The Final Countdown by GoonerJim

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/10/2006
Last Updated: 19/10/2008
Status: Paused

As Harry Potter comes to terms with the quest he has committed himself to, he must face off
against Death Eaters, Ministry inteference, his personal feelings and the Dark Lord Voldemort
himself, in a final and epic battle that will decide the fate of this world...the final countdown
has begun. (Please R&R)




1. Chapter 1
------------



**CHAPTER ONE**

**A/N -** Welcome to my first fanfic! If you're reading this, thank you. This is my first
foray into writing for Portkey, and I invite you to join in the adventure. This story, The Final
Countdown, is the first in a 3-part trilogy. This story, at least the beginnings of it, are to
canon, but will soon take on its own shape and course, as I introduce both established and new
characters of my own into the mix. Thanks very much for reading, I really hope you enjoy and can
leave a review. Oh, one last thing; Europe rock! Hence the title…*IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN!
DE-DE-DE-DUH, DE-DE-DE-DE-DUH!* Okay, I'll stop…

The clear blue canvas of the sky made the perfect backdrop for the sunset, the blue fading into
a deep orange in the dusk as the sun began to drop from the horizon. Harry Potter stood leaning
forward against the wooden fence on the outer-most edge of The Burrow, where a thin path winding
through the hedgerows and shrubs led to the open field where he had played Quidditch with Ron and
his older twin brothers, Fred and George.

Through his rounded glasses, he watched the sunset with a quiet awe, a new awareness born of his
own destiny. How many more of these sunsets did he have before him?

Behind him, Harry could hear the faint strains of music, dancing, happy times. The wedding of
Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour that mid-afternoon had been a simple affair conducted outside The
Burrow, attended by all manner of guests from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the
Ministry of Magic, and the Beauxbatons Wizarding Academy of France.

Harry had enjoyed the ceremony itself, sitting beside his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione
Granger. He enjoyed watching two people he knew, not well but well enough to be fond of, become
truly happy. Harry yearned for the ability to remember a time when he had felt that happy, but all
roads led back to one…*Voldemort*.

Harry had distanced himself from the party as the afternoon wore on into evening, slipping away
hopefully unnoticed in the midst of the laughter, the food and drink, the company. He had loosened
the white tie he wore over a dark blue shirt and navy trousers, his jacket laying forgotten over a
chair somewhere.

He had *wanted* to enjoy himself today; he yearned for it. But it didn't come. The
cold, dark emptiness within Harry's soul had grown over the course of the month or so it had
been since the death of Albus Dumbledore. He had felt guilty earlier, in joining the toasts to the
happy couple, laughing at the best man speeches, enjoying the banquet dinner that must have become
the bane of Mrs. Weasley's existence, in its size and quality.

*How dare you*, his heart had raged at Harry. Once again, it had isolated him from all
those around him. *Better do it now, it'll only get harder later.* The bad thing was,
Harry was starting to agree with that.

“Harry?” A familiar voice said, behind him.

Harry turned around; Hermione stood before him. In a pale silver-blue dress, her brown hair
magically straightened for the purposes of today, she looked truly beautiful. The look of concern
on her face, though, was a keeper, something that was never too far away. *Especially this
month…*

“What are you doing here?” She asked, stepping closer, carefully with her heeled shoes on the
uneven grass.

Harry nodded behind him, out over the open fields surrounding The Burrow, “Just watching the sun
go down.” He had said that *way* too casually; lately, Harry had begun watching his words very
carefully around Hermione. It wasn't just what he said, but the way he said it, that his best
female friend picked up on. And even when he got it right, she still saw through it half the time.
He turned back to lean his arms across the fence.

“Is that all?” She asked insightfully, moving beside Harry, leaning over the same fence. She
shivered involuntarily against the slight breeze in the air, something Harry noticed. He raised his
left hand to the sky, closed his eyes for a second, and clicked his fingers loudly.

“Show off,” Hermione retorted dismissively.

“At least it's progress,” Harry said. A few seconds later, a dark shape flew across the vast
garden, straight for Harry's outstretched hand. He caught his jacket effortlessly, slipping it
over Hermione's shoulders. She smiled her thanks as they resumed their vigil, the orange sky
becoming tinted with purple. Harry's grasp of unspoken, wandless magic had come staggeringly
quickly to Hermione; he already had the basic commands mastered.

What she didn't know, however, was that Harry regularly did without sleep, so he could fit
in a few more hours practice, as Ron and Hermione concentrated on sorting through the various clues
that would, or in their case would not, lead them to the Horcruxes. Such a division had been
Ron's idea, and Harry accepted it as a good idea in a kind of largely unspoken conversation
between the three one evening, as the importance of what they were doing together began to further
sink in.

“Did you enjoy the wedding?” Hermione asked quietly.

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon, “Yeah, it was great.”

“I noticed you keeping a respectful distance from Ginny…”

“That's one way of putting it,” Harry said, again too casually, “Where's Ron?”

Hermione shook her head slightly, “Engaging in a drinking contest with his brothers. Including
the groom.”

Harry grinned to himself, “Guess we're carrying him home.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hermione countered, with an air of polite indignation. She turned her head
slightly to look at Harry again, “Are you sure everything's alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You've been a bit…withdrawn, lately,” Hermione started tentatively.

Harry turned to face her, his brow creased in mild irritation, “Hermione, you know me better
than anyone. If you've got something to say, say it.”

She huffed loudly, “Fine. I know you haven't been sleeping, you barely eat, you spend every
waking moment you have practicing, more and more by yourself these days. I'm worried about
you.”

“Believe me, since that prophecy you're not the only one.”

“I know what you're trying to do, Harry.”

“What?”

Hermione sighed; not in anger or irritation, but in sorrow, “You're shutting us out, Harry.
All of us.”

Harry turned back to the sky; he couldn't bear to face her when she was like this. When she
was right.

She continued, “You think it's going to be easier for you, for the rest of us, if you cut
your ties to this life before you face him.”

Harry could feel his throat begin to seize up. *Please, not here…*

“Life doesn't work that way, Harry. People don't have a spell to turn off their
emotions. You need us, Harry, more than ever…and we need you,” she finished quietly.

Harry turned back to her, “What could you possibly need me for?” His voice was soft,
quiet…broken.

“You're our friend…” Hermione said quietly.

Harry interrupted her, shaking his head, “All I do is cause trouble.” He turned away from her,
“People around me, the ones that get really close to me…” He trailed off, a tear forming in his
eye, “My parents…Sirius…Dumbledore…all they ever did was try and protect me…”

Hermione moved closer, putting a hand on his arm, “It's okay,” she whispered.

“I know what's going to happen to me,” Harry said, allowing the tear to run down his cheek,
his voice wavering, “I've accepted that. It's…Hermione, I don't want anyone else to
die…”

“We won't,” Hermione whispered.

“You don't know that,” Harry said.

“'ARRY!” Ron Weasley emerged from behind the hedgerows, staggering forward with a goofy
smile plastered across his face, his cheeks red from…well, Harry needed one guess. His blue suit,
matching with all the other Weasley brothers, was disheveled, his white shirt wet from…yeah, Harry
only needed one guess at that too.

Ron almost ran into Harry, throwing his arms around him in a bear-hug, “ALLO MATE!” Beside him,
Hermione turned away, huffing loudly again, her arms crossed in front of her. Harry winced and
grimaced, but could do nothing to break his other best friend's grip.

“Just wanted to say I love ya, mate!” Ron slurred.

“Thanks,” Harry said, all of a sudden unsure of how to act in this situation.

“I mean it man, without ya, I coulda been a…a…”

“Drunk?” Hermione said testily.

“Yeah yeah, one o' them,” Ron said, waving a hand wildly in Hermione's general
direction, “I gotta get back, mate, Fred's challenged me to a drinking game. I can't lose,
innit!”

“Innit,” Harry said plainly as Ron let go of him and stumbled off up the path. He glanced back
at Hermione, whose mouth had thinned into a fully-fledged pout. She shook her head, “Typical.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“On the day of his brother's wedding, he makes a mockery of himself!”

Harry allowed himself to grin again, “I think the groom's a bit worse for wear, too.”

Hermione did not dare let herself smile, but the anger displayed on her face slowly faded. She
stepped closer to Harry again, “Look, if you need to talk to someone, you can always…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Harry said quickly, waving off her request with a remarkable air of
casualness. Just like that, Hermione observed, his shield was back up. He was once again The Chosen
One, not the lonely, frightened boy she had just had a rare glimpse of…

“Do you want to go back to the party?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, linking her arm around Harry's. Together, they began walking back up,
Hermione leaning on Harry's arm to steady her, with these shoes she was wearing. Gradually,
they re-entered the throng of humanity.

There had to have been a hundred people here, Harry thought. Everyone he knew, at least those
still in the realm of the living, were here. He could see Hagrid towering above the rest, dwarfed
only by Madame Maxine as they both knocked back a tankard of…something. So many people were
dancing, most of them Harry recognized as Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students. It looked more lively
than the Yule Ball ever did…then again, Harry had been slightly prejudiced against that particular
function. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about doing something or other, snapping at her husband for not
moving quickly enough. Harry shook his head slightly, a slight smile appearing. *The more things
change, the more they don't.*

A new song started, magically hanging in the air. Harry faintly recognized it; he creased his
brow trying to recall. Hermione, her arm still linked with his, turned to him, “What?”

“I remember this song from somewhere,” He said.

Hermione smiled, “Don't you know anything about old Muggle music?”

When Harry displayed ignorance, she pressed on, “This is a song by Queen, it's a classic.
Come on,” She said, guiding him over towards the makeshift dance-floor. The last thing Harry felt
like was dancing, but he listened to the words as he allowed himself to be dragged along by his
best friend.

*This thing, called love*

*I just can't handle it*

*This thing, called love*

*I must get round to it*

Somehow, those words carried a special poignancy for Harry, despite the fast and catchy music.
Then he remembered; *the power he knows not.*

*I ain't ready!*

*Crazy little thing called love*

*That makes two of us*, Harry thought.

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2. Chapter 2
------------



**CHAPTER TWO**

**A/N -** Hope that you enjoyed Chapter One, which I suppose you must have if you're
reading this. I've had a few great reviews so far which are of course very encouraging, but
I'd love to have some more! Keep reading, and enjoy!

Sleep did not come easily for Harry that night; in fact, it didn't come at all. He lay in
his bed, at Grimmauld Place, his mind spinning as much as Ron's head would surely do come the
morning. Returning to their new-found `home' with an extremely drunken Weasley in tow had been
no picnic, especially with Hermione's steadfast refusal to help Harry with the burden, except
to unlock the right doors and wear a constant look of superior indignation. Harry had groaned and
grunted up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Ron, who slept peacefully, save the odd, brief
choking noise that jolted Harry each time, fearful of the worst.

Harry's tired, sleep-deprived mind had convinced him that he'd been laying there for
hours trying to sleep, but in reality it had been just over one. The constant, nagging feeling that
every moment not being spent in the hunt for Voldemort was a moment wasted got to Harry at night,
when his usual stoic emotional control was weakened, his `Chosen One' mantra, a
publicly-perceived ideal that Harry at times clung to as a source of confidence, seemingly
disproven by such attacks of anxiety, of the like he was now experiencing.

He dare not sleep, nor even try to. Sleep invites dreams, and those dreams had been…harrowing.
The faces of so many loved ones dead at Harry's feet…the deaths Harry had been a witness to;
Cedric Diggory, the deadly *Avada Kedavra* curse that swept away the great Albus
Dumbledore…deaths that had not occurred, yet presented themselves to Harry's subconscious mind
with a startling clarity; Neville, Dean, Fred, George…Ron…Hermione…

It had been about two weeks since Harry faced that dream, the one where Hermione died. The sight
of her dead body on the muddy ground, her face stone cold and devoid of all life, made Harry cry
silently into his pillow for the rest of that night. It was torture, even more so *because* it
was Hermione. All the others, all the men, they could fight, they could defend themselves, but
*Hermione*…she had to be protected.

It was not just arrogant male protectionism that Harry derived that notion from; Hermione was
too important to him to die. While Ron was Harry's wing-man, his ally, his team-mate through
thick and thin, Hermione was his brains, his rationality, even his conscience. It was if Harry
himself was half a being, and his two best friends completed him. During this past month, from the
first two weeks at the Dursleys, to moving into Grimmauld Place and making it somewhat livable,
Harry had come to realize just how much she meant to him. In forsaking their friends and families
in this quest, the trio's bonds had grown deeper, and with the newfound maturity that such
responsibility for the magical world brought, Harry had realized and appreciated this.

Sick and tired of *trying* to sleep, Harry threw back the duvet and got up, pacing his way
quietly downstairs in his pyjamas. Finding himself at the dining table, Harry thumbed through a
stack of yellowing parchments that had accumulated across the wooden surface. He picked out one
from the pack, and looked at it for about the twentieth time.

About a week ago, Harry had found himself down Knockturn Alley. It was a dangerous move,
especially in such times, but he had been told by someone in The Leaky Cauldron that there was a
certain…individual that dealt in finding specific places, and creating Portkeys to get there. With
that in mind, Harry had traversed the alley under his Invisibility Cloak for much of the trip, only
daring to show himself within that shop, a small wooden shack bolted onto the end of the main bank
of shops.

The man was tall, gaunt, gray-haired and grubby, but Harry had a sense that what he could
provide could be trusted. He did not give the aura of a thief or a criminal, rather a man down on
his luck, resorting to illegal activities to make a living. Harry paid five Galleons for a map and
a Portkey, which until now had been wrapped up in an oily brown rag, stashed under Harry's
mattress.

Harry studied the map, noting its supposed accuracy, in its attention to detail. Godric's
Hollow was a small town, respectable and well-kempt with a keen awareness of its own history. What
little information Harry had read on the subject had told him that. His eyes found the blank square
at almost dead-centre on the map; *the cemetery*…

He had been putting this off for too long, he knew that. Something about actually *seeing*
his parents' grave was something Harry was uncomfortable with. It represented final,
irrefutable proof that his parents really were dead. Of course, Harry had accepted that most
difficult of realities, but didn't exactly welcome visual confirmation of that. Still, it had
become a wedge in Harry's already weighed-down mind, sticking out as a thing undone.

*Fine…*

Harry quickly changed into warmer clothes in his bedroom, taking care not to wake Ron. When he
was fully dressed, in jeans and a T-shirt and sweater under a black jacket, Harry carefully lifted
up the corner of his mattress, and withdrew that brown rag. He knelt down and laid it out on the
floor, peeling back the rag.

Inside was a jagged, roughly square-shaped piece of gray stone.

*A gravestone*.

In a moment, Harry was standing outside the front door of Grimmauld Place, the night sky passing
a constant, chilling breeze through the air that reinvigorated Harry's senses. Holding the rag
flat in the palm of his hand, he looked around for any hint of people or activity, then slowly
reached for the stone with his left hand…

*WHOOSH!* That familiar feeling gripped Harry, of being gripped and pitched into the wind.
He closed his eyes in an effort to combat the nausea, waiting for it to end.

He fell to the ground, landing on his back on a patch of neat, dew-sodden grass. Gingerly, he
propped himself up to his feet, looking around. A few lamps hung on trees dotted around the
cemetery, providing a low level of light. Still, Harry's vision was hampered by a thick mist of
fog. He withdrew his wand from his back pocket and muttered *Lumos*, the bright light at the
tip of his wand guiding him as he approached a row of gravestones, inspecting the names.

Finally, he caught sight of a plain-looking slab of grey stone, neat and well-maintained. The
engraving read:

JAMES AND LILY POTTER

LOVING HUSBAND, WIFE AND PARENTS

IN SACRIFICE, THEY GO TO A BETTER WORLD

Harry sunk to his knees, his feet numb and no longer able to support his weight. His breath
caught in his throat, and his eyes began to water. He wiped at his face furiously as his grief took
over, wracking him as he cried onto the sleeve of his jacket.

Hermione watched from behind a nearby tree. She had found about this place through careful
reading, and managed to Apparate unseen, arriving a few minutes before Harry did. As she watched
Harry break down, her heart screamed at her to go to Harry, to try and comfort him. But the
rational side of her told her to stay away, to give Harry this privacy to grieve. A tear welled in
her eye as she watched, heartbroken. *Had he ever been able to grieve his parents?* Hermione
had thought.

She found it so desperately unfair, how Voldemort had taken away so much from Harry, and the
magical world had now forced Harry into getting rid of him. They did not make the prophecy, of
course, but the whole `Chosen One' campaign, the cynical attempt to cash in on Harry's
repaired image, made Hermione's blood boil. Her entire childhood she had worshipped the
Ministry.

But as she watched her best friend cry, unable to stop herself from tearing up, she knew the
terrible effect it had on the people she loved.

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3. Chapter 3
------------



**CHAPTER THREE**

**A/N -** Thanks for reading, especially to those who reviewed! That's what every writer
craves - feedback! I love reading them, so if you have ANYTHING good, bad or indifferent to say,
lemme know! Now the story goes off in a new direction, so now you guys are getting a glimpse into
the way my head works instead of the work of JKR. You've been warned…enjoy!

In the week that had passed since that night in his parent's cemetery, Harry had felt his
mood slightly improve, the dead weight within his soul easing just a little, enough to let him
enjoy the company of his two best friends a little bit more. Ron recovered quickly from the effects
of the firewhiskey, and was feverishly working through leads the next morning, much to
Hermione's approval; of course, she never admitted that.

As Harry had practiced and practiced to the point of physical exhaustion, Hermione and Ron
worked on one lead in particular: *R.A.B.* The very little workable information that they had
uncovered had led them to Hogsmeade, where they currently sat in The Hog's Head, nursing
butterbeers.

“I'm telling you,” Ron insisted through a hushed voice, leaning against the table with his
elbows, “the only name that keeps coming up for me is Regulus Black.”

“But he died years ago!” Hermione responded, the same way she had every time Ron brought this
up.

“There's nothing saying he didn't make this switch years ago!” Ron countered, referring
of course to the false Horcrux that had led Dumbledore, and Harry, away from Hogwarts as the school
fell victim of a Death Eater attack.

“He's right,” Harry said, “We need to find out who he knew, anyone he might have had
dealings with.”

“Flourish and Blotts isn't proving any help,” Hermione said wearily. Ron suppressed a grin,
having believed he would never hear Hermione utter those words about the Diagon Alley store.

“Any other ideas?” Harry asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, her head propped up by her hand, “Harry, we all know I'll need to
use the Hogwarts library.”

Harry stiffened, looking away and glowering at nothing in particular. He had *swore* to
himself that he wouldn't set foot in the school until this whole…*thing*, was over. Days
would turn to weeks, weeks would turn to months in sorting through those dusty tomes, and Harry was
sure that an attack would come before too long.

Hermione slid her hand across the table, resting over Harry's gently. She gave a small
smile, “I promise, I'll be quick.”

Harry sighed, nodding slowly. Ron watched hawk-like, his eyes slightly narrowing.

With a sudden blush, her eyes widening as if suddenly realizing where she was, Hermione removed
her hand and stood abruptly, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

Harry glanced over at Ron, “You alright, mate?”

Ron looked back and nodded, neutrally, “Yeah, fine.”

“How's Ginny?” Harry asked with a forced casual tone in his voice. He had worried about her,
infrequently during the month in which the trio had left Hogwarts.

Ron looked away, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, she's alright.”

“No hard feelings?”

Ron shook his head, “That's between you two…”

“Is something up?”

Ron's expression softened slightly as he caught Harry's searching gaze. He rubbed at his
eye, “Nah, I'm just tired.”

Harry sat back in his chair, seemingly placated. Something about Ron was off today, but he
couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Hermione returned with a cheery expression on her face that Harry *knew* had to be forced,
“Okay, shall we go?”

Harry and Ron stood, slipping their jackets back on and making for the door as inconspicuously
as they could. It didn't seem too much of a problem; these days, with so many reports in the
news, people were keeping to themselves. Even Harry had noticed a downturn in the number of times
he was hounded in the streets as a `celebrity'. Not that he was complaining…

As soon as Hermione opened the door, a blast of cold air the likes of which Harry had never felt
before blasted against him, the chill instantly passing through his jacket. The air was blanketed
by a thick fog, the same kind that Harry had noticed at his parents' cemetery. The same kind he
had read about…

He moved closer to Ron and Hermione, not more than ten feet away on the street yet barely
visible. He had to shout over the howling winds, “I swear it wasn't like this earlier!”

“It wasn't!” Ron shouted back, “Blimey, it's cold!”

“Yeah, too cold for the summer months!” Harry shouted.

“This isn't natural!” Hermione said, “Remember the reports we read about the West
Country…”

“Dementors,” Harry said, instantly looking around. He could only see some fifteen, maybe twenty
feet in front of his face. Apparently, this kind of deathly cold, along with the fog, was a result
of Dementors breeding. They weren't here, they couldn't be; security around the major
wizarding communities was too tight. But they were close…

“Come on, we'll freeze to death out here!” Ron shouted. Together, the three of them began
shuffling down the street, towards the grounds of Hogwarts.

Before they had managed to walk more than about thirty or forty feet, the howling winds suddenly
subsided a little, the fog in the air dissipating. Harry, Ron and Hermione all stopped, looking
around in confusion, as did the relatively few others lining Hosmeade. All of a sudden there was a
deafening quiet, the slight chill hanging in the air almost freezing the bewildered locals in
place.

“AARGHHH!” A woman's scream spun the three of them around, searching for the source of the
commotion and instantly finding it; three Death Eaters were marching down the high street, right
for them. For the merest instant, they froze, before Harry instinctively reached for his wand…

“GET DOWN!” A male voice commanded, shouting from behind them. Ron saw a flash out of the corner
of his eye and launched himself into Harry and Hermione's backs, tackling them down to the
ground as a powerful bolt of brilliant blue-white energy shot over them, expanding and bursting
with a blinding flash in front of the Death Eaters. The two masked, black-hooded dark wizards on
the sides were pitched high up and back through the air, one smashing through a shop front, the
other slamming against a brick wall and falling down unconscious.

Hermione made to get up, to run for safety, but Harry and Ron kept her down on the ground as the
one remaining Death Eater locked eyes with his mystery assailant, the gleaming metal scythe held in
his right hand betraying his identity…

“MACNAIR!” The same male voice shouted. Harry managed to turn on the ground enough to see a
young man approach him, wand pointed at the Death Eater. He looked young, mid-twenties, dressed in
Muggle-style jeans and blue denim jacket, his brown hair shaved short, hazel eyes fierce and
determined. To Harry, he looked vaguely familiar…

With a sick, twisted grin, Macnair in a flash revealed his wand, firing a curse at his opponent.
Just as quickly, the denim-clad wizard leapt, in an instant flipping over in the air, landing
directly behind Macnair in less than a second. Harry could scarcely believe it…*what the
hell?!*

Before his mind could catch up, Macnair was now backpedaling, furiously swinging and spinning
his scythe with impossible speed and dexterity, clashing and striking against what appeared to be a
beam of pure energy, the same blue-white luminescence as whatever spell his attacker had conjured.
It emanated from the tip of the wizard's wand, which he held with both hands, sparking and
hissing with each ferocious strike and counter-strike, but holding firm. He was chopping and
swinging with precision and skill, forcing the Death Eater back in a brilliant display of
swordsmanship.

As their battle moved further down the street, Harry deemed it safe to get up to his knees,
watching them carefully. He drew his wand, but both men were moving too quickly for him to do
anything useful. Besides, this guy, whoever he was, seemed to be beating Macnair down. He lost more
and more ground, desperately swinging and spinning to deflect blow after blow, barely having enough
time to get himself and his weapon in position, buckling under each strike…

Macnair deflected a strike from his assailant's wand-conjured blade and landed a kick to his
jaw, creating enough space between them for the Death Eater to desperately pull out his wand. With
a wave, he Disapparated.

Regaining his balance, the wizard let out a loud expletive, too angry with himself to care about
the attitudes of his unwitting witnesses. With a wave of his wand, the mysterious humming
blue-white blade retracted with a snap-hiss into its tip. He glanced back in Harry, Ron and
Hermione's direction, then quickly Disapparated himself.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked in exasperation, looking between Harry and Hermione
frantically.

“I don't know,” Harry said. He glanced at Hermione, “Are you alright?”

She nodded grimly, “Yes, I'm fine.” She looked back up the high street, noticing crowds of
wizards gathering around the unconscious Death Eaters, tying them down and securing them, “How
could Death Eaters just march right into Hogsmeade?”

Harry looked around, shaking his head, “I don't know. Maybe this fog let them slip in
unnoticed.”

“It's not so bad now,” Ron commented, “How'd that happen?”

“Perhaps Macnair and the others used dark magic to amplify its effects,” Hermione surmised,
“Whoever that was who fought them *had* to be an Auror.”

“I thought he looked familiar,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded, “I thought that too. Once we get up to Hogwarts, I'll go into the student
records and see what I can find.”

“Right,” Ron said, “I'll focus on finding anything on Regulus Black.”

Harry and Hermione both stared at Ron wordlessly.

Ron quickly looked down at his feet, “Yeah, I'm worried too.”

Harry and Hermione shared a quick look of amazement; *He's volunteering to read books
now?*

“Come on then, let's go.” Ron nodded off down the path towards Hogwarts, setting off. Harry
and Hermione set off behind him, sharing another quick look; *What have we done to him?*

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4. Chapter 4
------------



**CHAPTER FOUR**

**A/N -** I know there was a bit of a Star Wars nod in that last chapter with the mysterious
Auror, but it only adds to the story. I'll most likely throw in a bit of Lord of the Rings and
maybe even The Matrix, who knows? Thanks for the reviews, hope to get some more! Here's Chapter
4…

“Found anything?” Ron asked Hermione over the table of the empty Hogwarts library.

“You mean in the four minutes since you last asked me?” Hermione asked snootily, eyes not
leaving the thick, leather-bound text held in front of her face.

“Yeah,”

“No,”

“Okay,” Ron said sheepishly, returning to his copy of *Dark Wizards Revealed - Volume
Four*. Despite Hermione's dismissal of the book as a `shallow' source of information,
Ron pressed on. Around them, the Hogwarts library was silent and deserted. On their arrival, the
trio had found the school all-but-abandoned; only the teachers had remained. Harry was currently
off seeing if Hagrid was still around. Professor McGonagall gave them permission to stay for a few
days, long enough to complete the research they sought. Both Ron and Hermione, in moving through
the immense corridors, felt a disquieting sense of emptiness in the grand old school.

“I wonder what the teachers are still doing here,” Ron said as he flicked over another page.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “They're running advanced self-defense classes over the summer for
sixth and seventh years, didn't you see *any* of the notices?”

“Okay then, smartpants, where's the students then?” Ron asked pointedly.

“They start tomorrow, genius,” Hermione retorted, eyes kept on her book. Ron blushed and looked
down at his book, wishing it would somehow swallow him whole.

Another couple of minutes ticked away silently.

“Wonder how the Cannons got on…”

“Honestly Ron, can you go five minutes without breaking the silence?”

“I hate awkward silences…”

“That wasn't awkward, it was…”

“Yeah?”

“…shut up.”

Another couple of minutes of page-turning…

“Ah,” Hermione said, mostly to herself, “found him!”

“Great,” Ron exclaimed, “who is he?”

Hermione allowed the great heavy book to fall flat on the table; Ron had to quickly move his
hands out of the way. She had acquired one of the massive volumes in the archive of former
students, and pointed at the left-hand page, dominated with a black-and-white moving portrait in
the centre, just like all the others. It was definitely the same young man as the one that had
fought off Macnair, but younger and wearing a Hogwarts uniform.

“David James Adams,” Hermione read, “Gryffindor house, left…three years ago,” She said, looking
up at Ron, eyebrows raised.

“Right after the Triwizard Tournament,” Ron said, “No wonder we didn't notice.”

Hermione read on through the columns of text, tracing her progress with her index finger,
“Muggle-born…He was placed in Gryffindor almost immediately at the Sorting…strong academic
performance…known preference for Muggle football over Quidditch…mentored by Dennis Morgan, an
Auror…current record holder for Defense Against the Dark Arts test scores…disqualified from
entering into selection for the Triwizard Tournament after violation of school rules…recruited by
the Ministry after graduation.” She looked up at Ron, “What does that tell us?”

Ron creased his brow, “How could you like football better than…”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron!” Hermione shouted; Ron instantly snapped out of whatever
reverie he was having, and coughed to clear his throat, “So, the Ministry recruits a top DADA
student…he must be an Auror.”

Hermione nodded, “Right, but why was he disqualified from the Tournament?”

Ron shrugged, “I dunno. With his test scores, he must've thought he'd be a shoo-in.”

Hermione looked back down at the text, skipping through to the end, “It says here his work
concentrates on developing advanced close quarters defense methods.”

“Sounds familiar,” Ron said lightly.

Hermione stood up, making for the door, “Come on,”

“Where are we going?” Ron asked as he moved to follow her.

“To see Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said, marching down the corridor quickly, “She'll
have known this David Adams.”

“Why has he got anything to do with us?” Ron asked, struggling to keep in step.

“He somehow knew Macnair and the others would be in Diagon Alley,” Hermione answered, “Perhaps
the Aurors know something we don't about them, and they can lead us to Death Eaters who Regulus
Black had contact with.”

“Fair enough,” Ron said nonchalantly, trying to decide whether or not he understood any of
that.

* * * * *

“Ere ya go, Harry, get that down yer neck,” Hagrid said heartily, setting down a huge steaming
mug in front of Harry, in the living room of his hut.

The half-giant settled down across the coffee table in the cramped living room in his customary
armchair, “So, c'mon then Harry, tell us everything,” He said, beaming.

It took Harry a few seconds to look up at Hagrid, his distant eyes refocusing behind his round
glasses, shrugging them nonchalantly, “There's not much to tell.”

Hagrid waved off the rebuttal jovially, “Heh, I'm smarter than I look, ya know. C'mon,
try me.”

Harry looked down, shaking his head solemnly, “That's just it, Hagrid; there really
*isn't* much to tell. We're nowhere on this, I just…” He paused, taking a deep breath
that swelled his thin diaphragm, “I have no idea where we should be looking, what we should be
doing.” His voice began to crack, a mix of frustration and sorrow underscoring his words.

“Ya will,” Hagrid said, “The three o' yer always figure these things out.”

“That's all we've been trying to do for the last month,” Harry said quietly,
“Voldemort's out there, he's getting ready for…whatever it is he's got planned, and
when it matters most that the three of us come through, we're sat on our bloody hands trying
to…”

“Hey, tha's enough!” Hagrid said sharply, the kind look on his face replaced by a harsher
one, “I won' be hearing you giving up, alrigh'?”

Harry registered the look on Hagrid's face, casting his eyes back down towards the floor, “I
wish I knew what Professor Dumbledore knew about me, Hagrid.”

Hagrid nodded slowly, “Yeah, bit o' divine wisdom would help righ' now.”

“Do you think I stand a chance?” Harry asked, his eyes finding Hagrid's, for the first time
betraying a sense of total hopelessness. Hagrid saw it, and got to his feet at once, moving over
towards Harry, gripping him by the shoulders, “I'll tell yeh this, Harry, yeh ain't going
anywhere. There ain' no bloody way I'm losing yeh an' all, do you get me?”

Harry returned his gaze silently, betraying nothing.

“If `e wants yeh,” Hagrid said determinedly, “'E's gotta go through me.”

Harry shook his head, “We both know it'll come down to me against him.”

“Then I'll be there to make sure it's a fair fight,” Hagrid said with fierce pride, “You
promise me, Harry, when you three find summat, `cause you will, you come back here and get me,
alrigh'?”

Harry locked eyes with Hagrid's for a few seconds, and then nodded, “Okay.”

Harry knew, deep down, that if he, Ron and Hermione stood any chance, he'd have to break
that promise.

* * * * *

“Well then, what is it that is so desperately urgent?” Professor McGonagall asked as she sat
down behind the desk in her office, Ron and Hermione facing her on the other side. The Scottish
professor remained the picture of calm stoicism she had always been, even during these troubling
times. To Ron especially, that was comforting.

“Professor, do you know about the Death Eater attack in Diagon Alley yesterday?” Hermione
asked.

“But of course, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall replied with a raised eyebrow, “I was one of
the first to know.”

“It seemed that somehow the presence of Death Eaters had been anticipated,” Hermione pressed on,
“There was an Auror on-site as soon as they appeared to us.”

“Hardly surprising,” Professor McGonagall answered, “considering the levels of security and
surveillance we have you under.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged surprised, startled looks. Ron turned to the teacher, “You mean,
you've had us watched?”

The professor nodded, “In as many ways as possible, Mr. Weasley. You'd hardly think the
Ministry would allow the three of you to get away from their protection.”

“That's…” Hermione said, stumbling over herself to find the right word in light of this
level of intrusion.

“…that's outrageous,” Ron exclaimed, “I mean, how the hell can we go after Voldemort's
Horcruxes with Aurors and the Ministry at our backs? He'd see them coming a mile off!”

“If the current state of events were less dangerous to the wizarding community as a whole,
I'd be inclined to agree with you,” Professor McGonagall conceded sternly, “but that is the way
things are. The Ministry will not budge on this issue, I'm afraid.”

“This is why we can't afford to have Hagrid with us,” Hermione said, her voice rising, “We
need to be able to move around without attracting attention!”

“I have been over this with the relevant officials, but their orders stand, at least until the
situation changes.”

“Meaning?” Ron asked.

“If you find something, a Horcrux maybe, then special plans can be made,” Professor McGonagall
said dispassionately, “Unfortunately, there really is nothing I can do about this.” She made to
stand up, “Well, if there's nothing else…”

“Do you know a former student called David Adams?” Hermione asked.

The professor paused, sitting back down again. The flash in her eyes betrayed clearly the fact
that she did. She nodded, “Yes, as a matter of fact he was one of my more…challenging students,
until he graduated three years ago.”

“He was the Auror that fought off three Death Eaters,” Ron explained, “I've never seen
anyone who can do that like he did.”

“It was his prodigious talent at Defense Against the Dark Arts that saved him from expulsion,
I'm sure,” The professor said lightly, “I've been made aware of his involvement; he even
sent me a copy of his report as a courtesy.”

“He seemed to know one of them,” Hermione said, “Would we be able to talk to him?”

“I'm quite certain that can be arranged,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Where can we find him?” Ron asked.

“I would try the Defense classroom,” the professor said, “Starting tomorrow, Mr. Adams is the
acting Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

-->



5. Chapter 5
------------



**CHAPTER FIVE**

**A/N -** Sorry for the delay, I've had quite a lot on my plate! Hope this one's
worth the wait, keep the reviews coming…

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat up well into the early hours of the morning that night in the
Gryffindor common room, discussing their newest lead. Since they were here already, it made sense
to talk to this Auror, and see what he knew. Besides, Harry was privately interested in what kind
of `advanced self-defense' techniques this David Adams knew. When Harry observed his fight with
Macnair, he saw spells and abilities he had never heard of before. Conjuring a magical blade from a
wand…where the hell did he learn *that*?

They were joined in the evening by the returning Gryffindors, a handful of them that had elected
to take part in these classes over the summer. Aside from the sixth years, many of whom Harry was
on no more than nodding terms with, the return of Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati were
welcome ones. The absence of Ginny Weasley was more of a relief to Harry than anything else. Ron
revealed to him later on that he had spoken with his parents, and Mrs. Weasley simply would not
allow Ginny out of her sight. It felt good to catch up with his friends, Harry thought, although
the solemn and quite subdued tone of the night felt alien in this common room, where they had all
laughed and joked for years.

Harry had trouble sleeping that night. This time, though, he wasn't plagued by nightmares.
He was simply restless; he couldn't wait to get the ball rolling in the morning. As it turned
out, Neville couldn't sleep either. The two of them sat up and talked for what felt like hours;
over the last month, Neville had been practicing almost as rabidly as Harry had. Harry could sense
a determination in Neville that he hadn't felt before; it had taken him a while to get over his
confidence issues, Professor Snape's years of sniping no doubt a central cause, but Neville had
just as much potential for wizardry as Harry had. He knew that for a fact; the prophecy told him
so.

The sunrise in the morning came as a relief, as Harry was up, washed and dressed before anyone
else. Ron slept annoyingly well and annoyingly soundly, causing Dean and Neville to throw their
pillows at him upon awaking. As the five of the boys met up with the three girls, they headed down
to the Great Hall in a group to catch some breakfast.

The Hall itself was largely empty; a few of the teachers were eating, others evidently already
had or were going to later. Groups of maybe ten to twenty sat bunched at different sections of the
other house tables; Harry noticed Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang were both present. *Oh God, not
Cho…*Harry had sworn that he was over her, had realized that his passing fancy of her was just
*that*; passing. But every time he saw her, he wasn't so sure. He caught Ron and Hermione
looking at him across the table, to which he only raised his eyebrows as if to say `yeah, I
know'.

Eating breakfast seemed to take a lot less time than usual; either Harry really didn't eat
that much, or everyone else was on a diet! It seemed more likely that the other Gryffindors were
eager to get on with these classes; after all, that was what they were there for. So, the group of
eight set off first, heading for the old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, as the posters
had directed. Harry had noticed the group of about ten Slytherins looking particularly smug and
superior, openly wondering what some wet-behind-the-ears Auror could teach them. *Yeah, well you
still turned up*, Harry thought.

As the two groups of the morning class, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, filed into the empty
classroom, Harry noticed Professor McGonagall standing at the base of the stone staircase that led
up to the teacher's office, talking with David Adams, her former student. Their conversation
seemed to be pretty light-hearted, at least as much so as Professor McGonagall would allow, but
there was a definite respect there, on both sides. From what Hermione had told Harry about her
reading, that probably would have been unlikely three years ago.

“Good morning class,” Professor McGonagall said, stepping forward to address the two groups, who
immediately stopped their idle chatter and turned to face her. She continued, “We at Hogwarts, in
co-operation with the Department of Aurors, are happy to run these self-defense classes for our
advanced-level students over the summer. However, be under no misconception; although your clothing
is casual, your behavior and effort shall not be. Is that clear?”

A few assorted murmurs and nods told her it was.

“Now then,” she continued, gesturing at the Auror behind her, “Mr. Adams here is one of the
Ministry's foremost experts on dueling and close-quarters defense. His work is held in high
regard, and you would be very well-advised to listen to his instructions.” She turned and nodded to
Adams, who seemed mildly surprised at the compliments his old Head of House had just paid him.

“I shall be in my office for much of the day, if there are any problems,” The professor
finished, “Good luck.” She exited through the side door of the classroom, leaving the twenty-five
or so students with Adams at the front. An awkward silence followed, hanging in the air thickly for
a few seconds. It was clear he hadn't ever taught before. Clad in a Muggle-style denim jacket,
red T-shirt and black jeans over black sneakers, he definitely did not look the part.

“Alright,” He started, speaking in a Londoner's accent, pacing slightly at the front of the
class, “As the professor said, my name's David Adams. I've been with the Ministry for about
three years, before that I was a Gryffindor here. Before I get started, does anyone have any
questions?”

Harry and Ron, standing either side of Hermione, were totally unsurprised when her hand shot
into the air. David nodded at her, “Yeah?”

“What is the nature of your work at the Ministry?” She asked. David caught her eyes for a couple
of seconds. Harry knew that David had figured her out already; Hermione wanted to know what he was
doing in Diagon Alley, two days ago.

“Well, I spend most of my time at the Ministry developing new close-quarters defense skills, but
other than that I do a bit of field work,” David answered, “Anyone else?”

Seamus was next, “Do you know what…Voldemort's next move is going to be?”

David's eyes briefly found Harry's for a split-second before he answered, “We've got
our best people working on that, but that's about all I can tell ya. Anyone else?”

Luna's hand went up, a serene look on her face, “Is it true that Unspeakables are performing
illegal experiments on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?”

As Harry rolled his eyes, and Hermione let out a sharp breath of frustration, David's
eyebrows knitted together, trying to figure her out. After a few seconds he gave up, turning to the
rest of the class, “Yeah, whatever…anyway, let's get started. I'll start by showing you the
Dagonet Leap; it's a useful evasive maneuver for slipping a hex or curse, or for changing your
position in the middle of a duel and gaining a tactical advantage. Pair up, and we'll get
started.”

Both Harry and Ron turned to face Hermione in the middle, purely on instinct. Hermione,
wordlessly, turned to face Harry first. Ron was taken aback for a second, as Luna came to stand
right next to him, smiling sweetly as if they were still back at the wedding and she wanted to
dance. Harry and Hermione exchanged raised eyebrows as David slipped off his jacket at the front,
revealing a well-defined musculature beneath his T-shirt; red with white sleeves, the letters JVC
across the front. Lavender and Parvati tried to hide their giggles, warranting another frustrated
sigh from Hermione, as Harry could hear Seamus saying something that sounded like `he's a
bloody Gooner', whatever that meant.

David withdrew his wand from his back pocket; dark brown and completely straight and smooth.
With a quick, wordless wave, around fifteen tall blue crash-mats appeared next to the pairs. David
nodded at them, “Those are just for safety, it took me a while to do this and land on my feet.”

Without warning, he bent his knees slightly and jumped, in a flash too fast to be natural, he
had leapt right up near the ceiling. He back-flipped in midair and landed on his feet, bending his
knees to absorb the hard landing. As he was met by open mouths and stunned expressions, he
explained, “That's what you should be able to pull off by the end of today. It's a wandless
ability; the incantation is `Dagonus', and it's best to think it rather than say it aloud,
or you're advertising what you're about to do to your opponent. Give it a go, concentrate
on the landing, and try and aim for the mat,” He said, with a slight grin at the end.

Over the course of the next hour, Harry began to appreciate just how hard being an Auror really
was. Owing to his practice with wandless and wordless magic, Harry picked up the incantation part
quite quickly. However, the jumping part, that was hard. The vertigo and the nausea he felt as he
was almost catapulted upwards by an unknown force of energy was almost enough to make him throw up,
and actually was in the case of Dean. Ron, to his credit, picked up the technique quite quickly,
but did rather overdo it by slamming back-first into the ceiling. David Adams had spotted this as
he fell, and held out an outstretched hand, instantly slowing Ron's fall to a slow crawl.

*Just how powerful is this guy?*

As much as Hermione really wanted to master this task, as she had done so many others, she found
herself struggling, and often times crashed back into the soft padding of the mat. Harry's
heart leapt into his throat each time, bizarrely more-so than when he watched Ron. Harry himself
was starting to pick it up, jumping straight up and down quite easily and landing on his feet. He
knew that mastering the flip, either forwards or backwards to change position and come down in a
better position towards one's enemy, would take more practice.

The class trained for about two hours, at the end of which everyone was hot and tired, many
aching all over. After some words of encouragement and a brief preview of tomorrow morning's
lesson on positional awareness in dueling, the class stumbled away. Harry, Ron and Hermione,
however, stayed behind.

David was mopping at his damp forehead with a towel as he noticed the trio approach him. He
threw it casually over the handrail of the staircase up to what was, for the moment, his office,
“Yeah?”

Harry and Ron both looked to Hermione, who narrowed her eyes slightly as she spoke, “Mr. Adams,
we were just…”

“Call me David,” He said, not with the air of a man trying to play down his importance in false
modesty, but rather as a man who couldn't be bothered with such formality.

“…we were curious as to…”

“You wanted to know how I could anticipate Macnair's attack on Diagon Alley,” David
finished. Hermione paused, and nodded.

David leaned back against the railing, “I've been tracking Macnair for about two months now.
I thought I lost track of him, until you three drew him out into the open at Diagon Alley. That
day, I was on duty keeping an eye on you.”

Harry felt the familiar surge of anger reserved for unwanted Ministry intrusion, but suppressed
it, “How much do you know about Macnair's movements?”

“A fair bit, why?”

“We need to find anyone who had dealings with Regulus Black while he was alive.” Harry said
plainly, giving away nothing of their mission in his voice.

David's eyes flashed a hint of curiosity, “In relation with?”

Ron shrugged, “When we know, you'll know.”

David played the request out in his head for a moment, before shrugging his muscular arms,
“Alright, I'll look over my paperwork and check in with Kingsley at the Ministry. If I find
something, I'll let you know.”

Harry nodded, “Thanks.”

Before he could make to leave, Ron had another question, “Where did you learn all this?”

David shrugged again, “What do you mean?”

“The Dagonet Leap, turning your wand into a magical sword, fighting off three Death Eaters just
like that,” Ron elaborated, “I've never heard of any of those spells.” As much as Hermione
thought the matter trivial in the larger scheme of things, she looked to David for an answer, as
did Harry.

David hesitated, carefully wording his reply, “Until the Ministry officially approves the
techniques I've learned, I can't tell you,” He said, “I had to get special permission just
to do these classes.”

“Why *are* you doing these classes?” Harry asked.

David fixed him with a steady look, “Because I had a strong feeling you'd be here.”

“What?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Look, I know you and the Ministry don't get on,” David said calmly, “But I can guarantee
you this; Voldemort doesn't know the same techniques I do, nor do his Death Eaters. I'm
here, you're here, and I'd be a fool for not giving you every chance to defeat him, and
you'd be one for not taking advantage.”

Harry glared back at him as he spoke, and after a good few seconds, looked away, as if conceding
his point. David picked his towel up from the railing, then moved over to grab his denim jacket,
“Now, I've gotta get ready for this afternoon's class. I'll let you three know what I
find.” He slung his jacket over his broad shoulders, and walked away into the corridor.

Hermione was the first to speak, “He has a point, Harry.”

“Don't start…” Harry said dismissively.

Sensing the growing atmosphere, Ron began to slowly make for the door, muttering something about
being parched.

Hermione looked at him squarely, eyes narrowing testily, “Just because you don't like the
idea of listening to anyone that works for the Ministry of Magic, don't tar him with the same
brush! He's here to help you!”

“Yeah, he made that abundantly clear,” Harry said.

“You heard what he said; he knows things Voldemort doesn't.”

“He's not the only one…” Harry said before stopping himself. *The power he knows
not…*that was the only part of the prophecy that Hermione, nor anyone else after the death of
Professor Dumbledore, didn't know about. In telling Ron and Hermione the prophecy, Harry had
for some reason kept that part back.

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.

“Forget it,” Harry said quickly, sure that Hermione was going to pick up on that down the line.
Looking to change the subject, his tone softened, “Look, I know he's only doing what he thinks
is best, but…aside from you and Ron, I just have trouble trusting people these days.”

Hermione's face seemed to soften as well; she took a couple of steps closer to Harry,
speaking in a quieter voice, “I know, Harry, it's okay. I think David is okay, you know. Three
years ago, he was where we are now. I'm sure he remembers what that's like. Just try and
cut him some slack, okay?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

Hermione put a hand on his arm, smiling slightly. Seeing some of the old Harry in his eyes, she
turned and left.

Harry ran his hand across the part of his arm where Hermione had just touched him; it was still
tingling.

*Weird*.

-->



6. Chapter 6
------------



**CHAPTER SIX**

**A/N -** I'm so sorry for how long this has taken! Anyone in their senior year at
university will understand how hectic things can be! Anyway, I never realized how long Chapter Five
was until I finished writing it! I've had some great reviews for the style of this story and
the characterization, and I'd like to thank you guys for that, I hope I can keep it going!
Here's Chapter Six…

Two days after that first class in advanced self-defense, Harry found himself battered and weary
as he made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast with Ron, Hermione already awake and in the
library reading…something. He felt as if he was a piece of metal, being beaten and forged and
tempered into something tougher. Ron wasn't faring much better, and if Harry's mind
wasn't quite so clouded with fatigue and dull aches, he would have found Ron's slight
staggering to be slightly comical.

Harry was provided with another reason for hating sleep; aside from the nightmares, whatever
cuts and scrapes he had received during the course of these training sessions tightened up, feeling
much worse by morning. However, Harry was beginning to see the worth of this program. This David
Adams really did know a lot about dueling, and had a lot of new ideas that had never occurred to
Harry, yet made all the sense in the world. He felt his own abilities improving, and liked the
feeling that he was becoming a stronger weapon in the fight against Voldemort. Of course, Hermione
would dismiss that as `barbaric masculine pride', or something like that, Harry thought with a
wistful smile.

“I'm so hungry,” Ron groaned beside Harry as they descended the last staircase to the Great
Hall.

“What else is new?” Harry asked, tongue in cheek.

“I'm serious mate, I don't think I've ever needed food so much,” Ron said,
collapsing down onto the bench at the Gryffindor house table across from Harry.

“Morning Ronald!” Luna exclaimed excitedly, almost shouting as she seemingly appeared out of
thin air beside Ron.

Grimacing, Ron gripped his aching head, “Oh, that was the last thing I needed…”

Harry grinned as he began to load up his plate. Luna happily sat down next to Ron, who looked
like he'd rather be anywhere on the planet right now, “And how are we feeling today?”

Ron turned to face her, exasperated, “How do I look?”

Luna smiled, shaking her head, “You need to turn that frown upside down, mister! And pay a
little more attention to where I am when we're dueling.”

Ron turned to Harry, with a wide-eyed look that seemed to scream *`Kill her, kill her now,
make it very unpleasant I don't care, just get her away from me!'*

Luna had been Ron's regular partner in these training sessions, as Hermione had been
Harry's. After the first day, Ron told Harry that he wouldn't have fancied the nagging that
Hermione was sure to give Harry. She did, but not as much as they both had thought; she had to pick
all of this up too, and wasn't the most gifted duelist to begin with.

“Today's going to be fun, I'm really looking forward to it,” Luna said, referring to
that day's morning session on basic hand-to-hand combat, where the two combatants would be too
close for wand magic to be practical. Ron almost winced at the thought alone, wondering how many
bruises he was going to end up with. Luna, while being somewhat mentally detached from the world
around her, was surprisingly strong and quick for a girl her size. While Harry got the sense that
Luna would have been looking forward to anything, he did find her giddy enthusiasm somewhat
uplifting.

It was fortunate that he did, because that morning's lesson was anything but uplifting.
David put the class through their paces with some basic judo, using an opponent's weight and
momentum against them. Harry found himself flipping Hermione over his shoulder, tripping her up and
generally manhandling her in a way that made him blush. More than a couple of times, he found
himself pinning her down on the crash mat. A couple of seconds of awkwardness usually followed as
their eyes found each others, mere inches apart. Then Harry would pull Hermione up, and the cycle
would repeat.

Throughout that class, Harry's mind turned to two days ago. The way she had touched him on
the arm…no doubt it was innocent and innocuous, just like every other instance of physical contact
between the two friends…*remember that word, Harry, `friends'…*but the way Harry had
reacted to it, and the way it had crept into the back of his mind…that wasn't normal.

At the end of the class, David asked Harry to hang back for a minute. Ron and Hermione stayed
also, and a quick glance at the two told David it was pointless to try and keep this private.
Wiping at his face with a magically-conjured towel, David quickly went up into what was, for now,
his office, and returned with a small pile of parchments, flat but rolled up at the end, bound
together with red tape.

He handed them to Harry, “This is what I could find; it's not much, but there might be a
couple of leads in there. I've got Tonks at the Ministry going over all this again, in case we
missed something.”

Harry nodded, “Thanks.”

Hermione was looking at the parchments intently, ready to devour the new information within. Ron
was wincing and grabbing his side, where Luna had been a bit overzealous with a hip throw, and
ended up missing the crash mat.

“No problem,” David said, “but if you find something and decide to check it out yourselves, let
me know.”

Harry's eyes narrowed behind his glasses for a brief moment, but as he found Hermione's,
and the faintly warning look in her brown eyes, he nodded, “Yeah, okay.” He looked up at David
again, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” David said casually.

“How long are you going to be running these classes for?”

David crossed his arms, shrugging his shoulders, “I had a plan laid out for four weeks training,
until the new full-time Defense teacher steps in.”

“Do you know who it's going to be?” Ron asked, curious.

David paused a moment before answering, a flicker in his eyes, “I've got an idea, yeah.”

“Who?” Hermione pressed.

David grinned slightly, “Nah, worth more than my job to tell you. But he's a good
bloke.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged quizzical looks as Harry continued, “The reason I asked is, I'm
just not sure how long I can stay here, and if I leave early and I'm missing out on what
you're teaching…”

“You want to know if there's some other way to learn this stuff,” David finished for
him.

Harry nodded.

“Okay,” David said after a moment, “Tomorrow night, come here about eight. I've got
something I can try.”

At that moment, Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, “I hope I'm not disturbing
you.”

“Not at all, Professor,” David said respectfully.

“You asked me to inform you when `she' arrives…” The Professor said.

David's face suddenly lit up, “She's here?”

Professor McGonagall nodded, as Harry, Ron and Hermione looked on incredulously.

“Alright, class dismissed,” David said as he quickly made for the door. Professor McGonagall
gave the Trio a look of slight amusement, before she turned and left.

“What's that all about?” Ron asked, “Who's `she'?”

“I'm gonna go find out,” Harry said, “You guys coming?”

Hermione shook her head, taking the parchments from Harry, “No, I'm going to start looking
through this. I wouldn't, Harry, it might be something personal.”

Ron, caught in two minds, nodded as if to agree with Hermione.

*That's helpful…* “I'll be discreet,” Harry said as he went for the door.

* * * * *

Moving quietly down the corridors and hallways, Harry followed David first to his room, a
converted teacher's office near the revolving stone stairwell leading up to what used to be
Professor Dumbledore's office. A couple of minutes later he emerged with his hair wet from a
quick shower, and a fresh T-shirt (yellow with a dark blue stripe across the middle, with the same
sports team markings as Harry had seen before) and blue jeans. David didn't notice Harry's
presence as he burst into a run down the hallway, leaving Harry hard-pressed to catch up.

Harry wondered why he was doing this. Maybe he thought it would help somehow, but this guy,
David, was holding back a lot of what he knew. Harry understood why he had to, but it still
frustrated him. He was supposed to the Ministry's `Chosen One', why shouldn't he be
involved with what they knew? Once again, he felt like the kid under the stairs, being drip-fed the
pertinent details. Maybe whoever it was that David was now hastening to meet would provide some
kind of a clue.

David stopped at the balcony, overlooking the main staircase down to the hallway outside the
Great Hall. From a side-on perspective, he saw David freeze, looking down. His face was a mask of
shock, before it broke into a wide smile, and an excited laugh. He ran down the stairs; Harry edged
forward to get a look…

…and immediately regretted following him this far.

Quietly, he slipped away back down the corridor.

* * * * *

Harry couldn't remember the route he took back to the Gryffindor common room. He only seemed
to regain full consciousness at the portrait of the Fat Lady. As he entered, Ron and Hermione were
the only students around; the others were outside enjoying the fine weather. Hermione caught the
distracted look on Harry's face before he'd even sat down, “Harry, are you alright?”

Harry shrugged, “Yeah, fine,” He said halfheartedly.

“What happened?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, “Nah, it was nothing.”

Hermione could tell he was lying, “It doesn't sound like nothing.”

Harry stood up, as if the armchair he had collapsed into was suddenly uncomfortable, “You were
right, it was…personal.”

“How personal?”

“It was…his girlfriend, who he met,” Harry admitted, trying to sound as casual as possible. The
instant look on Hermione's face spoke volumes, and he knew what she was going to say before she
did, “Harry, I did warn you, it looked pretty obvious…”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said quickly, heading for the stairs, “I'm going for a lie-down.”

As soon as Harry found the dormitory, he collapsed onto his bed. In truth, seeing David with his
girlfriend had taken the wind out of his already-beaten sails. While Harry didn't get a good
look, he could tell that she was tall, with long brown hair tied back straight, and spoke with an
American accent, aside from being extremely good-looking. What had stirred in Harry's heart now
was something he was not used to feeling - jealousy.

Normally, he was much too busy or pre-occupied to worry about the personal lives of people,
apart from his friends, but this was different. As Harry had completed these lessons, keeping pace
with this formidable former Gryffindor champion, he had begun to feel that he was his equal. There
was no doubt in Harry's mind - David was in love with this girl. And that churned him up
inside.

With all the confidence he had been building while back within the walls of Hogwarts, the one
missing piece of the puzzle had been allowed to drift from the forefront of Harry's mind -
until now.

*The power he knows not…*

-->



7. Chapter 7
------------



**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**A/N -** It's been a while, but The Final Countdown returns! I do apologize for the
lengthy gap, but I've had so many things to do with my last year of university. I'm still
there of course, but I won't take so long from here on out, you have my word!

Those of you who may have felt aggrieved at the slow-burning pace of the romance aspect of this
story might take heart from this chapter - or might not. Anyway, this is a short little break from
the main plot elements, hope you enjoy…and review!

That night, Harry sat alone in one of the stands of the grand old Quidditch stadium, at one of
the outer edges of the Hogwarts grounds. The night air was cool and still, it's slight and
gentle breeze comforting. The thin jacket that Harry wore was enough protection from the night, as
he sat leaning over the handrail at the front of the stand, arms folded across it, leaning forward
with his head resting on them.

The green in Harry's eyes was dull tonight; he had spent that afternoon getting in some
flying practice with Ron, having returned to Grimmauld Place to retrieve their broomsticks, along
with a few other essentials. In the heat of the summer, it felt good to fly and swoop and dive, as
if Harry was back in the Quidditch team, the Quidditch Cup the only thing on his mind. In reality
it had been last school year, a matter of months ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. He yearned
for that kind of innocence again.

Maybe that was why he came here tonight.

*If only.*

Of course, the rational part of his brain told Harry that this was ridiculous. Why should the
fact that David Adams has a girlfriend bother him so much?

*Well, it doesn't, not really.*

It was merely another reminder to Harry that he was missing out on a big part of life. No matter
that, presumably, he needed that kind of love to actually *have* a life, realizing that he had
no one like that was still a depressing thought, as it would be for any teenager in such a
situation, wizard or not. With Ron and Hermione around most of the time, it didn't really
matter; Harry never felt alone. It was only the odd instance where Harry felt like this.

Of course, Harry did know what it felt like…sort of. Just like anything else in Harry's
life, it was complicated. Last year, he had `gone out', as the popular student vernacular
termed it, with Ginny. It felt…great, for a time. And then Dumbledore died, and that part of
Harry's life had fallen away from him. With it came a realization…he didn't really love
her. And there was no way that she loved him, either. It just…wasn't enough.

Harry hated the nights like these…nothing to do but sit around and think. Normally, Harry would
find ways to keep himself busy, too busy to ponder what had become his `destiny'; it might as
well have been, as so much of it had been plotted and laid out before Harry like a carpet. He was
either going to do this, or this, and needed this, not this…

Harry growled under his breath. He *hated* the powers that be for all this. *Why me? What
the hell did I ever do?!*

“Harry?”

Harry spun around; Hermione was standing behind him.

Harry shook his head, trying his best to grin, “Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?” Hermione asked as she sat down next to her best friend.

“Sneaking up on me like that,” Harry said, looking back out across the pitch, “You've got
this whole stealth thing happening…”

Hermione snorted derisively, “I would have thought that would be a good thing,”

Harry shrugged, “Well, your next career as an Unspeakable is all lined up.”

Hermione swatted him lightly on the arm. She observed his face for a minute or so, in silence.
Her look softened, her voice became quieter, “Can't sleep?”

Harry shook his head, still looking ahead.

“Anything I can do?” Hermione asked.

Harry thought about that for a moment, “Just stay here,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

Hermione smiled to herself, slightly.

Together they just sat there, enjoying the night…and each other's company.

“Did it bother you?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Seeing David with that girl,” Hermione said, “You looked a bit…downcast, earlier.”

“It's nothing,” Harry said, “Just…something I keep coming back to in my head.”

“That you and Ginny didn't work out?” Hermione asked softly.

Not willing to disclose the whole `power he knows not' saga just yet, Harry simply nodded,
“Yeah…”

Hermione scooted closer along the bench to Harry, “Don't worry, Harry. When all this is
over, when we can get back to worrying about school, and families, and homework…”

Harry snorted, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Hey!” Hermione said, cuffing him on the shoulder again, this time harder, trying hard not to
smile.

“Sorry,” Harry said, grinning slightly.

“Like I said,” Hermione continued, “Let's just get this job done, and after that we'll
find you a girl, one that can really make you happy.”

Harry turned his face to her, his eyebrows raised, “We?”

Hermione nodded confidently, “Yeah, I'll be the one vetting them, of course.” She said,
smiling at the end.

Harry shook his head, smiling wide, “As weird as this makes me sound, I'm actually looking
forward to that.”

Hermione scooted closer, her leg brushing against Harry's, “Yeah, I know.” She let out an
involuntary shiver.

“You cold?” Harry asked innocently.

“What gave you that idea?” Hermione teased.

“Okay, I won't put my arm around you,” Harry mocked.

“Oh, give it here,” Hermione said, tugging Harry's arm. She draped it around her back,
resting his hand on her stomach, under her hand. She turned and leant into Harry, tucking her head
under his, resting it on his chest.

A couple of minutes of silence passed. Harry was trying to pretend this was comfortable, that
this was normal…then why the bloody hell did he feel like THIS?! Why was he suddenly so nervy and
jumpy and…wait, this has happened before…

But *when…?*

“You're getting too skinny, Harry,” Hermione said softly against his chest.

“And I thought you were gonna say thank you,” Harry said, still teasingly. Best to cover up his
discomfort with humor. For now, anyway…

“First task; get some food in you,”

“And then we find Voldemort?”

“Fine, second task.”

Harry smiled, “Well, thanks anyway…”

“You're welcome,”

“…for everything,” Harry finished.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, “What?”

Harry tried to ignore the way she felt against him, the smell of her hair, “Just in case…you
know, things don't work out. I just wanted you to know, I appreciate it.”

Hermione shook her head, releasing her breath slowly as a sigh, “Harry, you're not going
anywhere unless I say you are.”

“Oh, alright then,” Harry said nonchalantly, or at least pretended to.

“I mean it,” Hermione said, “Besides, I need to find you a girl, you can't go ruining my
fun.”

“I could just find a girl myself,” Harry said, “Can't I do that?”

“Nope,” Hermione said softly, “You need me.”

Harry leaned his head back against the bench, a hand stroking Hermione's hair gently, “Yeah,
I do,” He said quietly to himself.

-->



8. Chapter 8
------------



**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**A/N -** Hope that you guys liked Chapter 7 for the little pause (and slight fluff moment)
that it was, but now back to the story proper! Keep the reviews coming, and enjoy…

“Alright, class dismissed,” David Adams said, while pocketing his wand and trying to wipe the
sweat from his forehead.

Around him, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff groups began to file out, in various stages of
disrepair. Harry wondered, as he watched Luna support Ron as he tried to hop out on one leg, if
he'd need to start wheeling his best friend here from the hospital wing every morning. Either
he was putting it on as a show of courage, or Luna was a lot better at dueling than people gave her
credit for. Harry thought that he wouldn't have trouble believing either of those
scenarios.

Hermione picked herself up off the crash mat, wincing as she favored her left hip.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, nothing a lay-down won't cure,” Hermione said. She looked over at David, who was
talking to Neville, “Do you think he's made any progress with Regulus Black yet?”

Harry shrugged, “He may have heard from Tonks, I don't know. Shall I check?”

“That might be an idea,” Hermione said, “I'm going to recheck his Gringotts account, I saw
something interesting in there.”

“Alright,” Harry said, slightly grinning, “Don't work too hard.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Yeah, like *that's* an option.”

Harry chuckled, raising a small smile out of Hermione as she hobbled out of the classroom. The
events of last night had gone mostly unspoken, other than the odd glance and smile on the way down
to the Great Hall, and over breakfast. For now, they were back on task, and Harry knew Hermione was
back in her bossy, know-it-all mode. But, they both had that to look back to. For Harry, it was a
release, and it hadn't yet failed to put a smile on his face.

*That's how you beat `em, Harry.*

“Yeah, that's good stuff,” David was telling Neville as Harry approached, “Remember what I
said, though. Keep your eyes fixed on the target, let your arm follow, okay?”

“Okay, thanks David,” Neville said, turning to leave. Harry noticed the look of fierce pride on
his friend's face. He was definitely picking this stuff up, almost as quickly as Harry was, and
that *had* to feel good after years of underachieving.

David turned to Harry, “Alright Harry, we still on for later?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, sure. I just wanted to ask if you or Tonks had made any headway with Black
yet.”

David leaned back on his desk, “Funny you should mention that, she Owled me this morning.
Something about his financial records, something piqued her interest.”

“Hermione's looking at that, as well.”

David nodded, “Okay, get her to contact Tonks, they can work that up together.”

“Alright,” Harry said, “what do you suppose it would tell you if they found something?”

“Could be anything,” David said, “His income could tell us who he's working for, his
expenditure could tell us what contacts he's paid off. We might get lucky, end up with a few
names.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, infused with this latest turn in their investigation. *Finally,
some answers!*

At that point, Harry noticed movement in the corner of his eye. He turned, and a tall,
brown-haired girl came into the room. That had to be David's girlfriend again, Harry
thought.

“Hi,” she said to David as she walked over to him. She had a definite American accent, and Harry
certainly found her very attractive. Her long brown hair bobbed up and down behind her in a
ponytail, she certainly looked after herself, her deep brown eyes reminded him of…

*Of…*

“Wotcha,” David said as she pecked him on the cheek.

“How was class?” She asked.

“Engaging,” David said wryly. He turned to Harry, “Harry Potter, this is Sarah Campbell.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Sarah said, smiling as she stepped forward, offering her hand.

Harry shook it with a polite grin, “Nice to meet you.”

“David's told me a lot about you,” she said.

Harry turned to David, “Really?”

David shrugged, “They've heard about you in America as well. Sarah's from the Salem
Wizarding Institute in Massachusetts.”

Harry was suddenly interested, “So, you know about Voldemort and everything?”

Sarah nodded, “Yeah, David tells me. The Department of Magic keeps that kinda stuff pretty
secret.”

“How did you meet?” Harry asked, before realizing he might have gone a bit far there. If he had,
they didn't seem to mind.

“Three years ago, just after I left Hogwarts, there was this…tournament, in America,” David
said. For some reason, he sounded quite downcast, even bitter, as he said the word
`tournament'.

“I never heard about that,” Harry said.

“Nah, don't suppose you would have,” David said dismissively, standing up and grabbing his
gear, “I'd better get going, I've got some things to do.” He stopped then, looking at
Sarah, “What are you up to?”

“I was gonna go to the hospital wing, I can get some research done,” Sarah said.

David turned to Harry, “Harry, would you mind showing her there? I'm a bit pressed for
time.”

“Sure,” Harry said.

* * * * *

Harry ended up taking Sarah on a tour of the school; she really seemed interested in it. Over
the course of the hour or so that Harry acted as her tour guide, he got to know this American girl
quite well. The more Harry did so, the more he found that she was really very likable; always
polite and friendly and…just happy, really. For him, it made a change.

Sarah had mentioned how she was studying for an M.D. (Magical Doctorate) back home in America,
and took a few weeks off to come and see David, and also go to the Ministry of Magic and St.
Mungo's to look at the way the British magical community worked in terms of healthcare. While
Harry couldn't quite summon up a measure of interest in that, he did like Sarah's
willingness to travel, to see different parts of the world. Harry had never been anywhere besides
Hogwarts, London and Surrey, and quite liked the idea of traveling. Maybe when this whole
thing's over, he thought to himself.

He saw her to the hospital wing, and sure enough found Ron laying on one of the ward beds, Luna
sitting on the end generally looking very concerned. Harry had to have a chuckle at that, before
helping Ron back to the common room, all the while making sure he kept Luna's wand hand in his
field of vision.

As Luna disappeared to parts unknown, Harry told Hermione about Tonks, and she went away to the
fireplace to talk to her. Harry looked at Ron, “How you doing?”

Laying back on the sofa, his head heavily propped up by cushions, Ron shrugged, “Yeah, getting
there, mate.”

“You don't fool me, ya know,” Harry said, grinning.

“What?” Ron said, looking scandalized.

Harry shook his head, still with a grin on his face. *And I thought I was the tragic hero
around here…*

* * * * *

That night, Harry snuck out of the common room, alone, and made his way down to the Defense
Against the Dark Arts classroom. Hermione had urged him to be careful, not to do anything he
wasn't sure of. Ron had urged him to do whatever he thought would help in the long run.
Whatever that meant…

Harry found the classroom darkened, the black curtains drawn, the only source of light a
flickering candle sitting on the teacher's desk. David sat at it, his head resting on his
linked hands, looking down at the desk in deep contemplation. The flickering light cast an unusual
shadow over him, and for a fleeting moment Harry was reminded of Professor Dumbledore.

David looked up, clearing his throat, “Harry, thanks for coming.”

Harry edged forward, unsure of his footing here, “It's a bit dark in here,”

“Yeah,” David said, “I haven't done this sort of thing that often, the candle gives me
something to focus on.”

Harry sat down at the desk, facing him, “When you say `this sort of thing'…”

David put his hands down flat on the table, “Are you any good at Occlumency?”

Harry thought for a moment how he should answer, then decided it was worth telling the truth,
“No,”

“Me neither,” David said begrudgingly, “But in this case, it should help.”

He was met by Harry's confused look, so continued, “Sarah, my girlfriend, is among other
things a gifted Legilimens. She taught me everything she knows about it.”

“How?” Harry said, startled and a little intrigued by this revelation.

“She can read my mind,” David said, with a surprising casualness, “If I concentrate, I can see
her thoughts in my head. It's an incredible feeling…” David said, trailing off, his eyes almost
looking away into the distance, “…and if Sarah wishes it, she can leave thoughts and memories
inside my mind.”

“Do you know how to do that?” Harry asked.

David nodded, slowly, “Sarah trained me very well.”

“Then…” Harry said, framing his question very carefully, “you want to try this, with me?”

David stood up, pacing away from the desk, “It's crazy, I know. But somehow I think
you're right, Harry. Voldemort *is* out there, somewhere. His Death Eaters *will*
make their move soon. You need to know what I know, and this is the quickest way.”

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that. If David wanted to share his knowledge of
these abilities and techniques that he knew, that could only be a good thing, right? But still,
this sounded…dangerous? Intrusive? Harry did not like the idea of his mind being read, even if it
was for his benefit.

David turned around to face him, “If this all sounds a bit surreal, I don't blame ya.
I'm just throwing this idea out there. But we're both Gryffindors, mate. We act first and
ask questions later, we dare to go where no one else will, we do what needs to be done.”

“Alright,” Harry said quietly, a fierce determination in his eyes, “Let's do it.”

-->



9. Chapter 9
------------



**CHAPTER NINE**

**A/N -** Okay, that last little plot twist was probably a bit surreal, but it has more than
one purpose for the rest of this story, so read on and let's see what happens…

“Do you…ya know, feel any different?” Ron asked, lying on his side on his bed, facing Harry.

Harry laid back flat on his bed; from the distant, faraway look in his eyes, anyone could see
that all was not normal. He shook his head slowly, “Not really…it's strange though, my head
feels all…clouded up.”

Neville, Dean and Seamus were already asleep; it was around midnight. Harry had returned at
about 9 o'clock, and sat with Ron and Hermione in the common room. He had felt alright
immediately after the half-hour…session, or whatever it could be called, and took comfort from Ron
and Hermione's genuine concern.

He needed that comfort; it wasn't exactly a comfortable experience. For about half an hour
Harry had sat there, with his eyes closed, as unfamiliar flashes of thought and knowledge swam
through his mind. He was vaguely aware of David's presence in his head, and when he
concentrated, he could see memories and recollections that had to be his. Harry didn't want to
think of it as creepy, because in the long run it would help him to fight Voldemort, but it was a
very personal experience. David knew things now about Harry that probably no one else did; not even
Ron or Hermione. Harry was very uncomfortable with that, but David had told him that anything that
came up, he'd keep to himself.

Harry had also been told that he would need to sleep on it, to give his mind time to rest and
recover, before things would start falling into place. He hoped so, because right now he
couldn't think up anything new he had learnt; if anything, he was having trouble hanging onto
what he already knew.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

* * * * *

Harry dreamt that night.

It wasn't one consistent dream, either. Random moments played out in his subconscious…some
of them memories, some of them too surreal to be defined as anything, some of them seemed real
enough but Harry couldn't recognize any of it.

Hermione was in quite a few of them…so was Sarah…every time he saw them, Harry felt feelings
that may or may not have even been his…but it felt the same.

Even in his subconscious, he recognized that David was in love with Sarah…that explained why he
felt this way when she entered his dreams…but what about Hermione…?

His dreams began to focus on her; memories of their experiences together…the troll…the Chamber
of Secrets…Sirius…the Yule Ball…setting up the DA…

*Oh God…*

Harry's eyes burst open. As the last dregs of sleep left him, his eyes and mouth were wide
open in silent shock.

*I'm in love with her.*

* * * * *

As Ron went back to his trunk from the bathroom, he noticed it *again*.

Harry was humming to himself, for probably the fourth or fifth time.

Ron caught his eye, and Harry shrugged as he pulled on a T-shirt, “Sorry mate,”

Ron shook his head, “Do you even know any of the songs you're humming?”

“No, not until this morning,” Harry said, casually. He'd expected to have a massive headache
this morning, or else retain that clouded feeling in his head. But he felt fine…better than fine,
actually pretty good.

“Looks like it worked, then,” Ron remarked.

“Guess so,” Harry said.

“You're not suddenly going to become this whole other person, are ya?” Ron asked, sounding
every bit as confused as he looked.

Harry shook his head, “No, don't worry,” he said, “I've only made sense out of a few
bits of…I dunno, but I can tell what's mine and what's not.”

“Okay…” Ron said, still confused.

“Come on,” Harry said, as they both finished dressing.

They left the dormitory and made their way down to the common room.

“Finally,” Hermione said impatiently, waiting at the foot of the stairs.

As Harry's eyes caught Hermione's, he felt that odd lurch in his stomach. *Blimey, she
is beautiful*, he thought. Until now, he never really noticed, or had perhaps looked past that,
but there it was.

As he realized he had probably been staring for too long without saying anything, he looked away
as the three left for breakfast.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hermione asked, somewhat awkwardly.

“Yeah, not bad,” Harry said breezily.

They walked in silence for a minute or so; Ron hung back a couple of paces, all of a sudden
feeling very uncomfortable. *What was going on with those two?*

Harry started humming again; murmuring to himself, *“We'll be fighting in the streets,
with the children at our feet…”*

“What's that?” Hermione asked.

“The Who,” Harry answered.

“Oh,” Hermione said, “My dad listens to them, I didn't know you did.”

“I don't,” Harry replied, “I'd never even heard of them before…”

“Before this morning,” Hermione finished, turning to Harry, stopping in her tracks, “So, it did
work.”

Harry turned to face her, as Ron caught up with Luna further down the hall, “Yeah, I reckon it
did.”

Hermione's eyes found Harry's; once again, Harry felt uncomfortable and yet very not, at
the same time. *God, those eyes…*

“Are you sure you're okay?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, why?” Harry said; his voice came out a lot quieter than it should have, almost a
whisper…

“You keep…” Hermione said, trailing off, unsure of what to say.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, regaining his bearings, “I'm still…feeling a bit weird, and…I
just noticed, you have nice eyes.”

“Really?” Hermione said, almost out of embarrassment, smiling a little.

“Yeah,” Harry said, simply, “so…yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, it's alright,” Hermione said, shaking her head, still smiling a bit.

“Come on,” Harry said, nodding his head towards the Great Hall, “I'm starving.”

Hermione followed slightly behind, the pleased look on her face not fading away one bit…

* * * * *

In class that morning, Harry noticed he was somehow sharper; he was still learning these
techniques for the first time, but he was picking it up quickly, even more than he already was.
When they entered the room, David had kept a respectful distance at the front of the class. Harry
could understand why; although David apparently hadn't retained any of Harry's memories or
knowledge, he was still privy to his thoughts. And that could make things awkward, at least for
now…

Sarah Campbell was there as well; she was watching from the front of the class, pretty much.
Harry noticed her give advice to a couple of Hufflepuffs, and it did look like she knew what she
was talking about. Had she learnt how to duel herself, or had she read David's mind? Harry
would never know that, but that had to be one close relationship…

Hermione had noticed Harry's progress, and regarded it with cautious optimism. What if there
would be some unknown side effect? What if this…whatever it was, changed Harry's personality.
He still looked and felt and sounded like Harry…maybe she was being silly. But what Harry had said,
about her eyes…no one had ever said anything like that to her before. It felt really nice, but
Hermione had never been able to picture Harry saying that kind of thing without a *lot* of
prodding. Then again, he did trip over his words a bit…

*Oh knock it off, you're being ridiculous!*

During the course of that morning, Harry pulled off a perfect Dagonet Leap, even with a
back-flip in midair to land behind Hermione, as he had stood facing away from her to simulate an
attacker coming from behind. He also established quick proficiency at the various arrangements of
the Arthurian Offensives, a series of quick, inter-related spells and jinxes designed to flow one
after the other, and also began to develop skill at a wandless form of the Disarming Spell, using
only his outstretched free hand.

All the while, Hermione noticed Harry's confidence growing. If nothing else, it was a
welcome sight.

Towards the end of the class, however, that confidence was tested.

Neville had been working with David this morning, owing to odd numbers; someone had been taken
ill. As Neville cast a pretty fierce Freezing Spell, he stumbled. The icy blue blast flew right
over David's shoulder…right in Harry's direction.

As Harry was facing away, Hermione was frozen herself in horror as she caught it out of the
corner of her eye. Time seemed to slow to a crawl…but Harry seemed to know it was coming. In a
flash, he bent over and twisted his torso around, the spell flying over his head, missing by
inches. It collided with the stone wall harmlessly, and Harry straightened himself, his wand
pointed straight at Neville, as if it was instinct.

The whole class had frozen; suddenly, all eyes were on Harry.

David noticed intently the way that Harry had manipulated his own standing position to avoid the
contact…he wondered how much Harry's mind had been able to assimilate…

In a flash, he nudged Neville aside, and leveled his own wand at Harry, “Heads up!”

David wordlessly shot a Disarming Spell at Harry; Harry swung his wand across himself as if it
was a baseball bat, the spell ricocheting upwards off his wordlessly-conjured Shield Charm.

Before Harry could breathe, David leveled to fire again, but this time Harry saw the fraction of
a second that David needed. He threw out his left hand, using the force of a wandless Disarming
Spell to throw off his aim; David's Jelly-Leg Jinx shot into the ground.

David retaliated instantly, leveling his aim and firing the Body Bind Spell, audibly. The
grey-silver bolt came right for Harry's torso…

Without conscious thought, without reason, Harry gripped his wand with both hands, swinging it
up diagonally across his chest in a defensive stance…

…a green-white blade of pure energy shot from the tip…

…the bolt struck the swinging blade, shattering in a flash of light.

The entire class was silent. That whole exchange had lasted about three, maybe four,
seconds.

Harry seemed to regain a sense of where and who he was. He stared in open-mouthed marvel at the
humming, pulsating blade of light conjured from his wand. It's green outline matched that of
his eyes…of the Avada Kedavra curse used to kill his parents…

“Woah,” Ron exclaimed in awe, breaking the silence of the class, albeit for a second.

Harry was only now aware of the eyes on him, especially Hermione's. He lowered his wand,
recalling the command in his head to disarm the blade, a command he knew he had not known before.
It retracted into his wand with the same snap-hiss David's had made before, after he had fought
Macnair.

“Class dismissed,” David said, trying to keep the astonishment out of his voice.

As the class slowly began to gather and leave, in several small groups engaging in excited,
animated conversation, Ron, Luna and Hermione moved over to Harry.

“Mate, that was bloody brilliant!” Ron said.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked.

Before Harry could answer anyone, the sound of running footsteps along the stone corridor
outside the classroom could be heard, quickly approaching.

Tonks burst into the classroom, panting for breath.

“Tonks!” David said, nearest the door, moving quickly over to his Ministry partner, “Are you
alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded quickly, still struggling for breath, “Listen, we've caught a break. We
need to move on it. Now!”

-->



10. Chapter 10
--------------



**CHAPTER TEN**

**A/N -** Ooh, now the story's really getting going! I hope the last nine chapters have
done an effective job of building the story up, but now its time for action! Or is it? Read on…

There was a sense of organized chaos as Tonks led David, Sarah, Harry, Ron and Hermione almost
racing down the halls towards the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor McGonagall was
preparing the room for the briefing. Tonks and David were at the front, talking quickly and in some
kind of Auror-code that Harry couldn't understand half the time. But from what he was able to
glean, it looked like they had found either a Horcrux, or someone who knew where one might be.

In no time at all the group found the Transfiguration classroom; Professor McGonagall was there,
directing Mr. Filch, who was moving around chairs and desks with great difficulty. Several Aurors
were there as well; Harry instantly recognized Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, but not the
other two. David moved over to one of them and immediately started talking to him, in a way that
conveyed that the two knew each other very well. This Auror looked about forty, and was of average
height and build, with blue eyes and light brown hair swept back, balding on top. He spoke with a
thick Cockney accent, way more so than David did.

Quickly, Professor McGonagall called the meeting to order, as everyone else took a seat facing
her, aside from Kingsley who stood beside her. She cleared her throat, “Time is of the essence, so
I will be brief. The Auror Department believes they have located a Death Eater sympathizer, who has
knowledge of, and means to transport, a mysterious object of great Dark Magic power. He must be
apprehended immediately.”

“So this hasn't got anything to do with Regulus Black?” Harry whispered to Hermione beside
him.

“Nor Macnair,” She whispered back, “They must have just got lucky.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, “The individual in question has been on a watch-list for
some time, under allegations of involvement in Dark Magic,” He explained, for the benefit of Harry,
Ron and Hermione, and anyone else who may have not have known. As he looked at the faces around, he
guessed only the three of them and Professor McGonagall knew about this for the first time.

Kingsley continued, “For the past half-hour we have had him tailed by an undercover Auror.
According to her, he intends to take delivery of and pass on this object tonight. That leaves us
with an extremely finite time window in which to act. He must be brought in quickly, without being
able to alert anyone.”

Mad-Eye Moody nodded from his seat; to Harry's eyes, the battle-worn old Auror hadn't
changed one bit, “How do you plan on pulling that off?” He growled.

Kingsley nodded towards the Auror sitting next to David, the one that seemed to know him,
“I've put Dennis Morgan in charge of this operation, I'll let him explain.”

Dennis stood up, looking around and taking in the new faces, “Yeah,” He said, in a thick
East-End accent, “We ain't had enough time to try and identify who's bringing it to him, so
we'll have to be ready to grab our man when the exchange is made, when he takes possession of
the Horcrux…”

“Are you sure it's a Horcrux?” Harry asked.

Dennis shrugged his eyebrows, “To use two different middle-men to move the thing, I reckon it
has to be.”

Harry nodded.

Dennis continued, “We're gonna need a decoy, someone to distract attention while we make our
move. On the off-chance that they know us, I want to use a non-Auror.”

“I'll do it,” Ron said. He caught Harry and Hermione both suddenly giving him urgently
quizzical looks, “What?”

“Fine,” Dennis said, “I'll take over the surveillance we've got on him right now, Mr.
Weasley can stumble upon the exchange and play the innocent Muggle, and Kingsley, Mark (he nodded
towards the other, rather anonymous-looking, Auror) and David here will make the grab. Once we have
the Horcrux, Mad-Eye can destroy it.”

“Might want to take a look at it first,” Mad-Eye growled, “It could give us a hint about the
other ones.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dennis said, “Alright, let's go.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, suddenly finding himself standing up and all pairs of eyes upon him,
“What about me?”

Dennis glanced across at Professor McGonagall, who interjected, “Mr. Potter, could I speak to
you for a moment?”

Suddenly feeling a hot surge of anger, Harry's face hardened as everyone else, apart from
Hermione, quickly filed out of the classroom. Harry stood still, defiant, “What's going
on?”

The professor stepped closer to him, “Are you feeling alright, Potter?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry replied tensely, “Why?”

“I was informed by Mr. Adams this morning before your class of the…unusual experience the two of
you shared.”

“That was a shortcut to learning what he knew,” Harry stated plainly, “What's wrong with
that?”

“Nothing,” Professor McGonagall said simply, “It appears to have had no lasting side-effects,
either. However, it is the short-term effects that concern me.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his tone one of accusation. Behind him, Hermione watched
apprehensively.

“Adams told me that it can take several days for one's mind to fully recover,” The professor
explained. She shook her head, “I'm sorry Potter, but as I am responsible for your well-being
here, I decided against your involvement in this operation.”

“What?” Harry said, much louder and angrier than he had meant. But his insides were burning with
anger…and all of it was directed at David.

“I understand how you feel, but…” Professor McGonagall started,

“No,” Harry interrupted, his voice dark and threatening, but controlled, “that's the thing,
Professor; no one understands how I feel.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

* * * * *

*Wherever Voldemort is, he's laughing.*

Harry stomped down the corridor like a man possessed; his feet fell heavily against the floor,
his breathing harsh and labored. He was almost blinded by the rage boiling over inside himself.

*How the hell could they turn on me?*

That same question ran through his mind over and over, shouting so loud so as to drown out his
rational side. *This is only temporary, you're not well…what are you talking about, I'm
fine…*

Finally Harry stopped, his legs tiring from the relentless pounding they had endured. Harry
looked around, and found himself on the outside walkway, between the school and the grounds near
Hagrid's hut. He stopped and leaned forward against the railing, watching the early afternoon
sky. His heart-rate and his breathing began to slow, as another thought entered his head; *they
don't think you're up to it.*

That one nailed him; Harry felt as if he'd been physically winded. *What am I supposed to
be feeling?*

What kind of message did this send to the Dark Lord, if the Chosen One needed a bail-out like
this when things started getting serious?

This time, Harry heard the softly-trodden footsteps approaching; he didn't move his head, he
knew who it was. That knowledge was, right now, both an annoyance and a comfort.

“For the record, Harry, *I* understand how you feel.” Hermione said, as she stopped a few
meters away from Harry, arms crossed.

“Why don't you fill me in?” Harry said hotly, “Because I haven't got a clue.”

“You're wondering how much you can justify hating David for all this,” Hermione said, as she
began to slowly edge closer to him, “After all, it's through what he did that you're
here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said simply, still looking out over the horizon, wishing he was
somewhere beyond the furthest outline.

“And then you stop and think about it. You remember that *you* asked him for his help, and
you also realize that he had no way of knowing the break in the case would come when it did.”

“Anything else?” Harry said sarcastically.

“Yes,” Hermione said testily, “There's also the fact that it was *he* that pushed to
have you included in the mission regardless, and Professor *McGonagall* shot him down. She
just told me.”

“He could've kept his mouth shut…”

“Oh grow up, Harry!” Hermione shot back sharply, “He had to tell her! He would have been
criminally negligent if he hadn't.”

“So now I owe him one?” Harry asked, turning to look at her for the first time.

Hermione shook her head, “I'm saying that right now, there's a group of people out
there, Ron included, risking their lives to help us.”

“It should've been us, Hermione. Just you, me and Ron.”

“That was before we realized that we aren't alone,” Hermione said, leaning on the railing
beside Harry. He had looked away again, but she saw the way his eyes were working, trying to make
sense of everything she had just said. *At least he is thinking now*, she thought. He did seem
a little calmer, as well.

Hermione placed her hand over Harry's, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Don't let it weigh
you down, Harry,” She said softly, “No one can save the world by themselves.”

Harry turned his face to hers, some of the same old Harry in his eyes. He sighed, “I know.”

For a couple of minutes they stood there. Harry secretly enjoyed the feeling of Hermione's
hand on his…it just seemed like it fit there. *Okay, let's not get back into this right
now…*

“You really are getting good at this,” Harry said, smirking a little.

“I've had the practice,” Hermione replied, smiling.

“Thanks,” Harry said, thinking of no better way to articulate the message.

“No need to thank me,” Hermione said, “it comes with the territory.”

She took his hand in hers and gently tugged him along, and they began walking back towards the
school.

“I could probably keep a psychologist in business,” Harry said.

Hermione laughed, “Yeah, you should be paying me!”

“Not a chance…” Harry said, finally allowing himself to break a smile.

“You know, we should really go see Hagrid,” Hermione said, “I miss him.”

“He's been trying to keep out of the way of all these Aurors,” Harry said, “But I could do
with a change of pace.”

* * * * *

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon in Hagrid's hut. To Harry, it felt great;
the chance to just sit around and laugh. It turned out that Hagrid had been keeping himself busy,
keeping his eye out for the grounds in the face of several improvements that the Ministry had seen
fit to make. The tales of Hagrid's latest misadventures in protecting his Blast-Ended Skrewt
enclosures and Flobberworm hatcheries made Harry laugh at the image. If he was a Ministry official
and Hagrid had come at him with an umbrella, he'd leg it.

The afternoon had trickled into evening by the time Ron came in through the front door. He was
sweaty and wearied, but looked across at Harry and smiled, “We got `em, mate. One Horcrux
down.”

-->



11. Chapter 11
--------------

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**A/N** – Thanks to all who have continued to read and review, long may it continue! This
chapter is a bit shorter, because the next one I’ve got a whole new twist that I want to devote the
whole chapter to. Enjoy…

Most of the following day was consumed by Ministry reports and debriefs, tying up Ron, along
with David and the other Aurors, for hours upon end. Harry and Hermione had found themselves rather
sitting on their hands, but took the time to fit in some more practice, as a way for Harry to take
his mind off it as much as anything else.

Somehow, by the time of the following morning from that, rumors had begun to trickle down into
the remaining student body. As a result, Luna seemed to be following Ron around as if in reverence
of his supposed heroism, with a puppy dog-like look in her eyes. Hermione had noted that on their
way to the Defense classroom following breakfast, but Harry wondered if Luna just looked like that
anyway. He’d never looked that closely before; probably in fear of getting turned into
something…*weird.*

Harry was sure, however, that Ron wouldn’t be doing anything to play down his part in the
action. That made him smile; the predictability of it. But good on him, he thought. As they entered
the classroom in twos and threes, Luna had pretty much dragged Ron over to Neville and Seamus, and
from the wild gesticulations she made with her arms made it look like Ron had fought off an entire
legion of Death Eaters. Ron looked slightly embarrassed, but still nodded once or twice.

David entered the classroom after a few minutes, a long thin cut running down one of his
temples, on the side of his forehead. Harry knew all about what happened; of course, Ron had told
him and Hermione everything, and David had copied his report and sent it to Harry by owl.

The two added nights of sleep Harry had enjoyed since the Legilimency experience with David had
greatly helped in ordering his thoughts, and making sense of a lot of the new pieces of knowledge
that had been implanted there. As such, he took to the exercises David introduced with ease,
perfecting them almost straight away much to Hermione’s annoyance. Still, he was patient enough to
help Hermione find her technique; secretly he relished the opportunity to lecture *her* on
something, as much as she probably hated it.

From talking with Ron, Harry felt surprisingly upbeat; four of the Horcruxes had now been
destroyed, and there were two left; the diary of Tom Riddle, the ring of Marvolo Gaunt, and the
locket of Salazar Slytherin (the real one, supposedly), and now the fourth: Tom Riddle’s first
wand, it had turned out, had been taken care of. David had been the one who actually destroyed it,
slicing it in half with his wand-conjured magical blade. This had to put Voldemort on edge, and in
his haste to protect the remaining two, just may get overzealous and make a mistake, enough to
pounce on.

Hermione had done some quick research on this development, and had come back from the library
with a theory; the discovery of Voldemort, or Tom Riddle’s, first magic wand as a Horcrux disproved
the notion that Voldemort had sought a relic from each of Hogwart’s four founders, or at least had
failed. She did, however, come across an old legend connected with the Holy Grail. There were four
‘relics of saints’, the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danaan, Hermione had told Harry and a
really confused Ron; the Grail itself, which was essentially a cup or chalice, a sword, a spear,
and a pentacle.

Harry thought about that as they continued;

*Okay, we’ve got the pentacle…that was the locket…*

*…We’ve got the spear…Tom Riddle’s wand…*

*…No idea about the chalice, that must be one of the two left…*

*…And a sword…*

“Harry?” Hermione asked, regarding the faraway look on his face as he stood still, rooted to the
spot.

“Yeah?” Harry said, snapping out of it after a couple of seconds.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “it’s starting to make sense.”

* * * * *

That afternoon, Harry and Ron found themselves alone in the common room, and took the
opportunity to lay out on a couple of the comfortable red sofas, resting up from the morning’s
training. Harry noticed that Ron had knocked off the whole ‘walking wounded’ between. He guessed
that it wouldn’t fit now, Ron being a hero and all…

“So what’s the deal with you and Luna?”

Ron’s head snapped round so fast Harry thought it might break off, “What?”

Harry shrugged, trying not to look like he was enjoying putting his best friend on the spot,
“You guys are spending a lot of time together lately.”

“We train together,” Ron replied quickly, “Sometimes after class we’ll put in some more
practice, but…nothing else is…ya know?”

“What do you mean?”

Ron shook his head, “Now you’re just taking the piss, mate.”

Harry grinned, “Yeah, maybe. Come on, I need a distraction.”

Ron raised his eyebrows, “She sure is…”

“…you’re talking about Luna again?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “she’s…well, you know how she is; random, crazy, always seems to be happy…but
there’s more to her than that…”

Harry noticed the faraway look in Ron’s eyes.

*I think all this training’s doing him in.*

“Ron?”

“Yeah?” Ron said quietly.

“Your voice trailed off there at the end…”

Ron snapped out of whatever it was he was having, “Yeah, erm…I was just thinking, you know, we
should give Luna a bit more credit. She’s good at all this stuff, and…”

“…Ron, you did it again.”

“I need a lie down,” Ron said, quickly getting up and making for the stairs. As he started to
ascend, he stopped for a moment and turned back towards Harry, “Oh, by the way, what’s the deal
with you and Hermione these days?”

Harry’s head snapped round, “What?”

The corner of Ron’s mouth curled upwards, “I’ll catch ya later, mate.”

As Ron moved out of sight, Harry was suddenly wide awake.

*It’s not that obvious…is it?*

* * * * *

“David?”

“Up here,” David replied, as he knelt down in front of the wireless, grappling with the panel on
the front as he tried to find the right station. He had found modern-day stereos back in London
hard to deal with, but they were nothing on this.

Sarah stepped into the room; for the moment, David’s office as the interim Defense teacher, up
the stairs from the classroom itself. Sarah shook her head as she looked around at the mess she had
come to associate with her English boyfriend, but still found heart in the way he had made it feel
like home.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked, as she sat down on an old brown leather sofa to the side.

“Writing my memoirs,” David replied shortly.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Sarah replied sarcastically, glancing at her watch, “Is there something
good on?”

“I’d have more luck getting this thing to cook my dinner,” David said through gritted teeth,
“How was your meeting with your fellow Yanks?”

“Fine,” Sarah said, ignoring the dig, “Salem’s getting pressure from the Department of Magic for
information about what’s going on over here.”

“What did you tell them?” David asked.

“Nothing they didn’t already know, but apparently Salem wants me to act as a liaison here
between Hogwarts and the Department, so I guess I’ve got to pick sides.”

“Ah ha, got it,” David said triumphantly, picking himself up off the floor and collapsing back
onto the sofa.

The wireless squawked through a few seconds of static before the signal clarified…

*“…Seaman throws out to Dixon on the right…passes infield to Adams, who’s looking for Vieira
down the middle…”*

“Do you ever think about anything else?” Sarah asked, trying not to smile.

“Occasionally,” David replied teasingly as he shifted on the sofa, pulling Sarah down on top of
him and putting his feet up on the sofa, beneath hers.

“So, me and football…what else could you want?” Sarah teased, smiling down at David.

“Wouldn’t say no to a…”

“Hey!” Sarah exclaimed, cuffing David across the chest as he laughed.

“You look pretty cute when you’re mad,” David said, grinning.

“Don’t I look pretty cute anyway?”

“Yeah…”

“…and?”

“…is there a way out of this conversation for me?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” David said, wrapping his hand round the back of Sarah’s neck and pulling her
down gently for a kiss. His lips brushed against hers as if they were made to fit there.

Sarah pulled back with a smile, “No fair!”

David shrugged, “That’s how I win arguments,”

Sarah smiled down at David, her brown eyes lost in his hazel.

“What?” David asked, his arms wrapped protectively around her back.

The smile slowly faded from her face, “I was worried about you…going off and fighting those
people…”

“It’s my job,” David said reassuringly, “I’m good at what I do, that’s why they sent me.”

“What about Harry?” Sarah asked, “I thought this was meant to be *his* quest.”

“I know,” David replied, “but if we can help him get there, we will. If he resents me for that,
there’s not much I can do about it.”

“When this is over you’re coming back with me to America,” Sarah said, quiet yet firm, “We need
a break away from all this…”

“Done,” David replied, “Now, can I get back to my football?”

Sarah laughed, “You Englishmen and your football!”

“You’d better believe it,” David said, pulling Sarah down again for another kiss. This time, he
didn’t let her up for air for a long while…



12. Chapter 12
--------------



**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**A/N -** Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's been in the back of my mind ever since I
first came up with the idea for this story…

“Found anything?” Harry asked.

“You're getting almost as bad as Ron,” Hermione said, over the thick, leather-bound book she
was scanning through.

“What's that?” Harry said, confused.

“Never mind,” Hermione said absently, blowing out a breath as she sought to keep her patience.
This was going *nowhere…*

“I guess it's a bit of a long shot,” Harry said absently, resting his head on his crossed
arms on the library desk, “I don't suppose many people would keep a record of cups and goblets
that some Death Eater might have nicked.”

Hermione shot him a dirty look, “Then why did you ask *me* to look?”

“You never know,” Harry said, shrugging.

“I give up,” Hermione said, pushing the book away and standing up, starting towards the library
entrance.

Harry got up and followed her, smirking, “Sorry, what was that?”

“Shut up,” She said irritably, “I say we let the next Death Eater sighting lead us to it.”

As they walked down the long hallway, Harry noticed how dark it was outside. They must have been
in the library longer than he thought.

“Do you know what we're doing tomorrow?” Harry asked, to break the silence that he now found
awkward.

“I'm not sure, but it's not going to be too difficult this time.” Hermione said.

“Why's that?”

“Didn't you hear? There's some people from the Ministry coming tomorrow; they're
giving some of David's fighting methods an official appraisal.” Hermione stated
matter-of-factly.

“No, didn't hear about that,” Harry said.

“Anyway, the Great Hall's off-limits from after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Harry said.

The conversation drifted back into silence…must say something…

“You think there's something going on with Ron and Luna?”

“Why the sudden interest?” Hermione asked, turning her face to look at Harry's as they
walked.

Harry shrugged, “I don't know…Ron just seems to be acting a bit weird whenever I bring it
up, and Luna's…well, just weird anyway.”

“Well, who knows,” Hermione said dismissively, looking away. Was she blushing?

“See, I'd always thought…”

“Thought what?” Hermione asked, way too quickly and too snappishly to appear natural.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, sensing he may have strayed a little over the line,
“Nothing,”

“Okay,” Hermione said, starting to walk again. Harry caught a look at the side of her face, and
could have sworn she looked a bit flustered.

A minute or so later, in silence, they approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room,
the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry stopped as they approached; Hermione noticed this, “Are you
okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, not sounding at all sure, “Listen, I'm gonna go see Hagrid for a bit,
it's not that late yet. I'll catch up with you later.”

“Would you like me to come with?” Hermione asked.

“No, it's okay,” Harry said quickly, “Got some things I wanted to ask him about, ya
know.”

“Alright,” Hermione nodded, relenting, “Don't stay out too late, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry said, turning to leave, “Catch ya later.”

He headed back down the hallway, leaving Hermione looking on in a mix of confusion and
concern.

* * * * *

As it turned out, Harry stayed at Hagrid's hut far later than he'd intended. Hagrid
loved the opportunity for some company, but all the same took it upon himself to personally escort
Harry back to the common room when he finally left, at about one in the morning. Having had a few
Butterbeers and a couple of shots of firewhiskey inside him, Harry felt…well, he couldn't
handle his drink, clearly, which Hagrid had had a good chuckle at.

Harry slept right on through the night, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next thing he knew, he was being roughly shaken awake by Ron in the morning. The sun hit his
eyes painfully, and being in no fit state to possibly get through a training session, Ron decided
after a few minutes to go without him. As Harry groggily fell back asleep, he knew he was going to
be in trouble with Professor McGonagall for this, but felt worse for Hagrid, and the kind of hot
water he might find himself in.

It was still just as light the next time Harry jarred himself back into consciousness, but this
time his head felt clearer. He stumbled out of bed and showered, trying to wash off the guilt he
was feeling more than anything. Hermione was going to *kill* him…

He dressed, in jeans and a long-sleeved dark green top, and left the Gryffindor common room,
which was ominously empty. The time by now was about half-past-twelve; that whole Ministry
demonstration thing had just started. No doubt David would be getting some more pats on the back
from the higher-ups at the Ministry…

*Why do I keep doing that?* Harry asked himself subconsciously as he walked. He
couldn't put his finger on it, but despite how helpful David had been, how much he genuinely
wanted to stop Voldemort and do his job as an Auror, Harry still didn't completely trust
David…or even like him that much, for that matter. What was it? Resentment? Jealousy?

*He's everything I am…except he gets the respect and the acclaim…what do I get?*

Harry forced that thought from his mind; that wasn't going to be helpful…no matter how much
he thought it might be true.

He wandered aimlessly for another few minutes, finding himself along a fourth floor corridor
that he had never had much cause to go down, when running footsteps from far off behind him made
him turn around. It was Dean, running towards Harry with a frenzied look on his face.

“Dean,” Harry said as he approached, “Are you okay?”

“It's Hermione, mate,” Dean said breathlessly, fighting the urge to double cover to try and
catch his breath.

An icy shock overtook Harry; his face froze, the pit of his stomach felt as if it were turning
to ice, “What happened?”

“Class was…odd-numbered…she was with David and Nev…,” Dean struggled through, still breathless,
“It was an accident…he caught her with…”

“With what, Dean?” Harry snapped.

“Full-Body Bind,” Dean replied.

Before he'd uttered the `Bind', Harry was racing off down the corridor.

* * * * *

“Will she be alright?” Ron asked urgently, standing stock-still at the foot of Hermione's
bed in the Hospital Wing, his arms crossed over his chest, glancing over at Madam Pomfrey with
concern. Luna stood a few paces beside and behind him, looking equally crestfallen. The way her
eyes kept on Ron, it seemed the object of her sorrow was different.

Madam Pomfrey carried a stainless steel tray of medical implements over to Hermione's
bed-side, “For the fourth time, she'll be fine.” She said impatiently, “Right now she's
sedated under there, but she'll wake up in a while as if she's been asleep.”

Hermione lay flat on top of the bed; she was as straight as an arrow, arms and legs down by her
sides, but frozen solid. Her face was held in a suspended look of shock. Not one part of her moved;
nothing. Ron had been assured that she was breathing under there, but the force of the spell had
paralyzed her diaphragm. Whereas before he had been stir crazy, for now Ron was a lot calmer.
Apparently, she'd been through the worst of it by now.

Ron had caught the whole thing out the corner of his eye; David cast the spell at Hermione out
the corner of his eye as he squared up to Neville. It was only to stop Hermione from launching a
spell of her own; her hand movement suggested one was imminent. She was *inches* away from
catching it with a Shield Charm, but her forearm was out of position. She instantly froze up and
fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Ron instantly grabbed her, and with the help of Seamus
and Dean rushed her to the Hospital Wing. It took the three of them; it was like running with a
battering ram. If it hadn't been so serious, it would have almost been funny.

*Harry's gonna go crazy when he sees this…*

Ron heard the running footsteps before anyone, and before Harry dashed into the Hospital Wing
Ron was moving towards him, hands open and outstretched as if to stop his momentum. Sure enough,
Harry bound right into him, “Harry mate, stop! Relax!”

“What the HELL HAPPENED?” Harry shouted back, struggling against Ron's grip.

“She's fine mate, she just…”

Ron stopped as Harry instantly stopped struggling; he caught a glimpse of Hermione's
perfectly still form. Carefully, Ron released his best friend.

Harry inched closer to his other best friend, his mouth hung open in shock. He stopped by her
side, looking down on her, focusing on her face.

*God, she looks horrified…*

Tears welled up in his eyes. He put his hand to his mouth, desperately trying to choke back the
sobs that he knew were coming.

Ron was standing beside him all of a sudden, talking quietly, “Mate, believe me it was an
accident. He thought she had it covered…”

“She doesn't look like she's breathing,” Harry said unevenly, his throat beginning to
close up.

“I know,” Ron said, “Her…whatever it is, was paralyzed. She's just asleep under there,
she'll be fine in a bit. She's meant to wake up anytime soon.”

“If I'd been there,” Harry said distantly, “If I hadn't…”

“Don't blame yourself, Harry,” Luna said, speaking for the first time in hours, “What's
happened has happened.”

Harry angrily wiped the tears away from his eyes, privately amazed at how empathic Luna could be
when she felt like it.

*If she's in pain after this, I'm gonna…*

*Wait…*he *did this…*

*That son of a bitch…*

Harry's mouth curled into a scowl; his eyes narrowed and seethed. In a second, grief had
turned to anger. A surge of which he had never felt before…

“He's mine,” Harry whispered to himself.

“What was that, mate?” Ron asked, confused.

“*He's mine,*” Harry growled.

“Harry, come on, don't…”

Before Ron could even move, Harry drew his wand and burst away to the door, running back down
the corridor.

-->



13. Chapter 13
--------------



**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**A/N -** Not much to say here other than - FIGHT! Oh, and if the proceedings seem eerily
reminiscent of the lightsaber duel at the end of Star Wars Episode 3, then you're pretty much
right on the money. I thought it would work well here. Enjoy, and please review!

David Adams circled Tonks, watching her wand-arm carefully some twenty metres away across the
Great Hall. The House tables had been magically removed for the course of this demonstration,
leaving them a wide open area with which to demonstrate David's seemingly-unique techniques and
abilities before the Ministry's congregation. They sat at the raised teacher's table at the
front of the hall, watching with an interest that they could not fully mask behind a visage of
objectivity. David had noticed how they, even the Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour himself in
Professor McGonagall's usual seat, had left Professor Dumbledore's old `throne' empty,
somewhat tactfully. Hugging the sides of the Great Hall, a collection of some fifty or so
interested students, reporters and staff watched.

Tonks raised her arm in a practised flash and shot a red-hued jinx from her wand-tip, straight
at David. Instantly fast, David leaned his torso back, throwing his hands behind him and down
towards the floor. As the jinx shot over his head, he found himself looking up at the ceiling,
leaning back to an impossible extent, his torso at a 90-degree angle to his legs. Yet the Repelling
Charm he had shot at the floor, through wandless magic, had kept him from losing his balance.

Carefully straightening himself, David registered the small round of applause and watched Tonks
again as she faced him and the Ministry onlookers behind. Again in the flash of an eye, she raised
and fired a jinx straight at David's chest. With a picture-perfect, impossibly fast Dagonet
Leap, David jumped and flipped right over her, landing behind Tonks and holding his wand to her
head within two seconds.

The next, slightly louder round of applause drowned out the running footsteps coming from
outside the Great Hall, approaching fast…

David turned to face the Minister and his cohorts, “That's covered just about everything I
know about evasive techniques. I'm now gonna move on and show you some…”

The Minister's eyes shot up, above David's head, and his face froze in shock; so did the
others.

An instant later, David sensed it too…

Harry Potter had burst into the Great Hall, and in an instant jumped and leapt forward, covering
the long distance at a great height and bearing down on his target, rage in his eyes and wand in
his hand, ready to land right on top of David and curse him into oblivion…

David quickly dropped his wand and leaned his torso back again, bringing up his arms. He caught
Harry's outstretched wand arm and flipped it over, sending Harry crashing down to the floor
some ten metres in front of him, skidding to a halt just in front of the Ministry officials. Every
onlooker was silent in shock; even Hagrid, watching off to the left with a sudden look of grave
concern.

“Potter what the *hell* are you playing at?” David said in a low, threatening voice, pacing
towards him slowly.

Harry hurriedly got to his feet, straightening himself and glaring back at David, “WHAT THE HELL
DOES IT LOOK LIKE?!” He shouted.

“It was an ACCIDENT!” David said, his voice raising to a shout. Only a handful of the onlookers
knew what either of them were talking about, but that wasn't exactly something either Harry or
David were caring about at the minute.

“BOLLOCKS!” Harry shouted, “I KNOW A COWARD WHEN I SEE ONE! YOU WANT TO HURT MY FRIENDS TO GET
TO ME!”

“WHAT?” David spat out, incredulously.

Rufus Scrimgeour stood up, “I think we'd all better calm down here…”

Harry drowned him out, no longer shouting but talking in a dark, angry tone that offered the
Minister no chance to speak over, “I am sick and tired of you and your attitude, Adams. You think
you're more worthy to take on Voldemort than me…”

“That's rubbish,” David answered resentfully.

“Is it?” Harry taunted, “Remember, I've read your mind! You don't think I stand a
chance!”

The searing flash of anger in David's eyes betrayed the truth in Harry's accusation. He
shook his head slowly, “You're playing right into his hands, Potter. This is exactly what
he'd want.”

“Oh yeah, and what's that?”

“The two best wizards of our generation fighting each other,” David responded.

“Oh, so now we're the best?” Harry egged on, blinded by his anger, “Last time I checked, I
was the unlucky god-damned Chosen One, and you…you were *nothing*.”

David's face tightened in anger, “Don't push it, Potter…”

“No-one hurts my friends and gets away with it,” Harry seethed, “I don't care who they
are.”

David stood his ground stoically.

“I'm challenging you to a duel,” Harry finished.

“Now, see here!” Scrimgeour interjected, speaking over the collected gasps that rang out from
the onlookers to the sides, “There'll be no duelling today, now let's all…”

“Too late, Minister,” David interrupted, his hazel eyes locked against Harry's, “He's
made the challenge.”

Harry knew the old rules of form for magical duels as well as David did; once the challenge was
made, it had to be accepted, or the challenged party was a coward. It wasn't a form of combat
entered upon lightly, either; it was usually a case of life and death.

“Fine,” David answered, nodding his head, “I'll try not to hurt you too bad.”

Harry grabbed his wand from the floor and stepped back a few paces as David unzipped and threw
off his denim jacket, taking his wand out of the back pocket of his jeans.

Slowly, they began to circle each other, across a wide circumference some fifteen metres apart.
The grave silence in the room lent itself into the growing tension building between the two
would-be combatants. Their eyes were locked, full of anger and resentment.

Harry watched David's eyes, his arms, forcing his mind to process whatever was left to
discover of David's memories…

David watched Harry's eyes, his arms, relying on all the training he had received from the
Ministry, on all the self-learning he had put himself through, trying to figure out how far Harry
could come in only a few days…

*I know everything he knows…*

*How much has he learnt…?*

They both stopped their pacing, standing facing each other from the opposite sides, Harry facing
the teacher's table beyond David. Following ritual, they both raised their wands to their faces
in salute, then slowly turned around, away from each other. Harry turned to face the entrance to
the Great Hall…and his heart almost stopped.

Hermione was there, staggering unsteadily and supported by Ron. The unmistakable look of fear on
her face, as her eyes found his, told Harry that she already knew exactly what had happened…and was
about to.

*Don't*…Harry could swear he could hear Hermione's voice in his head, trying to
pull him back from the edge.

Harry shook his head slightly; *Not this time…*

Harry leapt up and back, flipping and twisting in mid-air, pulling out his wand and flashing his
green wand-blade to life. David spun around to meet Harry as he came to land, his blue blade
igniting in an instant. Both blades met as Harry landed, crashing together and bouncing apart as
Harry began to force David back, chopping down at his sides with amazing speed, David reacting with
the same swift ferocity, blocking and parrying.

The duel was on…

Harry chopped and slashed and swung, and David allowed himself to be pushed back, adopting the
defensive, weaving and blocking and parrying each of Harry's strikes with only mere
milliseconds to position himself in time for the next blow. Their blades formed an intricate light
show around them as David forced Harry to over-extend himself, throwing a few counter-swings and
forcing a turn to the left, right in front of the teacher's table. Harry blocked the strikes
with the same precision and style, creating an opening with which to land a solid kick to
David's upper chest, launching him up and back.

David smoothly flipped over in the air and landed on his feet, turning and backtracking more
rapidly towards the entrance. Harry pressed forward again, spinning and slashing at David's
mid-section to try and catch him off-balance; once, twice, three times, before facing him head-on,
cutting and stabbing at David's chest, spinning furiously, spinning his blade around his back
to try and catch his opponent. But David was too smart, too disciplined to do anything but block
and parry at this point. Harry sensed this, and at the same time felt a roaring sense of pride, an
astonishment at his new-found abilities. He could visualise every attack in his head before it
happened, and hundreds more possibilities after that. It felt…good.

David caught Harry's down-swinging blade with his own, forcing a quick deadlock with which
to spin Harry's blade down and away, swinging across his waist, which Harry was forced to jump
backwards. With that, David pressed forward, attacking for the first time. David's attacks were
more precise, more artistic than Harry's, but he was still able to block and counter, gathering
more and more confidence. The snaps and hisses and crashes of their reacting blades made the only
sounds in the Hall, the onlookers in stunned silence.

David caught Harry with an open-handed chop across the neck, staggering him back. The Auror then
closed his eyes for the merest half-second, concentrating intensely and then waving his hand across
the air to his side. The Gryffindor house table suddenly Apparated into the Great Hall; before
Harry could process this new development, David had jumped straight up onto the table. Acting on
pure instinct, Harry followed, not allowing David one second to regroup.

Harry jumped some seven or eight feet and landed right in front of David, taking the attack to
him once more. David was briefly forced back, then countered with a downward overhead swing and
forced Harry back. Along the narrow, polished wooden table, positioning and balance and footing was
so much more important. David found the room to spin around Harry's attacks, dodging and
bringing his blade to protect his back as he moved, catching several of Harry's strikes on
blind reckoning. They fought back and forth, each looking for the opening…

*Gotcha!*

David swung in wildly from the left ferociously, forcing Harry to block to his right at distance
to prevent the power of the blow from crashing into his body. But in doing so, Harry knew he had
overextended. David accepted the block and then in a flash brought his blade down and up, crashing
into Harry's blade before he had the chance to move his arms, knocking Harry's wand up into
the air and away to the ground. Without a second's pause, David surged forward and attempted to
sweep out Harry's feet, his blade at Harry's neck, trying to force him down onto the
table…

It was the only way to win a duel without death; force your opponent's shoulders to the
ground, so that they could not escape and would have no choice but to surrender.

Harry's body trembled against David's stronger arms, forcing him lower and lower…

In desperation, Harry kicked up with his right leg, striking David across the back and sending
him tumbling over. Harry lay flat against the table as David rolled over and came up, wand-blade
held down and away in his right hand. Harry ran forward and leapt, landing a dropkick against
David's chest before he could bring his blade to bear. David fell back and down, his own wand
flying wildly away, the blade vanishing with a hiss.

Not stopping to consider anything else, Harry sprung up from his prone position and charged
forward, with the intent of beating David to a pulp. But the Auror was quicker; he nipped up
straight to his feet and swept Harry's feet away with a low kick, knocking him down to the
table with a crash. Standing over him, David raised his outstretched right hand; from across the
Great Hall, his wand flew across to him. Sensing what was coming, Harry held out his own hand and
closed his eyes, focussing; *Accio wand!*

David caught his wand and flashed the blue blade on again, bringing it up to swing down at
Harry. In the nick of time, Harry caught his own wand and the blade came to life, blocking
David's wild swing. Harry swung out at David's legs, forcing him to leap sideways, off the
table and to the ground.

Harry jumped up to his feet and leapt at David wildly beneath him, who shoulder-rolled forward
and evaded. They came together on the floor of the Great Hall, striking and swinging and blocking
anew, David flipping over Harry's head to force the change in perspective. Both sensed that
this was it…

*No more backing down*.

Both men stood their ground, swinging and parrying, neither David or Harry willing to budge an
inch. They both took a half-step closer to each other, still throwing attacks at each other's
heads, arms, legs. Yet neither relented, and their attacks only got faster and faster, a dizzying
kaleidoscope of flashing, dancing green and blue light around them. They both drew reserves of
strength that they didn't know existed, their eyes locked on each other's…

They stepped even closer together, chopping down at each other's sides, by now too close to
generate enough power or momentum to land the final blow. David broke off first, spinning his blade
impossibly fast over his head, around his back, across his front, generating enough speed and
momentum. Harry did the same, trying to find the opening in David's dizzying green maze of
defence…

…until they both swung at the same time.

David's and Harry's blades caught each other and locked together. With all of their
strength, the combatants tried to force a break, but they were deadlocked fast. David moved first,
Harry a split-second later, drawing their left hands back, as if winding back for a great killer
punch…

…but their Repelling Charms were of equal speed and power.

Between their outstretched left hands, and their deadlocked blades, a great invisible wall of
magical energy began to form, and gather pace and speed, like a tornado. The wind on Harry's
and David's heads began to whip against the wind, their teeth gritted in intense concentration.
Neither one of them would relent…

That mini-tornado became visible; a mass of faintly green-and-blue-tinted energies rolling
around each other, clashing and striking, growing larger and more violent, like a great bubble
ready to burst. In horror, all eyes in the Hall were drawn to it…until it burst.

The energy `bubble' exploded outward, and both Harry and David shot backwards, dropping
their wands to the floor. With the speed of a bullet, both were thrown straight back across the
Hall. David shot back over the teacher's table and crashed into the stained glass behind it,
falling to the ground unconscious, at the same time as Harry struck the brick wall beside the main
entrance.

With an echoing, sickening thud, the back of Harry's head slammed against the brick,
followed by his upper back. Darkness tool him immediately as he fell to the ground, leaving a thick
trail of blood down the wall, as David's had stained the shattered glass.

One, two seconds of silence…

“NNOOOO!” Hermione screamed, as suddenly the onlookers snapped to their senses. They rushed
forward towards the downed combatants; the Ministry officials kneeling down over David's body
frantically, checking for life. Many of the Hogwarts students ran towards Harry. Hagrid reached him
first, scooping his limp, lifeless body up, “OUTTA MY WAY!” Hagrid ran towards the entrance, making
for the hospital wing with all speed, followed closely by a group of students carrying David's
body.

All Hermione could do to block out the horror was break down and cry on Ron's shoulder.

*Please…please don't let them die!*

-->



14. Chapter 14
--------------



**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**A/N -** Not much to say here, but please leave a review.

Even after about four hours, the nervous, restless tension in the hospital wing's waiting
room was unbearable. Hermione had spent much of the time either crying into Ron's shoulder or
wearing a look of fear the likes of which no one had ever seen from her before. Ron had been quiet
the whole time, more the rock that Hermione needed him to be at that moment, but deep inside one
could sense that he was barely keeping it together. Luna sat on his other side, squeezing his free
hand periodically. Neville, Dean and Seamus had stayed for around two hours, before going back to
gather some things from the dorm. Hagrid had never left, standing stoically at the doorway, only
wiping away the stray errant tear. Sarah Campbell sat off to one side, hugging her knees up to her
body. She looked so frightened and upset, yet also so helpless and alone.

Professor McGonagall was the only non-medical staff that had been inside the hospital wing
during the whole of whatever life-saving procedures had been attempted during this whole time.
Several Healers had been rushed in from the Ministry, including one that Sarah had seemed to
recognise, who spoke in a thick American accent. He was an elderly man, around sixty, with a mostly
bald head and a neatly-trimmed white beard, portly build and a crutch supporting his amputated left
leg, replaced with a metal prosthesis that looked like it was held together by some form of
magic.

No one had dared speak; it was as if doing so would somehow jinx what was going on through those
curtained-off doors. Only Hermione's occasional sobs broke the tomb-like silence.

*How* could that duel have been allowed to happen? It was the question on everyone's
minds. Anyone who had spent much time with Harry or David, especially both of them, knew that
friction had been building up between them and may come to a head, but the way in which it exploded
had taken everyone by surprise, to put it mildly. Now, with the Chosen One and one of the
Ministry's most capable young Aurors fighting for their lives, how much stronger had
Voldemort's hand just become?

“I know I coulda done somethin',” Hagrid mumbled, “If I'd had me wits abou' me,
I'd a put a stop to it.”

“Don't blame yourself, Hagrid,” Ron said, “We all should've seen this coming.”

Hermione raised her head from Ron's shoulder; her face was reddened and blotchy, smeared
with tears, “I…” She began unsteadily, “If I hadn't got myself hurt, this whole thing would
have never…” Hermione's voice broke as she choked back another sob.

“Hey,” Ron said gently, hugging her face to his shoulder, “C'mon Hermione, don't. You
did nothing wrong here. None of us did, we just…we just didn't know how far they'd go.”

“What happened, anyway?” Luna asked, “I'd never seen anything like it…”

“I have,” Sarah said quietly, in a mournful tone of voice, speaking for the first time,
“It's rare, but…when two wizards of equal power throw the same spell, they can cancel each
other out. But…on rare occasions…the opposite can happen.”

“You mean, the spells build up and up to try and overpower each other?” Luna asked, interested
all of a sudden.

“Kind of…but…” Sarah sniffed, wiping a tear away. Ron gave Luna a sharp look, and she backed off
into silence once more.

At that time, the hospital wing doors opened.

Professor McGonagall emerged, followed by Madam Pomfrey and the unknown, American healer.

With all eyes on the professor, she cleared her throat uneasily, “The Healers have managed to
stabilise their conditions.”

Some breathed a sigh of relief, others held their breath, hanging onto the grim tone that
Professor McGonagall used. After a slight pause, she continued, “However, to prevent irrevocable
brain damage, they have had to magically induce comas upon Mr. Potter and Mr. Adams, until their
conditions improve enough.”

She turned to face the American, “This is Albert Rawlings from the Salem Institute, he'll be
more readily able to answer your questions. Madam Pomfrey will continue to check on their progress
at regular intervals. When there is a development, you will be informed immediately.”

Professor McGonagall turned and left, her stern and serious demeanour beginning to strain as
emotion began to show. Madam Pomfrey returned to the hospital wing, closing the doors behind
her.

“I know this is all hard to take right now,” Rawlings began, in a sympathetic tone, “But in the
long run, this is the best way that we know of to ensure a full recovery.”

“And they will? Recover, I mean?” Ron asked.

Rawlings ran a hand over his balding head in thought, “I see no reason why not. The skeletal and
muscular damage was repaired immediately, but even magical medicine is limited in regards to the
brain and the central nervous system. So much of it still remains a mystery to us.”

“So…they could still die?” Sarah asked, painfully.

The American Healer shook his head, “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Chances are that
it will be days before it's safe enough to attempt a revival. Until then, they're both
simply asleep, and perfectly safe in the care of your medical staff.”

“Well, we appreciat' all ye've done for `em,” Hagrid said, as sincerely as he could
manage.

Rawlings nodded, “Don't mention it. Now, I need to send a report to Salem as soon as
possible. Would you be able to show me the nearest fireplace?”

“Sure thin', c'mon,” Hagrid motioned, leading the Healer out, throwing one last
sympathetic glance at Ron, Hermione and the others before he left.

Hermione had been strangely quiet that whole time. Ron looked down at her quizzically, “Are you
alright? I thought you'd have a bunch of questions for…”

“Knock it off, Ron,” Hermione said bluntly.

“I'm just trying to help,” Ron said quietly.

Hermione released a deep breath, “I know, I just…I don't know what I feel right now.” She
freed herself from Ron's embrace and stood up, “I need some fresh air.” She glanced across at
Sarah, and then turned and walked out.

“Well…,” Ron said, visibly a little shaken, “I'll go check on Nev and the others. They seem
to be taking their sweet time…” He got up and walked off.

Luna got up and moved over to Sarah, sitting down next to her. She took her hand in her own and
tried to give her a comforting smile, “Are you going to be okay?”

Sarah's brown eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were dull and worn, staring down at
the floor unfocused, “Better than they will be.”

Luna put an arm around her, not knowing who Sarah was referring to; Harry and David, or Ron and
Hermione?

* * * * *

That night, at around eleven, Hermione had returned to the hospital wing, alone. She had waited
for Ron and the other Gryffindors, as care-worn as they all were, to go to sleep before making her
move. When Madam Pomfrey saw that she was alone, she finally relented to the sad look on
Hermione's face and allowed her inside. Hermione braced herself mentally, and stepped in.

As the matron moved away toward her office, Hermione found the ward darkened, illuminated only
by the sparsely-numbered candles atop the window-sills. Her own footsteps upon the stone floor
echoed, providing the only sound in an otherwise peaceful room. Somehow, she drew comfort from
these surroundings.

She passed David first, partitioned off from the beds to either side by curtains. The candles
cast a strange shadow across part of his face, but Hermione could make out the heavy bruising, the
bandages. Yet under it all, he seemed calm, at peace as he slept, breathing deeply in and out, the
bed-sheet covering what was surely a mass of bandages and splints attached to his body.

Hermione paused for a moment, considering this relatively new face in her life. As a former
Gryffindor, and a truly accomplished Auror, Hermione had believed she, along with Harry and Ron,
had found a member of the outside magical world that truly understood them, that had been through
what they had. But this duel, this continual undercurrent of tension between him and Harry had made
her question that. Of course, she wished him a full recovery, and had fretted upon his death a
little, but nowhere near to the extent that she cared for her best friend. Maybe it was merely the
fact that she didn't know him that well, or that she didn't *want* to know him that
well. Her own life experiences had made her unique; maybe there really was no one who could
understand her.

*No, that's not true*.

One of them was back in the Gryffindor dorm, probably tossing and turning, unable to sleep. And
the other one…

*Oh, Merlin…*

Hermione had to cover her mouth as she caught sight of Harry's bed. The top of his head, and
much of his unruly dark hair, was covered in thick bandaging, no doubt holding together the repairs
made to his skull. In this darkness, the bruises to his face, forearms and hands were much more
apparent. Hermione fought so hard to keep from breaking down and crying, for the umpteenth time
that day. Using all of her willpower, she edged herself closer to the chair beside Harry's bed,
and sat down uneasily. He appeared to be sound asleep, as David was, wearing a thick cotton
nightshirt underneath the bed-sheet.

Hermione fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what to do. She was totally out of her element
here…no amount of research could prepare for dealing with this kind of grief. Hermione forced
herself to look upon Harry, and to trust that whatever she needed to say or do to just happen.

“I…” Hermione began quietly, “I never know what to do in times like this, you know?” She cleared
her throat, “I've lost relatives before, did I tell you? Grandparents, great-grandparents,
mostly elderly. They were important to me, even when I was little. I knew what was going to happen,
I understood the significance of it…I just couldn't find the words to say. I couldn't
express everything that I wanted to. I guess it was then that I realised…how hollow words can sound
sometimes.”

Hermione found herself regaining some small measure of calm, in trying to talk her way through
this, to talk to Harry. It was what felt natural to her, “I know that what happened today was
caused by more than just words, Harry. I guess it's redundant for me to say so now, but I'm
fine. It was just an extreme version of the Full-Body Bind. I can take it, Harry; I'm a big
girl. I know you were only looking out for me, and standing up for me, but…”

Hermione caught herself mid-sentence, and she blushed, “Listen to me; even when you're
laying there, in deep sleep, I'm nagging. Maybe that's just me being me, huh? Plain little
Hermione, the bookworm, Harry and Ron's bossy big sister…I know that's what people see and
think of me. To be honest, mostly I can accept that. But I can't today. Not when…something like
this happens.”

She shifted forwards in her seat, closer to the bed, “I told Ron earlier that I didn't know
what I feel. Only I was lying; I do. I guess in some ways, I always have. Moments like this
can…bring into sharp focus these things about our lives. I just can't kid myself anymore,
Harry.”

She paused, wiping away a tear from each eye, swallowed down the sobs, and continued, “I wish…I
wish for so many things. Happiness, success, accomplishment…but then there's the other side of
me; the girl. I wish I could be one of those normal girls. The ones who can fall in love and be in
relationships and…just be that happy. I know what you may be thinking…but you're wrong. Ron
was…he was a comfort blanket, a way of telling myself that I could be `normal'. I love him like
a brother, but it couldn't go any further then that.”

Hermione stood up, leaning down over Harry's sleeping form, “I know deep down that no one I
could ever meet would ever come close to you, Harry. I've never met anyone so brave, so
compassionate, so loyal. You, for all the money and fame and power, who wants nothing more than a
normal life, and a family you can love.”

Her voice quietened to a whisper, “Don't you dare leave us behind, Harry…don't leave
*me* behind. Don't use this as your way out.”

She cleared her throat once more, wiping away the tears, “I know you can hear me, Harry…I love
you.”

Hermione gently leaned over, and planted a kiss on Harry's forehead. The tears finally took
over, and she collapsed onto his chest, sobbing uncontrollably into the night.

-->



15. Chapter 15
--------------



**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**A/N** - Thanks again for all the reviews I've been receiving, hope for more as ever.
How will the aftermath of the duel affect the Trio's search for the last Horcruxes? Read
on…

Hermione almost failed to notice as hours became days, and days became weeks. Three of them had
passed, and her life had been taken over by a new, monotonous routine; wake up, wash and have
breakfast, go to the hospital wing, check on Harry, read, catch up on research or summer homework,
keep company any additional visitors for Harry (or David), get kicked out by Madam Pomfrey at
around ten o'clock at night, have dinner, go to sleep.

Ron had been dealing with his grief differently; it had largely manifested itself as
restlessness, and so Ron felt compelled to work it off. This gave him and a few other like-minded
Gryffindors a chance for a few games of Quidditch, at least. The training sessions had been called
off; more than half of the students had gone home for the summer. Yet almost all of the
Gryffindors, and around half of the Ravenclaws, had remained behind. Once more it felt as if the
school had become a tomb, and with Harry and David's demise always a possibility that
threatened to be an accurate feeling.

Hermione knew that she didn't look her best; she didn't need people telling her that. It
was more than the bags under the eyes, the flat hair, the slight lack of colour on her face; she
didn't *feel* her best, either. She knew that she should know better; pining after her
best friend, who could still die. Yet even surrounded by her friends, she still felt an
overwhelming sense of loneliness, the likes of which not even a childhood spent more with books
than friends could match…especially since David had been successfully revived.

That had been about five or six days ago; Hermione had given up counting. Because the potential
for brain damage had been marginally less severe for him, the American healer had decided to try
and bring him out of his coma. And…it worked. After the initial disorientation, David remembered
what had happened. To his credit, his first concern was for Harry's well-being. Hermione was
still angry, but kept it in check. Now, he was…well, Merlin only knows. Hermione had heard
murmurings that as soon as he had been cleared and debriefed, David had been dispatched on some
top-secret assignment.

Perhaps that had something to do with what had been happening in the wider world. Somehow, it
seemed that Voldemort had caught wind of what had happened at Hogwarts; his minions were on the
move. Death Eater sightings had been reported up and down the country; the Dark Mark seemed to be
everywhere. Ministry squads had been stretched to their limits trying to control the situation, but
there seemed to be no end in sight. With Dementor activity on the rise, as well as growing panic
and unrest within the civilian wizard communities, the outlook was indeed bleak.

Knowing that she was going to go stir crazy if she sat there much longer, Hermione got up and
planted a kiss on Harry's forehead before leaving the hospital wing.

As she started down the corridor, Ron emerged from one of the classrooms, slightly startling
them both into a halt.

“Hey,” Ron said.

“Hey,” Hermione replied. She noticed the strange tenseness in Ron's voice much more than in
her own, “what are you doing?”

“Practising,” Ron said solemnly, “Luna reckoned it'd do me some good working alone for a
while.”

“Okay,” Hermione said noncommittally, “is it?”

Ron shrugged, “I guess…it helps having some feedback, though.”

“Yeah…” Hermione said, “Well, I'd better go get some food…”

She began to walk away.

“…Hermione?” Ron called after her.

She turned back reluctantly, “Yeah?”

“What's up?” Ron asked, edging closer to her.

“Nothing…just tired,” Hermione said.

“Nah,” Ron countered, “You haven't been right all week…probably longer.”

“Look,” Hermione said, feeling her heckles start to rise, “its Harry, isn't it?”

“Damn right,” Ron said, mostly under his breath.

“And what is *that* supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded, her voice almost rising to a
shout.

“You haven't been able to leave his side, ever since…”

“I can see *you* have…”

“I'm there everyday and you know it…”

“Some of us aren't so easily detached…”

“Piss off…I know what this is…”

“Why don't you enlighten me, then?”

Ron took a moment's pause. He didn't want to be wrong about this…

“You love him, don't you?”

Hermione's look of anger turned to shock; mouth-open, embarrassed. Ron's penetrating
gaze read her eyes in an instant.

“Well…I…yes, of course I do. So do you!” Hermione tried to argue, clearly flustered.

“Not like this, come on! I'm not an idiot.” Ron said seriously.

Hermione held her eye contact with Ron. Yet she could tell this was one argument she
couldn't win.

Slowly she bowed her head, “Is it that obvious?” She mumbled softly.

Ron took another couple of steps closer, his tone softening, “Maybe, maybe not. I guess at the
end of the day it doesn't matter…if that's the way you feel.” The pause in Ron's voice,
and the tone of resignation therein, spoke volumes.

Hermione lifted her face to his; her look had become apologetic, “I'm sorry, Ron…I just
can't help it.”

“Sorry for what?” Ron asked, much too quickly and forcefully to be a convincing display of
ignorance.

“You know…” Hermione started.

“Don't,” Ron cut her off, “Look, some things better not said, eh?”

Hermione nodded, “Will you be alright?”

“Yeah,” Ron said breezily.

“You know, you and Luna…if I didn't know better…” Hermione teased, the relief visible on her
face.

“Oh, not you as well,” Ron said, grinning, “Look, she's growing on me, that's all
I'm saying.”

“Come have lunch,” Hermione said, “you can tell me some more.”

They started walking away towards the Great Hall together, talking and laughing. As Ron carried
on, Hermione smiled to herself.

She really did love Ron…but as a friend.

* * * * *

That night, after Ron had forced Hermione to spend some time outdoors watching the Quidditch
match he had arranged, they both had returned to the hospital wing. They had been there for around
an hour as the time reached about 9pm; Ron was reading up on the legend of King Arthur (the Muggle
version, for perspective), and Hermione was writing an article for Luna to forward to her father,
for his magazine. It concerned the accident, and Hermione had made plain her wish for it only to be
published if the Ministry were to leak what happened. So far, for the interest of security, the
Minister had suppressed all knowledge of the `Potter-Adams situation', as it had apparently
come to be known within the Ministry. But if news did break, in the inevitably pro-Ministry slant
that would follow, Hermione wanted to be ready with a rebuttal.

Thanks mainly to Ron's presence, Hermione's general mood had improved. Maybe she had
pushed Ron away when this first started, she had realised. Maybe that created a sense of guilt that
added to her grief; admitting her love to Harry (or at least herself) while carrying the baggage of
whatever Ron may or may not have been feeling…that would have been enough to drive anyone spare.
Luna had eaten dinner with the two of them, and Hermione noticed the closeness between her and
Ron…probably better than either of them did. She seemed to be good for him, Hermione decided. She
absolutely *adored* him, and for Hermione's money she always had. *Just up to Ron to get
it through his dense skull…*

Hermione's head twitched away from her parchment, towards Harry. Maybe it had been a trick
of the light, a flicker of the candle, but she could have sworn she caught the faintest sign of
movement…

She got up from her chair and edged over. Ron noticed, looking up from his book, “You
alright?”

“Quiet,” Hermione whispered, leaning over Harry, watching him carefully.

His left eye twitched.

“Woah,” Ron exclaimed, “did you see…”

“Of course I saw,” Hermione said, her gaze not leaving Harry's face.

She gently put a hand to his shoulder, nudging him, “Harry?”

She shook him again, “Harry? Can you hear me?”

Harry's eye twitched again.

A couple of seconds later, the corner of his mouth curled up.

Then the peaceful look on his face vanished as he seemed to grimace, as if in pain. His whole
face contorted and screwed up as if grimacing.

His body started to shake.

“He's having a seizure!” Hermione jumped back, horrified.

“OI!” Ron shouted towards the matron's office, “GET OUT HERE!”

As Ron tried to pin Harry's shaking arms down by his sides, Madam Pomfrey burst out of her
office. Immediately finding the source of the commotion, she all but ran over to Harry's
bed.

“Out the way, out the way!” She ordered, pushing Hermione to one side. Immediately she pulled
out her wand and ran it over Harry's forehead; the tip glowed red.

“What's happening?” Ron asked, as Harry's shakes began to turn to spasms.

“His brain's fighting the coma,” Madam Pomfrey explained, flustered, “I'm going to have
to try and bring him out of it.”

“Wait, what do you mean `try'?” Ron demanded.

“Step well back, I need to work!” Madam Pomfrey shouted, “Wait outside, both of you!”

Hermione dragged Ron by the arm towards the door, as Madam Pomfrey frantically drew the screens
around the bed.

* * * * *

From outside, both Ron and Hermione could only guess what was happening. Somehow, Professor
McGonagall had caught wind of what was going on and had rushed in from her office, storming right
past the two. They hadn't heard a peep out of Harry, only Madam Pomfrey barking instructions to
the professor, who seemed to be assisting her in…whatever it was she was trying to do.

It had been about ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but the longest wait of both Ron and
Hermione's lives. Had they not patched things up, the tension would have been all that more
unbearable. It was one thing knowing that their best friend could die, but something else entirely
knowing that it could happen within the next few minutes if something, *anything*, went
wrong.

*Oh Merlin,* Hermione found herself screaming in her head for the second time that month,
*please don't let him die!*

Just as she had finished her own unique form of prayer, they both heard it.

“ARRGGGHHHH!”

As one, they both darted for the doors and pushed through into the hospital wing.

Harry was awake, bolt upright, drawing in huge gulps of air as Madam Pomfrey checked him over.
He looked badly shaken and pale, but it was a huge leap forward, as far as Hermione was
concerned.

His head turned, and his green eyes found hers.

“Hey,” He croaked roughly.

-->



16. Chapter 16
--------------



**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**A/N -** Thanks for the reviews! Now I want to explore the issues that Harry may have in
trying to recover from a weeks-long trauma, and how that might affect the search for the two
remaining Horcruxes…

It took Madam Pomfrey some twenty or so minutes to satisfy herself that Harry had been
successfully revived. It was as if Harry being conscious wasn't enough of a clue, but it was
only after a battery of tests and medicines and wand-waving that she returned to her office,
leaving the trio alone.

Almost as soon as her office door had closed, Hermione had flung herself on Harry, hugging the
life out of him. Suddenly clutched with embarrassment, Harry nevertheless appreciated the gesture,
not to mention how good she felt. Ron, in spite of himself, could only grin as he stood at
Harry's bedside, arms folded over his chest.

As if suddenly remembering where she was, Hermione eased off Harry only enough to cuff him round
the head.

Harry recoiled, “Ow! What was that for?”

“Do you have any idea how STUPID you are?!” Hermione shouted, still straddling Harry's
lap.

Harry turned to Ron, “What did I miss?” He asked groggily.

“This isn't funny, you could have been killed! And for what?”

“I…hang on…what was I…”

Hermione cuffed him again.

“OW!”

“How could you go off and fight him in a duel?! He only hit me with a cursed Full-Body Bind! I
thought you were so much…”

“Look,” Harry said, grabbing Hermione's wrists, “stop trying to put me in another coma and
listen to me, will ya?”

Giving Harry a very disdainful look, Hermione suddenly realised where she was positioned, and
slid off him, standing up. Harry closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead, trying to block
out the headache that was fast coming on.

“Okay, fine, I was stupid. But what good can I be to everyone else if I can't protect…”

“Oh, rubbish! It was a training accident!”

Harry turned his head to the right, and saw the next bed was empty, “Where is he?”

“He came out of it, six days ago,” Ron said, “He's undercover somewhere, they won't say
where.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He turned back to Hermione, “So…you're alright, then.”

“Don't even…”

“Alright, I'll take that as a yes,” Harry said, trying hard not to grin, “How long has it
been?”

“Three weeks, one day,” Hermione answered matter-of-factly.

“That long…” Harry said absently, “What's been going on?”

“Nothing really,” Ron said, shaking his head, “That's what we don't get…surely Voldemort
has heard about this somehow, why hasn't he made some kind of move?”

Hermione turned to face Ron, “What, are you *wishing* that would happen?”

“No,” Ron said quickly, “it's just…weird.”

“He knows he can't, at least not until I'm dead,” Harry said with a remarkable calmness,
“Any move he makes gives us a clue as to where he's hiding those Horcruxes.”

“I hate to say it, but Ron has a point,” Hermione said, “Surely he'd want to confront you
*before* we find the others.”

Ignoring Ron's look of total surprise, Harry shrugged, “I guess. But I know one thing;
I'm not good to anyone laid up in bed.”

“Then you'd better get your rest,” Hermione said, “We'll bring you some breakfast in the
morning.”

“Okay,” Harry said, letting a small grin pass onto his face.

Hermione turned to Ron, “Let's go, then.”

Harry smiled to himself as they turned to leave, but called out as they approached the entrance,
“Ron?”

Ron stopped, “I'll catch up,” He said to Hermione as she left.

“How's she been?” Harry asked.

Ron leaned against the doorway, “Oh, you know, same old Hermione.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

Harry shrugged, “Well…there's bossy, and then there's *that*.”

“You think she's over-compensating?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, marvelled, “Where'd you learn…?”

“Don't start,” Ron said.

“How about you, then?”

“I'm alright, been keeping busy…”

“Going out with Luna yet?”

“For the love of Merlin…”

Harry smiled, “C'mon, it's plain as day…”

“Whatever,” Ron said, “but to answer your question, she's been pretty beside herself, mate.
Spends all day in here, only leaves to eat and sleep…”

“Really?” Harry asked, stunned.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “the whole duel thing cut her up bad. She blamed herself for it.”

“Damn,” Harry said quietly, mostly to himself.

“I'll see you in the morning,” Ron said. He turned and walked out.

As Harry sat there propped up in bed, a wave of guilt hit him, harder than any of David's
blows during their duel. It kept him awake for the better part of an hour, before fatigue finally
overtook him.

* * * * *

The next three days passed agonisingly slowly for Harry. As he eased himself out of the hospital
wing and back into normal life, more and more things that Harry had been taking for granted were
becoming difficult. Even without the defence lessons, which had been put on indefinite hiatus,
Harry found himself struggling to sit through even an hour in the library, or pull off the simplest
Quidditch move atop his broomstick.

As more time wore on, Harry found himself more and more on edge. Despite the attentions of the
remaining students, who chose to stay at school out of friendship, family wishes or concern for
their own safety, Harry was starting to find all the concern and the attention irritating; half the
time, he just wanted to be left alone. Little things about people, friends of his for years now,
were starting to annoy him.

It had all come to a head at lunch on the third day after Harry left the hospital wing. Over
lunch, Dean, Seamus and Neville had been carrying on a conversation that they had started that
morning, about what they would do in a post-Voldemort world. Harry had overheard the whole thing,
which was only ever in fun, and found yet another reminder of his `destiny' extremely grating.
Ron had noticed Harry getting hot under the collar; he wasn't eating, his fists were clenched,
his eyes were glaring down at the table. Hermione wasn't around; she had been following up on
what she had thought was a promising lead at the time.

Jokingly, Dean had glanced over at Harry, “Harry mate, you need to hurry up and do your thing,
we're making plans over…”

Harry had shot to his feet and turned away, storming off. As he was about halfway to the
entrance to the Great Hall, he turned around, seething, “Well I'll see what I can do, hate to
mess up your *plans* and all…” He spoke quickly and harshly, a dark undercurrent in his
voice.

Dean recoiled, “I didn't mean it like that, man, just…”

“Nah, no one ever means what they say to me, do they?” Harry shot back, “It's all `how are
ya Harry', `hope you're better Harry', but you don't give a crap, do you?”

“Hang on…”

“NONE OF YOU DO!” Harry shouted. Everyone in the Hall had stopped and stared as he carried on,
“APART FROM RON AND HERMIONE, YOU LOT ARE JUST WAITING FOR ME TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK!”

No one dared respond. And this only made Harry madder.

“ALL YOU DO IS PUT ME UP ON YOUR SHOULDERS THEN KNOCK ME DOWN! ALL I WANT IS A LIFE!”

Harry turned on his heel and marched right out of the Hall, anger in his every step.

* * * * *

For the rest of that afternoon, Harry had sat alone by the lake and fumed. He felt…so many
things. Angry, bitter, guilty, twisted…it was like a poison that he couldn't get rid of, one
that only fed on all of this anger and multiplied.

He'd lost count of how much time he'd been out here; the sun had long since passed from
directly overhead, but had not yet set. He had checked his watch every now and then…he knew what
was eventually going to come…

He heard the footsteps approaching. He didn't have to turn around from where he sat, perched
against the base of the tree overlooking the lake. Mentally he had played this conversation out in
his head several times by now…

Hermione sat down next to him, bringing her knees up to hug her body, “You want to talk?”

“No.” Harry said.

Hermione paused for a few seconds, picking her words carefully, “Harry, have you ever heard of
post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Harry thought about it, or at least pretended to, “Why, have I got it?”

“Harry, ever since you woke up, you've been trying to avoid dealing with what happened to
you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that until you do, you're just going to bottle up your feelings until they
explode.”

Harry turned to face her, “Then how *should* I be feeling, Hermione?”

“You should be telling *me* how you feel!” Hermione countered.

“You?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Well,” Hermione stopped, catching herself, “unless you want to take a chance on Ron being able
to understand any of it…”

“He's smarter than you give him credit for, ya know.”

“I was joking,” Hermione said, “but you're taking things way too seriously, Harry.”

“I think you'll agree these are pretty serious times…”

“Look,” Hermione said, putting her hand on Harry's arm, “just try talking to me, okay? I
want to help you.”

Harry blew out a breath, and put his hand on hers, looking away at the lake, “I know.”

“I got Ron to have a word with Dean and the others, they're fine.”

Harry shook his head, “Is there anything you haven't taken care of?”

“No,” Hermione said, looking slightly pleased with herself, “that's what friends are
for.”

Harry let out another, more shaky breath, “I was starting to wonder…”

“Hmm?”

“I just…I dunno…” Harry said, “I feel like…” He swallowed down the tightness in his throat,
tried to ignore the shakiness in his bottom lip, “I feel like all I'm doing is putting my
friends at risk.”

“Don't say that…”

“I mean it,” Harry continued, “I mean…all I want to do is protect you…”

“Me?” Hermione blurted out.

“My friends,” Harry said quickly, “…and just because you're here, around me, you're a
target.”

Harry angrily wiped away the beginnings of a tear from his eye; Hermione could only watch in
quiet despair, “I can't…I'm nothing without you and Ron. If something happened,
I'd…I'd…”

Harry broke down and began to cry. Hermione moved, kneeling in front of him. She moved
Harry's hands away from his face; he didn't resist. She put her arms around his neck and
hugged him to her close.

For those next couple of minutes she let him cry it out of his system. When she felt him begin
to relax, she rocked him gently and spoke quietly into his ear, “Listen Harry, we're all here
because we want to be. We're here to help you. And if you're a target, then we'll be
targets with you.”

With Harry's face buried into her shoulder, Hermione sighed and stroked his hair, “Just hang
in there Harry…you'll be alright.”

-->



17. Chapter 17
--------------



**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**A/N -** I feel like this story is entering its final few chapters. I'd love to devote a
few to added characterisation and emotional development, but it would probably come at the cost of
the main plot if done to excess. Let me know what you think, as always. Oh, and one other thing; I
have now read and finished The Deathly Hallows, but I'm going to stay true to my original
vision for this story and not let it affect the ending.

“So what do you think then, is he alright?” Ron asked.

Standing at the foot of the stairs to the dormitories in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione
turned back to face him on the sofa and shrugged her shoulders, “Honestly…I don't know.”

“So…this post-trauma thingy then…can it be cured?” Ron probed further, lounging back against the
cushions.

Hermione leaned back against the staircase railing, running a hand through her hair in thought,
“From what I've read, it can be cured easily. I…*we*…just have to get Harry to talk to us
about everything, once this is all over.”

“Well, good luck with that.” Ron said lightly.

It was just after nine o'clock that night; Harry had turned in early after what had turned
out to be an emotional conversation with Hermione out by the lake. He had passed Dean and Neville
on the way up; the apologetic look on his face was enough for them, especially with the redness of
his face. Hermione had chosen to remain tight-lipped about what went on to everyone else, but Ron
deserved to be in the know as ever.

“I just think about all the things that have happened to him in his life…” Hermione said
quietly, shaking her head slowly, “It's just…*so* unfair.”

“I know,” Ron said comfortingly.

“It would be easier if all of this had made Harry into a bitter and twisted person, but it
didn't,” Hermione said, to herself as much as to Ron, “He's so…kind, and decent, and
loyal…” She trailed off, beginning to feel her own throat begin to close up.

“Where's Hedwig been hiding?” Ron asked, trying to change the subject, “Haven't seem him
in a while.”

“Harry kept him here when we left, after Dumbledore died,” Hermione replied absently, “He
guessed we'd be travelling around the country by now.”

“Yeah…funny how these things turn out.” Ron said.

“Or not,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah…” Ron said, rubbing at his eyes.

Hermione wiped a tear from to corner of her eye, “There has to be *something* me and you
can do for him in the meantime.”

Ron got up from the sofa and paced over to Hermione slowly, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“Your first priority has always been Harry,” Ron said, in a matter-of-fact tone that wasn't
overly harsh, “I guess until now, I figured that was your way, with all of Harry's past and
everything.”

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes full of uncertainty, “And you're saying it's not
anymore?”

“I'm saying that so many people close to him have died,” Ron said, “If you ask me, he's
trying to find something to live for, something beyond the two of us.”

A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek, “…Like what?”

“You really want to help him?”

“Yes, you know I do!”

“Then tell him how you feel,” Ron said gently, “Maybe that'll make the difference.”

“What?” Hermione blurted out, “No…I can't…”

For the first time that Ron could recollect, Hermione looked like the shy, nervous little girl
that he imagined she was in a past life. The way her eyes pleaded for guidance reminded Ron of
Ginny when she was growing up...

“How do I…?” Hermione started to ask.

“That's your thing,” Ron said lightly, moving towards the stairs.

“Ron,” Hermione said, almost painfully, “I…I need your help,”

“You'll figure it out,” Ron replied, “You'd be surprised what you're capable
of.”

Hermione gave him a watery smile at that, “I feel like I'm seeing a whole new side of you,
Ronald.”

Ron shrugged as he started to climb, “Luna.”

“So you aren't denying it anymore?”

“I'll ask her out tomorrow.”

“You're practically going out now!” Hermione called after him playfully.

“Everyone's a critic,” Ron grumbled as he disappeared from view.

As Hermione was left alone in the common room, she furiously wiped away the tears that had set
on her cheeks. She sat down on the sofa and hugged her knees up to herself, and began to think.

* * * * *

The following morning, Harry surprised Hermione by beating her to the library; she saw him
sitting in front of a collection of spread-out books as she entered. He glanced up and smiled as
she moved across to him, “Hi.”

Hermione walked around behind him, and playfully tousled his hair as she sat down next to Harry,
“Hey. How are you feeling?”

Harry tried to ignore the feeling that Hermione seemed unusually cheerful this morning, “Fine, I
guess.”

“What are you working on?”

Harry shook his head, “Nothing really, just thinking about the stage we're at…”

“Well,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, “our working theory is that we have two Horcruxes left,
isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “after the locket, the diary, the wand, the ring…not bad going, I
guess.”

“That's right,” Hermione said, patting his arm with a smile, “we're getting there.”

Once again Harry got the feeling that something wasn't quite right about Hermione; normally
by now she'd have been feverishly scanning through the books that Harry had been looking at for
some perspective. But she seemed to be focussing her attention on him instead...

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Hermione shook her head quizzically, still smiling a little, “I'm fine, why?”

“You just seem a little…”

“Little…?”

Harry shook his head, “Nah, never mind.”

As he looked back down at his chosen book, Hermione turned her head away for the briefest
moment, trying to hide the look of quiet despair on her face. *Why can't I do this?!* Her
inner voice screamed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to shrug off what she knew to
be her true feelings and maintain her composure.

“I was just trying to think about what Voldemort's up to…” Harry said, partly to
himself.

Hermione glanced at his lightning scar, “Shouldn't you be able to find out?”

Harry grinned to himself, “After you keep telling me to learn Occlumency?” He shook his head, “I
don't know…maybe Voldemort has found a way to shut me out.”

“That would imply he knew of your connection,” Hermione pointed out.

“Maybe he does,” Harry said casually.

Hermione glanced at him, surprised by the lack of emotion on Harry's face, “You don't
seem very concerned by that.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “To tell the truth, knowing where he is constantly just puts me on
edge. I guess this way I can focus on my job.”

“Your job?”

“To find these damn Horcruxes,” Harry said plainly, “If Voldemort wants to stay hidden and wait
for me to act first, then let him.”

If it didn't sound so unusual coming from Harry's lips, Hermione might have been
impressed, “That's not what you were saying yesterday, Harry.”

Recalling his emotional outbursts, Harry glanced across at Hermione and gave her a small smile,
“Well…I guess you helped me there.”

Hermione allowed herself to feel a small measure of satisfaction…*but that smile! Merlin, does
he know what that does for…stop it!*

Hermione cleared her throat, “But that's not all that Voldemort is doing, staying hidden.
He's building up his forces, Harry, he could attack at any moment…”

“He won't,” Harry said, with remarkable certainty.

“How do you know?”

“Because, think about it, he doesn't know what I'm doing either,” Harry said, in a way
that suggested he was trying to explain it to himself as well as Hermione, “He has as much to fear
as I do from what moves either of us are going to make. He's only going to get one opportunity
to seize power, and try and kill me in the process.”

Hermione continued to search his face, his eyes, for understanding as he continued.

“This is why we haven't heard from him, only from Death Eaters and Dementors. He's using
them to attract attention and keep himself hidden. He'd have nothing to gain from killing
wizards left, right and centre; for the most part he doesn't have a quarrel with them…”

”Apart from Mudbloods…” Hermione pointed out resentfully.

“Hey,” Harry said reproachfully, “don't go calling yourself that. You're hundreds of
times the person Voldemort is…”

Hermione looked away smiling, her cheeks flushed slightly. Harry cleared his throat uneasily,
“So…yeah, my point is that he won't risk a siege until he's ready to, and that gives us
some time at least.”

“You would have thought Voldemort would come for you right away?” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged, “Not if he doesn't know I'm after the Horcruxes.”

Hermione paused for a second in thought, then looked back at Harry, beaming, “That's
brilliant!” She exclaimed excitedly.

“It…is?” Harry said, confused.

“Of course!” Hermione said, “Don't you see? All this time we've been obsessing and
planning and researching, and all this time Voldemort has been putting together his minions, not
knowing what we're up to! I bet it's never even occurred to him that we know about the
Horcruxes!”

“Yeah, but…how does that help?”

“He's not going to see it coming, is he? How do you suppose Voldemort would react if he
suddenly found that all his Horcruxes were destroyed?”

Harry thought about it, and began to subscribe to Hermione's way of thinking, “He'd
be…well, pretty shocked I guess.”

“He'd be livid!” Hermione said, as if that was a good thing, “He'd be vulnerable,
he'd be scared, he'd be so many things! And in a duel, that gives you the advantage!”

“I hope so.”

“Well, I know so,” Hermione said, calmer now but just as self-assured, “There's at least one
other thing working for us.”

“What's that?” Harry asked.

“Adams.”

“David?”

“Didn't he say that neither Voldemort nor the Death Eaters knew what he knew about
self-defence magic? I mean, think about it, have you *ever* seen those techniques before?”

Harry thought of all the things David had taught him, either through the lessons or their
Legilimency-induced link; the Dagonet Leap, the Castus Gambit, so many other blocks, counters or
evasions…and the wand blade…

“Where would he learn all that?” Harry asked, as if Hermione could possibly have the answer.

She shook her head, “I don't know...but it must be some extremely obscure source that no one
else has access to. That's the only way he could be so confident so as to make that claim.”

“Or he was showing off…”

“Oh, honestly!” Hermione huffed, “I know you don't like him, but his job is to try and help
you!”

“Okay!” Harry said forcefully, not wishing to have this argument yet again, “You're right,
let's go with that for now.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, seemingly placated.

“But I'm got going to get anywhere that duel until we find these damn things, so I guess
we'd better get back to it…”

A thought struck Hermione, “Listen, there's a really good book in my wardrobe about ancient
magical artefacts. Maybe that'll give us some clues.”

She got up and quickly leaned over, planting a kiss on the side of Harry's forehead, “Be
right back.”

She quickly hurried away, leaving Harry looking after her. *What had gotten into her?*
Normally he was the excitable one, and she would bring him back to reality. And that kiss? I mean,
it wasn't the first time, and only before it was ever in times of great peril, but still…she
was different somehow.

And Harry smiled. As strange as it seemed, he kind of liked it.

*That's why you love her…*he imagined his mind saying smugly.

*Oh, go think of something else!* His heart shot back.

-->



18. Chapter 18
--------------



**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**A/N -** Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. I wanted to spend a little time on exposition,
to re-establish where the Trio are in relation to their quest for the Horcruxes, and also for
another bit of developing the underlying tension between Harry and Hermione. What kind of pressures
can make them finally break out their true feelings? Read on…

The next few days were spent mostly in the library by the Trio, during which a couple of
interesting developments had arisen. A new arrival at Hogwarts was confirmed by Professor
McGonagall over breakfast one morning as the new Potions master; Carlos Grissom, an American wizard
that had transferred from the Salem Institute in Massachusetts. Sarah Campbell, who had returned to
Hogwarts for a few days to finish off her studies into Hogwarts, told them that he was a good guy
and an excellent teacher. That somehow made Harry laugh; the thought of a Potions master you could
like. He stood at about 5'10”, with short, curly black hair and stubble, and was dressed that
morning as a Muggle in beige jeans and a black button-up shirt. Apparently, that was the style in
America. Professor Slughorn had accepted a sideways transfer to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and
head of Slytherin.

In other, slightly more joyous news, Ron had finally asked Luna out. Harry could only imagine
how that had played out, considering Ron's inept nature around girls, and Luna's inept
nature around life in general. Still, a trip to Hogsmeade and then a night in the Astronomy Tower
had seemed to do the trick, and they happily strolled around the castle hand-in-hand whenever they
were together. Harry had never seen Ron look so consistently happy. Hermione had been oddly quiet
on the subject, but gave Ron her support and best wishes in a way that told Harry she meant it.

Luna had come to sit with them a few times, on-and-off. While Harry would have thought she might
have been a distraction, in reality she was a welcome relief around the library table. Her abstract
and curious nature gave them new ideas on old theories, and her unique sense of humour provided
several moments of much-needed brevity. Harry felt as if the Trio was becoming a quartet; as
strange as it felt at first, he felt that could be a change for the better. Ron and Hermione argued
a lot less these days; Harry would have been lying to himself if he hadn't noticed the ongoing,
underlying tension between his two best friends, but that seemed to have changed recently. Harry
wondered what else had happened while he was comatose…

No real progress was made there in the library, but that didn't seem to get Harry down. He
had a feeling that everything was beginning to come together, and that the next real breakthrough
was right around the corner. Not that the Ministry had been much help; ever since David Adams had
been revived and reassigned they had fallen oddly quiet. Not even Mad-Eye or Kingsley were
answering by owl or fireplace. Harry assumed that their reasons for this were good, but would have
liked to know more about what was going on. Whereas before he would have been running up the walls
in anger over this, today he felt pretty calm about the whole thing. He had no doubt that he had
changed over the course of this summer; Dumbledore had probably figured that he would.

“So, I guess we're striking out on magical artefacts?” Ron asked after about two hours of
perusing through old textbooks on the subject.

Hermione nodded, a hand propping up her head above the table. She was more tired than she was
frustrated.

“Maybe we should look at something else, then.” Ron suggested.

“Like…?” Hermione asked, looking up at him.

There was a collective pause for thought.

“Does anyone else think goblins are planning to start their own Quidditch league?” Luna
asked.

They all stared at her; even Ron.

* * * * *

Not much more progress was made after that, and the quartet splintered off. Luna had dragged Ron
away to the lake to try and prove the existence of…or maybe they just wanted to snog for a bit; she
was still a girl with needs after all, Harry had thought as he left the Great Hall after a quick
snack.

Harry spent the afternoon with Hagrid, chopping some firewood next to his hut. It felt good, the
release that some manual labour brought. He was able to exercise out his tensions, and take out his
frustration on the wood. Being able to talk to Hagrid was always a kind of release for Harry as
well; his down-to-earth nature and relentless sense of optimism were certainly welcome. After a
good three hours of tiring work he had tea with Hagrid in his hut, and for the first time in days
he found himself able to speak his mind at length without embarrassment. He filled Hagrid in on
everything, even though Dumbledore had asked Harry to keep the Horcruxes to himself, Ron and
Hermione. But by now the Aurors, as well as Professor McGonagall at the very least, were in the
know. So far, that had been of benefit.

“So,” Hagrid had asked, filling Harry's giant teacup once more, “what d'yeh reckon yer
gonna do after all this is done?”

Harry shrugged, “To be honest, I haven't really thought about that.”

“Yeh should.” Hagrid said.

“Well,” Harry said, thinking, “I wouldn't mind coming back here, see if I can get through a
school year without Voldemort hanging over me like a dark cloud.”

Hagrid chuckled at that.

“What about you?” Harry asked.

“This is me home,” Hagrid said simply, glancing around his house, “Dumbledore gave me this job
and this life. It's all I know, an' all l wanna know really. I'll be `ere `til the next
Headmaster says otherwise.”

Harry smiled, “I wish I could be that content.”

Hagrid waved that thought away, “Nah, yeh young, ain't ya? Yeh got all yer hopes and dreams
ahead of yeh yet.”

“I can't help feeling I'm going to end up an Auror,” Harry said, “See…all this, chasing
Voldemort and whatever else, this has become my life…I just feel like, if I leave Hogwarts and take
up anything else, it's going to feel like I'm treading water, waiting for the next wave of
Dark magic to come after me.”

Hagrid's large eyes watched Harry's carefully as he said that, and he sat back in his
giant armchair, “Well, if yeh did, I couldn' think of anyone I'd rather `ave tracking `em
down.” He said, with an encouraging smile.

“Still, one thing at a time,” Harry said.

“Yeh'll do it Harry,” Hagrid said, “I know yeh will. When you take `im down, we're all
gonna be right there with yeh.”

Harry smiled, “Thanks Hagrid.”

It was dark outside when Harry left, and when he considered that it was now the height of
summer, that told him that it was very late indeed. He made his way back towards the castle and the
Gryffindor common room, taking a little extra time to look around at his surroundings. A lot of the
time, he was too wrapped up in his own concerns to notice the understated beauty of the Hogswarts
grounds. It had a tranquillity about it when there weren't hundreds of students about, one of
those things that Harry regretted only noticing now, possibly in the last days of his life.

Harry entered the common room through the Fat Lady's portrait quietly. He looked around; no
one was…wait. Hermione was curled up on one of the sofas to the side, reading a book with the aid
of a single flickering candle on the end table next to her. Grinning to himself slightly, Harry
snuck up behind her as quietly as he could. Whatever Hermione was reading, she was engrossed in
it.

Harry slapped his hand gently on her shoulder, “What'cha reading?”

Hermione jumped, accidentally dropping her book to the floor. Instead of chastising Harry, she
immediately jumped off the sofa to try and pick it up. But an inquisitive Harry was quicker, and
scooped the book up with his Seeker reflexes.

“Harry, give that back!” Hermione said, flustered, but Harry had already read the title on the
front cover; it was a Muggle romance novel.

Embarrassed, Harry returned the book, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Hermione took the book and looked away, suddenly aware of how close she was standing to him,
“It's okay.”

She turned to walk away towards the girl's dorm, but Harry's words stopped her, “Is
there anything you wanna talk about?”

Hermione turned back to him. Every impulse in her body screamed for her not to, but she
couldn't help but form the words, “It's…well, it's just a bit of escapism, isn't
it?”

Harry shrugged, “Yeah, I guess…”

*So…is she looking for a bit of romance, then? Well…isn't that good?*

He nodded at it, “Good book?”

Hermione shrugged her eyebrows noncommittally, “It's okay.”

The silence that followed was tenser than anything Harry could remember.

“So…” He said after about half a minute, “have you been…you know, thinking about that kind of
thing?”

Hermione sighed, “Well, I am a *girl*, Harry.”

Despite himself, Harry grinned, “Yeah, I know.”

Hermione moved back over to the sofa and sat down. Harry guessed she wanted to talk some more,
so he joined her. He hated to think it, but the longer she wanted to talk about…that, the more of a
chance he might have to…*yeah, I've got no idea what I'm doing here.*

When they were settled, Hermione hugged a cushion to herself along the sofa from Harry, who was
perched at the other end, “You know…I've never really had a boyfriend before.”

Harry said nothing, silently willing her to continue.

“Not even that thing with Krum…despite what Ron would tell you…even came close. At my primary
school, I was…well, your classic bookworm…the one that the other kids would only talk to if they
needed help with their homework.”

Harry just watched her, noticing her eyes begin to glaze over a little.

“And since I've been here, even after helping you and Ron all these years…that hasn't
really changed, has it? I'm still plain old Hermione…the bookworm.”

Harry edged a little closer to her on the sofa as she wiped a tear away from her eye, “Hey, come
on…that's not all you are.”

“Oh face it Harry,” She said quietly, almost mournfully, “After you've killed Voldemort,
you'll go on and do anything you want and be with anyone you want…and now Ron's got
Luna…and *me*, I've got…”

She sniffed, wiping away a couple more tears. Harry moved closer and put his arm around her
shoulders, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He drew in the smell of her hair, and her
warmth.

“You've still got me,” Harry said reassuringly.

“Not for much longer,” Hermione said sadly, her breath hitting his neck, “you'll be able to
have any girl you want after all this is over.”

“I don't want just any girl,” Harry said quietly.

“I'm sure there's plenty of nice ones out there.”

“There's a really nice one right here,” Harry said.

He could see the corners of Hermione's mouth curl up, and she wrapped her arm around his
waist, “You're sweet Harry, but…I know what's going to happen.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged.

“I wouldn't know what to do,” Hermione said, “If I can't get the answer out of a book, I
just fall to pieces.”

“I'd have no clue either, Hermione,” Harry said, “That's why I've always relied on
you.”

Hermione craned her head up to smile at him, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled back, “without you I'd be a goner.”

Hermione tucked her head under his, bringing her legs up onto the sofa. Harry did the same,
tucking his under hers. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, and never had he felt so
content.

“Do you think we could just…sit like this for a while?” Hermione asked.

Harry smiled, “Sure.”

She felt so good wrapped up in him like that, so delicate and warm. Harry began stroking her
hair without really thinking about it; it was amazing how natural it felt to him. He was loving
this feeling, and was aware of certain biological indications of this and it's proximity to
Hermione, but she didn't seem to mind.

After about a minute of comfortable silence this time, Harry spoke, “So…I guess we're both
in the same hole, then.”

Hermione smiled to herself, “Yeah.”

Harry tried to keep all signs of blatant hopefulness out of his voice, “…We could just marry
each other, I guess.”

Hermione giggled; he'd never heard her do that before.

Harry smiled, “Well, it'd save all the pain and suffering.”

Hermione shifted, turning over so that she was facing up, keeping Harry's arms wrapped
around her torso as his upper body was propped up against the arm of the sofa, her resting back
against him.

“I wonder how that would work,” Hermione said teasingly.

“I wouldn't be that bad, would I?” Harry asked jokingly.

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her hair slightly, “you'd be fine.”

“Just fine?”

Hermione laughed, swatting Harry's arm gently, “As long as you'd do what I want.”

“Like?”

Hermione smiled deeply to herself; *oh my God, this is not happening!* She decided then to
have a little fun with him, if he was trying so hard to cheer her up.

“Well,” Hermione said, “you'd have to give me a hug whenever I want one.”

“Okay, well I'm pretty good at that already,” Harry pointed out.

“Fine,” she continued, “if I've had a bad day at work, you'd have to hold me and listen
to me moaning.”

“I'm doing that right now,” Harry said smiling, getting another swat on the arm from
Hermione.

“You'd have to give me a couple of adorable little children,” Hermione said playfully.

Harry felt his lower extremities tingle further; *oh, don't give me ideas…*

“Well, if I have to…” Harry said, pretending to sound begrudging.

“Let me think,” Hermione continued, “obviously, you'd have to say that you love me…”

…*Is that a hint to say it? Now?* Harry's insides were debating desperately, “Uh
huh…”

“And…” Hermione said, craning her face around to smile at his, “you'd have to kiss me.”

Harry smiled back, trying to keep his internal struggle off his face. He so wanted to; in the
flickering candlelight, she had never looked so beautiful.

“But,” Hermione said, her smile fading slightly, “only if you loved me, obviously.”

*Do it, do it, do it…screw it.*

Harry's grin faded away, “…Who says I don't?”

Hermione's smile faded away as well. Her eyes widened, locked onto his.

“Yeah, but…only as a friend…right?”

Harry, his eyes locked back on hers, slowly shook his head.

Hermione let out a gasp, and her eyes began to glaze over once more.

Slowly, irresistibly, Harry began to lower his face to hers, as she craned hers up to meet
his…

The Fat Lady's portrait swung open with a loud bang, shaking them both out of
their…thing.

Ron burst in, breathing heavily. He found them with his wide eyes, “We've found Snape!”

-->



19. Chapter 19
--------------



**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**A/N -** As much as I enjoyed writing the end of the previous chapter, I never really
envisaged not leaving the emotional payoff until the end. Still, at least they know now…anyway,
here comes the beginning of the end so take a deep breath…and review!

“We've found Snape!”

If ever there was a literal cold shower, that was it.

Still, the blunt impact of that statement made Harry forget about the compromising position he
and Hermione had both been found in. They both jumped up to their feet, facing Ron.

“What?” Harry said.

Ron nodded impatiently, “He's just been spotted, some old ruins or something…”

They all broke for the portrait hole, tearing down the corridor towards the Transfiguration
classroom; Ron was a couple of steps ahead, and directed his two best friends.

“Where?” Hermione asked.

“Here, in Scotland, about eighty miles away near the coast.”

“That makes no sense,” Hermione replied quickly.

“Sure it does,” Harry said, “put it near Hogwarts, last place anyone would look.”

As they bolted round the corner, Ron had cottoned onto another train of thought, “I don't
get how it happened, though. All of a sudden out of nowhere, Aurors just get a lead on him like
that!” He exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

Harry paused a couple of seconds to think, “They couldn't, not with Snape. This isn't
just blind luck…”

“What are you saying?” Hermione asked pointedly.

Harry stopped in his tracks in realisation; the others did the same.

Harry turned to Ron, “He *wants* to be found! He *wants* me to know where he is…”

“But *why*?” Hermione asked after a couple of seconds; the question that neither she nor
Ron wanted to ask, but ultimately had to.

Harry rubbed at his forehead; in doing so, he didn't register his scar beginning to
tingle…

“I don't know…” Harry said.

“Is it even possible Snape made a mistake?” Ron asked, looking at Hermione.

Ron's words became distant and blurred to Harry, as he noticed his scar begin to throb with
pain.

“I don't think so,” She replied, “I mean, a wizard as skilled and intelligent as Snape?”

Neither of them noticed Harry beginning to tremble, as the pain from his scar became
excruciating…

“But we know he's evil!” Ron said vehemently, “He killed Professor Dumbledore! So if
he's done this on purpose, what the hell…”

“Harry?” Hermione said sharply as she noticed the pained look on Harry's face.

He had shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, reaching out to the wall for balance.

“What's wrong?” She implored, putting a hand to his arm.

“My…scar…” Harry managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Hermione turned to Ron quickly, “Ron, go get some…”

“AARRRGGHHH!” Harry screamed in pain, collapsing to the ground, writhing around clutching his
forehead. Hermione got down on her knees, desperate to do *something* to help. Ron, no matter
how urgent the need for aid was, couldn't move; he had frozen up in horror.

Through the searing agony, and the screams that must have been his own, Harry's subconscious
told him that this was not Voldemort's handiwork…

*“Potter…”*

*SNAPE!* Harry's mind screamed. That was *his* voice inside his head!

The pain seemed to level off; it was still real and it was still intense, but had become barely
manageable. Harry found himself able to relax somewhat, lying still in a curled-up position upon
the floor.

*“I know you can hear me…”* said that same silky, all-too familiar voice…

*“I am alone, but will not be for long.”*

*WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!* Harry tried to call out with his mind…would it work?

*“I have that which you seek, Potter. You will find me at the highest level of the castle
ruins, in the furthest room to the right.”*

*WHAT?*

*“Quickly!”*

*WHY SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU?!*

*“The fate of the magical world as you know it depends on you, Potter!”*

He can hear me…

*“Come before they find me…and bring the other one.”*

As suddenly as it had begun, the pain from Harry's scar dissipated and vanished. Carefully,
he sat up on the stone floor, as Ron and Hermione looked on in total bewilderment.

Harry coughed as he rearranged his glasses, “I'm okay.”

“What was that?” Hermione asked, kneeling over him with a look of real concern.

“It was Snape,” Harry said matter-of-factly, “he sent me a message.”

“How?” Hermione again demanded to know.

“How do you think?”

For once, Ron got it first, “Legilimency?”

“Right,” Harry said, “of course *he'd* know how hopeless I am with Occlumency.”

Harry could tell Hermione was biting her own tongue, to keep from once again chastising him for
failing to have mastered the discipline. He turned back to her, “He's waiting for me
there.”

“Where?”

“The ruins of…whatever castle that is.”

“We're going too, mate.” Ron said simply.

Harry knew better than to argue with him, in the little time he had. What else was there…?

“He told me to bring `the other one'.”

“The other what?” Hermione replied.

“I don't know,” Harry said, putting his hands on his hips to think. What the hell would
Harry have that Snape would want? Especially if Snape was evil, why were they even considering
going?

“You think this is a trap?” Harry asked Ron.

Ron shrugged, “From…any other Death Eater, it might be. But Snape?”

Hermione nodded in agreement, “He's right; that would be far too simple for him.”

“I guess I should find that reassuring,” Harry said, again stopping to will his brain to
work.

“What do we have?” Hermione asked.

“And what does Snape think we want?” Ron added.

*The only thing we* do *want are…the last two Horcruxes.*

*No…no way…*

“He's got a Horcrux,” Harry said with a worrying degree of certainty, “…he's found one
of the last two.”

“Are you mad?!” Ron asked frenziedly.

Harry shrugged, “Probably.”

“Why the *hell* would he help us? After what he did!”

Harry shook his head, “I know, but it's the only thing that makes sense. It's the only
thing he knows I could want.”

“But *how?*” Hermione asked, “How on earth could he even know about the Horcruxes?”

Harry had an answer, but he didn't want to lend it his voice…

*The Horcruxes…the diary, the locket, the wand, the ring…what does that leave?*

Harry tried to remember what it was Hermione had said, weeks ago…

*That theory she had…the four relics of saints…*

*The spear, the pentacle, the chalice, the…*

*Oh my God…*

“Ron,” Harry said quickly, “get to the Headmaster's office. I need the Sorting Hat.”

“What do you need with…”

“Quick!”

“Alright, I'm going!” Ron shouted back as he set off running down the other end of the
corridor, ducking out of sight at the nearest T-junction.

“Come on,” Harry said, picking up speed again as they headed for the Transfiguration
classroom.

“I was right, wasn't I?” Hermione probed knowingly, shaking her head, “Honestly, we had it
all along…”

* * * * *

Harry and Hermione burst into the Transfiguration classroom, finding Professors McGonagall,
Flitwick and Grissom as well as Hagrid, Filch and Kingsley Shacklebolt. They debriefed Harry
together, although by this point he knew everything they did, and more. Professor McGonagall
especially was shocked to discover that Snape had contacted Harry.

“I think there's definitely more going on with Snape than we know,” Harry explained to her
and everyone else after they had taken everything in, “As much as I hate to say it, I have to go
there and find out.”

“Potter,” Professor McGonagall said in a warning tone, “Professor Snape was able to pull the
wool over all of our eyes. If Voldemort is the most dangerous Dark wizard alive…”

“Then Snape's a close second, I know,” Harry said, “but he's got something I need.”

“Allegedly,” Kingsley chimed in.

“Well, I wish I could say I knew where the other Horcrux is, but I haven't got a clue,”
Harry admitted.

“All the same,” Kingsley replied gravely, “I can't underscore enough how much danger
you're putting yourself into by doing this.”

Harry fought the urge to smile ironically, “Yeah, I'm getting used to that.”

As if anyone *needed* to tell him that he was placing himself in danger. Harry sometimes
felt that he was in danger just by getting out of bed in the morning…

He turned to face Professor McGonagall, “Professor, you're still my head of house. Tell me
not to go and I won't…but this is the last chance any of us are going to have to get the truth
out of him.”

McGonagall eyed him carefully from behind her glasses. The respect was evident from her student,
but still, the enormity of what he was proposing…

Hermione watched on saying nothing, her eyes fixed on Harry. Suddenly, it seemed, he had become
the leader that everyone needed him to be. *Especially me…*

Professor Grissom had stood off to one side the entire time, leaning back against the wall with
his arms folded across his chest. Harry guessed he was still settling in. Next to him, Hagrid wore
a grim expression that told Harry he had nothing to add that hadn't already been said.

Reluctantly McGonagall nodded, “Very well, Potter…but be careful.”

The professor turned her head towards Grissom, “Is it ready, Carlos?”

Grissom stepped forward, producing a small, bank card-sized stone tablet from his jacket, “Yeah,
all set.” He placed it down on McGonagall's desk. That was the first time Harry had heard him
speak; he spoke with a deep, gravelly American accent.

He looked at Harry, “This Portkey will put you as close to the ruins as we can get; any closer
and we'd risk detection or exposure to counter-magic.”

Harry nodded, “Right.”

Everyone turned as the classroom door banged open; Ron ran in, out of breath, clutching the
Sorting Hat. He approached Harry, “Got it, mate.”

“Mr. Weasley, what are you doing with the…” Professor McGonagall started.

“It's a long story, Professor,” Harry said, taking the worn, wrinkled old hat and tossing it
to Hermione, “Shrink this down for me.”

As she took her wand out of her jeans pocket, Harry turned to face Professor McGonagall,
“Professor, if this works…”

“I understand, Potter,” McGonagall said, “I assure you, I know what to do.”

That was a conversation best left unsaid. If Harry's instincts were right, and they had an
annoying habit of *being* right, then Voldemort would somehow be aware of the destruction of
his Horcruxes, and would surely be provoked into making his final move against Harry, and the wider
magical world. And Harry was sure he would start with Hogwarts…

Harry's eyes found Hagrid, “Hagrid, I don't know…”

“Save it, `Arry,” Hagrid said stoically, “I ain't goin' anywhere.”

“Harry,” Kingsley said, drawing his attention to him, “we'll try and secure the Ministry,
but if Voldemort makes it a target, I'm really not sure what we can expect from him.”

Harry nodded, “I understand.”

Hermione handed him back the Sorting Hat, seemingly trying to avoid making eye contact with him.
Now about half of the size of his palm, Harry easily stuffed it into his pocket.

Pretending to readjust his jeans, Harry took a couple of steps towards her, and whispered
quietly enough to avoid being overheard, “Hermione?”

Her eyes found his briefly, then quickly flitted away, “Hmm?”

“I'm…” Harry struggled to find the words, even to whisper, “I'm sorry we've got
to…you know, leave things like…”

“It's okay,” Hermione whispered back quickly, her cheeks reddening.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, can we go now?” Ron called from across the classroom.

At this point, Luna strolled into the room, “Hello,” she said pleasantly.

Everyone in the room stared at her.

Ron quickly moved over to her, “Luna, what are you doing here?”

“I heard about your discovery.”

“What? How?”

“I was hunting for Nargles, it's a long story.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway,” Luna said breezily, “I just wanted to come say good luck.”

Ron grinned, “Oh, right. Well…cheers.”

With no warning Luna flung herself at Ron, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him
senseless. Everyone in the room was still staring; Hermione was blushing even more.

Ten seconds passed before Luna let go of him, smiling widely, “See ya later.” She turned and
walked away with a bounce in her step.

“Now I was led to believe this room was secured,” Professor McGonagall said meaningfully,
glancing at Mr. Filch, who had been moving some magical cupboards along the side wall and muttering
complaints throughout.

“Sorry,” Ron said sheepishly as he joined Harry and Hermione in front of her at the
professor's desk.

The mood in the room instantly became focussed and serious, the tension growing thick and
palpable as the significance of the moment was realised in turn by everyone.

McGonagall looked at each of the trio in turn gravely, “Simple words cannot convey the meaning
of what is at stake. You three are the best hope that we have for preventing Voldemort's return
to power.”

The trio exchanged meaningful looks as McGonagall continued, “I have faith in each of you.
Remain true to yourselves, and each other, and you can overcome any obstacle in front of you.”

Her eyes settled on Harry's last, “Good luck.”

Harry met her gaze with a calm determination, and glanced at Ron and Hermione, nodding.
Carefully, each of them touched a finger to the Portkey, as Professor Grissom withdrew his wand and
aimed, “Five…four…three…two…one…”

*Let's finish this.*

In an instant, Harry felt himself being lifted and pitched into the horizon, leaving Hogwarts
far behind.

-->



20. Chapter 20
--------------



**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**A/N -** Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming! Now for a few home truths before the
final battle begins. Bear in mind that I've had the plotline for this and the next chapters for
a couple of years now, certainly before I read Deathly Hallows. Also, I will be borrowing elements
from Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and The Matrix that I think will fit in nicely with the last few
chapters. Enjoy!

Harry crouched behind a tall, dense mass of wild shrubbery, carefully standing just enough to
peer over the top. In the almost total darkness of the night it was hard to make out absolutely
anything; luckily the sky was clear and starry with a full moon, which gave the minimal amount of
light that Harry needed. He could make out the castle ruins, dark and immense on the right at the
top of a shallow hill, overlooking the river. Harry dared not illuminate his wand; there was no way
of telling if any Death Eaters were in the immediate vicinity, but in remembering Snape's
message it was certainly a possibility that would only increase with time. They had to hurry.

Together, he, Ron and Hermione had picked their way through the extensive neglected plains
surrounding the castle in the darkness; all manner of plant life had deposited there creating a
virtual maze of nature that hindered their progress as much as it aided their need for stealth.
They had taken about five minutes to let their eyesight adjust without using magic to give away
their position, and another twenty to have made it this far. They moved silently; the only sounds
they made were the occasional haggard breath, the crunching of a twig underfoot.

Harry took point, moving ahead and keeping lookout while Ron and Hermione moved forward,
crouching as they walked. They were long past caring how silly they may have looked; this was a
real life and death situation. If Harry had been told by someone two months when this whole search
began that he would be willingly sneaking into what may have been a massive Death Eater trap, he
would have either laughed or hit them with an Immobilising Spell. *Funny how things turn out*,
Harry had thought more than once to keep himself sane.

Harry began to move around to the right as they picked their way closer; he wanted to get a look
around the perimeter of the ruins before going in, in case one way looked a lot better than the
other. Realistically he wasn't really expecting anything different; it was as much a way to
look for any perspective Death Eater hiding spots as stalling for the time he needed to work up the
bottle. But then he had to remember how he could orchestrate a raid on the Ministry of Magic
itself, a little more than two years ago.

*But that actually* was *a trap…*it was hard living in his head sometimes.

It took another ten minutes before Harry was satisfied; he looked back at Ron and Hermione and
nodded towards the ruins, mouthing `Let's go'.

And so they began a potentially fateful approach, working through and peering around shrubs and
trees and long grass, as well as outcroppings of rock as they got closer.

Along the way he had tried not to think about this…thing with Hermione. *This thing…?*
Well, right now he didn't know *what* it was. He had, amazingly, told her that he loved
her. Well, sort of, indirectly. Still, he couldn't believe he had done that. Considering how
long, and the lengths to which he had to go to make that realisation, Harry couldn't believe it
had only taken him about a month. Sure, he was comatose for three weeks out of that. But he was
certain. When David Adams had read Harry's mind and indirectly gave him access to his memories,
Harry found himself comparing his feelings for Hermione with what David felt for his girlfriend,
Sarah Campbell. And then it hit him; those feelings were one and the same. He *loved* her.

*So, does she…no, we'll do that later.*

Suddenly, Harry stopped. He could hear two sets of footsteps ahead and to his left. He crouched
down, Ron and Hermione following suit. He looked back at them, holding up two fingers and pointing
in that direction wordlessly. Collectively they held their breath as they moved across the
outskirts of the castle ruins, evidently patrolling. *So,* Harry thought, *they were
following him*.

Harry caught Ron's eye with a quick wave; he pointed at him and gestured for him to go
around behind them, and then that he himself would come out in front. Ron caught the meaning with a
nod; ambush.

Harry counted down with his fingers; three, two, one…

In an instant Harry jumped up and ran out from cover, taking aim and wordlessly shooting a
Stunning Spell at the darkened figure on the right. The bolt hit him squarely, knocking him back
and down to the ground unconscious. Before his colleague could react, Ron's Immobilising Charm
hit him square in the back. Both hit the ground with a thud but were otherwise silent.

“Come on!” Harry whispered insistently back to Hermione, who emerged from hiding with a look
that was equal measure concentration and bewilderment. Harry could see it in her eyes…but chased
that thought away quickly. He turned back to the castle and motioned over his shoulder for the
others to follow. Together, they picked their way into the main courtyard.

They found another two Death Eaters there; one stationary, the other periodically walking
amongst the great stone formations that once must have represented some truly impressive medieval
architecture, long since left to decay to ruin. Working together the trio were able to outwit them,
taking down the pair in one smooth action. Harry suppressed a self-satisfied smirk at the
accomplishment as they entered the castle.

Harry didn't stop to let his eyes adjust, and so neither did the others. Feeling their way
along inside almost total darkness, Harry used his watch as a compass, feeling rather than seeing
where it was pointed to guide them. If the tension was real and solid outside, then in here it was
as intense as any feeling of dread or foreboding that Harry could remember. He'd read stories
in his youth about the knight that would storm the enemy castle; now he knew how they felt.

They found a winding spiral staircase to ascend a level, and looked for another to reach the top
floor. As they passed through a large room that was once probably used to entertain guests, the
trio came across a welcome, and yet strangely unwelcome, sight; two Death Eaters unconscious on the
ground.

Although his mind was screaming for answers, Harry forced himself to stay patient as they found
the staircase they sought. At the summit, Harry turned and led the way into a large, dusty old room
with many darkened alcoves and corners. His wand fell lifeless in his hand.

They were here.

And yet, they were alone.

Harry glanced around intently, peering with squinted eyes into the darkness…

“It's just as well you decided against coming alone, Potter.” A very familiar voice said
from within the shadows. A voice that Harry had despised for more than six years…

“*Show yourself*,” Harry growled.

“Not until you lower your wand, and fight back that urge to curse me into oblivion.” Snape
replied sneeringly.

“Give me one good reason not to,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Because of what I'm holding,” Snape said.

The barest flicker of movement made Harry whip round; Snape's pale, pointed face illuminated
out of the darkness, his wand tip casting its light across the cavernous room. The instant
Harry's eyes met Snape's, he remembered the intense hatred and loathing he felt whenever he
looked into them. His grip on his wand tightened…

“Harry, look!” Hermione whispered, pointing at Snape's right hand.

It was gripping the Triwizard Trophy; the real one. The glowing silver and blue cup was
unmistakable, even in this dim light.

“Hand it over,” Harry said sharply.

With a look of absolute calm and poise, Snape lowered the trophy to the ground and kicked it
over to the Trio. Ron picked it up and looked it over, as the tense standoff continued. Only then
did Harry notice that Snape didn't even have his wand out.

*Does this guy have a death wish?*

After a tense few seconds, it was Hermione who broke the silence, “Why…”

Snape shook his head passively, “Miss Granger, I would have thought *you* of all people
would see the truth in all of this.” He glanced at Harry, “Especially since you appear to have
missed the blindingly obvious too, Potter.”

“And what's that?” Harry asked threateningly.

“Professor Dumbledore really did give you too much credit.”

“*Keep him out of this!*” Harry shot back, his voice almost rising to a shout.

“Do you really think the Dark Lord would have kept him out of this?” Snape asked pointedly, “Did
you ever consider that Dumbledore would *ever* allow a fight to the death between you and
he?”

Harry was silent for a few seconds, trying to avoid asking himself that question for fear of
whatever answers he might come up with, “We'll never know, will we? You killed him in cold
blood, you murdering…”

“Dumbledore *had* to die!” Snape bellowed, as real emotion showed on his face for the first
time. He took a step forward, closer, “And he knew it! *That's* why he's dead!”

Hermione gave Harry a look of shock and horror; evidently, she had just seen whatever truth
Snape was trying to spin. Harry remained steadfast in his mind; he wasn't going to buy
this…

“How long did you and Voldemort take to come up with that one?” Harry challenged.

“*Think*, Potter!” Snape said, seething, “How could the Dark Lord have ever hoped to come
near Dumbledore, the one wizard he always feared? And in Hogwarts, the one safe haven whose walls
he could never breach?”

“*Malfoy*,” Harry spat, “He smuggled your Death Eaters into the castle.”

“On *Dumbledore's* orders!” Snape replied angrily.

That revelation struck Harry like a thunderbolt, “What?”

Snape took a deep breath to try and calm himself, “The attack on Hogwarts was orchestrated by
Dumbledore, and Dumbledore alone.”

“Oh Merlin,” Ron exclaimed; it was starting to make sense to him too.

“*I* kept Malfoy in line,” Snape said, “*I* told him where to find the right equipment
and the right magic to use. Dumbledore had already accepted his fate, and needed the Dark Lord to
believe that *I* had turned to his ranks once again.”

He took another step forward, his sallow eyes piercing Harry's with his gaze, “He sacrificed
himself for you, Potter. He carried out the most courageous act in the history of our kind.” Snape
looked Harry up and down coldly, “And *what* does he have to show for it? A young fool that
won't accept the truth when it is laid out in front of him!”

Harry closed his eyes, as his throat seized up and tears threatened to come. *He died…for
me…*

Snape shook his head derisively, “You offend me with your ignorance, Potter. That Dumbledore
valued your life more than his own, that he would lay down before the Dark Lord to give you the
opportunity to face him…”

Harry's mind was clouded over in doubt, denial, anguish. He tried desperately to cling to a
coherent line of reasoning as he felt Ron and Hermione's eyes upon his; Ron's full of
shock, Hermione's full of sorrow. They each represented only half of what Harry was
feeling…

“Why…did you rejoin the Death Eaters?” Harry asked sombrely, gulping back the tightness of his
throat.

“So I could find that,” Snape said, nodding at the Triwizard Trophy, “Dumbledore told me of the
existence of the Horcruxes as well. While he trusted your abilities to find them, *I* would
not take that chance.”

“And…does Voldemort know we have them?” Hermione asked.

Snape glanced at her and shook his head slowly, “He does not.”

As Harry was about to let out some form of relief, Snape looked at him again pointedly, “Which
is why he has chosen to act…*tonight*.”

*Oh no*… “What?” Harry demanded.

Snape glanced at each of the Trio, “That is why I made sure you would come here. To keep you
safe from the attack.”

“What attack?” Hermione asked, horrified.

Snape let out a long breath, “The Dark Lord has moved against Hogwarts and the Ministry of
Magic. Both will submit to him, if they haven't already.”

“How can you be sure?” Harry spat back, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

Snape shook his head, “He has been planning this for years, Potter. And he has shared with me
all but the most personal details. Believe me when I tell you, he *will* succeed.”

“And…and then what?” Ron asked, equally horrified. *Not the Ministry…not Dad…*

“The servants of the Dark Lord will use the Ministry to track down as many Hogwarts students as
can be found and return them to the school.”

“And then…kill them?” Hermione dared to ask.

“No one will be killed,” Snape said, glancing at Harry, “In the Dark Lord's words, only one
will die tonight.”

*Sirius once said those words to me…*Harry thought. *How dare he…*

“Won't he notice you're not there?” Ron asked Snape.

“As far as he believes, I am now drawing you into an ambush so that I may capture you all and
take you to him.”

“For an easy kill,” Harry stated rather than asked.

“He has no interest in a fair fight,” Snape said, the merest hint of derision in his voice in
reference to Voldemort for the first time, “Not when he truly does not know if he can win.”

Harry almost began to smile, “He's afraid of me?”

“He's *always* been afraid of you, Potter. That has been the key behind
*everything* he has ever done.”

To hear those words was strange enough; to hear them from *Snape* was positively
earth-shattering to Harry.

“So…where's Malfoy, then?” Ron asked.

Snape looked away, and down at the ground. Harry could swear he saw the tiniest bit of shame in
those cold eyes.

“He was not strong enough to maintain his role,” Snape admitted, “Little by little, I lost
control of him…he is with the Death Eaters now.”

*Damn it, Draco...*Harry thought. *Once again, you've let us all down. You let
Dumbledore down…*

“We have no time for further questions,” Snape said with authority. He looked at the trophy, “I
suggest you destroy it *now*.”

Ron put the trophy down. Harry walked towards it, trying to ignore the memories…of the maze, of
the graveyard…of Diggory…

Unfeelingly, he conjured his green wand-blade with a violent hiss and swung it relentlessly
across the trophy. It shattered into tiny fragments of glass and metal with a great crashing noise,
releasing a strange blue mist that evaporated in the night air.

*Only one left,* Harry thought, remembering the contents of one of his pockets…

The faint sound of hurried footsteps somewhere beneath them caught everyone's attention.

“Hurry, you need to get out of here,” Snape said quickly. He withdrew a scrap of yellowing
parchment from his pocket, “This Portkey will get you back to Hogwarts. Once you're there, head
to the Quidditch…”

Looking over his shoulder, Hermione screamed.

They all whipped round; a giant snake had just burst into the room.

*Nagini.*

“Go!” Snape commanded, before he drew his wand and ran headlong at the beast, trying to cover
the trio's escape.

Harry, Ron and Hermione bolted for the door as Nagini hissed and snapped it's head at Snape,
who dodged and fired spells and curses at it; some missed, others just bounced off it's scaly
skin. As they reached the doorway, Nagini's tail whipped and caught all three along the
sternum, knocking them all to the ground.

Harry looked up, as Snape dodged another lunge and jumped backward, taking careful aim,
“*Avada…*”

Impossibly quickly, the snake lunged.

It's fangs sunk into his neck; to Harry it was as if this was happening in slow motion.

As Snape's lifeless body fell to the ground like a piece of stone, Harry felt that same
surge of anger…but for a much different reason.

*After everything he ever did to me…he died trying to save me.*

It began to sunk in; someone else had just died for him.

*That's it; no one else…*

Harry stood up as Nagini's head whipped round, its reptile eyes finding his.

For a second they merely stared at each other.

Then the snake lunged.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry shouted.

The green blast caught the snake's neck mere inches from his face. He ducked out of the way
as it writhed and thrashed, before finally rolling and falling to the floor limp.

Ron and Hermione stood up slowly, carefully. They looked at Harry in a mixture of awe and
horror. They both shared the same thought; they could not believe Harry was capable of the Killing
Curse.

They watched him approach Snape's body. They looked at each other, helpless to know just
what to do; neither of them dared interfere in whatever it was Harry was feeling right now.

Before either of them could react, Harry knelt down and yanked back one of the sleeves of
Snape's robe, exposing his Dark Mark. He pressed his wand against it.

“Harry don't, they'll know where we are!” Hermione whispered shrilly.

“They already know,” Harry replied angrily, closing his eyes, searching for that connection…

“VOLDEMORT YOU BLOODSUCKER!” Harry shouted, “YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO DO YOUR OWN DIRTY WORK, DO
YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU?!”

He gritted his teeth, his face contorted and twisted angrily, “For a long time you've hunted
me…for a long time I've eluded you…no more.”

As Ron and Hermione heard footsteps running up the stairs, Harry seethed, “I'm coming for
you.”

With several cracks and flashes, Death Eaters Apparated into the room and surrounded the trio,
holding their wands pointed at them. The other masked figures opened the door, backing the trio
into the centre of the room together.

Harry stood up beside them. He glanced at Ron and Hermione; his face was now strangely calm.
*Don't worry, it's okay…*

“Drop the wands,” one of the Death Eaters said. His voice was cold and elegant, and again Harry
recognised it.

Harry dropped his wand, nodding at his two best friends to do the same.

The same Death Eater stepped forward, his face still hidden under his mask, “So…you took revenge
on Snape, I see? Very touching…”

Harry held his gaze steadily, saying nothing.

“I hope you enjoyed it, Potter,” The Death Eater said, “It'll be one of the last feelings
you'll ever have.”

Harry actually grinned, “Well thanks Lucius, that means a lot to me.”

Lucius Malfoy barely bristled at the sound of his own name, “You're smarter than you look,
Potter. Not that that says very much…” He sneered, looking pointedly at Ron and Hermione.

His cold blue eyes caught the remnants of the trophy; as Harry held his breath, Malfoy seemed to
dismiss it out of hand.

*He really doesn't know…*

“What do we do now?” One of the other Death Eaters asked Malfoy; Harry didn't know the
voice.

“What we came here for,” He replied coldly, “Take these three to the Dark Lord.”

-->



21. Chapter 21
--------------



**A/N -** After what I admit has been a long lay-off, The Final Countdown returns! I know
this is not the first time, and having worked full-time and just all-but completed a master's
degree, I can only ask for your patience. I hope enough people who have read the previous chapters
still frequent the site. All that aside, I hope you enjoy this, the final battle. Please leave a
review!

A blinding flash of lightning burst through the dark clouds, as the thick rain poured with a
steady beat down over the Quidditch pitch of Hogwarts.

Whereas before the majestic old stadium was a celebration of sport, tonight it had been
transformed into the most horrifying of prisons.

The stands were full on all sides; every single Hogwarts student and Ministry of Magic official
and employee had been rounded up and brought here. Guarded on all sides by rows of Dementors, they
all sat solemnly, already resigned to their grim fate, all positive life force drained out of
them.

Professor McGonagall had been sat along the centre of the front row, flanked by all of the other
Hogwarts teachers. Flitwick, Trelawney, Sprout, Slughorn, all of them wearing the same doomed look.
She shook her head, disgusted at being held captive, front-and-centre and forced to watch whatever
twisted, perverse spectacle that Voldemort doubtless had planned.

She turned her head to the left flank of the stadium, where the bulk of the Ministry officials
were held. So many familiar faces she could spot…Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, Mad-Eye, Tonks, among
others. Not even the Order of the Phoenix could escape Voldemort's fell swoop tonight.

The Death Eaters and Dementors had just swept into Hogwarts suddenly, with no warning and no
detection. With so few students and a teaching staff caught totally unprepared for a fight, the
Death Eaters' actions were swift and harsh, but not brutal. No one had been hurt, just all
rounded up and detained in the Great Hall, then marched in columns down towards the Quidditch
pitch. As the de facto Headmaster, McGonagall felt a great sense of shame as she was forced to lead
them there.

*What would Professor Dumbledore have done?*

Looking out across the pitch itself, she struggled to think of any way that her predecessor
would have stood for this; a great stone statue had somehow been erected, right in the middle of
the grass. Its message was as clear as its form; Voldemort, standing triumphantly over Harry
Potter's lifeless body. The detail, even from this distance, was very disturbing.

A muffled whimper from behind her made the professor turn around; one of the students, a
second-year Hufflepuff, had broken down in tears, crying on her friend's shoulder as she tried
in vain to comfort her. McGonagall offered her a sad smile, but knew that she could do no more, if
she couldn't even inspire hope or happiness within herself.

Of course, she knew, this was the Dementor's doing. But these feelings of hopelessness felt
so real, so convincing, that they could almost have been natural. And for the professor, that was
the most frightening thing of all.

*Potter…where are you?*

* * * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione marched in silence through the stadium's innards, flanked on all
sides by Death Eaters, led in a tightly-enclosed group by Lucius Malfoy towards the lift that went
down to the pitch. Harry glanced around, trying to blot out the disturbing ways that this place,
such a happy and formative part of his magical life, could turn so dark and so depressing. But he
had to focus…he had a job to do.

Ron and Hermione marched right behind him, flanking on opposite sides. Harry felt so relieved to
have them there, even if right now they could do nothing. He took comfort from their mere presence,
and reflected briefly on how much they both completed him, as a person. Ron for his bloke-y sense
of humour, love of sport and love of life in general, and Hermione for her depth, her warmth and
understanding, her insights into…everything. Harry supposed that he should have these thoughts now,
while he still had the chance.

Their march seemed endless, footsteps on wooden floorboards echoing loudly, providing an even,
sombre soundtrack to what could be the Trio's end. Harry knew what he had in store, but what
about Ron and Hermione?

They approached the lift. Lucius signalled to halt, and the Death Eaters closed in on the Trio
so tight that they could go nowhere. Yet Harry betrayed no emotion, no feeling.

From behind the mask, Malfoy raised a hand to point at Harry ominously, “The Dark Lord awaits
you…Potter.”

The two Death Eaters in front of Harry backed away, allowing him passage into the lift. Harry
simply looked at it for a moment, the old wooden box. He had never stopped to consider how plain
and ordinary it was, always caught up in the planning of another Quidditch victory. But now,
tonight, it was taking him to his end…*maybe*.

Harry stepped forward without a look back, following Malfoy into the lift and turning
around.

Ron and Hermione both looked back at him, doing a slightly worse job of hiding what they were
feeling. Ron made that face he always did, that old mix of horror and sudden understanding that
this could be it. Hermione, Harry could tell, was fighting so hard not to cry.

Harry caught Ron's eyes, and gave him a quick wink.

He then caught Hermione's eyes, and lingered.

As the wooden lift began to close up, she mouthed it; *I love you*.

Harry just mouthed back; *I know.*

The hatch slammed shut, and began to descend.

Despite the coming darkness, Harry grinned to himself for a moment.

*She loves me too*.

His face turned to stone again. A voice spoke to him inside his mind; a calm voice, even and
determined. What Harry found the most surprising was that it was not his mother's or
father's, not Dumbledore', not even Sirius', but his own.

*This is what your whole life has been building towards, Harry. Don't mess this up.
Don't let all those people that died for you down. Don't let their sacrifices have been for
nothing.*

Strangely, it did more for Harry's psyche than a prayer might have. No one else was there
for Harry tonight; he had to do this himself.

The hatch opened.

Harry looked out on two rows of Death Eaters, one either side in a kind of sick honour guard.
Harry knew exactly what they were trying to do, to intimidate him. He braced himself, and began to
walk.

He felt hundreds and hundreds of eyes on him as he began his march, sensing rather than seeing
them all, Hogwarts and Ministry, together. He took great pains to keep his pace even and steady, to
look each Death Eater he passed in the eye.

Only when he reached the end of their procession did he see the statue, dwarfing anything else
on the pitch. And only then, strangely, did he notice the rain beating down on him, turning his
hair to a wet mop and making his clothes cling to his body.

A crack of light, and he appeared.

Voldemort.

Clothed in a billowing black robe, the Dark Lord theatrically cast his gaze around the stadium,
taking in the immense scene he had created. Behind Harry, the Death Eaters began to back off to
stand guard around the edges of the pitch, save for one. Harry knew that had to be Malfoy; after
all, he did have his wand.

Voldemort's eyes finally met Harry's, across the sodden grass and earth. Withdrawing his
wand from his cape, he mutted *Sonorus* as he pointed it to his throat.

“Harry Potter”, he said, his voice booming out across the entire arena, “it has been so
long.”

“We've both been busy,” Harry said calmly. He found in this silence, he didn't even have
to shout.

Voldemort pointed at him with a long finger, “You can run away from your destiny no longer,
Potter. Your entire life's purpose is to die here tonight at my feet. How does that make you
feel?”

Harry just stared him down.

“Are you afraid, Harry? Scared for your life, for theirs?” Voldemort said, nodding towards his
captive audience, “What will become of them when you are gone? And your two friends, what fate will
they endure?”

Harry kept that hot flash of anger buried, “They'll make their own fate. And I'll be
there to see it.”

Voldemort laughed, “Words, Potter, nothing but empty words. If you truly believe you can defeat
me, you must have been driven so deep into insanity by now.”

“I know I'm getting bored listening to you talk,” Harry said.

“Indeed?” Voldemort said, pointing his wand-hand at Harry, “Then I shall grant you your last
wish.”

“Am I gonna get my wand back?” Harry asked. He knew, just *knew*, that Voldemort
wouldn't kill him in cold blood. He wanted to *beat* Harry, here in front of everyone.
That was the only reason Harry was still so calm.

Voldemort smiled, “Of course.” He motioned at Malfoy with his free hand.

Harry turned his head back to see Malfoy take out his wand. Harry raised his right hand, and the
wand flew across to him in a heartbeat.

“Hardly impressive,” Voldemort said with disdain, adopting a duelling position, “but I shall
enjoy this, Harry.”

Harry stood with his wand still facing down, “Can I ask you something first?”

“I tire of your insolence, boy,” Voldemort said, “Now face me!”

“What made you decide on using Horcruxes, anyway?”

Voldemort's face froze. Harry couldn't tell if it was in horror, shock, denial…

“Just a word from a text book, Potter, surely you cannot…”

“The wand…the ring…the trophy…the diary…the locket…maybe Nagini, now I think about it…and…”

Harry pulled the miniaturized Sorting Hat from his pocket, and restored the battered old hat to
its normal size. He looked up at Voldemort, “Now, you're gonna love this…”

Harry reached inside the hat, and pulled it out. The sword of Gryffindor.

Harry held it, looking at it with reverence…then looked back at Voldemort and plunged it into
the wet ground.

Before Voldemort could react, Harry quickly spun around. His green wand-blade flashed to life
and sliced clean through the sword, breaking it in half across the hilt of the metal blade.

Harry quickly braced himself into a duelling position, “Now you're mortal…”

“You…will…DIE…for this!” Voldemort spat.

Harry just waited. The time for talking was over.

-->



22. Chapter 22
--------------



**A/N -** There's really no way this can be drawn out any longer! I just wanted the full
emotional impact of what was going on to be established, and of course also to draw up the whole
Horcrux sub-plot. For those new to The Final Countdown because of the long wait, I encourage you to
go back and read the rest of the story. I know it has been a long time, but having re-read the
story it still holds up, and I'm quite proud of it. Please leave a review!

Voldemort thrashed his wand hand forward like a snake, firing a vicious volley of spells at
Harry.

In one smooth motion, Harry whipped up a Shield Charm across his body that caught and absorbed
all of them.

They paced each other slowly in a wide circle, some thirty metres apart, ignoring the driving
rain and the hundreds of spectators.

Harry responded with a quick burst of Stunning Spells, but Voldemort summoned a jet of flame
from his wand that devoured them.

It was as if they were feeling each other out, each of them testing the other's alertness
and defences.

Ron and Hermione had been escorted to sit just behind the Hogwarts teachers. They jumped and
flinched with every exchange, Hermione especially.

Harry dodged another spell, this one wordless and dark red in colour, and quickly shot back a
Disarming Spell, hoping to catch Voldemort before he had fully re-established his footing. Not
surprisingly, he caught and parried the spell away with ease.

“Is this all that they can teach you in six years, Potter?” Voldemort jeered.

Harry said nothing, concentrating only on the movements of Voldemort's wand. So far he had
coped well, even surprisingly so. For so long Harry carried with him the idea that he would be
quickly overwhelmed by Dark magic. But so far, he was holding his own. Maybe he really *was*
Voldemort's equal after all…

Voldemort unleashed another torrent of fire, this one much larger and more powerful. Harry
bolted up into the air and performed a perfect Dagonet Leap, flipping over and landing some twenty
metres behind Voldemort. As he landed he aimed and released a blast of ice, that Voldemort blocked
with a Shield Charm of his own.

“I find your cheap spells and parlour tricks amusing, Potter,” Voldemort said, “but they will
not save you.”

*Be patient, Harry*, he told himself. *He's only getting frustrated, don't follow
him*.

Voldemort pointed his wand into the ground, conjuring a snake. It began to slither towards Harry
with impossible speed, but he was ready. Before it could strike, Harry ignited his wand-blade and
swung at its neck as it jumped up, splitting it in half. As it thrashed its way into death,
Voldemort fired another wandless spell, which Harry caught and blocked with the blade.

Voldemort fired again, and Harry was able to parry the spell back at him. Voldemort simply
raised his wand to meet the spell bolt, absorbing it back into his wand.

And so they continued, in a steady pattern of curse-block-counter. Harry remained calm, allowing
his mind to work. He found himself calling on almost every spell, jinx and curse he had ever
learnt, spanning his entire history at Hogwarts and in the magical community as a whole. Flashes of
the last six years flitted across his mind as he ducked and dodged, blocking spells and throwing
others back…

Hagrid telling him he was a wizard…

Meeting Ron and Hermione for the first time…

Confronting that troll…

Encountering Sirius…

The Tri-wizard Tournament…

The Department of Mysteries…

Beginning the search for the Horcruxes…

Telling Hermione that he loved her…

Voldemort blocked yet another jinx with gritted teeth, his eyes narrowed in anger. He breathed
in growls, beginning to realise that Harry was equal to almost anything he could throw at him.

But then again, Harry began to realise, Voldemort wasn't alone.

Voldemort looked around the pitch, where his Death Eaters lined the edges. He magically
amplified his voice, and growled, “Pin him down.”

In horror, Harry cast his wand across himself, turning around endlessly and taking aim at the
advancing storm. The ring of Death Eaters, maybe thirty or forty in total, began to slowly advance
on him across the soaked, sodden pitch.

*Oh Merlin, what do I do?*

Across from him, Voldemort took a few paces back and lowered his wand. He wanted to *enjoy*
this…

Harry searched his mind for *something*.

*There's just so many of them…*

And they were getting closer.

Harry levelled his wand straight ahead at the nearest Death Eater, some twenty metres and
closing. He'd take him down, move to the left and then…

One of the advancing Death Eaters leapt up into the air.

He flipped over himself, leaping over the circle of advancing Death Eaters and coming in to land
ahead of them.

A blue wand-blade flashed to life.

He landed in a forward roll, sweeping the blade across and slashing two Death Eaters across the
chest.

They all stopped.

With his free hand, the Death Eater reached up and yanked off his mask.

It was David Adams.

As Voldemort took in what was happening, as Harry did, David tore hurriedly at his cloak,
throwing it aside just as Voldemort shouted, “Kill him!”

Spells and curses rained down on David; he turned and dodged, blocking many of them and
deflecting them away from Harry. With one brief look at Harry, David jumped up into the air,
landing some thirty metres away, drawing the Death Eaters onto him.

Harry turned back to Voldemort just in time to dodge a curse.

Now it was a fight on two fronts.

* * * * *

David flipped over a Death Eater and caught him across the neck with his blade, landed and
blocked one, two curses before turning around and slicing at another Death Eater, taking him down
with a searing slash diagonally across the torso.

*Keep moving, just keep moving*.

This was what the Auror Office had sent him to do, ever since the Hogwarts duelling incident;
infiltrate the Death Eaters. From that point a final confrontation like this seemed inevitable, and
David knew that the best way to give Harry support was to appear as one of them. For all the good
it was doing *him* right now…

He tried to keep half an eye on Harry every time he repositioned; for now, he seemed to be
holding up alright. But he knew Voldemort could turn a duel on its head in a heartbeat…

David rolled forward, knocking another Death Eater off his feet and quickly stabbing him,
bringing his blade back up to block a fresh volley of curses. Every time, he had only seconds
before they started to close in on him, becoming too close for comfort. It was just a matter of
cutting down their numbers, making things more manageable. There was no telling what number of
reinforcements Voldemort might have had in reserve…

* * * * *

Harry felt himself losing ground, each spell being blocked or dodged with fewer and fewer
milliseconds to spare. Voldemort had stepped up his intensity, throwing out faster and harsher
volleys, and it seemed like he could go much farther.

Harry ducked another curse, but the force of it made him stagger back. His wand hand dropped,
only for a second…

“*Crucio!*” The blast burst from Voldemort's wand, and to Harry it even seemed in slow
motion…

A blue bolt of energy flew from across the pitch and slammed against it just before it reached
Harry, exploding the curse with a concussive force that knocked Harry back onto the wet grass. He
rolled backwards, dodging another curse by mere inches, blocking another as he sprung to his
feet.

His back foot slipped on the wet mud…

“AARRRGGHHHH!” Harry had been caught. The pain was excruciating, invading every nerve ending and
synapse, multiplying and intensifying. He thrashed and writhed on the ground, his wand flying out
of his hand.

Just before Harry lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered hearing was Voldemort;

*“AVADA…”*

* * * * *

Voldemort felt a strong shove in the back, pushing him forward and throwing off his aim. His
wand discharged a weak, pale green bolt that flew harmlessly into the air.

As Harry lapsed into unconsciousness, Voldemort's attention was turned to the insolent boy
cutting into his Death Eaters, who dared to stop him from completing his destiny and killing the
Potter boy.

* * * * *

David knew without looking that his wandless Disarming Spell caught Voldemort in the back. If
all it had done was throw off his aim, that was good enough for him. Whereas the Death Eater ranks
seemed endless, now he knew there were only eight or so left in the fight. But the ones that were
left had held out this long for a reason, and David knew he had to dig even deeper to catch them
off-guard.

His blue wand-blade moved unceasingly; he cut down one, two, jumped up and over to land, knocked
back a few spells that caught one of his assailants square in the chest, and moved on. He had to be
patient, find a way inside and then…

A spell flew over his head, some five feet wide.

David turned around and effortlessly blocked another from the same Death Eater, tall and gangly,
sending the spell right back into his face.

The spell knocked his mask right off. It was Draco Malfoy.

David recognised his cold, pale face, “Oh, piss off.”

With his free hand, David drew back and threw out a strong Disarming Spell that pitched Malfoy
back into the air, slamming him hard against that grotesque statue of Voldemort, back first.

*One more down.*

* * * * *

Voldemort simply observed this newcomer as he rounded on the few remaining Death Eaters. Their
losses did not matter to him; they could easily be replaced.

Who was this boy? And where did he learn what he is doing? Voldemort decided that, before
killing him, he would uncover this secret, and make his strengths his own.

Harry lay forgotten behind him as Voldemort watched the last Death Eater, Macnair, engage the
invader, cutting into his magical sword with his great scythe, spinning and hacking and slashing.
Voldemort had long considered him a feckless, ill-cultured brute, but if his sheer power was enough
to overwhelm the boy then so be it. He would simply have to stop Macnair from cutting him in half
before the…

Voldemort simply raised an eyebrow as his opponent caught Macnair by surprise, pushing him back.
Eventually he caught Macnair's scythe with just the right block, and Voldemort could see events
unfold before it happened. He forced the scythe around in a circle and into the thick stone of his
own monument, before slicing Macnair hard across the neck. Sparks flew out of his charred skin as
he collapsed pathetically in a heap.

The boy began to turn around…

* * * * *

Suddenly and immediately, David's head filled with a familiar feeling. It felt heavy and
bloated, like his brain had turned to liquid and was swimming about his eyes…

*He's in my head…*

A few seconds later the sensation subsided. He opened his eyes, and found himself down on his
knees, his wand a couple of feet from his hand. David looked up, and saw Voldemort standing there,
looking straight at him.

Harry was unconscious behind him, but still breathing.

*Good…just need to keep him a bit longer*.

David stood up slowly, checking his body was still in working order. His eyes locked with
Voldemort, he opened his right hand for his wand to fly up into it. Taking a deep, steadying
breath, David began to walk forward.

Every step closer felt like a step towards his doom. *But maybe not…maybe I can take
him…*

Voldemort cast his free hand across the sky, throwing up a pink-tinged barrier between himself
and David. The Auror stopped some ten feet short of it; Voldemort was about the same distance
away.

“You fight well, but now all your secrets are mine…David.”

David flinched slightly at the sound of his own name. What he was determined not to have happen
was now done.

Voldemort's face contorted gruesomely into a smile, “Are you ready to lay down and die
before Lord Voldemort?”

“I'm not dying today.” David said calmly.

“You insolent little fool!” Voldemort said, “What hope do you have, when I know everything you
can possibly use against me?”

David had no answer.

“You must sense it, you must realise by now…you are doomed.”

David could sense it. The corner of his eye caught one of the columns of Dementors, guarding the
massed ranks of Hogwarts and the Ministry.

*Yeah…but at least I can do something about that.*

He closed his eyes and focussed, concentrating hard. He raised his arms, fingers tensed and
outstretched, rising slowly towards the raining night sky…

The heavy, pelting rain intensified further.

The rumbling of thunder became louder.

Blinding bolts of lightning thrashed into the night sky, one after another.

The Dementors reacted uneasily, casting their faceless forms about wildly…and then floating up
into the sky and away, desperately trying to escape the lightning.

David opened his eyes, and the sky began to calm, the rain becoming more steady.

A fresh surge of pride filled David's soul. He felt the hope, the passion, return to him as
the Dementors and their influence faded away. He felt unstoppable.

He ignited his wand blade.

He heard a roar emanate from a corner of the stadium, joined quickly by another. Soon a wave of
raucous support, openly defiant, filled all the stands.

Voldemort sneered at David, raising his wand to levitate in front of him. It began to spin,
quicker and quicker…until a blood-red blade emerged from each end.

Voldemort gripped his newly-formed staff and held it ready.

David kept his own sword down, bouncing on the heels of his feet…*come on…*

The barrier was lifted. The duel was on.

* * * * *

David surged forward and swung at Voldemort once, twice, both times facing a strong block.
Voldemort parried and countered with lightning reflexes, but David still pressed the attack,
chopping with a speed and ferocity he had never used before. Voldemort forced a counter, chopping
at David's sides, forcing him to manoeuvre his wand-blade fully across his body with
milliseconds to spare.

David broke the attack and pushed Voldemort back, attacking again with a greater variety of
blows in the hopes that Voldemort hadn't read his mind fully. But he found the Dark Lord equal
to them all, blocking in just the right way, at just the right angles.

David tried a feint, forcing Voldemort to position for a block, for a blow that never came.
Instead, David swung up from the underside, and caught the bottom of Voldemort's wand just
before he could pull it fully out of reach. His blade sliced through the wood, taking maybe half an
inch off the back end, but more importantly taking one of his red blades with it.

Voldemort reacted instinctively, infuriated. He launched a fresh offensive using his one
remaining blade, but David not had more time to react and the ability to focus on just one blade.
He leapt up and over, trying to slash through Voldemort's back but only catching the flailing
edges of his dark robes. He rounded on the young Auror and pressed the attack, but David caught one
of his strikes just the right way.

He batted it aside, knocking the blade down.

He swung ferociously at Voldemort's head…and missed.

Voldemort caught the follow-up downswing with his blade, deadlocking them.

Their eyes locked as David willed every ounce of strength into breaking the impasse.

Voldemort smiled cruelly as he took one hand off his wand…but still maintaining the strength to
deadlock David's wand.

That instant was when David knew he was doomed.

Voldemort winded up his left hand, the magical energy visible in his clenched fist before he
shot forward…

David was pitched high up into the sky in an instant, unable to stop himself or control his
flailing limbs.

Just as he began to fall, he felt his whole body freeze, hanging suspended in mid-air. Against
his own will, his arms and legs spread out from his body. He found himself looking up at the sky,
spread-eagled.

He heard Voldemort's voice beneath him, once again amplified, “This is what happens to all
who will oppose me from this day forward! Let this fool's death serve as a demonstration!”

Voldemort levelled his wand up at David and fired a blast of lightning. The stream impacted
David's body and travelled across his clothing and skin. David screamed in pure agony, writhing
against his invisible bonds. On and on it went, for seconds that stretched into an eternity.

Voldemort stopped, and sneered up at his captured prey, “You never…*never*…stood a
chance!”

He fired another surge, and David's battered body once again fell victim to the most
excruciating pain. The screams became higher-pitched, blood-curdling in their volume and
intensity.

When it ended, David's exhausted mind struggled to keep his eyes open. Every ounce of energy
had been drained from him. He knew what was coming next…

“Do you have any last words?” Voldemort asked triumphantly.

David's eyes cast down as much as they could.

He could just about make out a prone figure on the wet ground beginning to stir.

And he saw his own wand only a few feet away from him.

*Alright…that's my job done.*

“Yeah…” David growled through the pain, “One…nil…to the Arsenal…”

Above him, the thunder began to build.

The lightning bolt struck him square in the chest.

David's lifeless body fell to the ground, bouncing sickeningly off the grass before coming
to a final rest.

* * * * *

The first thing Harry's eyes focussed on was the wand in front of him. He knew straightaway
it wasn't his own.

He groped for it, knowing full well that Voldemort would have taken his as a trophy.

He began to force himself up, ignoring the lingering pain in all of his joints. As his vision
cleared, he saw Voldemort standing over a lifeless body. He could not see whose, but he also could
not see David.

*Oh no…*

Voldemort turned around and saw Harry. His evil features twisted angrily.

“*You!*”

He fired a blast of lightning at Harry. At the last instant he was able to summon a blue
wand-blade from David's wand. It caught the lightning and blocked it, but Harry could feel that
it was weakening.

Voldemort fired another blast, this one stronger. Again Harry caught it, but could feel that the
blade was starting to die out.

“DIE, POTTER!” Voldemort screamed as he fired the last blast. David's wand finally gave out,
the wand-tip exploding in a hail of sparks as the force knocked Harry down to the ground. Luckily,
it took the lightning with it.

Harry scrambled up to his feet, and found himself staring down the tip of Voldemort's wand
from twenty metres away. He was defenceless.

“Now, Potter, the circle is complete.” Voldemort said, “Now, you will die. That is your
destiny.”

*Destiny…*Harry thought, trying desperately to keep calm. *What was my destiny?*

*The power he knows not…*

Harry's head turned towards the stands. His eyes found Hermione's. She looked absolutely
terrified, frozen in horror.

But as Harry's eyes searched hers, he began to understand.

It was love…but not just for her…

He turned back to face Voldemort. He really looked like he was enjoying the moment.

“It's alright…” Harry said to him quietly.

Voldemort blinked, “*What*?”

“I know you have to do it,” Harry said, “and it's alright. I understand.”

“If this is some pathetic trick…”

“You've always been trying to survive,” Harry said, “I know that. You kill because it's
the only way you know how to survive. That's just who you are.”

Voldemort kept his wand trained on Harry…but now didn't look so sure of himself.

“I was the one who lived…I was a threat to you.” Harry said, “You didn't know what I was
capable of, so you tried so hard to kill me, kill everyone close to me…to end that threat.”

Harry spread his arms, “Well…I guess this is it. Go on, do it.”

For the first time in Harry's memory, Voldemort hesitated.

“Do it. Kill me.”

Harry gulped down his fear…and closed his eyes.

*Concentrate…*

Above them, Hermione also closed her eyes.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The green blast flew into Harry's body, sending him flying backwards…and then rebounded into
Voldemort's. The Dark Lord fell to the ground, just as Harry's barely-conscious body hit
the wet grass.

* * * * *

Hermione buried her tear-strewn face into Ron's shoulder. She couldn't bear to watch any
longer…

Ron's face was fixed in shock.

*Harry is…no, wait!*

“Hermione, look!” Ron exclaimed, pointing.

He could see Harry's arm move.

* * * * *

The pain kept his senses awake and alert.

Harry felt it across his entire body…but he was *alive*.

There were green-tinged cuts, openly bleeding, across his face and hands, and doubtless across
his body. As Harry began to crawl forward, towards Voldemort's prone body, his first thoughts
were of Hermione, what she must have been feeling.

He managed to raise himself to a stagger, on unsteady legs as he approached the Dark Lord. He
was not moving at all, but Harry could see him breathing still.

With great pain and greater difficulty, Harry reached down and pulled his wand from
Voldemort's robe, pointing it at Voldemort's face.

“Just so you know…I didn't mean a word of it…” Harry said through gritted teeth. He held his
wand up, and with some effort he ignited his green wand-blade. He pointed it down at
Voldemort's throat, and only then noticed the pain on his face.

He just didn't care.

“This is for everyone you've ever killed…” Harry growled, “For my parents…”

He began to wind back his blade.

“For Cedric…”

The blade began to intensify, becoming brighter and stronger.

“For Sirius…”

The blade continued to brighten.

“For Dumbledore…”

The green in Harry's eyes was frighteningly vibrant.

“And for me.”

Voldemort's eyes closed in fear.

“AAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!” Harry swung.

The blade sliced right through Voldemort's neck. His head rolled onto the grass.

Voldemort was dead.

Harry extinguished the blade, and closed his eyes.

The entire stadium was silent, for just a moment. And then…

“YEEESSSSSSSS!” Ron screamed.

Neville joined him, and then Dean, Seamus, Ginny…the entire stadium erupted.

Hermione found herself in the arms of Professor McGonagall, who hugged her gently.

Beneath them all, Harry simply smiled.

And then the corner of his eye caught David's body begin to breathe…and crackle with blue
electricity.

That was the last thing Harry remembered before he passed out himself, the effort to stay
upstanding finally just too much.

-->



23. Chapter 23
--------------



**A/N -** I really hope you enjoyed the final battle! As I've said before, I've had
that in my head for a couple of years now, so it felt good to finally get it written down and up on
the site. I have read so many stories and seen so many TV shows or films that don't give a
sufficient emotional payoff after the big climax, and so I want to spend some time now looking at
the aftermath, and how some characters deal with it. Please review!

A ghostly voice swam into the darkness of Harry's mind.

*“Hmm…I wonder if that scar will fade away now?”*

*Eh?*

Harry's eyes slowly opened. With a start, he found himself looking right up into Luna's
face. She simply flexed her eyebrows, “Oh, hi Harry.”

Harry didn't even have to look around to know he was back in the hospital wing; he knew that
ceiling well enough by now. As he sat up, flinching in expectation of pain that never came, Ron
rushed over to him, “Harry, are you alright mate?”

He coughed, clearing his dry throat, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

Ron wore a look of sheer admiration, “Honestly mate, that was bloody brilliant! I've never
seen anyone duel like that before.”

Harry tried to grin, “Never in doubt, was it?” Try as he might, he couldn't quite make those
words sound meaningful.

Ron sat down next to him, “Believe me, I think the whole school's gonna be talking about it
for weeks.”

Harry thought he could hear a faint undercurrent of noise and activity, “So…everyone's still
here?”

Ron nodded, “Yeah, I think the Ministry wants to debrief all the students before they let them
go.”

Harry began to look around, but knew Ron was already way ahead of him.

“She's with Hagrid,” He explained, “I couldn't get anywhere telling her to go off and
rest, but luckily he could.”

“How long was I out?”

“Fifteen hours, twelve minutes, eight seconds,” Luna said from across the room.

Harry and Ron shared a brief look, and then… “What happened, anyway?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I wasn't exactly in it for the whole fight,” Harry said, “I remember David fighting
off the Death Eaters, then…” He trailed off.

Ron looked down at his feet for a moment, “He…he took on Voldemort.”

“*What*?” Harry said.

“At the time I thought he was crazy…brave, but absolutely crazy.”

“And now?”

“I think he was trying to buy you some more time,” Ron said, “In the end Voldemort was too much
for him, and he…”

Harry remembered the last thing he saw, “What happened to him?”

Ron shook his head, “Last I heard, he was being rushed to the Slytherin dungeons.”

“For what?”

“Emergency surgery,” Ron said solemnly, “They needed to put him somewhere where he wasn't a
danger to everyone else. He was in pretty bad shape, mate.”

Harry made to get out of bed, “I'd better go see what I can find out…”

Ron moved over to stop him, “Harry, you don't wanna go out there mate, you'll get
absolutely mobbed.”

“Fine,” Harry said, and turned to Luna, “Do you think you can get my Cloak for me?”

* * * * *

Dennis Morgan stood outside the entrance to the dungeons, pacing up and down with his arms
crossed. He could not handle this kind of waiting, not even as an Auror.

It had been hours since the end of David's surgery. He knew that the medical staff needed
some more time to make observations, but this was really getting ridiculous. He ran a hand through
his balding hair, blowing out a breath of frustration.

For ten years David had been like a son to him. He had met the boy in his first year at
Hogwarts, when he guest-lectured a few DADA classes. He remembered being struck by his eagerness,
his adeptness in his technique even in the early stages of his development. This encouraged Dennis
to do a quick check on his back story, as he would any prospective talent that the Aurors would
keep their eye on. When he'd found that David had been practically disowned by his
non-wizarding family, Dennis gradually came to the decision over the year to take the lad in. He
did not want to see his talent squandered…and besides, he genuinely developed a liking for him.

He was there for David through the highs and lows of his time at Hogwarts. Until today, the
lowest point had come three years ago, when David was eliminated from the running for the Triwizard
Tournament. He had been rumbled by Snape for organising an underground duelling competition between
Hogwarts and Durmstrang. He had been in the midst of a duel with Viktor Krum when it happened…

Before Dennis could smile about how much of a prat his protégé had been, the heavy stone doors
swung open. Professor McGonagall emerged first, her face pale and grave, followed by Madam Pomfrey,
Doctor Rawlings from Salem, and a phalanx of St. Mungo's healers that filed their way past.

When they left, Dennis turned to the doctor, “How is he?”

“We've stabilised his condition,” Rawlings said calmly, “The trauma to his nervous system
was extremely severe, only time will tell if he can make a complete recovery.”

“So that is possible, then?” Dennis asked, “He can recover fully?”

“It's very hard to say, but his cardio-pulmonary and immune systems are extremely fragile
right now. If he does recover, he will need heavy medication, conceivably for the rest of his
life.”

Dennis looked away, his mouth hanging open.

“I must be frank…I think he is finished as an Auror,” Rawlings said, before making a discreet
exit.

Dennis looked across at McGonagall, “You're awfully quiet.”

She shook her head, “You aren't the only one that finds this difficult to accept, Dennis…if
I hadn't been so hard on him when he was my student, maybe…”

“Don't blame yourself,” Dennis said, harsher than was needed.

He turned back to face the closed stone doors, “He's never been sick, not once…I just know,
that facing a life doped up on meds like that, that he's gonna take this as a death
sentence.”

Behind the grieving pair, a faintly visible rustle of fabric moved away back up the stairs.

* * * * *

Hermione wiped at her tired face as he left Hagrid's hut and began the journey back into the
castle.

To say that the last eighteen hours had been difficult for her would have been a massive
understatement. She had never been tortured so much as having to sit through that horrific duel…the
sight of Harry screaming and writhing into unconsciousness…being hit with that Killing Curse…the
sheer, venomous anger on his face as he finished Voldemort off. All of it had scared her to her
core…and that was taking some time to recover from.

She had once again cried onto Ron's shoulder in the hospital wing, despite the diagnosis
that his wounds were superficial, and that he was simply suffering from exhaustion. She had stayed
stubbornly rooted to the spot until Ron sent Luna off to find Hagrid, and he was certainly not
taking no for an answer. So she talked things out with him, drank some tea, even had a sleep in
Hagrid's massive bed. After he had changed the bedding, obviously.

She felt better, more refreshed and energised, but still troubled. She was so worried for Harry,
what he must be feeling…especially after that final confrontation. She knew Harry so well by now,
well enough to know that soon he would need some help. Hermione was even more certain that she
would be there for him…that was her idea of what love is.

As she traversed the walkway, lost in her thoughts, she saw him. Harry was leaning over the
railing, looking out over the grounds. As she drew closer, she caught him shiver, his shoulders
rocking up and down. His face was red and blotchy, streaked with tears…

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, walking right into him and wrapping her arms around his neck,
hugging him close to her.

Harry cried unceasingly, unashamedly, onto her shoulder. She rocked him gently, stroking the
back of his neck soothingly, “It's okay, Harry…it's okay…”

She felt so bad for him, yet in a way good that she was there to protect him. It wasn't just
the battle with Voldemort that was troubling him, she knew that. It was everything…all of the last
six years, and even beyond that. His whole life had been such a struggle, full of so much
unhappiness and neglect and outright danger. Hermione resolved that that would end today, here and
now. But she knew that Harry had to let it out of his system, now that he had the time to
grieve.

“Why does it feel like this, Hermione?” Harry choked out between sobs, “…why does it hurt so
much?”

Hermione continued to rock him, holding him tightly against her as his arms wrapped tight around
her waist, clinging to her like a lifeline. She let him cry some more before answering…he really
needed to do this…

“You've been through so much, Harry,” She said quietly into his ear, “It's so unfair
what you've had to live through…I can't even imagine how you must be feeling.”

Harry shivered against her as she continued, “You're such a good person, Harry. So kind and
so warm, so giving and trusting. You have a beautiful heart…that's why it hurts like this.”

She gave him a squeeze, “You've needed to cry and rant and scream your whole life, Harry,
you've just never had the chance to. Living with those hideous Dursleys…living under the
constant threat of death here…lesser people would have been crushed by it, but not you. You will
get better, Harry, I promise you…but for now it's okay for you to feel this way.”

Hermione felt Harry begin to relax against her, his body becoming less tense, “Just relax, my
love…you'll be alright…I'm here for you.”

For several minutes they just stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace securely. Harry
became gradually quieter, clinging to Hermione just as tightly. This made Hermione glad, in perhaps
an inappropriate way for that moment; still, if he wanted her to hold and cling to, that was
absolutely fine with her.

“…I killed him,” Harry said, mournfully quiet.

“…Voldemort?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded into her neck.

“You had to, Harry…you of all people know how dangerous he was…”

“But I *murdered* him…in cold blood, like a…”

“Listen to me, Harry,” Hermione said, firmness in her gentle voice, “He would not have thought
twice about killing you. He even tried, and only the purity of your heart stopped him. Creatures
like that, they just need to be rid of…I know it's hard, but sometimes you just have to take
these actions…especially against such an evil…*bastard*…like that.”

She gave him another squeeze, “Please don't beat yourself up for that, Harry. Anyone of us
would have done the same thing, if we were there instead of you. We all know you're not a bad
person.”

“He…David…”

“David did all he could to help you, Harry,” Hermione said, “and whatever happens to him, he
wanted to help you come out of this. Even if he dies, he died on his own terms…”

“He's not dead…” Harry said unsteadily, “…he might wish he was…”

“Then that's something for him to deal with, Harry, not you,” Hermione said, “I'm sure
that Sarah will be there with him now, having the same talk that me and you are having. Don't
guilt yourself for that, Harry…okay?”

She felt Harry nod against her.

“Good…”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said faintly.

“For what?” Hermione asked.

“Making you do this…picking me up when I crash and burn like this…”

“Harry, it's my pleasure,” Hermione said firmly, “I will do anything for you…you know that.
And if you're upset, then right here is where I want to be, more than anything…and you
haven't crashed and burned, you're just coping with everything that's happened.
It's okay; this is how everyone does it.”

”They cry uncontrollably?”

Hermione nodded, “Oh yes…and believe me, you have plenty of right to cry, and scream, and go
absolutely crazy…I just kind of hope you won't go *too* crazy.”

She could swear she felt Harry suppress a chuckle, and smiled to herself, “But if you do,
I'll still be there to make you sane again.”

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed.

“Do you want me to let go?” Harry asked.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head, “Never.”

Harry gave her waist a squeeze, “…There's something I never said before…something I wish I
had.”

“What's that?”

“…I love you too.”

Hermione's smile grew so wide, her insides filling with the most indescribable joy.

“I guess I'm not off to the best start,” Harry said.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“…Being with you, and all…”

Hermione squeezed him, “Oh Harry, you're absolutely fine…”

Her hand once again tickled the back of his neck, “And besides, we've got the rest of our
lives to be better.”

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