe he knows how the final battle will turn
out…’ “What did you see?” Harry asked simply.

“Nothing,” Brinecove replied sadly. “Nothing at all. There was no great moment of happiness in the
Dark Lord’s life. Not in his past or his future. I suppose I should have expected that I would run
into someone like that sooner or later, but…he was able to read my mind like an open book. He
discovered that I was a spy and that Regulus had betrayed him. If only I…”

“What about me?” Harry interrupted anxiously. “You’ve looked into my eyes before. Do you see me
defeating him?” There was no need to specify who Harry was talking about.

“When I said that I’ve sworn never to tell anyone again what I see in their eyes, I meant it,”
Brinecove said sternly. “But rest assured, Mr. Potter, if you saw what I saw you would not be any
better informed on how to defeat your evil foe.”



Chiding himself mentally, Harry realized that he had almost forgotten about Voldemort’s presence
inside the castle. After quickly checking the Marauder’s Map, he noted with some satisfaction that
the house elves had slowed him down, but he was still drawing closer to the Chamber of Secrets.
“The other person you told about what you saw when you looked at them…it was Snape, wasn’t it?”
Hermione guessed.

“I’m afraid so,” Brinecove acknowledged with a grimace. “That one was almost accidental. When I saw
what his defining moment was, I felt compelled to confront him over it.” The DADA teacher let out a
slow sigh. “The only good thing that came of that was that he felt as though he owed me a life debt
for telling him. He said that I had helped to put him on his ‘life’s path’.”

Harry and Hermione shared a knowing look. “You saw him killing Dumbledore.”

Commodus Brinecove shut his eyes tightly as he spoke. “You don’t know how much it hurt, watching
Severus take on the role of Dumbledore’s spy, the job I very nearly had, when I knew he would
eventually murder Albus. I felt as though I had let the old man down.” Brinecove’s eyes opened and
he regarded Harry and Hermione once again, his lips forming a guarded smile. “I should have told
him about the nature of my ‘gift’. He always seemed to know that there was something I was keeping
from him. That’s why he never trusted me. Perhaps, by telling you all of this, I can make it up to
him.”

“There’s something I still don’t understand,” Harry said bemusedly. “If you’re on our side, if you
want to defeat Voldemort, then why did you keep Ravenclaw’s quill from me? If Regulus told you
about the horcruxes, then surely you’ve figured out by now that…”

“That Ravenclaw’s quill is one?” Brinecove offered helpfully. “Indeed, and the last one at that,
aside from you yourself, Mr. Potter.” Harry tried not to look too startled that Brinecove knew he
was a horcrux. “As I’m sure you two are well aware, my last job was as Deputy Minister for Internal
Security. As the *Daily Prophet* stupidly reported several weeks ago, I was given the task of
investigating the Order of the Phoenix by Minister Scrimgeour, a fact which had been, up until its
publication, classified information. I had no desire to give the Minister of Magic anything he
might use against Dumbledore, so my reports were deliberately sketchy and vague. Still, I did
discover something rather…unexpected. A plot to kill you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Up until this moment, he had assumed that Brinecove, Chambers and Percy
Weasley were behind this plot. “Are you telling me that there were members of the Order of the
Phoenix who were trying to kill me?”

“They are still trying to kill you,” Brinecove informed him, his expression suddenly very grave. “
I do not pretend to understand the inner workings of the mind of Severus Snape, but he took it upon
himself to inform certain other members of the Order, those more inclined to use draconian
methodology than Albus would have been, of the presence of Voldemort’s horcruxes. By the use of
Animus Signatus potion, he proved to them that you were one as well.”

“But how would he have been able to use the potion?” Hermione wondered aloud. “He would have needed
to have a horcrux or something that used to be one to make it work.”

“Marvolo Gaunt’s ring,” Harry said suddenly. “It went missing from Dumbledore’s desk last year.
Snape must have stolen it so he could use it in the potion.” Harry’s attention returned to
Brinecove. “Who’s involved in the plot?”

“Tegau Dearborn, Tabitha Meadowes, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Both Harry and
Hermione’s eyes widened at the last two names. “I ask that you not judge them too harshly, Mr.
Potter. They are brave witches and wizards who want the Dark Lord dead every bit as much as you do.
Put yourself into their shoes. Would you be willing to sacrifice someone else, even someone you
cared about, if it meant saving hundreds of other lives?”

“But…I don’t have to die in order for Voldemort to be mortal,” Harry interjected with a quizzical
expression on his face. “Living horcruxes don’t work that way.”

“I know that,” Brinecove said, “and you know that. But Snape has made sure that these four do not.
They were the ones responsible for the explosion at the wedding and for the attempt on your life in
the Head Boy’s room a few weeks back. Their moves have been fairly subtle thus far, but once you
are the last horcrux they will stop at nothing to ensure your death.”

That information seeped into Harry’s brain slowly. “So…all this time that you’ve been keeping the
quill from me…you’ve been trying to save my life?”

Rather than answering him, Commodus Brinecove opened the Box of Set and handed Harry Ravenclaw’s
quill. “I was hoping to postpone the quill’s destruction until now, when you were on the cusp of
facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be…oh, sod it. Voldemort. I’m afraid my ability to prolong the inevitable
attempt on your life is at an end.” Harry stared down at the quill, as if he were unsure about what
to do next. “Well go on, Mr. Potter. Speak to it in parseltongue. I can take care of the
rest.”

“Come forth,” Harry said to the quill in a soft hiss, speaking parseltongue by picturing a plumed
serpent sitting in his hand, rather than a bright blue feather. “Come out and face your
master.”

Almost instantaneously, the image of a younger Lord Voldemort appeared, looking quite perturbed.
“You insolent whelp! How dare you…”

But before he could say anymore, Harry dropped the quill and Commodus Brinecove aimed his wand at
it. “Atash inflammare!” A stream of flame erupted from his wand and engulfed the feather, burning
it to ash within seconds. Voldemort’s visage promptly vanished.

Harry gave Professor Brinecove an impressed look as the fire returned to his wand. “You’re going to
have to teach me how to do that sometime.”

Brinecove nodded. “Agreed. Now hurry along. Your journey through the castle will likely not be an
easy one.” As Harry and Hermione turned to leave the Astronomy Tower, Brinecove called after them.
“Oh, and Harry? I almost forgot.” Brinecove tossed Harry the Ancient Egyptian box that had been in
his hands. “Take the Box of Set with you. It might come in handy.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry told him earnestly. “For everything.”

Following the path Voldemort had taken as best he could, Harry led Hermione into the interior of
the castle and quickly found a battered contingent of house elves led by Dobby. “We fought
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry Potter sir, but we could not stop him. So many of us is
hurt…”

“You did great, Dobby. Really.” As the house elf beamed at him, Harry turned to face Hermione,
placing his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to have to regroup our forces. I need you to find
Ron and tell him that Voldemort’s already inside the castle.”

“What? While you go off and face Voldemort alone? Harry, I’m not going to…” Hermione began to
protest.

Harry shook his head emphatically. “I have to do this alone, Hermione. You know that. Besides, it’s
your plan I’ll be using, so it’ll be just like you were there with me.” Suddenly, the two of them
became aware that they would be leaving each other, perhaps for the last time. “I…I wish things had
been different between us. I wish I had realized how I felt about you earlier…”

Hermione put her hands on her hips and shot him a glare. “If you’re planning on giving me some
speech about how much time we could have had together, you can save it for some other girl. We’ve
had six wonderful years together as best friends and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.“ She
inched closer to him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “And we’ll have much more than that after
you come back to me safely. Now go. You have an evil wizard to defeat.”

Harry shrugged. Who was he to argue with Hermione at a time like this? “Alright. But be
careful.”

“You too,” Hermione advised him, her voice finally betraying a hint of the strong emotions that
filled her. “I love you, Harry. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Harry told her with a genuinely happy smile. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to show you just
how much I love you back.”

“You already have,” Hermione assured him with a teary smile of her own. “Now go on. Voldemort isn’t
going to wait around all day for you, you know.”

***
Harry carefully made his way up the staircase to the second floor, trying to avoid being spotted by
anyone as he made his way to the Chamber of Secrets. He had just passed the Defense Against the
Dark Arts classroom when a stunner flew past his head, shattering an expensive-looking vase that
Professor Brinecove had placed there to ‘brighten up the place’. Out of the corner of his eye, he
could just make out a slight figure in a blue robe hiding behind a stone gargoyle. Well remembering
that the person disguised as Snape who had tried to kill him in the Head Boy’s room had been
wearing such a robe, it was not hard to guess the identity of his attacker. ‘Brinecove was right,
then,’ Harry bemoaned to himself. ‘There are Order members who want to kill me.’

“You’re making a mistake,” Harry called out as he clung to the wall just outside the classroom, his
wand pointed in the direction where the spell had come from. “You don’t have to kill me to kill
Voldemort. Snape lied to you. If we could just, I dunno, talk this over, maybe when I’m not so
pressed for time…”

As though he had appeared from nowhere, a dark figure in a blue hood emerged just in front of the
classroom door, his wand pointed straight at Harry. “Stupefy!”

“Protego!” another male voice called out. A shielding charm formed in front of Harry, deflecting
the spell. “Petrificus totalus!”

The hooded figure fell forward suddenly, his body frozen. Harry leaned over his attacker’s fallen
form, hoping to learn his identity. Once his hood was removed, the face it concealed was
unmistakable. “Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“You’re not going to be able to reason with them, boy,” a familiarly unpleasant voice called out
from behind him. “They don’t trust you, any more than they would trust me.” The shorter man moved
from the shadows now, revealing one of the many people Harry had hoped never to see again: Peter
Pettigrew. “We’ve both been tainted by the Dark Lord.”

“I’m not anything like you,” Harry snapped as he turned his wand away from Kingsley’s petrified
form to point it at Pettigrew. “You’re a traitor and a murderer! I may have let you go twice
before…”

Before Harry could finish that thought, another hex flew down the hallway, striking a gargoyle very
near where Harry was standing, making the statue squawk in protest. Both he and Peter Pettigrew
went into a defensive crouch. “So what’s one more time, eh?” Harry glared at him spitefully. “Be
reasonable, Harry. We both know what you have to do. I can stay here and draw their fire.”

Harry thought it over for a moment. “You have to swear that you won’t kill them,” he told the old
Marauder firmly. “Swear an Unbreakable Vow.”

Pettigrew laughed then, once again sounding like the madman who he had faced at Godric’s Hollow.
“This isn’t the time to show me your weaknesses, boy. The Dark Lord beckons you. You cannot refuse
him, any more than I could.”

Harry scowled deeply at Pettigrew, but then had to duck as a hex struck a doorpost just behind him.
“Fine. But this doesn’t make us even.” Peter Pettigrew smiled evilly but then shot off a few jinxes
in the direction of the blue hooded figure as Harry crept through the hallway, eventually reaching
the second floor girls’ lavatory.

Moaning Myrtle was noticeably absent, perhaps recognizing the boy who had killed her all those
years ago and choosing to haunt some other room for a change. Deciding not to waste any more time,
Harry’s eyes quickly found the image of a serpent on the faucet. “Open.”

As he spoke, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was revealed. Within the space of a moment,
Harry was at the bottom of a hole, trudging through rat skeletons and muck. Once he reached the now
familiar door to the Chamber itself, speaking parseltongue once more allowed him to enter. Now that
he was inside, Harry examined the snake statues which surrounded him carefully. Finding the
feathers that Luna Lovegood had left in the mouth of one of the snakes, he pushed the serpent’s
head back, revealing a hole in the floor that was just large enough for him to fit through. Had
Dudley Dursley or, say, Crabbe been here in his place, however, they would have been out of luck.
‘I suppose it’s a lucky thing that neither of them was the Chosen One,’ Harry thought to
himself.

Harry wriggled inside the hole and then slid down a long tube, landing in the midst of a rather
large den of snakes, most of which appeared to be poisonous. Suddenly, Harry wished that it was
Dudley or Crabbe standing here in his place. ‘Alright, Harry. Stay calm. Just remember that you
speak their language.’ As he caught sight of a faint light illuminating the distinct shape of a
doorway across the room, Harry began to formulate a plan. “Move to one side,” he hissed. “Make a
path. Let me pass.”

The snakes reluctantly obeyed him and Harry soon crossed the threshold of the doorway to discover a
place that he had only dreamed about before. Massive alabaster cylinders ran down the middle of the
narrow room, pounding the floor at irregular intervals. The thumping of the cylindrical stone
blocks reverberated in Harry’s ears and centuries-old dust stirred restlessly as the massive stones
slammed into the ground. ‘How did I know that I would have to make it past these things?’

Harry looked up at the stone columns with a defiant glint in his eye. “Wingardium leviosa!” he
said, waving his wand at one of the pillars. To Harry’s disappointment, the spell had no effect
whatsoever. ‘Well, it was worth a try.’ Sticking his wand in one of the pockets of his robes and
tucking the Box of Set underneath his arm, he began to weave, roll and dodge his way around the
gigantic crashing columns. In a close call, however, one of the alabaster cylinders had pinned his
robes underneath it, tearing one whole side of them to shreds.

Finally, Harry stood before a large stone door, flummoxed as to what to do next. As there was
neither handle nor lock visible and the massive slab of stone itself wouldn’t budge, there did not
seem to be a way to open the door. But of course there had to be, since Voldemort had already come
through here. ‘Think, Harry. What did Dumbledore say about this door in your dream? Something about
my wand being the key.’ Harry took the time to try every spell to open the door he could think of,
including a very powerful ‘reducto’ that rather impressively disheveled his hair but did nothing to
move the door in front of him. Once he had nearly exhausted himself, he caught sight of a thin
piece of wood that looked suspiciously like his own wand, partially sticking out of a brick which
seemed to be glowing red hot only a meter or so above his head. ‘That’s Voldemort’s wand.’
Eventually, the light dawned on him. ‘Of course. My wand *is* the key to the door.’

Harry plunged his wand into the intense heat of the stone and watched with wonder as it buried
itself there, right next to its twin. Neither wand had caught fire, perhaps because their cores
were phoenix feathers. With a loud rumble, the door began to slowly open. Keeping his body low to
the ground, Harry crept underneath the stone barrier, relieved that he had finally gained access to
the Temple of Osiris. It had come at a price, however: he would now have to face Voldemort without
his wand. Harry would simply have to rely on whatever wandless magic he could manage, plus the
items he had taken the time to stash away in the Box of Set.

Dashing inside with reckless abandon, Harry found himself in the middle of a large room, maybe
fifty meters high and at least thirty meters long. A towering statue of Salazar Slytherin appeared
to dominate the room; a more dignified likeness, somehow, than the one he had seen in the Chamber
of Secrets. The temple was lined from wall to wall with serpents sculpted in black onyx, which
seemed to be protecting the Slytherin statue from its imaginary enemies. Torches burned in their
eyes, making the snakes’ fangs glow in their reflective light. In the middle of the room there
stood a bejeweled fountain, sparkling with rows of rubies and emeralds but otherwise made up
entirely of gold. An ornately designed goblet that Harry reckoned must be the Chalice of Horus sat
on its edge. About halfway between the fountain and the statue of Slytherin was a lengthy
sarcophagus covered in hieroglyphics, which bore the body of one of Hogwarts’ founders. Lord
Voldemort kneeled beside the tomb, his eyes fixed on the cold, still body of Salazar
Slytherin.

“Harry.” Voldemort’s evil voice echoed throughout the room, making goose pimples form on Harry’s
arms and neck. “So good of you to come. You’ve arrived just in time. The fun is about to
start.”

“It’s over, Voldemort,” Harry declared with a confidence that was almost entirely feigned. “I’ve
destroyed the last horcrux. You’re now as mortal as I am.”

Voldemort threw back his head in a sharp bark of laughter. “Foolish boy. Surely you know by now
that I wanted you to destroy my horcruxes.” Harry said nothing as Voldemort’s cackling laughter
continued to echo through the temple. “As for my mortality, I can assure you that I’m working on
correcting that little problem as we speak.” Here he motioned towards Slytherin’s sarcophagus,
which was now practically glowing with dark magic.

Harry weighed his options carefully. Voldemort wasn’t really paying him much attention. In fact, he
seemed to be concentrating solely on the sarcophagus, which no doubt held the soon-to-be-reanimated
body of Salazar Slytherin. ‘This could be my only real shot at taking him by surprise.’ Opening the
Box of Set, Harry removed the Sorting Hat and placed it on the stone floor of the temple, just as
Voldemort began an incantation in a language that was decidedly not English.

Harry shook the Sorting Hat gently, as it was still slumbering peacefully, despite all that had
gone on. “Eh? What? Time for another sorting already? I swear it seems each year goes by faster
than the last.” Once he realized where he was, the hat glowered at Harry. “Oh, it’s you again,
Potter. Where have you taken me this time?”

“That doesn’t really matter right now,” Harry whispered urgently. “What I need from you is…”

But the Sorting Hat was not paying attention to him either. It hopped forward slightly to get a
better look at what Voldemort was doing. “I can scarcely believe my eyes. Is that Salazar Slytherin
getting out of that sarcophagus?”

Harry nodded. “I think so.” An old wizard with simian features who wore a green robe rose slowly
from the tomb, a permanent scowl set on his face.

“If only he had let me know he was returning to life beforehand,” the Sorting Hat complained. “I
could have compiled a list of all the students I’ve sorted into his house. I’m sure he would find
it quite useful.” The hat’s eyes rolled slightly to examine Harry fully. “Now don’t you wish I’d
have put you in Slytherin?”

“What?” Harry replied in irritation. “No! Of course not!”

The Sorting Hat turned around with a bounce. “Huh. Well, don’t hold your breath waiting for Godric
Gryffindor to be resurrected from the dead.”

Seizing what so far had been his only chance to get a word in edgewise, Harry said, “I need
something of Gryffindor’s. The sword I used in the Chamber of Secrets.”

The Sorting Hat turned up what might pass for its nose haughtily. “What do you think I am, Potter?
A fussy mother hen, sitting on the Founders’ eggs? You think I can just produce one of their relics
whenever I want?”

“No,” Harry said in a whisper as Salazar Slytherin shakily stood on his own two feet for the first
time in a millennium. “I just…I thought that…”

“Oh very well,” the Sorting Hat replied obligingly. Gryffindor’s sword dropped out from inside the
hat. “I wouldn’t want to be caught with it on the day of Slytherin’s return anyhow. It would be
considered rude.”

Harry watched with wary eyes as Voldemort helped Slytherin to walk a few steps towards the
fountain. Harry slowly crept along beside them, remaining in a crouch, hoping not to attract the
attention of Voldemort or Slytherin. “You are my heir?” he heard Slytherin inquire confusedly. “But
you look so strange…how can it be so? Are you wizard or beast?”

While the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ was distracted, Harry thought it wise to lunge at Voldemort with the
sword, hoping to throw him off balance with a quick slash and then thrust the blade deep within his
chest cavity. Alas, it was not to be. As Harry leapt forward, Gryffindor’s sword in hand, the Dark
Lord simply held up his hand and blocked the blow. “Your infantile attempts at heroics are
beginning to bore me, Potter. Levicorpus!” With a gesture of the evil wizard’s hand, Harry was
hanging upside down in midair. “I appreciate you granting me the opportunity to use something of
Gryffindor’s for the task at hand…” Voldemort withdrew a knife from his robes as he spoke, allowing
the blade to glisten for a moment in the dim torchlight. “But I’ve always found Gryffindor’s dagger
to be a much more efficient instrument of death.”

Without warning, Lord Voldemort plunged the knife into Slytherin’s heart, watching with no remorse
as his ancient ancestor stared up at him in disbelief. “A dagger is so much more subtle,
so…unexpected. So personal. It pierces the heart before you even know it’s there.” As Salazar
Slytherin slumped to the ground lifelessly, Voldemort’s face broke out in a wide grin. “It’s a bit
like love, wouldn’t you say?”

“You don’t know what love is,” Harry spat. He was getting a bit dizzy from hanging in midair, but
still wore a look of grim determination on his face.

“Perhaps I don’t, at that,” the Dark Lord conceded. “But somehow I doubt that it will be the power
which allows you to defeat me, as Dumbledore so foolishly believed.” Harry stared at him
incredulously. “Your occlumency skills decline precipitously when you are separated from your wand.
Let us see how you fare against me when you are separated from your sword as well.” With a gesture
of his hand and a muttered levitation spell, Voldemort lifted Gryffindor’s sword until it hit the
ceiling and let Harry’s floating body fall to the ground. Harry began to stand shakily, but before
he could truly get his bearings, Voldemort used wandless magic to pry two of the larger bricks from
the wall. With another wandless spell, he sent them hurtling towards Harry. Harry avoided them with
some effort, although a third one he had failed to see coming from behind him clipped him in the
jaw, forcing him back to the ground painfully.

“Really, now,” Voldemort taunted him, “if you’re going to have any hope at all of stopping me,
you’ll have to do much better than that.” He then laughed condescendingly. “Of course, you don’t
really have any hope of stopping me…”

Mustering all of the strength he could, Harry sprang forward and tackled Voldemort, pinning him to
the ground and pummeling him with his fists. The Dark Lord made a show of stifling a yawn. “So it’s
a physical fight that you want, then? How very *muggle* of you.” Suddenly Harry was lifted off
of Voldemort and flung across the room, as though an invisible hand had thrown him there.
“Fortunately for me, I am not a muggle, nor do I have any use for their methods.”

“True,” Harry replied with a defiant smile. His bottom lip was split open and beginning to bleed
and his ribs ached fiercely, but he would not let this pillock see him beaten. “But your mother
sure seemed to love them.”

Voldemort roared in fury. “My mother was nothing but a cheap whore! Letting herself become smitten
by that…that worthless *muggle*.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ll pay for bringing her
into this.”

“I’ll pay?” Harry asked impishly. “You’re the one who called her a cheap whore. I only said she
liked muggles.” Harry then fell silent as bursts of flame shot out from the eyes of the onyx
serpents hovering over him. Voldemort spread his arms and then brought his hands slowly together,
making the fire coalesce into one large ball. “This can’t be good.”

With an emphatic hand gesture, Voldemort directed the huge ball of flame toward Harry. Feeling
suddenly motivated to move from his present location, Harry sprang to his feet and began sprinting
across the temple. “You can’t run from it, Potter. It will follow you wherever you go.”

‘I’m not looking to run from it,’ Harry thought to himself, although it was entirely possible that
Voldemort was now reading his thoughts. ‘In fact, I want it to follow me.’ As the flames began to
lick at his tattered robes, Harry finally reached his destination: the large gold fountain in the
middle of the temple. Immersing himself fully, Harry could only watch as the ball of flame made
contact with the surface of the water. Steam and boiling water surrounded him as the two elemental
opponents dueled each other. In the meanwhile, however, Harry’s oxygen supply was running low.
‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,’ he thought.

Within seconds, the ball of flame dissipated, allowing Harry to break the surface of the water, his
lungs now filling with much-needed oxygen. His bobbing head was temporarily concealed by steam and
Voldemort once again did not seem to notice him. Spying Gryffindor’s dagger sitting on the edge of
the fountain, Harry attempted to use wandless magic to bring it to him. “Accio dagger,” he called
out softly. The knife began to slowly inch its way towards him.

“I think that will be quite enough of that,” Voldemort declared disdainfully. Raising his hands in
the air, the dark wizard pulled Harry out of the water using more wandless magic, holding him
suspended in air, incapable of movement. Voldemort then looked Harry over appraisingly. “Yes, that
will do quite nicely.”

“Nice to know that I meet with your approval,” Harry shot back halfheartedly. “You can’t hold me up
here forever, you know.”

“Nor do I have any intention of doing so,” Voldemort retorted, his manner haughty and
self-congratulatory. “I simply thought that you might like to have a better view of what’s about to
happen.” The Dark Lord reached for the cup sitting close to Gryffindor’s dagger on the fountain’s
edge. “This is the Chalice of Horus, Potter. Once I drink from it, I shall become immortal. The
accumulated dark magic of a thousand years will be coursing through my veins.” Hanging helpless in
the air, Harry could only watch as Voldemort put the cup to his lips and drained it dry. Less than
a minute later, however, he began coughing fitfully, his body doubling over in pain. Harry couldn’t
help but smirk. Hermione’s plan had worked perfectly.

“You were right about the view,” Harry said with a devilish grin. “It was worth it.” Voldemort’s
eyes seemed to burn with hatred. “I put acromantula venom in the cup.” A blank expression came over
the Dark Lord’s face. “Professor Slughorn gave it to me. Within a few moments, it will begin to
dissolve your internal organs. Once it does that…well, death’s inevitable really. It may come
slowly, but…” Harry was unexpectedly interrupted by a gale of maniacal laughter. He frowned deeply.
What did Voldemort think was so funny?

“You poor little fool,” Voldemort said, his voice now little more than a strangled whisper. “Can
you not see that everything you do plays right into my hands?” Harry shot him a perplexed look. “A
torn soul cannot achieve immortality here in the Temple of Osiris. This body was never meant to
last for eternity. It was only ever intended to be a temporary house for my soul.”

Harry was too stunned to say anything as a strange gleam appeared in Voldemort’s eye. “My body and
soul simply won’t do, I’m afraid. I’ve made too many horcruxes. But yours…you’re as pure as the
driven snow, aren’t you? Well, except for the part of me that’s already inside of you.” He grinned
widely. “I’ve been preparing you for this role for sixteen years, Potter. Are you ready?”

“You’re…you’re going to give me eternal life?” Harry stammered in disbelief.

“In a way, yes,” Voldemort answered. “But you won’t be able to enjoy it. I’m planning on taking
over your life, you see.” The Dark Lord suddenly fell to his knees. The acromantula venom was
likely now eating away at his insides. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation…elsewhere…” And
then Voldemort did something completely unexpected. He made his seventh horcrux, sending the final
sliver of his dying soul into the body of Harry Potter.

Harry hit the ground at exactly the same time that Voldemort did, their bodies falling very close
to each other; close enough for Harry to look into his eyes, which were still open and staring, but
now bereft of the spark of life. The Dark Lord’s frame was cold and motionless. He was dead. The
battle was supposed to be over. Instead, it was just beginning.

Harry Potter writhed on the floor as he felt Voldemort’s dark presence spreading throughout his
body. What was worse, the new piece of the Dark Lord’s soul within him had seemingly emboldened the
old one. It was as though he could feel the evil coursing through his veins as the two pieces of
soul slowly began to overwhelm him. “You are truly a great fool, Potter,” he could hear Voldemort’s
voice still taunting him mercilessly, even from inside his head. “You’ve been beaten from the
beginning, from the very moment I made you a horcrux. Why do you think I chose you over the
pureblood Longbottom boy? It was because I wanted you to be just like me, to grow up without
parents, to be hated and misunderstood. But your mind was poisoned by Dumbledore, the blood traitor
Weasleys and that insufferable mudblood girl you’ve taken up with.

“Ah, the mudblood. I have plans for her, you know. Once I assume your life, we’re going to have to
have a little chat. It seems that you were confusing friendship for love. Sure, the sex was great
but you just don’t feel that way about her anymore. Couldn’t you just be friends again?” Harry’s
heart broke for Hermione as he heard those words, even as his magically weakened body struggled in
vain against Voldemort’s presence within him as it grew ever more powerful. “Maybe I’ll start
seeing the Weasley girl again. She didn’t seem to care very much what you did. I doubt she’ll even
notice that you’re not you anymore.”

“But Hermione will,” Harry thought insistently. “Hermione will see right through you.”

“She’ll be too heartbroken to see anything,” Voldemort informed him coldly. “Perhaps if the two of
you had remained friends, it wouldn’t have been so easy to throw her off my scent. As things stand,
however, she’ll probably dissolve into little more than a weeping mess when I break her
heart.”

“That would never be Hermione,” Harry countered angrily. “Never!”

“Perhaps you don’t know your girlfriend as well as you think,” Voldemort told him. “The Weasley
girl will just be the beginning. I’ll make you watch me shag a parade of women, each one more of a
slag than the last. Then we’ll see if the mudblood wants anything more to do with you, won’t
we?”

Despair filled Harry. If he were to dump her and then take up with a string of other women,
Hermione would be devastated. “I really did hate to part with my body, but that was the deal,
wasn’t it? I had to give up the thing that I would miss the most. Living as you will have its
advantages, though. I’ll be given a fresh start and a chance to accumulate new followers. In
addition to all of my old ones, of course. And who among the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry
would suspect Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the wizard who defeated Lord Voldemort, of being a dark
wizard himself?”

A thought occurred to Harry. “The Order members Snape told about the horcruxes. The ones who want
to kill me. They’ll be able to stop you.”

“Unlikely,” Voldemort scoffed. “They couldn’t even stop you, as you might recall. All I have to do
is bide my time. I have forever to make my move. I can afford to be patient.”

Harry, however, could no longer stand to be patient. The two shards of Voldemort’s soul were now
almost in complete control of his body, his magical core was terribly weakened and he could feel
his own consciousness slipping, descending deep within the recesses of his own mind, where it might
never come out again. A sense of grave determination filled him. ‘I have to end this. Before
Voldemort gets a chance to do any of those terrible things. I…I’d rather die than have to watch
myself do it.’ With a great effort, Harry slowly rose from the floor and began crawling on his
hands and knees in the direction of the fountain.

“Are you going to drown yourself, Potter?” Voldemort demanded contemptuously. “How noble of you, to
sacrifice yourself for the greater good. It’s just what your old Headmaster would have wanted.
Unfortunately for you, you’re already beaten. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

“You’re wrong,” Harry replied defiantly. “As long as I can still fight you, I’m not beaten. I’m not
going to give up.”

“You’re thinking of killing yourself, aren’t you, Potter?” the Dark Lord’s voice came back
petulantly. “Most would deem that ‘giving up’.”

Harry shook his head as he lowered himself into the water. “Not if I take you with me.” His body
fell into the water, as much from his own weakness as a deliberate act of suicide, but he did
nothing to stop it from happening. Perhaps it was fate; perhaps this was the only way he was ever
really going to end Voldemort’s reign of terror. As cold water rushed through his lungs, Harry
could feel the two fragments of the evil wizard’s spirit rise within him. His power was gone,
completely drained from the exhausting events of the last twenty-four hours. He could only watch as
the two halves of what remained of Voldemort’s soul came together, allowing the Dark Lord to take
control of his body permanently, and hope that he drowned before it came to pass.

Except…

Except that the two pieces of Voldemort’s soul did not come together. Instead, they fought
bitterly. Harry did not rightly know why it was happening or even who to root for, but it all
seemed to be over rather quickly. And once it was, Harry was no longer in the bottom of a fountain,
waiting morbidly for his own brain to run out of oxygen. He was standing in the middle of a
graveyard at night, the ground covered by a thick fog. A tombstone lie in front of him and an older
man he did not recognize was kneeling before it. The headstone read simply ‘Tom Riddle’.

“I never did get over it, you know,” the man Harry did not recognize told him in a very calm voice.
“My father leaving my mother the way he did, I mean. I blamed him for her death. I suppose that’s
why I killed him. I thought it would give me peace of mind, but…it never did.”

Harry could not help but gape at the man. His face was wrinkled and pale and his hair appeared to
be graying at the temples. He was perhaps the same age as Hagrid, but….surely it couldn’t be…
“Are…are you Voldemort?”

The old man smiled knowingly. “I’m afraid that it’s entirely up to you to decide who I am, Harry.
In fact, that’s why we’re here.”

Harry did not know whether he could trust the wizard in front of him, although he did not seem
threatening. “Where are we?” Harry asked confusedly. “How did we get out of the Temple of
Osiris?”

“We are still inside the Temple,” the dark-haired man answered him. “We are also inside your mind
at the moment. It seems that a decision has to be made before we can proceed.”

“What decision is that?” Harry inquired, his brow knitting itself together in a frown.

“Who you are going to become, naturally,” he replied. “To that end, you must decide whether I
should live or die.”

“Oh,” Harry retorted blankly. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

“I would have thought that would be rather obvious by now,” the other man told him with a
half-smile as he stood to his full height. “I’m Tom Marvolo Riddle, or at least the piece of his
soul that he discarded sixteen years ago. Who I’ve been since…well, that’s the matter at hand,
isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, ‘who you’ve been since’?” Harry asked, his confusion seeming to grow by the
moment. “Are you telling me that you’ve changed?”

Riddle nodded. “I didn’t want to at first, of course. Voldemort intended for me to control your
life from birth, to make you angry and resentful of your station in life. Another Dark Lord in the
making. Your mother’s spell and the barrier it created complicated things. Voldemort thought he had
failed to create a horcrux and tried to murder you, but the spell backfired and destroyed him. And
so I remained there, in your mind, seemingly forgotten but still watching you. What else could I
do?

“At first, I only hoped to learn your vulnerabilities. To study you on Voldemort’s behalf. Over
time, however, I saw how even your mistreatment by the Dursleys’ did not fill you with bitterness
and hate. How those who loved you provided you with the strength to survive seemingly hopeless
situations. And how you returned that love. It was something of a revelation to me. I…I had never
experienced love before.”

“Love was the power you knew not,” Harry declared in a reverent whisper.

“The words of Trelawney’s prophecy were indeed true,” Riddle admitted. “When Voldemort destroyed
the barrier between us in your fourth year, I was given my freedom at last. I was finally able to
begin the task Voldemort had given me.” Harry thought back to how angry and frustrated he had been
the summer after fourth year and throughout his fifth year. “I had no stomach for it, however, or
perhaps it would be better to say that my heart wasn’t in it. I obeyed the Dark Lord’s commands,
but only out of some warped sense of obligation. In fact, I subverted his efforts more often than
not. It was I who allowed you to see Nagini attacking Arthur Weasley in the Department of
Mysteries.”

“What about when he showed me Sirius being tortured?” Harry asked skeptically. “Were you behind
that as well?”

“I swear to you that I wasn’t.” Tom Marvolo Riddle began to walk through the cemetery, apparently
leading Harry elsewhere. “But I cannot say that I am blameless. I allowed it to happen. I saw how
strong your love for your godfather was and thought of it only as a weakness. I allowed Voldemort
to exploit that. However, once I saw the great lengths you went to in order to save him, I knew
your love for what it was. Your source of strength.” Riddle looked thoughtful. “That is also why I
concealed your feelings for Miss Granger for so long. I feared how powerful they would make you and
what they might cause you to do.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “So…how long have I been…that is to say…”

“You’ve been in love with her since the summer after your fifth year,” the older wizard informed
him with a mildly amused smile.

Harry shook his head. “But…but what about Ginny?”

Riddle winced. “An unfortunate lust-fueled debacle and nothing more. If Dumbledore hadn’t been
holding me at bay all year with that carpe diem potion, perhaps I could have talked some sense into
you.” Before Harry could make an inquiry as to Dumbledore’s motives, Tom Riddle continued. “I’m
sure he was only trying to give me ample time to be won over. The truth is, this was a good plan.
It worked magnificently.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “You think Dumbledore planned this?”

“I’m quite sure of it, in fact,” Tom Marvolo Riddle confirmed with a nod. “Do you remember the
smile on his face when he spoke of the barrier between us being destroyed? I think he knew that
once I experienced love, once I felt it for myself, I could not go back to serving Voldemort. I
suppose you could say I defected.”

“But you destroyed a part of yourself,” Harry interjected in a bewildered voice, “for me.
Why?”

Tom Marvolo Riddle’s eyes shone with a sincerity Harry never would have thought possible only
moments ago. “Because I don’t want to be part of him anymore. I wish to join with you.” He turned
his eyes back to face the path in front of them, which now wound around a grove of trees. “We face
two paths now: a path of darkness and a path of light. The darkness has its own particular allure
of power…but ultimately I have found it to be an empty one. If Dumbledore taught me anything, it’s
that the path of light can be much more uncertain, but that there are things like love, trust and
friendship to help you along. What’s more, you do not fear the journey’s conclusion. Once it has
come, you feel as though you’ve gained something worthwhile.

“I don’t know where this path will lead me, but I am willing to take it. So long as you are willing
to allow me to travel it alongside you.” As they stopped walking, Harry noticed that Tom Riddle had
led him to his parents’ grave. The names ‘James and Lily Potter’ were etched on one large stone,
followed by the words ‘Beloved and missed by all who knew them.’

“I am still the wizard who killed your parents, Harry,” Riddle noted sadly. “I’ve murdered
countless others, but it is their deaths that have brought you the most grief. I know that I don’t
deserve it, but I’d like to ask you for your forgiveness.” Harry’s teary eyes examined Riddle
carefully, searching his face, trying to discern whether or not the former dark wizard was having
him on. “We could work together. There is much that you could teach me about life and love. Or you
could destroy me right now. My life is in your hands. It is your decision to make.”

Harry turned to face his parents’ headstone once again. Briefly, he was filled with anger at what
had happened to them so long ago, consigning him to life as an unloved orphan. However, the words
of others echoed in his head. “Your desire for vengeance will be your undoing, Potter,” he heard
Snape say.

Hermione’s voice came next. “You once told Sirius and Lupin that you didn’t think your parents
would want their best friends to become murderers. Do you really think that they’d want you to kill
someone?”

Finally, he remembered what Dumbledore had said in his pensieve will. “Do not forget the words of
the prophecy, Harry. You have a power the Dark Lord knows not. I believe that it is a willingness
to forgive those who have wronged you, the ability to inspire trust and loyalty in others, the
power to love unconditionally. Put simply, it is a desire to embrace what makes us mortal, rather
than run from it.”

“I…I dunno what’s down the path for me, either,” Harry began slowly. “But I don’t think holding on
to my anger is going to do me much good. Besides, you’ve proven yourself, haven’t you? You could
have just watched as Voldemort destroyed my life.”

“Actually, I couldn’t,” Riddle told him earnestly. “I couldn’t even stand the thought of it. You
have an incredibly bright future and Miss Granger is such a lovely young woman…”

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You do know that she’s a muggleborn, right?”

Tom Riddle chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes. I know that she’s a muggleborn. I’m long past believing in
pureblood superiority. The contrast between your relationship with Miss Granger and your
relationship with Miss Weasley hammered that idea home very well.”

Harry let out a deep breath that he was not even aware that he had been holding. “I forgive
you.”

Tom Marvolo Riddle smiled widely. It was an odd thing, looking at this man whose face had once been
defined by its serpentine features, but who now appeared so normal. “Then let’s get out of here
before we drown, shall we?”

Harry’s eyes opened widely, his lungs nearly filled with water and his brain screaming for air.
Seconds later, he surfaced, his head breaking through the surface of the water not a moment too
soon. He took a few short, gasping breaths and then coughed up a good deal of water, his lungs
feeling as though they had been set ablaze. Once he could breathe properly, he pulled himself out
of the fountain, cleaned the water droplets from inside of his glasses and took one last look at
the dead body of Lord Voldemort. Perhaps fittingly, Gryffindor’s sword had fallen from the ceiling
of the temple and pierced his heart, as though even fate had wanted to make sure that the Dark Lord
was truly dead.

‘The prophecy was wrong, though, wasn’t it?’ Harry found himself addressing the piece of Riddle
within his own mind. ‘It said that “either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live
while the other survives”. Only I didn’t kill Voldemort. I poisoned the cup, but he drank it
willingly. He knew he was going to die and put the last piece of his soul into me. It was you who
really defeated him.’

‘I did it to save you, Harry,’ Tom Marvolo Riddle answered him, ‘and I only did that because you
gave me something to fight for. Don’t you see, Harry? Everything that you’ve fought for, everything
that you’ve done, has inspired people; has made them willing to do things that they wouldn’t
ordinarily have done. Including me.’ Harry withdrew Gryffindor’s sword from Voldemort’s chest and
wiped the blood off on Salazar Slytherin’s green wizarding robes. ‘Voldemort died because of you,
as surely as if you had killed him with that sword.’

Harry picked up the Sorting Hat (who was now oddly silent), and placed the sword inside it,
returning both to the Box of Set. ‘You know, Harry,’ Riddle pointed out, ‘you could have eternal
life yourself. All you would have to do is drink from the Chalice of Horus.’

Harry thought the matter over for only a split second. ‘Yeah, I could. But why would I want to? I
don’t care so much about living forever.’ Thoughts of Hermione flashed through his mind. ‘Seems
like it would get lonely after a while.’

A sense of happiness washed over him, which no doubt was coming from Riddle. ‘A wise decision. Now,
as long as you have the Box of Set, why don’t you take the relics of Osiris and put them inside, so
that nobody else can try for eternal life once we’re gone?’

As Harry began placing the ancient artifacts carefully inside the box, he couldn’t help complaining
to Riddle. ‘It might have been nice to know that you were on my side from the beginning. Maybe I
wouldn’t have been so bloody terrified that Voldemort was going to kill me.’

‘I couldn’t risk Voldemort reading your mind and learning the truth beforehand,’ Tom Riddle
answered him solemnly. ‘You really are quite terrible at occlumency.’

‘I was getting better,’ Harry replied testily. ‘My lessons with Hermione…’

‘Were a joke,’ Riddle interrupted dismissively. ‘Although they were great for your love life.
Hermione Granger is no more a legilimens than she is a sumo wrestler. For pity’s sake, she had
*Leon Chambers* teaching her.’

‘But…all of those times when she entered my mind…’ Harry protested.

‘I let her in,’ Riddle informed him coyly. ‘You probably should tell her, before she tries
legilimency on someone else.’

Harry heaved a sigh. It would hurt her to know that she hadn’t really mastered legilimency, but he
supposed it had to be done. Perhaps he could con Ron into doing it for him somehow…

As Harry placed the last artifact inside the box, the entire temple shook. Flames erupted from the
eyes of the onyx serpents above him and once again a large ball of flame formed in midair. ‘I
really hate it when they do that,’ Harry thought.

‘Me, too,’ Riddle agreed.

Box of Set in hand, Harry scrambled to remove himself from the path of the ball of flame as it came
billowing through the middle of the temple, destroying the sarcophagus completely in its wake. As
much as he tried to avoid it, however, the ball of fire always seemed to be headed straight towards
him. Finally, Harry was unable to run any farther, having literally hit a wall just near the
entrance, which was now sealed. As the huge ball of flame bore down on him, he cringed and shut his
eyes tightly, fully expecting the fire to engulf him. Instead, the force of the flames pushed the
door open and the fireball escaped from the temple. Once he opened his eyes and saw what had
happened, Harry quickly followed suit.

Just outside the door, Harry’s eyes wandered upward. Only one wand now protruded from the fiery hot
brick and it did not look like either his own or Voldemort’s. Withdrawing it carefully, he found
that it was longer than his own had been but shorter than Voldemort’s and appeared to be composed
both of holly and yew. ‘They’ve been fused together,’ Riddle assessed. ‘The two wands have become
one.’

“Has that happened before?” Harry asked aloud.

‘In the days when wizard kings passed on pieces of their soul to their successors, it happened
quite often,’ Tom Riddle explained. ‘It’s never been common, though. You may find…well…’

“What?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

‘With this wand, you may be much more powerful,’ Riddle informed him warily. ‘Or it may not work at
all. In which case, you’ll have to get a new one.’

Harry marched up to the row of alabaster pillars. “Let’s try it out, then.” He pointed his
amalgamated wand at one of the cylindrical blocks. “Wingardium leviosa.” To Harry’s amazement, the
stone cylinder rose with a tremendous thump and did not come down again. To his even greater
astonishment, every other pillar in the room did the same, without Harry having to repeat the
spell. “Whoa.” He began to walk underneath the pillars, unable to help staring at the ceiling where
they were now raised aloft above him. “A bloke could get used to this.”

‘Your new powers aren’t something trivial, Harry,’ Riddle chided him. ‘You must be very careful
with them. The temptation to perform dark magic will come much more easily now. No matter what the
provocation, you must avoid doing so.’

“I think I understand that now,” Harry replied with a swift nod of his head. “Of course, I’m sure
that Hermione will hex me into next week if I ever even think about…” His eyes grew very wide all
of a sudden. “Hermione!” Amid all of these revelations, Harry had nearly forgotten about the battle
raging at Hogwarts.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ Riddle said soothingly. ‘Voldemort never intended to wage a
large scale battle here. The force that he brought here was only a diversion. He was waiting until
he emerged as you to truly gather all of his followers together for an attack on the
Ministry.’

“She could still have gotten hurt,” Harry snapped, conjuring a rope ladder with ease to exit the
Temple of Osiris. “I would never forgive myself if something’s happened to her. Or Ron, for that
matter.”

‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ Tom Riddle noted with fond resignation. ‘You wouldn’t be Harry Potter
otherwise.’

***
The interior of the castle was largely deserted, causing Harry to run outside, frantically
searching for a familiar face. Thankfully, he found one. “Ron!”

Ron Weasley was standing just beyond the entrance, as if he were waiting for something to happen.
The redhead smiled at the sight of his best friend, but his eyes betrayed a sadness that Harry had
not seen in them before. “Harry, mate! You’re alright!”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry assured him quickly. “Is…is everyone else OK?”

Pain flashed in Ron’s eyes. “Not everyone.” When Harry gave him a questioning look, he chose to
change the subject. “What about Voldemort? Is he dead?”

“Everything didn’t go exactly as planned,” Harry confessed, “but Voldemort’s dead, yeah.” Harry put
his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “What about Hermione, Ron? Is she alright?”

Ron hung his head sadly. “She’s in the hospital wing. It’s nothing serious, probably just a
sprained ankle, but…bloody hell, Harry, they attacked the kids. The first and second years. The
Death Eaters got into the castle and they went right for them. They were going to murder all of
them. They were vicious, Harry…I…I’ve never seen anything like it.” Some tears escaped Ron’s eyes
and ran down his freckled cheeks. “Bill was there, guarding them, trying to herd them out once he
saw how many of them there were and he…he died, Harry. They killed him.”

Harry’s emotions had quickly run the gamut from elation (once he realized that Hermione was still
alive and well) to empathetic sadness. “I’m sorry, Ron. I…I don’t have the words to tell you how
sorry I am. Bill was a great guy.”

“I already miss him, you know?” Ron sniffled. “He was my oldest brother. I looked up to him. I
dunno if I’ll know what to do anymore now that he’s gone.”

Harry thought back on all of the people whose guidance he had once sought who had now gone on to
the next great adventure. Sirius. Dumbledore. Lupin. “I reckon you’ll figure it out, mate.” Harry
gave Ron a manly slap on the back. “Somehow, I think we both will. Now, come on. Let’s go see
Hermione.”

***
After a joyful Harry and Hermione reunion that brought both to tears (and Ron to some not-so-subtle
eye rolling), Harry sat down and recounted the events of the Final Battle to his best friends. Both
of them remained engrossed throughout, but when it was over they both fell deathly silent. Harry
didn’t know quite what to make of it. He gulped nervously. Would they stick by him, even if he had
a piece of Voldemort inside of him for the rest of his life? Would Hermione still want to be with
him? Finally, Ron spoke. “Voldemort finally got it, didn’t he? Or at least a part of him
did.”

“What‘s that, Ron?” Harry asked.

“That there are some things worth dying for,” Ron answered sagely, “and others worth living
for.”

Hermione snorted. “And just when did you get so wise in the ways of the world, Ron Weasley?”

Ron shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been around the broom shed a few times. Of course, the old squib
who lives inside my head helps a bit, too.”

“So…you’re not mad at me that I let some part of Voldemort live?” Harry asked, his eyes betraying
his vulnerability in this situation. “You’re…you’re not going to break up with me or anything, are
you?”

“Well, I’m not,” Ron said with a smirk. When Harry hit him in the shoulder lightly, he rubbed it in
mock pain. “Seriously, though, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I stopped being your best mate
just because you’ve got some old dark wizard stuck in your head, when I’ve got an old dark wizard
stuck in mine? I figure this’ll make us closer than ever, mate. We can give each other tips, start
our own living horcrux club, maybe go in for psychoanalysis together in twenty years when the old
coots start driving us nutters…”

Harry laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious as he looked at Hermione. “What about you,
Hermione? Are you OK with this?” As she opened her mouth to speak, he went on. “Because I’m not
sure I can do this without you.”

“You won’t have to,” Hermione told him as she shook her head, tears of pride welling in her eyes.
“I promise. I’ll always be there for you, Harry. Just as I always have been. I love you so
much.”

Harry gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips and then followed that with about a dozen more of
the same. “Don’t make me have to leave the room,” Ron threatened jokingly.

After they stopped kissing, Hermione’s eyes glanced downward. “Your wand looks different,” she
remarked with a curious frown. “Is it bigger?”

“That’s it,” Ron said as he threw his hands up in defeat. “I’m leaving. All this sex talk is
driving me bananas. I’m going to go find Luna and…”

“Stay,” Harry commanded. Ron stopped dead in his tracks. “I need to talk to you two about
something.” Ron and Hermione were now giving him their undivided attention. “Just because
Voldemort’s beaten, that doesn’t mean that all of the evil in the world went with him. In fact, a
great deal of it’s still here, and it’s not just in the ranks of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. It’s
everywhere. It’s even in the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix.

“I may be more powerful than I was before, but I still need your help every bit as much as I ever
did. I want to start an organization dedicated to fighting dark magic all of the time, not just
when someone like Voldemort pops up. I don’t trust the Ministry to do it and I can’t say I much
trust the Order anymore, either. Everything’s too easily corrupted. I guess what I really need to
know is: can I count on you guys to help me get it started?”

“Of course,” Ron answered instantly. “I was looking for something to do after graduation, anyhow.
This actually sounds safer than working for Fred and George.”

Hermione scratched her chin. “Will this organization of yours address the plight of house
elves?”

Harry smiled at her affectionately. “If you’re one of the charter members, how could it not?”

“Alright then,” Hermione agreed cheerfully. “I accept.”

“Great,” Harry said as he squeezed her hand. He stayed by her bedside with Ron as they laughed and
joked together until Madame Pince threw them out. Free from the shadow of the Dark Lord at last,
Harry could begin a whole new adventure, one which would eventually see him graduate from Hogwarts
and fully enter adulthood. And, if Harry had any luck at all, Ron and Hermione would be right by
his side on that journey as well.

**Well, that's it. There will be one more chapter and also a Ron/Luna oneshot tie-in, but the
final chapter's a coda (or an epilogue, although I've almost now come to loathe that word)
and the R/LL fic is a fluff piece. So this is it. I hope you liked it. Even if you didn't,
well, I hope you liked parts of it.

Once again, thanks to everyone for all of their support for this story, despite a house fire,
multiple delays and general all around laziness on my part. You guys are the best!

ITL**

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25. Coda: Three Letters
-----------------------

**I am not J.K. Rowling. No, really, I'm not. I didn't write "Harry Potter and the
Deathly Hallows", nor that awful epilogue. I did however write "Off Balance".

Well, this is it. The last chapter. I sincerely hope that a good number of you enjoyed this story
half as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd like to thank each and every person who
reviewed...and so I think I will.

Special Thanks go to: Diana Black, daisuke, ladylaughalot, dumbles, strider, Penny Lane, Perfect
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hollywoude, Anaknisatanas, Jenna Kathleen, blueshoe06, musicalissa, Jimmy, MandaEvelyn, gordon4418,
madipor, rafapanela, Tater Tot, same_i_am and multiple reviewers named Anonymous.**

Chapter 22: Three Letters

Eighteen months later

“You know, mate,” Ron began wistfully, “at a time like this I can’t help but think back to when we
first met on the train. The three of us, I mean. Eleven years old, no worries. A poor kid in
hand-me-down robes looking to make a name for himself, a famous boy wizard who had no idea why he
was a famous boy wizard and a bossy know-it-all who was actually every bit as insecure as the rest
of us. Don’t tell her I said that, though, or she’ll hex me.” Harry smirked at that. “Blimey. Who’d
have thought we’d all end up here?”

“We’re at Hogwarts, Ron,” Harry deadpanned. “I dunno about you, but when I got on the Hogwarts
Express, this is exactly where I thought I was going to end up.”

Ron shook his head at him. “I’m not talking about Hogwarts, you git. I’m talking about the famous
boy wizard marrying the bossy know-it-all and the kid in the hand-me-down robes standing in as best
man. I’ll bet nobody saw that one coming in our first year.”

“I sure didn’t,” Harry remarked seriously as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. Headmistress
McGonagall had graciously allowed him to use the familiar confines of the Head Boy’s room to
prepare for the wedding, which would take place in less than an hour in the Great Hall. “When I
first met Hermione, I thought about as highly of her as I did of Professor Snape.” Thinking of
Severus Snape made a slight shiver creep up his spine. He had never learned whether his former
teacher had willingly served Voldemort or Dumbledore, but he supposed it no longer truly mattered.
Both wizards were now dead and Snape had not been seen by anyone in over a year.

Ron smiled wickedly. “Can I quote you on that during the best man’s toast? I’ve been wracking my
brain for days for something interesting to say. No offense, mate, but you two make a right boring
couple.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed with an overly serious expression. “I’ve noticed that, too. We put each other
to sleep all the time.” He then matched Ron’s wicked grin with one of his own. “Of course it’s
because we’ve tired each other out from…”

Ron put his fingers into his ears and began to hum a happy little tune. “Can’t hear you, couldn’t
possibly imagine what you’re saying, la la la…”

Harry laughed and punched him lightly in the chest. “I don’t know what to tell you about us, Ron,”
he continued once Ron had removed his fingers from his ears. “I always knew she was brilliant and
amazing and I’ve known since fourth year that she was beautiful, but…I guess it just took a while
for my heart to put all of those things together. Almost too long.” Ron winced at his last three
words. “Ron, we never did get a chance to talk about it, but I have to know. Are you still…?”

“I’m over her, Harry,” Ron interrupted him with a sincere look in his eye. “Really I am.
Truthfully, I don’t much know what I saw in her in the first place.” Before Harry could step in to
defend his bride-to-be, Ron elaborated. “Not that she’s not great and everything, it’s just…she’s
not really my type, if you get my meaning.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, perfectly willing to humor Ron on this point. “And what is your type, Ron?
Blonde Ravenclaws who take you on trips to South America and give you a liter of Essence of
Gurdyroot every Christmas?”

“For example, yeah,” Ron answered with a quick nod as his ears went beet red. “Hey, d’you know
something? When you and Hermione get married, you’ll have the same initials!”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Harry replied. He then turned around and gave Ron a curious look. “How
did you come to think of it?”

“I read it in one of the press clippings about the wedding,” Ron admitted as he stuck his hands in
his pockets bashfully.

“I suppose I must have missed that one,” Harry remarked dryly as his hands went back to the tie
around his neck. “I always seemed to pick up the ones that said Hermione has me on a love potion or
that I got her preggers or some rubbish like that.”

Ron walked up behind Harry suddenly and forced his hands away from the tie. “You keep fiddling with
that thing and it’s going to wrinkle up like a prune.” Ron eyed Harry suspiciously. “You’re not
nervous, are you?”

Harry, well remembering what Bill Weasley had told him on the day of his wedding to Fleur, replied,
“I’m marrying the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. Of course I’m nervous. I’m a basket
case. What if I say something wrong or step on Hermione’s dress or accidentally transfigure her
wedding band into an earthworm or…”

“Harry mate, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you’re marrying *Hermione*,” Ron
informed him seriously. “You’ve been best friends for eight years and anyone can see that you’re
crazy about each other. As long as you show up and say ‘I do’, I don’t think any of the rest of it
is going to matter to her.”

“She may be *Hermione*, but she’s still a woman, Ron,” Harry said chidingly. “Hermione’s been
planning this day for years. I think she’s going to notice if something goes wrong.”

Ron suddenly looked very worried. “But…all girls aren’t like that, are they? They don’t all plan
their wedding for years in advance and obsess over every detail and…bloody hell. I’m doomed, aren’t
I?”

“You and Luna aren’t thinking about getting married already, are you?” Harry asked with eyebrows
raised. “She’s not even out of Hogwarts yet.”

“Well, no, I hadn’t…not really, you see, although I…I might have proposed to her,” Ron
stammered.

“You *might* have proposed?” Harry asked pointedly. “You’re not sure?”

“Well, at least I think I did,” Ron said, fidgeting nervously. “I couldn’t tell you whether she
said ‘yes’ or not, though…”

“That’s something you should find out before you have the wedding, don’t you think?” Harry advised
him with a friendly smile that took some of the awkwardness out of the situation. “You might want
to let her finish school first, too.”

“Why?” Ron muttered, his visage grim. “Ginny didn’t.” Indeed, while Harry, Ron and Hermione had
decided to finish up their seventh year at Hogwarts, Ginny hadn’t even completed her sixth,
disappearing somewhere with Draco Malfoy in the wake of the final battle.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Who needs N.E.W.T. scores when you’re going to be the next Mrs. Malfoy?”
Harry, Ron and Hermione had all passed their N.E.W.T.s with flying colors, finishing with some of
the highest scores in recent memory (although Hermione, naturally, scored the highest). Hermione
could probably have passed her N.E.W.T.s directly after having passed her O.W.L.s, but the high
marks achieved by Ron and Harry surprised nearly everyone. Of course, those people had no idea that
the two boys had both ended up with pieces of another, older wizard’s soul residing in them, giving
the two of them access to an almost encyclopedic knowledge of spells and spell work. If Hermione
resented this at all, she did not show it outwardly (although she sometimes looked at Ron as though
he had sprouted another head when he bragged about his N.E.W.T. scores).

Ron scowled and reached into his dress robes, which were a very light shade of green to match the
groom’s formalwear. He looked at Harry with apprehension, as though he were about to reveal that he
had secretly been working for Voldemort all this time. “I got a letter from her yesterday. Ginny, I
mean. She, erm, asked me to pass it on to you. It was postmarked from somewhere in Switzerland, I
dunno if that’s where she is now or…” Harry looked at the letter in Ron’s hand as though it were a
dead squirrel that he’d recovered from inside a storm drain. “Look, I know the reason that she sent
this to me is because you haven’t responded to any of the letters she’s written you and I know that
your wedding day is a rotten time to bring this up, but she asked me to and…well, she’s still my
sister.” Ron turned his head to one side and gave Harry an appraising look. “I could just chuck it
in the rubbish bin if you want. Tell her I forgot about it.”

“That’s nice of you, Ron,” Harry told him with a forced smile. With a sigh, he opened the envelope
and removed the letter, recognizing the handwriting of his ex-girlfriend instantly. “But I reckon
it wouldn’t hurt anything to read it. It won’t change my opinion of her.” ‘And it certainly won’t
change my decision to marry Hermione,’ Harry added to himself.

“Fine,” Ron replied with a bob of his head. “Great. I’ll just be outside because, erm, well to be
honest, I’ve seen how you are when you get angry, so…bye.”

A few moments after Ron fled, Harry reluctantly turned his attention to the letter in front of him.
“Dearest Harry,” it began, forcing him to immediately suppress his gag reflex. “I feel as though I
owe you an explanation for my departure from Hogwarts. Draco was quite frightened, you see, by the
sudden arrival of Lord Voldemort.” ‘As opposed to everyone else in the castle, who were waiting for
him with banners and biscuits,’ Harry thought sarcastically. “He knew that Voldemort,” the name was
written both times in very small letters, “wanted to kill him for his failure to murder Dumbledore
in the Astronomy Tower. He also knew that your army would be unlikely to protect him.”

“That’s rubbish!” Harry exclaimed aloud, although there was no one else there in the room with him
to hear. “We would have protected him, even though he certainly didn’t deserve it…”

“So we fled,” Ginny’s letter continued. “We found a safe house on the continent and have been
living there ever since. It is quiet and peaceful here, but also secluded and lonely. I miss
everyone terribly, but most of all I miss you. I often think of what we could have had together.
When I read that you were marrying Hermione Granger, I wondered what might have happened
differently to make me the girl that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.”

‘One of us could have undergone a complete personality transplant,’ Harry supplied sardonically. ‘I
could have been put under the Imperius Curse or taken more of that carpe diem potion. And if the
piece of Riddle inside my mind had obscured my feelings for Hermione just a little while longer,
maybe that would have worked for a while…’

‘Don’t bring me into this,’ the now-familiar voice of Tom Marvolo Riddle inside his head cautioned
him, although he could feel that Riddle shared his amusement. ‘If it had been up to me, you never
would have dated the Weasley girl in the first place.’

“I had to write to you, Harry,” the letter went on, “because I need to know if it’s too late for
us. Even though Draco cannot possibly return to England, I would come back in a heartbeat if I
thought there was even the slimmest hope that you would give me another chance. I still love you,
Harry. I always will.”

Harry considered that for a moment. Would it be worth lying to Ginny, just so she would come back
home? The Weasley family was worried sick about her. Sophocles Plante would likely make a deal with
her if she would give him reliable information on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy. Her situation
was not necessarily so dire, if only she would make an effort to turn it around now.

Harry smiled thinly as he thought about the new Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour had been
certain that Harry was attempting to undermine the Ministry and to seize power for himself. In a
strange way, Harry supposed that he had been responsible for the downfall of the Scrimgeour
government. Sophocles Plante had become Minister of Magic mere weeks after Voldemort’s defeat,
having been given credit by the media for allowing Harry Potter a free hand with which to best the
dark wizard, in spite of orders to the contrary from Minister Scrimgeour. ‘Of course, the only
reason he didn’t follow those orders was because Commodus Brinecove put him under the Imperius
Curse.’ As neither Plante, Brinecove, Harry or Percy Weasley were too keen on this fact becoming
public knowledge, all four wizards had decided to remain silent on the matter.

Harry crumpled the letter and, as Ron had suggested earlier, chucked it in the rubbish bin. He
would not lie to Ginny just to get her out of harm’s way. She had made her own choices and so had
he. Now they would both have to live with the consequences of them. Ginny was off hiding somewhere
in Europe with Draco Malfoy while Harry was at Hogwarts, getting ready to marry his best
friend.

The thought of Hermione, radiant and smiling in her mother’s wedding gown, made dark thoughts
vanish from Harry’s mind instantly. Only half an hour remained until the ceremony would begin and
Harry could hardly wait for it to start; for he and Hermione to be man and wife at last. When the
door opened to the Head Boy’s room, he absurdly hoped that it would be Hermione, but was not
terribly surprised to discover that Ron had returned. “If it ever comes up in court, Harry, I was
nowhere near your flying motorcycle just now. Nope. It was all Fred and George.”

Ron looked and smelled as though he had snuck a flask or two of Ogden’s Firewhisky under his dress
robes and had already drained them dry. “Are you drunk?”

“Nah,” Ron proclaimed emphatically as he shook his head, the action making his body sway slightly.
“Just a bit knackered. Say, Harry, did you know you’re getting married on Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, Ron, I did,” Harry answered him, his voice tight. “Hermione and I both thought it would be
romantic.”

Ron began laughing as though this were the most hilarious joke he had ever heard. “Well I say
you’re just lazy, the both of you. You’re lazy and you don’t want to forget your anniversary and
who could forget it, because it’s Valentine’s day and no bloke forgets about Valentine’s day unless
they’re really thick or color blind.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. “Ron, I really need you to sober up a bit. The wedding’s
going to start soon.”

“Sober,” Ron replied with a curious tilt of his head, as though it were an existential concept he
was only now considering. “Yeah, I can do that. Just let me go to the loo for a bit and get all
sober.”

“It’s down the hall, first door on your left.” As Ron departed once again, Harry tried very hard to
understand why his best mate had hit the bottle so hard before his best friend’s wedding. ‘Best
friends’ wedding, I guess I should say, since we’re both his best friends.’ Perhaps that was it,
Harry reasoned. Ron felt as though the two of them were choosing each other and leaving him behind,
making him the odd man out. He attempted to imagine himself in Ron’s place, watching Ron marry
Hermione while he stood in as the best man. It was not a pleasing thought. ‘I would have at least
waited until the honeymoon to get plastered, though,’ Harry assured himself.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a thumping sound at his door. Thinking that perhaps
Ron had passed out in the hallway, Harry opened it, only to allow a portly gray barn owl to enter.
The bird swooped in, dropped a piece of parchment in Harry’s hands and then flew out again without
pause. Harry turned the parchment over, examining it carefully before breaking the seal which held
it closed. ‘This had better not be another note from Ginny, begging me to take her back.’

The outside of the parchment read To: Mr. Harry Potter From: Your Professor of Defense Against the
Dark Arts. By process of elimination (three were dead, one was in the closed ward of St. Mungo’s,
one was in Azkaban and the other was Severus Snape, who he deemed unlikely to contact him by owl),
he supposed the letter’s author to be Commodus Brinecove. Brinecove had chosen to stay on for
another year as Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, making him the first person to do
so since Harry had arrived at the wizarding school.

Removing the seal and unfurling the parchment, Harry began to read what Brinecove had written him.
“Dear Mr. Potter,” it began. “I regret deeply that I am not there in person to attend your wedding.
I have been on sabbatical from Hogwarts ever since Christmas break, as I have discovered a
fascinating new subspecies of grindylow with the ability to regenerate their limbs at will. I
believe my findings could potentially revolutionize defensive magic, but, of course, that is not
why I am writing to you.

“Although I have not been a teacher for long, I already know that it is a rare thing to be able to
teach a great student. It is an even greater rarity to teach two of them. Without a doubt, you and
Miss Granger were two such students. I feel privileged to have played a part in your education, if
only a small one.

“With that in mind, I feel quite certain that I’m doing the right thing by breaking my own rule and
telling you what I saw when I looked into your eyes the day I first met you. It was the same thing
I saw in Miss Granger’s. It was your wedding day, Mr. Potter. I have seen many wedding ceremonies
in the eyes of those I have met over the years, but seldom has a wedding been the greatest moment
of both the groom and the bride. You are therefore quite fortunate to be marrying Miss Granger,
although I doubt very much that you needed me to tell you that.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there have been rumors of a silver-handed man wandering
about the woods near where I am staying.” Harry’s hands shook slightly, making the parchment
rattle. ‘Peter Pettigrew.’ The Death Eater and former Marauder remained at large, much to Harry’s
consternation. He had left the rat alone with the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had
conspired to kill him on the day of the final battle, but Pettigrew was already gone from the
castle by the time Harry emerged from the Chamber of Secrets. He had left all of the Order members
for dead, although Kingsley Shacklebolt had only been badly injured. Harry had chosen not to press
charges against Shacklebolt and never contradicted reporters who made him out to be a war hero.
Still, Harry made a point of keeping the Auror at arm’s length.

Harry returned to examining Brinecove’s letter. “I have chosen not to enclose my location because I
do not want you cutting your honeymoon short to come after him. Allow me to handle it. Take a break
from hunting dark wizards and enjoy married life. You and your new wife both deserve it.

“You may also consider this letter as my official acceptance of your offer to join the Order of the
Twin Feathers. It seems a noble and worthwhile endeavor and I applaud you for undertaking it.” The
Order of the Twin Feathers was the group Harry had been talking to Ron and Hermione about just
after the final battle. It was an organization dedicated to combating dark magic and evil wizards
all the time, not just when someone like Voldemort reared his ugly head. It was only now getting
off the ground and counted most of the members of the now defunct Order of the Phoenix as new
inductees. Harry hoped that it would grow larger and more influential, given time. He did not want
there to ever be another Dark Lord, nor another Boy-Who-Lived who had to defeat him.

“You have become a fine young wizard and it has been a great pleasure to know you,” Brinecove
continued. “Your mother would be quite proud of the man you’ve become and I believe Albus would be
as well. Stay well and give the new Mrs. Potter my best.

Sincerely,

Commodus Achilles Brinecove”

Harry rolled the parchment up again and placed it in the inside pocket of his dress robes. He hated
to admit it, but he had come to like Professor Brinecove, even if he still found the man to be a
bit strange. He had turned out to be the second best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he’d
ever had (after Remus Lupin, of course), going out of his way to teach Harry how to use his newly
heightened magical powers, often staying after class to teach him a new spell or to allow him to
practice using his new wand. He had even gotten Ron over his fear of spiders by conjuring a few
oversized arachnids and allowing Ron to use the reductor curse until the classroom was filled with
various spider parts. Headmistress McGonagall didn’t necessarily approve of this, but she didn’t
prevent it from happening, either.

Harry let out a small sigh. Deciding that readjusting his tie for the fifteenth time wouldn’t be
terribly productive, he decided to follow Ron into the Head Bathroom. Once he made his way inside,
he found his best mate with his head in the sink. Running water flowed inside and around his
nostrils, although Ron appeared to be snoring in spite of this. “Ron!” Harry exclaimed as he pulled
the redhead from underneath the faucet. “What are you doing?”

“Wha?” Ron asked dazedly as water dripped down his face and onto Harry’s shoes. ‘My very expensive
rented shoes,’ he added to himself. “Oh, Harry, it’s you. I was just…washing my face, wasn’t
I?”

“You looked more like you were drowning yourself,” Harry told him, a scowl of disapproval set on
his face. “Look, Ron, I don’t really understand why you decided to get pissed on my wedding day,
but…” His mind immediately turned to the thought of he and Ron switching places. “Alright, so maybe
I do understand a little, but I don’t really think…”

“I keep telling you, I’m not drunk,” Ron insisted. “I smell like firewhisky because Fred and George
were pouring it all over your flying motorcycle and I tried to stop them and it didn’t work, ‘cause
they confunded me, but I’m not drunk, I swear. Harry, I would never get drunk on your wedding day!”
His eyes were so wide and his expression so hurt that Harry couldn’t help but believe that Ron was
telling him the truth. “It’s just that…well, I haven’t really been sleeping lately.”

Harry frowned at him. “Really? Why not?”

“Because…because there’s something important that I need to say to you,” Ron replied earnestly.
“Something that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“The best man’s toast really isn’t that important, Ron,” Harry told him sympathetically. “We can
even skip it, if you’d rather.”

“I didn’t think you’d last,” Ron blurted out suddenly. “You and Hermione. I didn’t think you’d stay
together after the war.”

“What?” Harry retorted reflexively, taken aback by Ron’s declaration. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it was just some temporary thing between you two,” Ron said sheepishly as his eyes
seemed to examine the bathroom tile. “I figured you finally realized just how much you cared about
each other when your lives were in danger, but after it was over…I mean, really, Harry, do you know
how many Hogwarts sweethearts break up after they get out of school?”

“I see,” Harry replied tersely. “So you wanted Hermione and me to break up, then?”

Ron looked horrified. “No, of course not! Bloody hell, this is coming out all wrong. I wish I had
some of that firewhisky right now.” Harry’s disapproving scowl had yet to vanish. “I didn’t reckon
I’d have to deal with how I felt about the two of you because it wouldn’t last very long. You know,
I figured it for one of those things that happens between friends, I date Hermione, you date
Hermione, we all figure out that we’re better off as friends and decide to stay friends until we’re
old, toothless and wrinkled. But that didn’t happen, did it? You and Hermione decided to get
married. Even after the engagement, I told myself that the wedding wouldn’t happen, that it
couldn’t, but now…now, it is happening. And…”

Harry tapped his foot slowly. “And…?”

Ron wiped a few droplets of water from his forehead and then looked Harry straight in the eye. “I’m
not stupid, Harry. I know a lot of people have been walking on eggshells around me every time the
subject of you two getting married came up. So even I figured I’d explode when it finally sank in
that you two were really going to spend your whole lives together. But that’s not what happened.”
Harry looked very surprised as Ron told him, “All this time I was pretending to be happy for you,
and then I went and figured out that I actually am happy for you. You and Hermione have something,
mate; something that your average Hogwarts sweethearts could only dream of having. And I want you
both to hold on to that for as long as you can. You’d be right stupid not to and I’d be even
stupider to stand in your way.” Ron waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Especially now that I have
Luna. Have you seen her in that bridesmaid’s dress?” He let out a low wolf whistle.

“I’m confused,” Harry admitted with a frown. “Are you giving us your approval because you’re not
interested in Hermione anymore or because you’re trying to respect our feelings?”

“Yes,” Ron answered him simply. “Look, Harry, I know you don’t need my approval. I just thought you
might like to have my friendship without this whole Hermione thing hanging over us like the sword
of Damocles.” Ron winced. “Sorry. I think that was a bit of Septimus Prince coming out. Ruddy Greek
mythology references.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “Of course I want your friendship, Ron, but, to tell you the
truth, I’ve never really felt like I didn’t have it. Well, except for that time when you didn’t
believe me about the Goblet of Fire. You were being a right git then.”

Ron winced again. “True. So…we’re alright then, yeah?” Harry nodded. “Terrific.“ He then gave Harry
a slap on the back. “My work here is done. Go off, marry Hermione, have a very unhealthy amount of
children and name them all after your loved ones who’ve passed on.”

Harry made a sour face. “I’d have to have an awful lot of children to do that. Not every family
needs to have seven kids, you know.”

Ron smiled widely. “If you do have seven kids, though, promise me that you’ll spoil them rotten.
It’s no fun being the kid wearing hand-me-down robes.”

Harry shook his head. “I dunno, Ron. It always seemed like you were having fun to me.”

Ron’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “Yeah, I reckon I was. Scratch that, then. Just leave the
spoiling to their muggle grandparents.” Ron suddenly looked thoughtful. “Muggles do spoil their
grandkids, don’t they?”

“I think that one’s a universal law,” Harry answered him with a grin. He had been very nervous
about meeting Hermione’s parents for the first time, but they were perfectly nice people who bore
no resemblance whatsoever to the boggart he had encountered at Grimmauld Place. Once they saw the
beaming glow on Hermione’s face when she was with him, they had heartily approved of the union,
although he didn’t think either of them understood why the wedding was such a big deal in the
wizarding world.

“Harry,” Ron began as his eyes warily examined something below the sink. “Why is there an egg in
the Head Bathroom?”

Harry sank into a crouch to investigate. A rather large spotted bird’s egg, tilted slightly to one
side, was resting against the bathroom wall. He reached out his hand to examine it. “I wouldn’t do
that if I were you, mate,” Ron cautioned. “You do remember that Hagrid works here, right? That
could have a baby Blast-Ended Skrewt inside or a cockatrice or…”

Harry shook his head dismissively. “Blast-Ended Skrewts’ eggs don’t look like that and Headmistress
McGonagall would never let Hagrid have a cockatrice. They’re too dangerous.”

The egg shell soon began to break apart in Harry’s hands, revealing a baby phoenix. “Look, Ron,”
Harry said with a laugh, “I think this is…” But Ron was already long gone, having bolted from the
Head Bathroom the moment the egg began to open. “Fawkes.” He examined the baby bird carefully. “But
since when does Fawkes hatch from an egg?”

Inside the now-broken egg shell, Harry spotted a piece of parchment with a golden seal holding it
closed and his name written on the outside. Gently placing the pink and featherless phoenix on the
ground, he broke the seal and began to examine the parchment’s contents…at least until he realized
that there were no contents to examine. The parchment was blank.

“But who would send me a piece of blank parchment in an egg?” he asked aloud of nobody in
particular.

“I’m surprised you even needed to ask,” a deep voice from behind him called out. Harry spun around
to take in the sight of a mouth floating in midair, surrounded only by a long white beard.

“Dumbledore?” Harry asked the floating mouth and beard with a quizzical expression on his face.
“Is…is that you?”

“In point of fact, I’m a modified howler,” the bearded mouth answered. “But you may certainly feel
free to call me Dumbledore. I must say that I like the name.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get inside the egg? Did Dumbledore leave you here for me?”
Harry was asking it questions so quickly that he could barely even understand himself.

“Patience, Harry,” the Dumbledore howler advised him. “Let me deliver the message Dumbledore left
for you. After that, you may ask me all the questions you like.” The howler made a point of
clearing its entirely nonexistent throat. “A wedding is a special time for each and every wizard.
It’s rather like a ripened lime that's sitting in a blizzard. The bride is fair, the groom is
true, so keep the vows you’ve written. Then ‘til your hair has turned to blue you two will stay
quite smitten. But please shy away from scams and sneaks and women of ill repute. Else I’ll tell
you the tale of dams and leaks and my dimwit cousin Canute.”

Harry stared at the floating beard in incomprehension. “What the bleeding hell was that?”

“It’s a poem, of course,” the howler sniffed. “Dumbledore wrote it for your wedding day. Do you
like it?”

“Oh yeah. It’s smashing,” Harry answered him with a roll of his eyes.

“Excellent,” the bearded mouth replied gleefully. “I’m planning on reciting it again in front of
all the wedding guests at the reception. Or perhaps I should sing it instead. What do you think,
Harry?”

“I can sum up what I think in two words,” Harry replied with a wicked grin. “Petrificus totalus.”
As he flicked his wand at the mouth, it dropped like a stone, hitting the floor and rolling
underneath the sink. Harry fell to his hands and knees, only to watch in horror as his glasses
preceded him, falling from his face and shattering.

“Great,” Harry muttered, along with a few other choice phrases. “Just wonderful.” He stooped to
pick up the broken frames, but was prevented from doing so by another, gentler hand holding his
own.

A fuzzy figure in brown and white placed Harry’s glasses back on his head. “Oculus reparo.” Perhaps
unsurprisingly, as the glasses were repaired the white and brown blur became Hermione. “Really,
Harry, this is the third time I’ve had to do that spell for you. You should learn to be more
careful with your glasses.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry acknowledged dazedly. He did not realize how beautiful Hermione would
look in her wedding dress until this moment. It nearly took his breath away. “Still, it’s kind of
fitting, isn’t it? You did that spell for me when we first met and then again, here, right before
our wedding.”

“It’s almost poetic,” Hermione said with a coy half-smile.

“Do me a favor, Hermione,” Harry said as he put his arms around her and pressed his forehead to her
own, giving her a light kiss on the lips in the process. “Don’t mention anything about poetry for a
while.” Harry ran his right hand down her back and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Why are you
here, anyway? I thought it was bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding?”

Hermione scoffed. “Please tell me you don’t believe in that silly superstition. I needed to talk to
you about something.” She looked terribly nervous and for one horrific moment, Harry thought she
might want to call off the wedding. “You see, I…I don’t want to take your last name.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Oh.” His horror at the notion that she might call the whole thing off
turned quickly into elation. “Alright.”

Hermione was not looking at him. “It’s nothing personal, Harry, it’s just…my parents don’t have any
other children and my father was an only child and I don’t want the Granger name to die and besides
when people talk about ‘the Potters’, I want to know that they’re talking about your parents
and…I’m sorry, did you just say ’alright’?”

“Yeah,” Harry responded earnestly. “I don’t really give a fig what your last name is, so long as
everyone knows you’re my wife.”

She gave Harry an enthusiastic squeeze around the middle. “Oh, Harry, I’m so glad. I really didn’t
want to hurt your feelings, but I felt it was something I needed to do.”

Harry lifted her chin gently and stroked it gently with his thumb. “There are plenty of girls out
there who would love nothing more than to be Mrs. Harry Potter, you know.”

“I know,” Hermione replied softly. “But I just want to be your wife.”

“Well, Mrs. Hermione Granger,” Harry told her playfully, “in about twenty minutes you will
be.”

Hermione smiled as Harry kissed her quickly on the lips. “I suppose that means I only have a few
more minutes of freedom left. Whatever shall I do with them?”

“You know,” Harry began suggestively, “the Head bathroom brings back a lot of memories.”

“Harry,” Hermione chided him with a laugh. “We haven’t got time for *that*.”

“Why not?” Harry wanted to know. “Just because there are hundreds of people out there waiting for
us doesn’t mean we can’t have one last fling in the Head Bathroom. So what do you say?”

Hermione shoved him away from her, although an indulgent grin was on her face. “It took two hours
to get me into this dress and it will take a great deal more than your boyish charm to get me out
of it. Besides, there will be plenty of time for what you want on our honeymoon.” As Harry pouted,
Hermione walked up to him and planted a tender kiss on his lips. “I promise.”

Harry looked into her eyes with undisguised adoration. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Hermione screwed up her nose at him. “What? You mean the ceremony? Oh Harry, of course I am. It’s
only a wedding. As long as we both show up and say ‘I do’, not much else matters, does it?”

“I was sort of talking about more than that,” Harry admitted. “Getting married means spending your
whole life with me. Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

Hermione took both of his hands in hers and squeezed them gently. “I wouldn’t have said ’yes’ if I
wasn’t sure.” Harry gave her a smile of relief. “Besides, Harry, I’ve spent my whole life with you
up until now. Why would I ever want that to end?”

Harry could not think of a reason, nor did he truly want to. Although there were people he would
have liked to have had by his side on this day: his parents, his godfather, Dumbledore, Remus….
Hermione was the only one who he needed to be here. And, as usual, she was. Although he had not
always known it, this was the ending he had wanted all along. Going off hand in hand with Hermione
in that greatest of all adventures: life.

The End

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