Harry Potter and the Final Enchantment

Disclaimer

The characters and universe created by J.K.Rowling are hers alone. As imitation is the sincerest form of flattery I hope this story can be taken in that way.

About this story

The original short written for the Felix Felicis Competition was a hasty construct to fulfil a need after the release of HBP, and as I was in the middle of writing the last part of Forever Together, it didn’t receive the attention it deserved. I had not intended to write another story such as the one that follows, but the two chapters of The Letter would not let me go and in order for me to complete my obligations to Harry and Hermione I had to take it to conclusion. With everything I have written I have tried to remain faithful to the sprit of the cannon books, which is why you will find no rampant uninhibited sex, or invasion of the story by armoured space marines. If Harry and Hermione falling in love makes this tale AU then so be it, but remember JK’s mind is like an English country lane full of twists and turns, and the hedges on both sides are so high that you cannot see where you are going until you get there.

So we start with Harry worrying about what is to come in the future, but being heartened with the thought that at least he will have one last golden day of peace with Ron and Hermione……

Harry Potter and The Final Enchantment.

Chapter One

The Letter

When the scarlet train drew into Kings Cross station at platform 9¾ Harry left giving hardly a glance back at the pair he had travelled with down from Hogwarts. They were chatting together, standing close, probably talking about Bill and Fleur’s up and coming wedding, though it could have been any subject, anything to keep their minds off the events of the last few weeks and what the future held for them all.

‘At least they have each other.’ Harry thought and gave a deep sigh. Stepping through the arch he scanned the muggle side for any evidence of his Aunt and Uncle; as he expected there was none, so he would have to make his own way to Little Whinging. Still it wasn’t difficult, a ride on the Underground and then he could walk or catch the bus from Tadworth station. Harry headed toward the escalators to take him down to the Underground, his thoughts so introspective that he failed to see the colourful figure following him from a discrete distance but keeping a firm contact. It looked as if Harry was being shadowed by a refugee from a circus, as his gaily dressed tail flitted from place to place behind him, only to finally baulk at following Harry down the muggle contraption that carried him into the bowels of the earth. The other occurrence that Harry missed, though he would have needed the ears of an acoustic wombat used to listening across miles of the Australian desert for the cry of its mate to hear it, was the worried shout of, “Harry, Harry, where are you!” as Hermione finally realised he had left platform 9¾ without saying goodbye.

Harry managed to stay with the Dursleys for two weeks; he kept himself to himself, spending most of the daylight hours wandering the streets, only returning to the house as darkness fell. He avoided all contact with his Uncle Vernon, and thankfully Dudley had not returned from school yet. He was spending extra time there on a ‘Think Thin’ course, though Harry seriously doubted this would have any effect as thinking was not one of little Dudder’s strong points, and Harry was absolutely convinced that his large cousin would never grasp the concept of thin. The only one of his three relations he spent any time with was his Aunt Petunia, and for some reason from the moment he had re-entered the house she had regarded him most strangely. It was almost as if she wanted to ask him something but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. So in the end Harry, with his frustrations mounting, began to avoid her as well.

When he could stand it no longer, and he hoped that he had fulfilled his promise to Dumbledore, Harry gathered up his few possessions and began to stuff them into a haversack that had once belonged to his cousin. Harry knew Dudley would not miss it. Vernon and Petunia had bought the bag when Dudley briefly entertained the idea of doing a Duke of Edinburgh Award, but when he discovered it required some physical input the plan was rapidly dropped.

Then late one night without saying goodbye, something that was becoming a habit, Harry slipped down the stairs and out of the front door. He shut it as quietly as possible and headed off down the path. Hardly had he gone thirty yards when a figure stepped out of the bushes into the light from a street lamp. Harry’s wand was in his hand in an instant, but he lowered it again as he recognised the face of his one time Professor Remus Lupin.

“Hello Professor,” Harry said tightly, “still keeping an eye on me then?”

“You could say that Harry,” Lupin replied, “and it’s Remus remember? We were worried about you.”

“Really, you surprise me.” said Harry sarcastically.

“Oh Harry, that’s not worthy of you.” said Lupin sadly. “Where are you going?”

“It’s none of your damn...” but Harry stopped his heated retort. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that Dumbledore had left him alone, and it wasn’t his fault that Harry was going to die trying to finish Voldemort. Even if he succeeded Harry knew he wouldn’t survive because he was going to have to do it on his own. Ron and Hermione would be behind him and that gave him comfort, but at the very end he would be alone. He had made that decision; he wouldn’t put anyone else at risk. That meant he could lay all his troubles at the feet of one person. It was Harry’s fault …his fault alone. “I was heading for the Burrow,” Harry finished quietly.

Remus gave him a weak smile, slipped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a fatherly squeeze. “Let’s go together, shall we?” he waited for Harry’s nod of assent. “Good, that’s settled,” he said with obvious relief, and the pair set off in search of the Knight Bus.

* * *

The preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, which was to take place in two days time, had reached a fever pitch. Mrs Weasley, Ginny and Hermione were so involved with it all that they were unaware of the tensions that had built up over the last week or so elsewhere in the camp.

Maybe Ginny had noticed, but although she understood Harry’s reasons for shutting her out of his life, it still hurt, so she tried not to concentrate her thoughts on him. She knew Harry was miserable but then he had a lot of things to be miserable about, she was unaware that the most recent cause was her slightly older brother.

Hermione hadn’t noticed either, she had spoken to Harry on a few occasions but their talk had been light and meaningless, and Harry had brushed aside any enquiries as to how he was getting on. Now what with helping Mrs Weasley with the wedding arrangements and her uncharacteristic enthusiasm with her burgeoning relationship with Ron, she was blinded to all else. She was in a sense happy and just for the moment Harry Potter was low down in her priorities. So it came as a bit of a shock to her that on going up to her room that evening she found a note on her bed written in Harry’s untidy scrawl. It was very short.

Dear Hermione,

Please don’t worry about me, I understand now Ron has explained. Thanks for your help in the past. See you sometime.

Love Harry.

That very same evening Ron clumped up the stairs and headed to his room, which as usual he was sharing with Harry, he had changed into his pyjamas and was about to get into his own bed when he glanced across at Harry’s. It was empty, and the letter he had finally written to Harry and left for him to find was scrunched up on the bedspread. He reached across to pick it up, and he felt a little twinge of guilt when he saw that all of Harry’s stuff was gone as well. Then his resolve hardened, his decision had been correct for all of them, of that he had no doubt. He unravelled the letter in his hand, glanced at the words he had so carefully written, and then crumpled it up again. He made to throw the parchment into the bin when the door to his bedroom banged open and his vision of loveliness and the light of his life, stood in its frame.

“Hi,” he said with a smile “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight fair maiden.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

The reply he received was curt and not what he was expecting.

“Cut the crap Ron,” said Hermione angrily, “where’s Harry? Does he tell you in your letter?”

“Uh…my letter?” he replied unsure as to what letter she was talking about.

“Yes, your one from Harry,” she pointed at the parchment in his hand, “…you’re holding it.” Exasperation with Ron was rapidly taking the place of the anger she was feeling towards Harry.

“OH…” he said understanding his confusion at last, he laughed, unwisely, “this one’s not from Harry, this is the one I wrote to Harry.”

Exasperation was now replaced with astonishment; Hermione couldn’t get her mind around what Ron had just said as it made absolutely no sense to her. She calmed herself for a moment and she ran a jumble of thoughts through her head. Seeming to have them in some sort of order, she regarded her boyfriend.

“Why on earth would you write a letter to Harry?” She said in an even tone. “He’s been right here for over a week now and you’ve been with him most of the time, haven’t you?” A flash of guilt crossed Ron’s face and Hermione’s astonishment was giving way to suspicion.

“Ah…no…not really.” he admitted shamefully. “We haven’t been talking much, it’s all been a little difficult what with him being so down about Dumbledore. You see,” he explained, “I needed to tell Harry how we really felt about this looking for Voldemort’s …err… horroxes.” Ron shrugged his shoulders assuming correctly he had the term wrong, “You know; now things have changed. Like us and our future. I thought I could explain it better in a letter, I mean you know how I find it hard to …err… like I can’t tell anyone how to…Uh…” he stopped his ramblings, defeated in his explanation. “Perhaps you should read what I wrote to him.”

Ron watched as Hermione uncrumpled the parchment and began to read, he knew she would agree with what he had done. It was their future that was important now, if things went badly in England there was nothing to stop them going abroad, there were too many wizards out there for ‘him’ to control them all.

Ron watched as Hermione began to frown, it was OK though she loved him, she might care for Harry, but she loved him, and he loved her, and wanted her safe, that was what this was all about.

Ron watched as Hermione began to shake, she must have reached that bit about how their love was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened, and why he had made the decision he had.

Ron watched as Hermione sat down heavily on the end of Harry’s bed, she seemed to be shaking her head, was there something he had forgotten to put in the letter? … No he had covered all the bases, he was sure he had left nothing out.

Ron watched as the first tear dropped on to the parchment held in her hands.

* * *

Hermione snatched the crumpled parchment from Ron’s hand and opening it up began to read.

Dear Harry,

Look mate you know how hard it is for me to explain things out right so I thought it would be best if I wrote it down instead. We, that is Herms (Hermione) and I know that since Dumbledore’s death you have been a bit down in the dumps, and in order to cheer you up we said that we would be with you whatever. Well it’s like this, now that Herms and I have, you know, ‘found’ each other and our relationship is going very well, it alters the picture a bit.

Hermione frowned at the words on the parchment, she wasn’t sure she was really reading them correctly.

You see there is no way I will allow Herms to put herself in any danger. I know that if you ask her she would follow you and possibly with what you have to do she could get herself killed and I can’t permit her to do that. I don’t want her to get filled with all sorts of noble ideas that finishing off Voldemort is the most important thing, when it is our love and future which is important.

There was something very wrong here. Hermione found that her hands had started to shake, she could feel the heat rising in her face, but she kept her head down and continued to read.

I don’t wish to play you down but you couldn’t even get the better of Snape last term, so your chances with Voldemort aren’t good. Are they? And it stands to reason that anyone with you will go the same way.

I mean we do wish you luck and all that and no one would be more pleased than us if you were to, by some miracle, pull it off. However I have made the decision that you will have to go on without us. I would rather you didn’t confuse Herms by talking to her before you go, now she is with me I have to make decisions for both of us, and I don’t want these decisions open for discussion.

Hermione felt her legs lose their strength and she dropped down on to Harry’s bed. She couldn’t believe what she had been reading, she tried to deny that these words were actually written down in front of her and shook her head, but the words remained.

So there it is, that is the way we really feel about it, I don’t suppose you will want to hang around for much longer now. We will understand if you don’t say goodbye.

Good luck Harry.

Your best mates Ron and Herms.

Hermione felt the tears well up in her eyes; she couldn’t prevent the first from splashing down onto the parchment.

* * *

She was hard put to describe the feelings coursing through her at that particular moment, but she tried.

Anger, yes there was definitely anger.

Disbelief, oh yeah, she really had that one.

Betrayal, she wasn’t sure, she had never been betrayed before, but it did seem to fit.

Sadness, yes that was the one, sadness, that Harry had actually read this drivel. Sadness, that he had accepted it, at its face value, and had gone away. Sadness, that Ron thought so little of their friendship that he could drive away someone who needed them so much, even if he was the only other boy Hermione had ever had any feelings for. Sadness, that was so deep and profound that she could find no other way to express the feeling than the tears which were falling freely now. Then there was a voice which invaded that well of sadness.

“Well what do you think?” said Ron, far too brightly for his own good, “It took me a while to write it I can tell you, but I am pretty sure I got it right in the end.”

Hermione shut her eyes, the words she heard were as bad as the ones she had just read, and suddenly the sadness wasn’t enough, and the anger that had been sitting in the wings, waiting, burst forth.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HARRY?” she shouted loud enough to stop the ghoul in the attic in the middle of banging the pipes.

Ron’s mouth dropped open, but Hermione was only just warming up.

“YOU KNEW HOW HE WAS FEELING. HOW WELL HE WAS FIGHTING ALL THAT SORROW. HOW HE KNEW THAT FOR ALL OUR FUTURES THAT IN THE END HE WOULD HAVE TO DESTROY VOLDEMORT ON HIS OWN. THAT THE ONLY CRUMB OF COMFORT THAT HE HAD WAS THAT UNTIL THAT MOMENT THE THREE OF US WOULD BE TOGETHER. AND YOU EVEN TOOK THAT AWAY FROM HIM.”

“But Herms,” Ron was astounded by her reaction, “I was only thinking of you and your happiness.”

Hermione could feel her head beginning to spin, her anger reached such a level that the air around her began to spark and crackle, and then she launched into her final tirade.

“HOW DARE YOU DECIDE TO MAKE DECISIONS FOR ME …YOU DO NOT OWN ME RONALD WEASLEY. NO ONE OWNS ME… AND DON’T YOU EVER, EVER CALL ME HERMS AGAIN… MY NAME IS HERMIONE.”

With a brilliant flash of indignation and a detonation that blew the windows out of Ron’s room, and the door off its hinges, Hermione vanished.

Mr and Mrs Weasley rushed up the stairs and appeared in the doorway seconds after the explosion. They surveyed the damage with horror, and it was only the fact that they had heard Hermione’s raised voice that persuaded them that Ron had not been the victim of a Death Eater attack. They found Ron crawling out from under his upturned bed where he had been blown by the blast. He was ashen faced and had a nose bleed.

“What in Merlin’s name has been going on here?” said Mr Weasley crossly. “We could hear Hermione shouting from downstairs, then this explosion ….Ron explain.”

Ron pointed down, with a shaking hand, to a singed piece of parchment, smoking gently, that had settled on the floor.

As Mr Weasley bent to pick it up Ron his voice shaking in fear with the beginnings of the realisation of what he had done, said. “Oh Mum, Dad, I think I have just made the biggest mistake of my life.” he collapsed down onto the remains of Harry’s bed and sat there contemplating the results of his actions. Ron’s parents read the letter and Ron could see the looks of incredularity spread across their faces. They looked down at their youngest son with expressions bordering on disgust that even Percy hadn’t earned. Ron was left in no doubt that he had really made a mess of this one. “What am I going to do?” he wailed.

* * *

There was a stream which ran through the field next to the Burrow, near it was a large weeping willow and beneath its drooping branches there was an old log bench. That was where Hermione found herself standing. She hadn’t set a destination in her mind when she had apparated, she had just let go. As she calmed down and her eyes became used to the dark she remembered that this was the last place that she and Harry had been alone together.

It was when, yesterday… no two days ago now; they had been talking about old times at school, the times when the adventures were fun, the times when the thoughts of facing Voldemort were a long way off.

Now Harry was gone to who knows where, driven away by that great long prat who thought he owned her. Hermione sat on the log seat close to the bank, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

Her sobs were so loud as to drown out the footsteps of the dark shadow that approached her from the direction of the house. The shadow grew as it closed on her, extending its arms as if to grab her from behind, but Hermione was only aware of its presence when a warm woollen cloak was draped over her shoulders.

“Hi,” said a very familiar voice that alerted Hermione to the identity of her companion.

“Oh, thanks Ginny,” Hermione sniffed back the tears.

The young red head moved to the front of the bench to sit next to the girl she regarded more like a sister than a friend, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“I am sorry but I couldn’t help but overhear you, and Mum and Dad have just told me what my bloody brother has done. I can’t believe he could be so stupid.” Ginny searched for the words, “Poor Harry, we have to do something, he won’t stand a chance out there on his own.” Hermione said nothing and Ginny, thinking of her short lived romance with the boy who had so much depending on him, went on. “You know I really miss being with him,” she sighed, “he was so lonely at the end of last term; it broke my heart to see him like that,” she gave a sad little laugh. “You know I have had a crush on him since …well since the first time I saw him, but I never dared to allow it to be more than that …and then what with you and Ron and everything else I just let my emotions free. It was wonderful for me and while it lasted I think he enjoyed it too. I only wanted to make to make him happy.”

Hermione’s bushy haired head turned towards the younger girl, and gave her the faintest of smiles. “You did Ginny,” she said quietly to her, “he was the happiest I have ever seen him, and he told me so.”

“He told you?” Ginny said with some surprise.

“Yes,” was the gentle response.

“But why would he tell you?” The question was almost a demand for information.

“Oh Ginny…” Hermione said sadly, “Why? ...because we have always told each other these things …almost from the beginning. I have never been able to keep a secret from Harry, and he, despite trying, has never been able to keep a secret from me. It’s just the way it’s been between us.”

Ginny suddenly saw something that had never occurred to her before. She had assumed like everyone else, including probably Harry and Hermione, that they were just the closest of friends, but now she could see that there was something more. Then she felt cheated, were they in love? That was hard to say…perhaps, …perhaps not, whatever they felt for each other Ginny knew it was far more than a simple teenage infatuation. Then she began to understand, and it dashed any thoughts of her trying to get back with Harry. He and Hermione, they were two sides of the same coin; they depended on each other for the magic to work between them. She knew that separated neither of them would survive very long, how painful and disastrous had been those times at school when their friendship had slipped even just a little. There was an unassailable connection there whether they knew it or not, and Ron was not going to like it. Yet there was another problem, sometimes even with the two of them it hadn’t been enough, there had always been three and probably though at this time she hated to consider it, they were going to need Ron as well. This awful situation was going to take some fixing; and if she was to do the fixing she need to know how bad things had become. She decided to test the water.

“Err… what are you going to do about Ron?” she asked, mentally ducking to avoid the shrapnel.

Ginny could feel Hermione stiffen and a chill came into her voice. “If I ever see your brother again it will be too soon, he and I are finished.”

The red headed witch kept her head down but glanced furtively at her friend, “Hermione please don’t be cross with me but I can see where he is coming from.” she said expecting the eruption to follow, she wasn’t disappointed.

“WHAT?” The blast of sound was probably heard all the way to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Ginny stuck to her guns. “Ron’s scared, we all are, but Ron despite being put in Gryffindor, has a lot of inner fears. He has managed to conquer most of them, but the events of the last few weeks have tested his bravery to the limit and I think it pushed him over the edge.” Ron’s sister tried to find the words that would explain her brother’s actions …there weren’t many, but she ploughed on. “He has seen Bill injured, Dumbledore killed …that really got to him, and Snape run to the other side beating Harry in the process. Then he… well hooked up with you and it gave him something to hang onto, and he doesn’t want to lose it. I think he just lost his head.”

Hermione surprised herself by remaining calm. “And that gives him the excuse to treat Harry and me in that despicable way?”

‘No Hermione, not an excuse,” Ginny took a deep breath, “…just a reason.”

“I don’t know Ginny,” said Hermione shaking her head, “I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive him, and if anything happens to Harry because of what he has done there won’t be a hole big enough for him to hide in. He’ll have both me and Voldemort after him, and he better pray that Voldemort is the one who finds him.’

‘Well’ Ginny thought ‘if she can joke about it maybe all it not lost’, she looked at Hermione and the expression on her face, she was joking, wasn’t she?

“The most important thing now is to find Harry,” Hermione said. “There aren’t that many places he would run to, I will have to visit them all. I’ll get him eventually.”

“Where are you going to start?” Ginny asked.

“Not sure yet, I need to think about it.” Hermione mused. She placed a hand on Ginny’s shoulder and drew her into a hug. “Thanks Ginny, you’ve been a great help as usual. I’ll get in touch when I find Harry.” She looked back to the Burrow and a lone forlorn figure standing in the wreckage of his bedroom window. “I’ll leave Ron to you.”

Ginny giggled, “Don’t worry Hermione, I’ll sort out the idiot, you find the hero. You three have been through too much to let it all end this way. Give him my love when you find him …Good luck.” With that Ginny turned briskly so that Hermione wouldn’t see the tears which had suddenly sprung into her eyes and headed back to the house.

Hermione sat quietly for a while, she knew that Ginny would stop anyone disturbing her, and tried to think where Harry would have gone. In her mind she pictured all the places she and Harry had visited. All those which held happy memories had been tainted in some way and she knew Harry would avoid them. There were only two places which had never changed as far as Harry was concerned, one because he had never been there, and one because he had always hated it. So what was it to be, Godrics Hollow or Privet Drive?

* * *

Her decision made, with a CRACK Hermione apparated away from the Burrow. From his bedroom window, or what was left of it, Ron watched as her shadowy figure vanished. He heard someone walk into the room behind him and turned hoping it might just be Hermione, but it was his sister.

She pointed imperiously at the ruins of Harry’s bed indicating for him to sit. “Ron, I think you and I need a very long talk.”

Ron hung his head; he suddenly realised how very much like their mother his younger sister was, and he had a feeling that this was going to be very painful.

“Yes Ginny.” he said meekly.

* * *

The house was in darkness, the whole area around it was quiet. The witch walked up to the front door drew her wand and muttered ‘Alohomora’, the lock gave a click and the door swung open. She stepped inside, careful not to make a sound, a quick check confirmed that the ground floor was unoccupied, so she turned back into the hall and headed for the stairs. She hoped none of them would squeak and give away her presence, she was lucky. She reached the landing and studied each of the doors in turn, and picking the one she knew concealed him, she walked towards it. Placing her hand on the door knob she slowly turned it and opened the door.

The room wasn’t very large and had very little furniture, a bed, a desk with a chair and a wardrobe. In the dim light that filtered into the room from the street lamps outside she could see that the surface of the desk was marked with a ring that Hermione knew would match the bottom of Hedwig’s old cage. She noticed that the back of the single chair and the front edge of the top of the wardrobe were gouged by the talons of the same snowy owl.

She turned her attention to the bed. Lying on it was a very familiar figure, he was still fully clothed, with his wand held loosely in his hand, and his mop of black hair was as usual, a mess. He was deeply asleep; the sleep of fear, of sadness, of exhaustion. The witch moved to the side of the bed and gently sat herself down on it; she stared at those features so etched in her mind. It seemed as if she had known him all her life, at least all of her life that mattered, but how well did she really know him, she smiled to herself, probably more than she would willingly care to admit. Even in sleep his brow was furrowed with worry, a brow that held a scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning. The action was automatic, Hermione reached out one tentative hand to him, and gently ran a finger down the mark that separated him out from every other wizard. Under her touch the figure on the bed stirred then started up as he realised there was someone in the room with him.

“It’s OK, it’s only me” she whispered to reassure him.

“Hermione, how …why …what …are you doing here?” His tone was disbelieving, frightened that someone was playing a cruel trick on him.

Then she answered and he knew it was really her. “I am here because you need me, and I am here because this is where I want to be.” she said quietly, so as not to disturb the other occupants of the house.

“But the letter? ...Ron said…” but Hermione cut him off.

“The letter was rubbish Harry, you should have realised that.” She admonished. “It was written by someone, who if I am not wrong realises now that it was a huge mistake. By someone, who by now is suffering the biggest bat bogey hex of all time, if I know his sister.”

“But how did you find me?” Harry stared at his friend with amazement. “I thought this would be the last place anyone would look.”

She laughed quietly “You’re right, this would be the last place a wizard would look, remember they have no logic.” Hermione fixed him with a steely gaze, “But I am me and you will not hide from me again Harry Potter.”

In this room a young witch and a wizard were reunited, although really they had never been apart, for the binds which held them together were much stronger that even they knew. They held each other through the night, she happy that she had found him and he happy that he wasn’t going to have to do all of this on his own after all.

Having told him of everything that had happened at the Burrow, from her reaction to reading the letter to the fact that Ginny sent him her love, Hermione eventually drifted off to sleep her head resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt her relax against him, but despite their relative positions, he knew that she wasn’t his, from what she had said she wasn’t anyone’s. He didn’t care right now, she was Hermione, and if that is all she ever remained then that was fine by him, all he knew was, was that he needed her and that she was here.

Sleep had now claimed them both and they would need all the rest they could get. They had Horcruxes to find and an evil wizard to kill, but they would not do it alone. It was a job that needed friends and allies for it to be successful, and they would find both before their journey was done.

* * *

In the main bedroom Petunia Dursley had woken with a start, the unwanted intrusion in her mind forcing her from her sleep, and she cursed her sister yet again. Landing her family with Harry was nothing compared to that silly prank so many years ago that had turned Petunia’s world upside-down.

It had started, as usual, with an argument…. Since that dratted letter from that school she and Lily had been at each others throats, even the smallest disagreements turned into major rows, to the extent that their parents tried to keep them apart as much as possible. Petunia couldn’t even remember now what the particular argument was about, but she well remembered how it had finished, that was the one thing she could never forget.

“Why should I care about your feelings? You are a freak, and that boyfriend of yours, Potter, he is a freak as well. FREAKS HAVE NO FEELINGS!” Petunia had yelled at Lily.

The auburn haired witch with the piercingly emerald green eyes considered her sister and exhibited an outward calmness that she didn’t really feel inside. Then suddenly she smiled at Petunia in a way that made the older girl shudder and maybe wish she had kept her mouth shut.

“Perhaps you are right Petunia,” Lily said sweetly, “perhaps we freaks have no feelings, no emotions, but I am sure that there are lots of people who do, and perhaps, just perhaps, if you could feel them too it might make you a better person.”

Petunia gasped in horror as for the first and only time her sister raised her wand against her. Lily, the best witch in charms and transfiguration Hogwarts had seen for many a year, flicked said wand in a complicated pattern and chanted, “Animi motus capare totus.” A pink cloud erupted from the wand to fall around Petunia, who in shock was rooted to the spot. An intense smell of honeysuckle filled the room and in Petunia’s mind a window was opened and the rush of emotions that poured in on her drove her to her knees.

Lily had instantly vanished, and much of that instant flood of emotion vanished with her, but the effects of the spell didn’t. Lily left her sister with a gift, a gift that allowed her to contemplate the worries and woes and the highs and lows of anyone who came close to her. From that day on Petunia could ‘feel’. Not proper thoughts, just the vague outlines, and the emotions that drove people up and those that drove them down. Petunia had originally hoped the effect of the spell would be temporary, but Lily had cast well and time did not diminish the strength of the enchantment, and even Lily’s death some years later gave her no release from the charm, or was it really a curse.

She had found protection from her ability by marrying Vernon, a man who was quick to rise, emotionally anyway, and whose blasts of anger and thinly disguised contempt for everything and everybody blotted out all other feelings. All… all except for those of her nephew Harry, and those she could never hide from. Now in the dead of night with Vernon and Dudley fast asleep she could feel Harry’s emotions as clear as if he was back in the house and then she could discern a second set full of peace and caring tinged with worry for what was to come, and she realised that indeed these minds were within the walls of her home. For the first time Petunia used her gift properly and listened to the troubles of someone other than herself. She continued to listen as their emotions merged and then faded as sleep overtook them, and Petunia bit at her lip confused as to why she should be affected by the thoughts of those she had always considered abnormal, but somewhere deep down inside of her she found that it hurt. Perhaps this was Lily’s retribution, reaching out from beyond the grave to remind her that others were important and that they mattered.

She reset her alarm clock, Vernon always slept through it anyway, she would get up early, to make sure they left no mess in her kitchen, at least that it was she told herself. They would certainly have to leave before Vernon woke or there would be hell to pay.

Petunia turned over and tried to get back to sleep and she knew that it would not come, once more she cursed her sister for what she had done to her, but with the remembered emotions of the youngsters in the smallest bedroom still circulating in her mind, the curse was not as harsh as usual.

* * *

Chapter Two

Not Potions Again?

The sun had not broached the horizon as seen from number 4 Privet Drive, and the light in the street outside was that bluish-grey colour of the earliest part of dawn that most people never see. Harry and Hermione were woken from their slumbers by a quiet but insistent tapping on the window. Harry stirred first and as he surfaced he felt the warm presence of the witch by his side still cuddled under his arm.

The fact that she was here had changed his whole outlook on life. Yesterday he had contemplated a short trip to the ministry and a quick step through the veil, at least it would have been painless, and maybe on the other side he would have found friends, but now it was the last thing on his mind, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance again.

The tapping intruded on his thoughts and moving carefully, so as to disturb his still sleepy partner as little as possible, he got up and opened the window. The large snowy owl which had been perched on the window sill hopped into the room, and with a muted hoot greeted her owner.

“Hello girl,” he said softly, “well it seems that now I have two friends with me, things are looking up.” He smiled at her, and stroked the bird’s head, receiving a gentle nip on his finger for his pains.

Hedwig held out her leg and Harry undid the ribbon holding the message to it. He rummaged around in the drawer of his old desk and found a few owl treats which didn’t look too far past their sell by date. The owl accepted his offering, then hopped to her perch on the wardrobe and took a drink from her water bowl.

The young witch on the bed stretched, and yawned as Harry went back to sit beside her. “Hi sleepy head.” he kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb his sleeping relations.

“Hi yourself. You OK Harry?” Hermione asked. She was happy; her old Harry was back, not completely carefree, but at least not brooding and morose.

He smiled, “Yeah, never better.” Fully aware that her presence was the fillip his emotions had required.

She gave a quiet giggle. “Hedwig bring a letter?”

Harry unrolled the parchment. “More a note really, it’s to you from Ginny.”

“Oh, read it to me Harry, but I warn you that the news may not be good,” she said expecting it to be much worse than that.

Harry read out loud. “Hermione; sent Hedwig to you as I don’t know if you have found Harry yet. Oh witch of little faith,” remarked Harry. “Keep her with you and send her back when you do. I have found out what my prat of a brother has been up to and why he acted the way he did. By the way he is really, really sorry, but I’ll explain more when you find Harry. Don’t forget to give him my love, Ginny.”

Hermione watched Harry intently as he put down the note. “She still loves you, you know.” she said.

‘Yes, I know,” Harry sat back down on the bed and sighed. “That’s what makes it all so difficult. The only way I can save her is to make her unhappy. I could never drag her into all of this.”

“That’s odd, you never minded dragging me into it Harry,” Hermione said slyly.

“Do you really think that, it hurts me every time,” he said, “When Dolohov hit you with that curse I though my whole world had ended.” He looked at his friend of almost forever, and her eyes caught his. “Damn! He said, louder than he meant to, “why does growing up have to be so hard?”

“I think it’s hard for everyone Harry, and we all make mistakes from time to time,” said Hermione wisely, “It’s just a bit harder for you.” ‘Wow that was a bit of an understatement.’ She looked at the note and her brow creased as she pondered the words. “Umm… what do you think Ron has been up to?”

Harry was lost in thought, wondering if Hermione had just admitted that she was fallible too, and was caught out by the sudden change of subject. “Oh…Err… I don’t know, mixing his potions most likely.” He suggested with a laugh. “That letter was so out of the blue, not like him at all; something must have set him off.”

“Well he’s seventeen and he thinks he’s in love” Hermione said her tone suggesting that love was a subject Ron should steer clear of. “Sometimes that’s enough, to knock you off your trolley, but whatever the cause it will be a hard job for him to wriggle out of this one without a few marks.”

Harry didn’t want to start talking about Ron or love again. Ron’s actions were far too confusing to understand at the moment, and the subject of love, even think about it, caused him a peculiar kind of pain right down deep inside of him, so this time he changed the subject.

“So what do you reckon we should do now?” Harry asked, “My plans for today were to end at the Ministry behind a fluttering veil.” he said far too glibly. Hermione looked at him in absolute horror. “But I changed my mind when you showed up.” he added, hastily realising that sharing his darkest thoughts had not been a smart move.

He saw her eyes fill and she reached out to hold his hand “Promise me Harry,” Hermione said with a slight waver in her voice, “that you will never think of anything like that again. You are too important to waste your life because of some silly letter; I’ll throttle Ronald Weasley when I get my hands on him. …Now promise!” and she crushed his hand in a vice like grip.

“OK… OK I promise,” he capitulated, “but you’re wrong you know, now Dumbledore is gone I am not important to anyone.”

“Despite what you might think you are important to me.” Hermione said very, very quietly, but loud enough. “Well I’m starving,” she said, trying to gloss over her sentiment, “how about some food.”

“Ahh… Good idea.” Harry said wanting to catch her eye again, but Hermione would not look at him so he finally gave up. “But we’ll need to be quiet the Dursleys don’t know I’m back. I suppose we could grab some breakfast and get out of here.”

Hermione looked up at the sleeping Hedwig. “If we wrote a note would she take it when she’s rested?”

“She’d take it now if I asked her,” Harry said fondly, “but yes, no problem.”

Hermione found an old piece of parchment and scribbled a few lines.

“I’ve told her that I found you first guess, and she’s to send Hedwig in a few days to you so that we can keep in touch.” she paused for effect. “Do you want me to send her your love?”

Harry looked hard at Hermione and he noticed that she wasn’t smiling at her jibe.

“No” he said “not now.” And he turned to leave the bedroom, so he missed the slight upturning of her mouth as she tied the note to Hedwig’s leg.

“No hurry girl, when you’re ready.” she said with affection, and the owl managed a sleepy hoot to confirm that she understood.

* * *

Hermione followed Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen where she ran right into the back of him, as he had stopped very suddenly in the doorway. For there in the kitchen, with a boiling kettle of water in her hand, was Harry’s Aunt Petunia, and although it looked more than a little forced, she was smiling.

‘Hello Harry,” said Petunia sweetly to him, then turning to Hermione, “…and sorry didn’t get the name,”

“Hermione.” said Hermione.

“Lovely,” gushed Petunia as if the information was essential to her happiness. “Good morning dear.” And she poured the water into the tea pot and put some bread into the toaster. “Tea and toast?”

Harry thought the bonhomie was likely to reach a sickening crescendo any second and he waited for it all to turn sour. As he seemed completely lost for words, Hermione answered for them both.

“Err… yes, thank-you. Good morning Mrs Dursley.”

Harry didn’t move, Hermione thought he looked as if someone had just dumped a bucket of freezing water over him, or maybe that someone should dump a bucket of freezing water over him.

Harry voice, that had deserted him the moment Petunia had smiled at him, tried to make a come back. ‘Err…What’s going on?’

Petunia smiled again, it made her sharp face look as if she was going to be sick, and Harry was beginning to become very irritated by the whole effect. This was completely turning his impression of his aunt on its head and it didn’t fit.

“I just thought you should have some breakfast before you left, before he gets up.” She turned her eyes upwards to indicate her still sleeping husband.

Hermione who was minutely scrutinising Petunia pushed past a still immobile Harry and stared intently at his aunt, who grimaced pleasantly at her. Then she jumped and stifled a small scream as Hermione touched the back of her hand with her wand. A pink glow showed just for an instant at the tip of the wand and the pungent aroma of honeysuckle filled the room.

“How long?” Hermione asked Harry’s aunt.

The expression on Petunia’s face slipped a little. “Very nearly twenty years.”

“Hermione what are you talking about?” said Harry now totally perplexed.

“You should have taken muggle studies Harry,” she admonished him gently, “then you might have picked up probably the only useful tip in the whole course.” Harry looked at her blankly, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “How to tell if a muggle has been exposed to a magic spell, that was a revealing charm and it confirms it.”

“Oh.” said Harry.

Hermione’s explanation continued briskly. “Perhaps it isn’t obvious to you,” Harry slowly shook his head in agreement, “but the signs are all there. Your aunt has been charmed …no not just charmed …changed …almost transfigured,” she turned back to Petunia, “Who did this to you? Oh Wow!” Hermione exclaimed excitedly in appreciation of the enchantment, “who ever it was they must have been very good.”

Petunia’s expression had become somewhat stony, much more like her old self from Harry’s point of view. “It was Lily, my sister, Harry’s mother. She cursed me.” But that final statement held less conviction than ever.

“But I don’t understand.” said Harry in frustration.

Hermione decided to take control of him at that point. “Sit down, have some toast and tea, and perhaps we can persuade your aunt to tell us about it.”

Harry did as he was asked, and with the three of them sitting quietly Petunia began.

She explained how wonderful it had been when the two girls were very young, they were more than sisters, they were friends, and then of the rift that came between them when Lily received her letter from Hogwarts. Of the jealousy, and back biting, the scathing remarks, the prejudice and eventually, the hate.

“That doesn’t sound like my mum,” said Harry glaring at his aunt.

“No Harry you’re correct, it all came from me. Lily took all my insults in her stride and in a way her acceptance made me worse. The only time she ever fought back was when she put this spell on me, and even then I suppose she was doing it for my own good, but I have to admit I didn’t see it that way.” Petunia sighed a deep sigh. She described to them the argument that led up to the spell and what it did to her and then she went on to tell them why she had married Vernon, and how he blocked everyone else out, everyone but Harry.

“You knew how I was feeling?” said Harry hotly. His aunt merely nodded, “And you did nothing?”

“I didn’t want to get involved, and you made Vernon so angry by your presence in the house that I could concentrate on his emotions. It was wrong, I realise that now, but it was easier to ignore you.” She admitted.

Hermione having listened to this exchange confronted Petunia. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Ahh well, when Harry retuned at the end of your last term I could tell that something momentous had happened, he had lost someone or something important, but he left before I could summon the courage to ask. Then last night you both woke me,” Harry and Hermione looked at each other, what did she think had happened in that small room, but Petunia continued as if she hadn’t noticed, “Last night was the first time I really listened to someone else, really understood and…” Harry’s aunt looked at something in the palm of her hand “Oh Lily, I am so terribly sorry.”

She stood quickly, placed something on the table and took the cups and plates to the sink. Harry picked up a small square of card from where Petunia had placed it and turned it over, he stared at the photograph of two young girls, maybe six or seven years old, arms around each other smiling into the camera. He felt Hermione’s head touch his as they both gazed down on what could only be described as a picture full of happiness.

Petunia Dursley regarded the two sitting at the table and for the first time gave Harry some good advice. “I lost it all Harry, I can never reclaim the feelings Lily and I had for each other, she is gone, and I have become too bitter to forgive either of us.” She walked to the table and stared down at Harry and Hermione, “Friends are very important, if you have a problem with one of them then find a way around that problem, don’t let it fester and turn friendship into hate.” Petunia nodded toward Hermione. “This one here is true Harry, she will never let you down,” she smiled and tapped the side of her head, “I can feel it, in here.” There was a noise from upstairs and three pairs of eyes looked towards the ceiling. “Quickly, you must go before he gets up.”

“Mrs Dursley, would you like me to remove the spell?” Hermione asked quietly.

“You could do that?” There was a little fear mixed in with the wonder of her words.

“Yes,” the young witch nodded.

Petunia considered the offer for only a brief moment, and shook her head. “No thank-you Hermione, it is the only thing of Lily’s I have left, and maybe she was right, perhaps if I listen enough it will do me some good.”

Harry and Hermione collected up their few belongings and readied themselves to leave; at the front door Petunia stopped Harry with a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at the only real connection to his family that he had.

“Harry, I hope you find what you are looking for in life, I know I haven’t been any help in the past, but if there is anything I can do, I am here.” Harry could tell that for once his aunt was actually being sincere.

“Thank-you Aunt Petunia…” It seemed that Harry was going to say more when a bellow from upstairs shattered the air.

“PETUNIA WHERE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FIND A CLEAN PAIR OF SOCKS.”

She turned and called up the stairs. “Coming Vernon!” and then turning back to Harry and Hermione said, “Quickly before he comes down, good luck to both of you.” With that last remark she returned to the hall and shut the front door.

* * *

Harry and Hermione walked into the centre of Little Whinging while they decided what to do next. It was still very early and there were few people about, so they sat together on a bench outside the post office and dug in their pockets to see what money they had. There wasn’t much of it, four Galleons, ten Sickles and half a dozen Knuts; it wasn’t going to get them very far. Well there was only one place they could get more, Gringotts the wizarding bank in Diagon Alley.

“We could apparate Harry,” suggested Hermione.

Harry thought for a moment. “We could, but I don’t know,” he replied, “Getting to Privet Drive was easy enough, I know it so well, but I could end up anywhere and theoretically I am still under age.”

“Only by a few days.” Hermione tried to reassure him. “Do you think the Ministry would bother with a minor infringement with everything else that’s going on?”

Harry said nothing but gave her a look over the top of his glasses. “Yeh OK… if they had a chance to get at you then they would.” She said, shrugging her shoulders. “So what are we going to do?”

Harry suddenly had an idea, gave her a wink and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” he said grinning all over his face, “I’ve got something to show you.”

They set off walking down a road that cut through the small shopping centre and as they turned the corner Harry gestured dramatically.

“It’s the bus station,” said Hermione flatly, “What good is that going to do us? We haven’t any muggle money.”

“I know,” said Harry, “but I do have one of these.” and from the side pocket of his haversack he produced his invisibility cloak.

The early morning bus was quite empty to start with but as they got closer to the centre of London it began to fill up. Harry and Hermione spent a happy three quarters of an hour dodging muggles as they moved from seat to seat. At one point Hermione almost gave the game away when she burst out laughing. The final stop for the bus was not all that far from Kings Cross and both of them knew the way from there to the street which held the Leaky Cauldron. The dirty looking pub was, as usual, reassuringly present between the record shop and the bookstore. Harry and Hermione marched up to the door and pushed it open. The pub was empty of customers, Tom the barman was the only other person there. He nodded in recognition to Harry and then to Hermione as she walked to the bar and arranged accommodation for them. They didn’t linger but continued on through the pub to the back courtyard and thence through the wall and out into Diagon Alley.

This wonderful wizarding place was as deserted as the pub had been as all the shops were still closed. There was a cleaning wizard some way up the length of the alley and the orange tabard he wore over his robes proclaimed Nuacus Cleaning. He waved a broom back and forth over the cobbles and small bits of rubbish would fly up to the bristles as the broom passed over them and then vanished, leaving the street as clean as… well a new pin.

There was still an hour or so before Gringotts would open but Harry and Hermione knew there was one place they would get a response, as long as they made enough noise. They walked up the Alley past Ollivander’s Wand Shop, Harry glanced in, the window display looked dustier than ever, and then Fortescues Ice Cream parlour boarded and locked shut. It reminded them that both the owners of these establishments had vanished without a trace, but at least there was one shop that was still trying to maintain normality. Number 93, the home of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes, garishly painted it looked like a large firework ready to go off. Harry banged on the door, initially there was no reply but he persevered for several minutes. He was just about to resort to more drastic efforts to attract someone’s attention when a red haired head poked out of one of the upstairs windows.

“Who’s making all that racket?” shouted one of the Weasley twins, Harry couldn’t tell which one.

“It’s us, let us in, please!” Hermione shouted up.

“Hermione, Harry, OH… hang on I’ll be down in a mo,” and the red head disappeared again.

The flat that Fred and George Weasley lived in over their shop was very small, hardly big enough for the two of them, but it was dry and cheap.

The four of them sat perched on various oddments of furniture that were scattered around the living room.

The twins seemed a little disconcerted to have company but Harry put that down to the early hour.

“Well,” said Fred, “I’ll go and make some tea.” and he disappeared quickly into the small kitchen.

“So,” said George a little warily, “bit of a surprise to see you here.”

“Not that we mind,” said Fred from the safety of the kitchen.

“Very pleased actually,” said George putting on a brave face.

“What are you two up to then?” The twins said together as Fred re-emerged with four mugs of tea.

“On the run,” said Harry

“Oh…,” said Fred.

“Ah…” said George.

“Is that wise?” the combined voices asked.

“Circumstances,” said Hermione.

“Ri…i…i...i ght, said Fred.

“You’ve not forgotten it’s Bill and Fleur’s wedding tomorrow?” said George. “We are actually closing the shop for the occasion.”

“Not that we are especially busy, just now.” said Fred.

“No deadly,” said George.

“No,” said Hermione, “we hadn’t forgotten, but we don’t know if we are going to be there.”

Harry looked at the pair of them, their discomfort had nothing to do with the time of day. They were trying to avoid his gaze, and they weren’t looking at Hermione at all.

They were hiding something, and then it all fell into place. “Ron,” said Harry, just his name, but it was enough, a sickly expression covered both identical faces, the banter stopped and the twins found the condition of the carpet on the floor fascinating.

Hermione homed in on the two like the path of an uninterrupted bludger. “Fred, George, if you know something about Ron you’d better tell us.” Harry winced Hermione was using her old school prefect’s voice.

“Ah…” said Fred.

“Well…” said George.

“It wasn’t really our fault,” they both said together giving each other mutual support.

“Explain,” said Hermione coldly.

“We sent Ron one or two things, all harmless really, nothing underhand, we thought it would be fun.” said George as if pleading for mercy. “It’s just we didn’t know he was going to use them all at the same time.’

Hermione’s eyes took on a very dangerous glow. “What have you been giving him and how long has this been going on?” she managed through gritted teeth.

“Since you all came to the shop last,” Fred confessed. “We felt a bit rotten about the way we treated him, so we sent him a few presents.”

“Carry on,” obviously Hermione was on the trail and like a Crup going for a muggle, she wasn’t going to let go. Harry shivered, he thought the temperature in the room must have dropped several degrees.

“Well the first one was a simple potion, we call it Getawitch.” said Fred, Hermione looked horrified. “Drink it and wham.” he smiled, thumping his fist into his open palm, then at Hermione’s look his smile faded.

“Wham?” said Hermione, Harry could feel icicles forming.

“Yeah wham, ‘the first witch you meet will be swept off her feet’,” said George.

“Only Ron bumped into Lavender Brown instead of y……” remarked Fred unwisely. He closed his eyes at his stupidity and hoped for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Instead of… who?” was the quietly spoken question and Harry knew that winter had finally come.

“Err… instead of you Hermione.” George admitted.

“Go on,” was all she said.

“Then we gave him Wiffright for Wizards,” George continued, “it’s a sort of perfume. The stuff only works if the witch has been previously exposed to Amortentia. It’s all very complex but basically the Wiffright is able to mimic the desired aroma that Amortentia has aroused, can be very effective.”

Harry noticed that Hermione had gone a rather peculiar colour, “And Ron was using this …stuff?” She asked.

“Yes, right up to the day of Dumbledore’s funeral,” admitted Fred.

Hermione asked where the bathroom was and disappeared into it.

“So that’s what has been making Ron act so odd over the last few weeks?” asked Harry, “the after effects of …what was it, Wiffright?”

“No Harry, that’s what we couldn’t understand,” said Fred, “Wiffright doesn’t have any after effects.”

“Unless you count getting married to the wrong person,” quipped George, “but we do have a disclaimer on the bottle to cover that.” He gave Harry a sick smile, Harry didn’t laugh.

“So what has caused Ron to behave so oddly?” said Harry fixing the twins with an uncompromising stare.

“Err…We think that Ron started using Felix Felicis after the funeral,” explained George cagily, “and because everything started going well for him he went back to using the Wiffright again. To Ah… sort of consolidate his position.”

“Hang on you two,” said Harry suspiciously, “what do you mean that’s what you think he’s been doing. Ron’s not good enough at potions to make Felix Felicis himself, so where did he get it, and why would he want to use it anyway?”

“Oh Merlin.” Fred and George exclaimed together. They looked at each other in defeat and decided that they could see no way out of this but by coming clean. “We made the liquid luck for him.” said Fred.

“After Dumbledore died Ron could suddenly see that his chances of survival had plummeted, so if he was to stay with you he felt he was going to need all the luck he could get,” continued George.

“Ron’s human Harry, we can’t all be heroes.” said Fred giving Harry a rueful look.

“Liquid courage Harry, even muggles use that term.” It was George’s turn to speak. “Unfortunately there must be something in the Wiffright that reacts with a component of the Felix Felicis, all his deepest fears surfaced and he felt brave enough to tell you, well sort of. Add to that the recklessness and giddiness that using Felix Felicis causes when you use it too much and you have the Ron effect.”

“We only realised when Ginny told us what he did.” they both finished together.

“OK perhaps I can forgive him for that …just,” said Harry considering the implications if he never chose to forgive the ginger idiot, “but what about Hermione, what about her feelings, didn’t Ron care what he could be doing to her?”

“Of course he cared,” said Fred.

“He must have done,” put in George. “There needs to be some attraction already there for the Wiffright to work properly. You can’t create love Harry, so it won’t work between complete strangers, maybe them getting together was meant to be.”

“Well she’s hardly a stranger to him you plonkers,” said Harry crossly. “They’ve known each other for six years, and anyway,” he said more quietly, “how could there not be feelings between them.” He looked at the twins and shrugged his shoulders. “Anymore than how could I not have feelings for her as well.”

Harry realised that the twins were not looking at him but to someone standing by the bathroom door. He turned slowly, and saw that Hermione was back and had been listening.

She had been crying, no she was still crying, he watched the tears run down her face and the rise and fall of her shoulders as she silently sobbed. She walked the few steps toward him, threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him rocking her gently from side to side as her sobs subsided.

When she was calm again Harry threw the twins one last look which left them in no doubt that if, or when, Harry returned there would have to be a reckoning.

“Come on we are going, I think we have heard quite enough of Weasleys wizarding foul-ups,” he said gently to her. She nodded her agreement, then without a backward glance Harry led Hermione out of the flat down into Diagon Alley again.

The street was coming to life and although not crowded, as it had been on so many other occasions, there were at least a few people going about their daily business, life had to go on.

In the time it took them to get into Gringotts Hermione had regained much of her composure, only the odd sniff escaped when she thought Harry wasn’t looking. The two of them visited Harry’s vault and replenished their depleted purse, then by mutual consent, spent the rest of the morning looking in some of the more obscure shops for any item that might help them on the quest that they knew was before them. They returned to the Leaky Cauldron for a meal and then having been awake since the crack of dawn, retired to their room to rest.

Hermione had been very quiet since their visit to the twins shop; she had a lot to think about and it was going to take her some time to sort it all out in her head. She knew Ron had been chasing her for years now, and up to this year she had resisted. She knew in her heart of hearts that even though their biggest arguments had happened when they were much younger, the memories they left had never really gone away. Sure she had feelings for the big prat, but those memories had always stopped her from falling in love with him, until this year. Now that she knew Ron had been playing with love potions she couldn’t be sure that even that love was real.

Did she blame Ron for using the Felix Felicis, she thought he was an idiot for trying it, but Dumbledore dying like that had given them all a sense of impending mortality. If he couldn’t survive who could? She understood, even if she couldn’t condone. Then there was Harry she could see him now. She was sitting at the dresser brushing out her hair, it seemed to take longer to do each day, and there he was in the mirror. He was half lying on the bed reading a small book they had found in one of the shops in Knockturn Alley. So serious, even more so since he had lost Dumbledore, he was the only one who had remained focused, or at least had given that impression. That’s what frightened her about him, she knew what he had to do and she knew what he had to face. She wasn’t sure that she had the courage to risk getting too close to him and then lose him again, but if he didn’t succeed would she want to live in a world ruled by Voldemort, would she be allowed to live in a world ruled by Voldemort. Her dad would have called it a catch 22 situation. ‘You’re damned if you do girl, and you’re damned if you don’t.’

“Oww!,” she said quietly as the brush caught her hair. There was a bit of a tangle in her hair at the back where it was hard to reach, she struggled for a moment then she felt a hand on hers.

“Here let me do that,” said Harry, “mine’s never been this long but I’ve had a lot of experience with unruly hair.” His face smiled at her from the mirror.

Hermione relinquished the brush to Harry who stood behind her and gently drew it through her hair. She could feel the touch of his hands, so soothing; she closed her eyes remembering the way her mother used to do the self same thing for her. The memory caught her emotions and she felt safe and happy as those hands brushed her cares away.

She dared to open her eyes and in the mirror were eyes of brilliant green staring back at her. She could see the light glisten in those eyes as he fought to keep his emotions in check, his hand continued to caress her hair until she could stand it no more. She stood and turned to him.

“Oh Harry!” she encircled his neck with her arms and fell into a kiss that if nothing else ever happened between them, would last her a life time. She didn’t know where it would all end but she knew now that she could never give up on the man who carried that famous scar.

* * *

Chapter Three

Weddings and Birthdays

There was silence in that room situated above the bar of the grimiest pub in London. Not that you would have heard any noise or even found the location of the Leaky Cauldron and the room it contained unless you were a witch or a wizard. The witch and wizard who occupied the room were lying on the large four poster bed trying to rest although it was only eight in the evening. They had been awake and busy for the best part of sixteen hours but if Harry had to be honest it was the occurrence of the last ten minutes that had really tired him out, and left him emotionally drained. Hermione had kissed him …not a friendly peck on the cheek, or the tighter hug and kiss that followed a miraculous escape from imminent death; this had been a full blown, deeply felt, bit of mouth to mouth resuscitation.

He had two prior experiences with kisses like this, the first he remembered as wet, it was a one off, and not as pleasant as he had hoped. The second, well to be honest he was not considering a single kiss here, in that two weeks with Ginny there were quite a lot he could bring to mind, and they were much closer to what the boys in his dormitory at Hogwarts had led him to expect. Every time he had kissed Ginny he had felt his senses soar, she was alive with passion, and that perfume, the scent he had detected in the Amortentia fumes. Harry drew in a deep breath as his mind relived the effect, and then he stopped opened his eyes to look for the person he knew must have arrived in the room for the same scent was there again, but save for himself and Hermione the room was empty. Hermione … oh Hermione! His mind returned to the comparison of the kisses, what could he say, there was a longing as if this particular kiss had waited just for this particular moment to burst forth, a desperation that if this was the only kiss that ever there was, neither of the participants would want for another, and an affirmation that they were connected by the deepest kind of love. Harry sniffed the air, for that was not all that was hidden in that kiss, the scent that had driven him into Ginny’s arms was still there.

“Hermione?” he whispered.

“Umm, what?” came the muffled reply from the sleepy girl by his side.

“What is that lovely perfume?” he wasn’t sure what answer he really wanted.

“Oh… it’s called ‘Dream Flowers’ Mrs Weasley gets it for us. From a friend of hers that has a small shop. Why?”

“Uhh…” Harry stalled. ‘Us, who’s us?’ came to mind while he tried to think up a good reason, “I like it, that’s all.” he said lamely.

“That’s nice to know,” Hermione murmured, sleep catching up with her again. “I’ve used it from time to time since our second year, Ginny introduced me to it …she uses it as well.” Hermione yawned and stretched out her arms, finally wrapping them around something convenient which happened to be Harry. “Strange you’ve never noticed it before.”

“Yeh,” said Harry breathing deeply of the scent of ‘Dream Flowers’ and giving the sleeping witch a kiss on the top of her head. “Strange.”

* * *

They had only meant to get a few hours rest but the sun was poking its head above the horizon by the time they woke. Hermione surfaced first and looking at Harry realised that for the second night following she had slept in the same bed with a boy that was not even supposed to be her boyfriend. She wondered briefly what her mother would say if she knew, she’d be OK, and Dad?... well Dad was another matter. As she thought about her parents it became increasingly clear to her that there was one thing she needed to do before very long, she needed to pay them a visit. However that particular trip was not the first thing on the agenda. She desperately wanted to see Bill and Fleur married and somehow she needed to persuade Harry that he did as well. So how was she to do that and also avoid seeing Ron? For she had remembered a rather nasty little charm which would suit him just right, and at the moment she wasn’t sure she would be able to hold herself in check.

She climbed off the bed and traipsed over to the small bathroom to freshen up, it was very basic, but she did her best while she pondered her problems. She heard Harry stirring and decided to go with a plan that had just come to her, she wasn’t hopeful of success but then …. ‘If you didn’t try….’ Marching back into the main room she was greeted by a very dishevelled Harry levering himself off the bed covers, and as she opened her mouth to speak, Harry said. “Morning Hermione,” he yawned, “I was just wondering,” he continued before she had time to reply and launch into her prepared speech, “we really ought to try to get to Bill and Fleur’s wedding somehow, but if you don’t mind I would rather not bump into Ron if we can avoid it.”

“Uhh…OK Harry if that is what you want,” she replied, hastily swallowing all her persuasive reasoning now she didn’t need it. “We will have to face him eventually though,” she crossed her fingers behind her back hoping she wasn’t pushing her luck.

“Yes, I know, but not yet,” Harry said, and Hermione gave a quiet sigh of relief. “So breakfast first then we’ll work out what to do.” he suggested.

“Right, but you are going to make yourself presentable, aren’t you?” she asked.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, he was a bit of a mess, then as he picked up the brush to do his hair, he remembered seeing something else in that mirror last night. She was standing just behind him and she was looking in the mirror as well.

“Hermione?” He gazed at her reflection that was similarly transfixed on his.

“Yes Harry,” her reply was quiet and her eyes suddenly fell to look at her hands.

“About last night?” he watched as her hands clenched her knuckles turning white.

“Yes Harry,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” and her eyes lifted again, and he could see them shine.

“You didn’t mind?” she asked as he turned toward her.

“No, it was …wonderful.” and he leaned towards her and kissed her gently, right on the edge of her mouth.

* * *

Breakfast was a lazy affair; the wedding was set for eleven o’clock so they had plenty of time. They decided to apparate to the Burrow and then hide under Harry’s cloak until they could safely reveal themselves, stay for the ceremony and then leave again. Then Hermione told Harry she wanted to visit her parents as soon as they could, so he suggested that when they left the Burrow that was where they should go. So with their day planned, they returned to their room to make themselves as smart as circumstances would allow. A few spells and charms and rumpled robes gave the appearance of being clean, and wayward hair was as under control as well as it ever was. Harry’s senses reeled as Hermione produced a small bottle and applied a scent that he knew he would never be able to ignore again. Hand in hand they pictured themselves standing by the log bench next to the stream that flowed passed the Burrow then with a faint CRACK they were there.

The garden of the Burrow was hung about with baskets of flowers and bunting. It made a very festive sight, and there were lots of people milling around while the final preparations were being made. Harry and Hermione retired under the cloak and sat on the bench watching from a distance; then they started as voices approached their hiding place from the direction of the fields behind them. Harry recognised the speakers as Bill and Charlie and as they passed them by he lifted the cloak to reveal their presence.

“Harry, Hermione.” Charlie almost shouted, then at a sign from Harry to keep his voice down, he continued in a quieter tone, “We didn’t think either of you would be here today after what little Ron has been up to.” He grinned apologetically at Hermione.

“Well as far as most are concerned we aren’t,” said Harry, he looked at Bill who was obviously not fully recovered from his injuries, “but there are some members of your family we felt we couldn’t let down.” He smiled at the oldest Weasley.

Bill gave them a grin back, “Thanks Hermione, Harry I know that Fleur will be pleased to know that you are here in body and spirit even if not in full view and I am very grateful.” He nodded toward the garden. “You will be able to get closer once the proceedings start, Ron has some official duties so he cannot leave the main party. Please come down and watch, both Fleur and I would love to know that you saw it all.”

“We certainly will,” said Hermione, and putting her arms around Bill’s neck kissed him twice. “One for you and one to give to Fleur,” she whispered in his ear.

Harry grabbed Bill’s hand and shook it. “You can give her a kiss from me too Bill, but if you don’t mind I won’t give you one to carry for me, I am sure you can find a spare one.”

“Always have a few Harry …and Harry,” Bill hung on to his hand and gave him a very steady look, “if you ever need our help, don’t ever be afraid to ask. The Weasleys are with you, yes, even prat features, he is aware on several levels that he has made a stinking great fool of himself. Sometime find it in your heart to forgive him,” he glanced at Hermione, “both of you.”

Hidden under the cloak again Harry and Hermione watched Bill and Charlie pass through the garden gate purposely leaving it open. Then as their return was noticed by the gathering throng it appeared that all was in place and the wedding was ready to commence.

Harry had never attended a wedding before, muggle or wizard so he was unsure as to the order of service, he was vaguely aware of the muggle proceedings, but Hermione had obviously read up on the subject and began in low tones to talk him through it. As the wedding ceremony started the pair crept through the garden gate and picked two chairs in the very back row partly hidden from the rest of the gathering by a small tree. Harry removed the cloak and he and Hermione sat un-noticed by most of those present as Bill and Fleur exchanged their magical vows and sealed their future in a bond breakable only by death. Harry had to admit that he was impressed by the commitment the newly weds had made to each other, you really had to be in love to take things that far, he was well aware that muggle promises made on such occasions were not regarded in the same light and sadly were much more easily broken. He turned slightly and was about to mention to Hermione that he doubted that he would ever find someone he could give that promise to, when he saw in his first glance, that her eyes were shining brightly, that there was an almost breathless expression on her face, and that her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of it all; he gulped, and thought better of it.

It was over far too quickly, as these happy occasions often are, Bill and Fleur were passing amongst the guests shaking hands and bestowing kisses as appropriate. The main wedding party was breaking up and Mr and Mrs Weasley stepped aside to talk to the Member of the Wizengamont who had carried out the office that really should have been Dumbledore’s. Ron standing next to them turned to have his first look at the congregation and there standing in the very back row he could see his best friends; at least he hoped they were still his best friends. He could see that they were both staring at him, and he raised his arm to wave, when with a CRACK they apparated.

Ron’s arm dropped to his side and he fixed his gaze on the spot where Harry and Hermione had vanished. Ginny standing by his side looked up at her tall brother, she could see the upset in his eyes and the ragged breath he drew told her that the sorrow was deep and genuine.

“I’ve really buggered this up, haven’t I Gin?” He said, still staring at the same empty spot.

What could she say but, “Yes.” Now he looked down at her, “but it is Harry and Hermione, give them time,” she said encouragingly. “They know everything that happened by now …I hope. You’ll get your chance to say you are sorry; just make sure you don’t bugger that up as well.”

* * *

The garden that Harry appeared in was exactly the same as the one Hermione had shown him in a photograph earlier that morning, he smiled at least he had his three D’s of apparation off pat now, and of course as he expected Hermione was standing by his side. “Perhaps apparation does have its uses,” admitted Harry, “but I think flying is more fun.”

“That, Mr Potter is a matter of opinion,” said Hermione with a laugh, “it really does nothing for my hair.” She looked thoughtfully at the strands of her long brown hair that had unconsciously come into her hand. “Umm, thinking of hair….. ,” then the back door of the house opened and a tall slightly balding man emerged. He was dressed for gardening in an old cotton jacket, and well used trousers tucked into his Wellington boots. “DAD!” cried Hermione, and all other thoughts pushed aside rushed over the lawn to throw herself in her father’s outstretched arms.

Harry couldn’t quite hear the exchange between father and daughter but caught an admonishing “Daa…d! Hermione remember?” from the young witch, and a “Sorry love forgot,” from her father, that gave Harry the impression that whatever he had forgotten was done purely to get the rise from his daughter.

Mr. Granger was looking over Hermione’s shoulder at the young man standing in the middle of his lawn. “So this is Ron is it?” he said in a quite aside.

Hermione held on to her father stopping him from rushing up and greeting ‘Ron’. “Err… no actually Dad, this is Harry.”

“Oh, what happened to the Ron you told us all about?” asked Mr Granger, in a voice that just reached Harry’s ears.

“Long story,” said Hermione succinctly.

“So, Harry then,” said Mr Granger, advancing to Harry and holding out his hand, “pleased to meet you.” Then in mid-shake he stopped as a thought obviously made a connection. “Not the Harry …Harry Potter?”

“Yes sir pleased to meet you too,” said Harry warmly.

“Well,” said the older man, “rather surprised we haven’t seen you before young man,” Harry gave him a quizzical look. “From the way Hermione has spoken about you,” he explained, smiling at Harry and receiving a jab in the arm from his daughter into the bargain. “You better both come in,” he said opening the back door again, “your mum will be back soon she’s just popped out to get some milk.”

Harry watched the events of the rest of that day with a growing conviction and he decided that, for all his adventures and his magical abilities, this was what he was really missing out on. He would have swapped everything to be able to have a normal family like Hermione’s, and as he sat there observing the little interactions between daughter and parents he began to feel that tightness in his throat and mistiness in his eyes. He fought the feelings as hard as he could because he didn’t want to take anything away from the reunion of the three on the couch opposite, but his efforts were not un-noticed.

Hermione shot off the couch and crossed the few steps that separated them in an instant. “Oh Harry, and he found himself enveloped in a mass of brown wavy hair and a pair of arms and that wonderful scent of ‘Dream Flowers’, “I can’t believe I have been so selfish, I’m sorry,” and in a repeat of the night before her lips met his and Harry was carried away on an overwhelming feeling of being loved. That was the final catalyst, and as the reaction reached fulfilment Harry couldn’t help himself and he returned the embrace and the emotion that was washing over him. Hermione’s parents on the other side of the room watched the couple, Harry sitting Hermione kneeling in front of him, their arms entwined. David and Natalie Granger looked at each other, even though they were muggles there was no hiding the intensity of the emotions in that kiss and they felt that they could almost have reached out and touched it, both parents rolled their eyes and smiled.

For the next few days Harry and Hermione acted as any other teenagers, well muggle ones anyway. They walked through the town, Hermione liked the shops, Harry liked the company, they went to the cinema and visited Hermione’s favourite restaurant for a meal. Going back into the muggle world was almost as strange for them now as it was when they entered the wizarding one for the first time all those years ago. It was as close to a holiday as either of them were going to get for a while.

On the last day of July Harry woke and reminded himself where he was. He did this every morning because the light airy room he was using was so unlike anything he had ever slept in before; he could almost forget who he was and what he had to do…almost, but not quite. Then at the sound of Mrs Granger calling to him and to Hermione, he dragged himself out of his bed. He was down in five minutes but Hermione had beaten him to it. She was standing with her parents by the breakfast table and on the table apart from the toast and marmalade was a large flat cardboard box.

“Happy Birthday Harry!” all three chorused together.

Hermione came around to his side of the table and repeated the salutation and kissed him quickly on the cheek. She picked up the box and held it out for him. “It’s for you, from all three of us,” her eyes were shining with excitement, “I hope you like it.”

Harry took the box from her and laying it back on the table began to open it. He pulled back the tissue paper he encountered once the lid of the box was off and exposed a jacket. It was black, the dull surface which looked rather like leather was covered with very fine scales; it was so soft and supple. He slowly lifted the garment out and found that it wasn’t just a jacket, it was a full length coat, that was so light it could have been made of cotton, but in fact it was made of dragon hide. He slipped his arms into the coat and it hung from his shoulders several sizes too big, “Thanks,” he said “Uhh …I think…”

“Just wait Harry, count to ten,” said Hermione hiding a giggle.

By the time he had reached five the coat had begun to shrink by the time he had reached ten it was a perfect fit.

“Thank goodness for that!” sighed Mr Granger, “Hermione said it would work, but I must admit that is the first time I have ever seen anything advertised as ‘One Size Fits All’ actually do it.”

Harry was lost for words, dragon hide was expensive at the best of times but reactive hide like this was very rare. He knew the sentiment behind the gift was Hermione’s but he was well aware that her parents had paid for it. “I don’t know what to say.” came out eventually. “Gosh it’s great, no one has ever…” his words tailed off.

“It’s OK Harry we understand,” said Mrs Granger, “Hermione has talked to us about what may come, and she said that a coat like this would give you some extra protection, money is a small thing when a life is at stake,” she turned and opened the kitchen cupboard behind her. “So,” she wrestled with something Harry could not see, “if you don’t mind we thought Hermione ought to have one too,” and a second identical box was revealed. Hermione was obviously as unaware of her present as Harry had been about his, and little show of emotion was in order.

As expected the coat fitted her as well as Harry’s fitted him, actually, he thought, slightly better. For once Hermione had gained control of her hair setting it outside the flared collar that when turned up would give good protection to the back of her neck, the coat shrank and moulded itself to Hermione’s form showing off the attributes she had that Harry didn’t possess.

With breakfast finished Mr and Mrs Granger bade their farewells and left for work, as she climbed into the car Natalie Granger gave her daughter a look and a smile and nodded her head.

“Do your mum and dad really understand what we are up against?” asked Harry as the car disappeared down the drive.

“Oh yes, I spoke to them the other day when you were in bed,” she looked him square in the eyes, “I didn’t pull any punches.”

“And they are OK with it?” Harry surprise was evident.

“No but they know the consequences if we fail, not just to our world, but to theirs as well.” Hermione put her hands on Harry’s shoulders holding him at arms length; she absently felt the soft smoothness of the dragon hide in her hands, “They want us both to live and they know that if we fight together then our chances of surviving are better. They don’t like it but they accept the way things are.” She walked back into the kitchen stopping in the hall to twirl round in front of the mirror watching the flare and flow of the dragon coat as she spun. “You know even a muggle would think these coats were pretty cool,” then there was something in her reflection that made he scowl. “Have you any plans for this morning?” Hermione asked.

“Err… no,” Harry said after a moments thought, “I could try and finish that book I started at the Leaky Cauldron, but I might just watch a bit of telly,” he laughed at her rolling eyes.

“Mindless drivel, Harry, that’s all you see there,” she told him, “still whatever. There is something I need to do, I may be gone a couple of hours.”

“Oh OK, do you want me to tag along?” he offered.

“No its fine I’ll manage,” and with that she grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“Coat, Hermione.” said Harry reminding her she was still wearing the magical item.

“I think I’ll take it with me and make some of the local lads jealous,” she laughed throwing out her chest and making the dragon hide and Harry give a little squeak. “See you later.”

It was in fact so much later that Harry had finished the book and then dropped off to sleep watching the television, Hermione was right, it was mindless drivel. He woke to the sound of her key in the door and lazily opened his eyes then he shot to his feet as if someone had put twenty thousand volts through him.

“Merlin Hermione, what have you done!” for he hardly recognised the young woman in front of him. Her long bushy, wavy brown hair was gone, well not all of it, but most of it, and what remained contained a light curl and fell in waves to touch her shoulders. All the heaviness that had marked her hair was replaced by a cascade of curls that bounced and shimmered in the light. The natural highlights that had always made her hair shine were enhanced and now it seemed to Harry that it sparkled.

“Don’t you like it?” Hermione said quietly her lower lip protruding just a little.

“It’s… It’s… Amazing,” said Harry in awe. The change in her appearance at the tri-wizard ball that had pulled at his heart was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. “Your… Your… Your…” his seventeen year old head got in the way of his seventeen year old heart.

“Yes?” Hermione encouraged.

“Beautiful,” he said at last.

Hermione smiled, “Well done.”

Hermione’s change of appearance was something else she had obviously talked to her parents about without including Harry, not that he thought he had any right to know what was on her mind, but he was glad she had at least spoken to them. Harry had too many memories of hair trauma from his childhood, mainly because his would grow back over night when it was cut much to the annoyance of Uncle Vernon. He wondered if Hermione’s would act in the same way until it dawned on him that he was the one who had made his hair re-grow, and as Hermione was happy with her change it stayed. Her mother accepted it, but gave a little sigh on seeing another little bit of her daughter growing up; her father found it very amusing and whispered something to Hermione who rounded on him with “Don’t you dare!” which set him off in another fit of giggles.

The reason for the change was fairly obvious to Harry, ease of maintenance. They could find themselves in all sorts of situations in the future and this new look would be much easier to manage. He completely discounted the thought that she might want to look quite different in his eyes, not like the old Hermione at all, not like the Hermione that was his best friend, not like the Hermione who could only be his best friend, not like the Hermione that his other best friend might have been in love with. Whatever the reason by the end of that first day Harry had become used to the difference in her, and the difference was not merely the physical change, she had as her mother had surmised, thrown off the last vestiges of being a child, and Harry liked it, but he knew there were others who would not.

* * *

The end of their respite with the Grangers came with the arrival of two letters one addressed to Hermione and one to Harry, both from Hogwarts. The writing on the outside was easily recognisable; six years under her tutelage enabled them to spot Professor McGonagall’s script with no bother. Hermione’s letter contained all the standard information they received every year, but there was one additional sheet which initially caused her much joy but ultimately much consternation.

“Schools on again it seems,” she said as she scanned through the first few pages, then as she reached the additional sheet, “Oh my!” Harry thought she looked as happy as he had ever seen her, “I’ve made Head Girl,”

“That’s great Hermione,” Harry said shakily, for as she had glanced through the usual bumf, Harry had opened his letter and read the terse words on the single sheet of parchment. He stared at the few lines it was not so much what they said but the way they said it and who had written it, and he felt his anger growing.

Thinking that Harry did not sound as happy for her as he should be, she looked at him. She could see him shaking and she could see the knuckles of the hand that was gripping the single sheet of parchment turn as white as the page itself.

“Merlin Harry, what’s wrong?”

He thrust the parchment at her “Here read it for yourself,” he growled. Hermione looked at the over neat script.

Dear Mr Potter,

This is to inform you that following the occurrences at the school last year, and due to your recalcitrant attitude toward the official ministry line, the committee investigating the advisability of allowing Hogwarts to continue operating has reached the following conclusions.

That Hogwarts will be allowed to reopen this September, providing that,

1. A council of ministry officials will oversee the operation of the school.
2. Minerva McGonagall will remain as Headmistress.
3. Harry James Potter is excluded from attending the school for the purpose of education and for any other activity.
4. The said Harry James Potter is permanently banned from setting foot on any of the land that falls within the bounds of Hogwarts School.

“Harry they can’t do this.” Hermione wailed.

“They can and they have,” said Harry, “but that’s not the worst look who signed it.”

‘Yours sincerely, Delores P. Umbridge.

Chairwitch of the council of ministry officials overseeing the continued operation of Hogwarts School.’

The sight of Umbridge’s name at the end of the letter sent Hermione into a tirade of abuse which hardly slackened when her father stuck his head around the door to see what all the shouting was about. After his strategic withdrawal, with an announcement that he was off to fetch his wife, Hermione calmed herself enough to see additional words at the very bottom of the page written in McGonagall’s hand. As she pushed the parchment back to Harry to read what the Headmistress had written she caught sight of his face, he may have been angry before but now his expression was one of shocked amusement.

“Gee Hermione,” he said in awe of the language she had used, “remind me never to upset you.” Then he gave her a concerned look, “You didn’t yell at Ron like that did you?”

“No,” she lied, with a little smile, “it was worse. Come on what’s McGonagall got to say for herself.”

Harry squinted at the tiny writing. “It says ‘Sorry Harry, not my decision and we will find a way. Please come to see me as soon as possible.’ She signs it MM.”

“Well,” said Hermione, “at least that is something.”

As there was no reason for them to leave immediately they decided that they would take the time to get themselves organised and go early the next morning. This gave them one last evening with Hermione’s parents and found the four of them divided out, the boys in the garden and the girls in the back lounge. Harry sitting at the picnic table with Mr. Granger was actually watching Hermione and her mum in the house through the large glass patio doors where they were talking together on the couch. Mrs. Granger would ask her daughter something and Harry could see as Hermione launched into a long winded but well reasoned response.

David Granger followed Harry’s gaze with his own. If wizard boys were the same as muggle ones he knew exactly what was going through Harry’s mind. “There not always easy to understand you know Harry,” said Mr. Granger knowledgeably.

“Sorry Sir,” said Harry his attention was still in the lounge.

“Women Harry, not always easy to understand,” he repeated.

“It’s not just women, I don’t think I have ever understood girls either,” admitted Harry, with a sigh.

“Good stance,” said David Granger laughing, “I’d hang on to it if I were you.”

“Yes Sir” Harry assured him. There was silence on that warm summer evening as the sun slowly descended and the shadows grew.

“Do you love her Harry?” the question came out of the blue, but strangely Harry wasn’t disturbed by it.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, Mr Granger nodded, “Of course I do.” His gaze turned back to the subject of their conversation. “If by dying I could keep her safe then the sacrifice would be worth it. If she was in mortal danger then I would kill to protect her. Her stability is all that keeps me from flying apart, my greatest wish is to keep her out of harms way but I can’t. I know that without her I will fail, with her and we have a chance. Perhaps it’s a funny sort of love Mr. Granger but it’s all I have.”

“Good enough son, that’s good enough for me.” At that moment, in his heart, David Granger gave his only daughter to the young man at his side.

In the lounge the conversation was drawing to a close as well. “I don’t want to disappoint you mum,” Hermione was saying, “but there is no way I am going to leave him to cope on his own.”

“You will never disappoint me whatever you do, I know you will do the right thing.” Mother drew daughter into a tight embrace and Hermione sighed because she had already made up her mind, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Back out in the garden a light breeze was rustling the leaves in the trees; Mr. Granger gave an involuntary shiver. “Come on lad let’s go in,” he suggested, “it’s beginning to get a little chilly,” but Harry didn’t rise immediately, and he placed a restraining hand on the older man’s arm.

“Do you mind if I ask, but has Hermione ever had a nickname?” whispered Harry.

“Err …well yes, as a matter of fact she has. Not for general use you understand, one of those father daughter things, a bit silly really.” David Granger answered in a conspiratorial whisper.

“It wasn’t Herms, was it?” asked Harry.

“Good God no, she has always hated people mucking about with her name…. You didn’t?” he said in horror.

“Oh no, but Ron did.” said Harry.

“Is that why there is no Ron?” Harry shook his head. “No can’t be as simple as that, Fizzy said it was a long story.” said Mr. Granger slyly answering his own question.

“Fizzy?” said Harry.

“Partly the hair, you know frizzy,” he gave Harry a grin, “but mainly the way she was when she was much younger, bubbly and full of life, still is sometimes, when her head isn’t stuck in a book,” said Mr Granger wistfully, thinking away the years. “I hope she gets the chance to be like that again.” Harry felt a strange affinity with the older man as he saw a single tear roll unashamedly down his cheek. “So now you know one of her most closely guarded secrets, and please for my sake remember that when it comes to it you never reveal your sources, even under torture.”

* * *

Chapter Four

No Going Back

Hermione bade a tearful farewell to her parents the following morning. There was a real danger that this could be the last time she would ever see them, and again Harry wondered why he was allowing her to help him. His heart may be having second thoughts but his head knew the reason only too well, without her he would fail, Hermione had almost become his lucky charm, he knew she would never let him down he only hoped he could be as strong for her. At this particular moment he was trying very hard. He shook hands with Mr. Granger who wished him good luck and gave his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement, but all the stiff upper lip stuff went out of the window when Hermione’s mother grabbed him and hugged him fiercely she was crying freely as she had done from the moment the pair had got up from the breakfast table to prepare for the trip to Hogwarts.

“You will take care,” she said to him using the same words she had spoken to her daughter, “and you will come back safe.” It was almost that if she believed in the words enough then they would come to pass. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Remember Harry that whatever and I mean whatever happens,” she glanced longingly at Hermione wishing she didn’t have to go, “you will always be welcome here.”

“Thank-you Mrs Granger, said Harry thickly.

“Time to go Harry,” Hermione said, wanting to leave before her emotions got the better of her again.

“Right,” Harry took her hand and they walked to the middle of the lawn. They stood side by side dressed in their long dragon hide coats, their few possessions crammed into the haversack Harry was carrying. “Three D’s in order,” Hermione nodded. Then with a CRACK the pair vanished.

* * *

They reappeared in the middle of a rain shower, on a rocky hillside with a view over the Glen that held the lake and Hogwarts castle. They were no more than six feet from the entrance to a small cave that they had visited before and they dived into it to shelter from the downpour. Harry relieved himself of the weight of the haversack and stuck it in a dry corner.

“You’d think there would be at least one month in the year when it doesn’t rain up here,” complained Hermione. Then she ran her fingers through her shorn locks and smiled.

“At least I won’t have to spend hours getting this dry.” Harry laughed with her.

“You know I can’t get over how very different it makes you look,” he said then quickly glanced out at the rain again as he saw a quick flush rise in her cheeks.

“Does it really? Because it makes me feel different, freer, something like that,” she said flicking her head and making the curls fly out.

“I like it,” Harry said his voice betraying him by giving a rare adolescent to man warble that he thought he had grown out of.

“Do you really?” said Hermione coquettishly, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Err… yes, said Harry shyly, “a lot.”

“Ooh, good,” she said in a most un-Hermione like way.

Harry took another long look at his friend, he had never played this game before and was rather uncertain of the rules, and he hoped Hermione would forgive him if he made a few mistakes. He thought he ought to make sure that the game had started and he could think of no other way so he asked her directly. “Hermione, are you flirting with me?”

There was a slight pause possibly of shock, possibly of surprise, but most probably because Hermione was considering her answer and its consequences. “Yes,…well maybe…yes.” She challenged him, her look most definitely said, ‘So what are you going to do about it.’

“Oh that’s great!” said Harry enthusiastically and Hermione’s eyes opened wide and the flush in her cheeks deepened, he held the moment for as long as he dared, he was enjoying the game. “It’s stopped raining,” he said completely seriously, and he pointed over her shoulder at the clouds fleeing the sky. Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously but Harry fully aware of what he had said and done, laughed and kissed her quickly on one flaming cheek, “Thanks,” he whispered in her ear. “Come on lets go before it starts again.” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.

The walk to the gates of Hogwarts took them about half an hour, all the way down the gravel drive Harry looked anywhere but at the shining white tomb down by the lake, trying with all his might to pretend it didn’t exist. They reached the steps to the castle and could see Argus Filtch the school caretaker standing just inside the partly open doors. Harry still holding Hermione’s hand marched quickly up the short flight Hermione almost having to run to keep up with him.

“Well, well, Mr Potter,” Filtch started in his slow drawl obviously working his way up so some scathing comment. He never got the chance, and was left open mouthed and spluttering as Harry and Hermione swept passed him as if he wasn’t there. They were halfway up the grand stairs before he regained his composure, “You wait, after today it’s Azkaban for you Potter if you are caught here,” he yelled in their wake, “and I hope it’s me that catches you…. I’ve chains waiting,” he added at the top of his voice.

Harry slowed his pace once they rounded the first corner and Filtch disappeared from sight. Hermione clung to him while she recovered from the rush up the stairs. Then following a path they had trod many times before they made their way to the Headmistress’ office. “Tartan Shortbread,” said Hermione to the gargoyle guarding the spiral stairs, it jumped to one side.

“How did you know that?” said Harry in surprise.

“Head Girl, remember?” said Hermione, with no enthusiasm.

“Oh yeh,” said Harry, equally disheartened.

They climbed slowly up the winding flight and stood in front of the familiar door. Their knock was answered by a lilting “Come in” Harry hesitated but Hermione opened the door and dragged him in across the threshold. Professor McGonagall, who was seated at Dumbledore’s old desk, stared at the pair of them as they crossed the floor to her. ‘They wear those long black coats like some form of armour,’ she thought, and it almost detracted from the most striking difference. “Well Miss Granger looks like you have gone for a change of style,” the old Professor studied the girl’s stance her whole demeanour was different, a strength that hadn’t shown itself before, “umm… suits you.”

“Thank-you Professor.” Hermione flashed a smile.

“Right then Mr. Potter… Harry, sit down the both of you.” two comfortable chairs materialised behind them, and they did as they were asked. “Before you say anything let me tell you that the decisions made about you have nothing to do with the feelings of the school. I have no doubt that you are aware who instigated this. Regardless of the facts it is our intention to give you as much help and instruction as we can; we only have to find a way to do it, considering the restrictions that will be placed on us by the ministry committee.”

“It is very kind of you to worry Professor but I never really expected to return to school, not full time anyway,” Harry told her, “Dumbledore gave me a task, and completing that comes before anything,” he said. ‘Anything apart from keeping her safe.’ he promised himself, laying his hand on Hermione’s that was resting on the arm of her chair. The elderly witch glanced between the two youngsters, her expression didn’t change. “Though I will admit that any information and instruction the Professors here can give me will be very valuable, said Harry ruefully, I didn’t cope too well against Snape, I guess there is room for improvement,” he gave a sad little smile, “a lot of room.”

“Well maybe you’re right, but at least we are agreed on something,” McGonagall said, Harry could see the Headmistress mulling over the possibilities in her mind. Hermione sat next to him saying nothing, her grip on his hand tightened and relaxed as if she wanted to act or speak up then decided that it wasn’t the right moment. Harry turned to her and winked, she returned the slightest smile and her grip relaxed again, only to suddenly tighten when McGonagall finally spoke. “It seems to me that with Hermione as Head Girl…” ‘This is it’ thought Harry, ‘I knew this was coming, this is where I lose Hermione,’ but McGonagall said no more because at that instant she was interrupted by the self same girl.

“Excuse me Professor, but before you go any further I feel I should give you this.” Without a trace of the nerves that Harry knew she was feeling because her hand had become all sweaty, she produced from the inside pocket of her coat a single piece of parchment. She held it out to the Headmistress who opened it, read its contents, and then looked at Hermione questioningly.

“This is your letter of appointment as Head Girl Miss err… Hermione. I don’t understand.” There was an expression of utter confusion on her face. “Please explain.”

“I don’t want it,” said Hermione stoically though Harry knew this was something she had wanted throughout all her school life.

“I beg your pardon!” McGonagall could not believe her ears. “I don’t think you understand the implications of your actions. No student in the whole of the School’s history has ever refused to take this position, it is just not done!”

“Harry and I have far too much to do, I will be remaining with him and we will study together,” Hermione was being very firm, not prepared to give an inch. “I have it all worked out.”

“Have you now!” Harry could see that the Headmistress had not foreseen this turn of events and was not pleased. Harry hadn’t seen it coming either, he wondered what had made Hermione do it. Then he understood, she was doing this for him, she said she wouldn’t leave him, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so literal. The little spark of hope that had dimmed at the thought of her in school without him, flared again, he still had his lucky charm.

McGonagall was not the only dissenter in the room, a large proportion of the portraits of past Heads were loudly expressing their displeasure, and as he looked from painting to painting Harry saw Dumbledore’s portrait hanging on the wall by the window. The old man was sitting in the frame exactly as he had been after the funeral, head bent forward resting on his chest; he appeared to be dozing in his chair. Harry hated seeing that image and he pulled his eyes away from the painting, then there was a discrete cough that penetrated the din. It was not loud but sounded agonizingly familiar and the clamour died, Harry’s eyes flew back to Dumbledore’s portrait but the figure in the chair hadn’t moved.

The anger slowly faded from the Headmistress’ eyes as she controlled her breathing and calmed herself. “Very well Miss Granger,” she said primly, “let us have this wonderful plan of yours.”

Hermione had sat very still through the uproar, as if unmoved by all the fuss, she knew in her own mind what was needed and she hoped her plan was all she thought it was. Now she had her chance to explain she didn’t intend to waste it. “Harry and I can set up shop in the Shrieking Shack; we will add some wards to it to keep out the over curious and we have the passageway to the Whomping Willow which will give us access to the school or the Professors access to us. We can apparate in and out easily and any of our friends can visit in safety.” she looked at Harry who was grinning at her, ‘even the one the Shack was originally designed for.’ She flashed him a smile at the thought of Remus being able to help them again.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” said Harry enthusiastically.

“I will be the judge of that Mr Potter,” the Scots burr brought him back to reality, “but I have to admit it has some merit. Yes, it certainly has some merit.”

Professor McGonagall placed Hermione’s letter in a drawer of her desk. “Most inconsiderate of you Miss Granger to leave the School just now, I will have to choose another Head Girl and I suppose that Mr Weasley will not be too pleased.”

“Why should Ron care?” said Hermione coldly, then she looked aghast, “you didn’t make him Head Boy, did you?”

“Oh goodness no,” McGonagall actually laughed, “Terry Boot, from Ravenclaw, Ron is captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but that is not what I meant,” she became a little uncomfortable, “at the end of term weren’t you….”

“Yes… and not now.” said Hermione sharply.

Harry dived in to forestall any more questioning on that particular subject. “You’re actually playing Quidditch this year with everything that is going on?” asked Harry who couldn’t hide his disbelief.

“Yes Harry, the committee require Hogwarts to operate completely normally; we act as if nothing has happened.” The Headmistress’ sarcasm was not lost on either of the pair. “Still that is none of your concern, here have some tea.” She gave a casual wave of her wand, as she pushed back her chair and stood, cups and a pot appeared on a small table. “Biscuits on the desk,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to the door. McGonagall stopped and turned back to Harry and Hermione, “I will not be very long, there is something I need to do. Now remember that you have only been allowed back into the castle for this interview, once it is over you will have to go, it is very important that you do not leave this room.”

Professor McGonagall swept out of the office and disappeared down the stairs, Hermione and Harry sat in silence, not wanting to talk in the presence of so many active portraits. To Harry the room was hardly changed, except for the absence of Fawkes’ perch and the replacement of Dumbledore’s sweet tin with McGonagall’s biscuit barrel, it could have been the same. Harry’s mind drifted back to the times he had sat here under Dumbledore’s watchful eye, it all seemed so strange that he was not here; even the portrait of the old man gave no reflection of his presence, the figure continually dozing appeared to have no life of its own. Harry discovered that it was impossible to stare at that portrait for any length of time, when he tried his vision kept slipping away to one side or the other so in the end he gave up and he looked instead at the wonderfully intricate telescope up on its raised platform and remembered the occasions he had seen the old headmaster using it.

Hermione was watching Harry, it was almost as if she could read his mind, she knew he was storing up the memories this place had for him, had for them all, she suddenly felt that she wanted to hold him to tell him it would be alright. Why had she become so protective of the young man who in truth was more likely to be the one protecting her? There must be a reason, the same reason she had turned down Head Girl? She slipped out of her seat and sat on the armrest of Harry’s chair, then sliding down between Harry and the armrest she reached her goal and Harry realised she was there.

So lost in his own thoughts it was only the sudden weight of her sitting partly in his lap and that seductive perfume that alerted him to the fact that Hermione had joined him scrunching herself next to him in the armchair. It was as if she was aware of the direction his thoughts were taking him and she was there to comfort him and tell him it was alright.

“OK Harry?” she whispered in his ear.

“Fine,” he sighed, and shivered as her warm breath on his neck raised goosebumps on his arms.

“Good,” she curled an arm around his neck.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“Don’t mention it.” and she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. They sat silently taking in the magical atmosphere of the room, happy to be together, for the moment not worrying about the future.

At McGonagall’s return Hermione slowly levered herself out of Harry’s chair and sat back down in her own. If the Headmistress wondered what had transpired in her absence she said nothing about it. She did present them with several sheets of parchment containing the spells they would need to construct adequate wards around the Shrieking Shack and protect the tunnel leading to the Whomping Willow. They had to remember that Peter Pettigrew and Severus Snape knew its secret, and what they knew they could only assume that Voldemort would know as well. She also told them the secret of the back room in the Hogshead Tavern, a meeting place known only to select members of the Order of the Phoenix; fortunately Snape had not been among them, and the spell to gain entry. She gave them a name, Langdon Long, he would be their contact at the tavern should they need him. They had until the start of term to get themselves organised, so not a lot of time and much to do. Professor McGonagall bade them farewell with the promise to see them again in a few weeks, and Harry and Hermione left her office and Hogwarts ostensibly for ever.

As she watched her two ex-students walking away Minerva McGonagall sighed, she was worried, they were on their own now, and no doubt eventually they would draw Ron Weasley into it as well. She turned to the ancient mirror by the desk and spoke to her reflection as if it was someone else, “Well I hope you’re satisfied, I have carried out my tasks. Oh Albus!” her voice rose in exasperation, “I hope you know what you have done.” her reflection didn’t answer and neither did Dumbledore.

* * *

Their first port of call was the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta was not there and the girl that served them gave no sign of knowing who they were. Hermione took the opportunity to spread the parchments McGonagall had given them out on the table and studied them intently. The magic was complex, but she thought within their capabilities, this piece of information caused Harry some consternation when Hermione told him that he would have to cast the spells with her in order to make the protection complete. So he stuffed down his plate of stew as fast as he could, and then started to study the sheets as diligently as Hermione. Two hours, and several Butterbeers later, they thought they had mastered the intricacies of the enchantments. There was only one way to find out, and that was to give it a go. So gathering their belongings and placing the ten Sickles on the table to pay for the meal and drinks, the pair headed out of the pub and the village toward the rickety old building hidden in the trees.

To get to the Shrieking Shack without passing through the tunnel from Hogwarts was not easy; the main track gave the building with the unsavoury reputation a wide berth. There was a certain amount of pushing through the dense vegetation and they had to be careful not to leave a recognisable track. Fortunately they would only have to do this once, one of the spells they carried with them would enable them to set a specific apparation point that only they would be able to tune to, and so bypass the protection wards. They reached the walls of the Shack and proceeded to search for the door, not that they were certain that it had one. Several circuits of the building later both Harry and Hermione were beginning to think that they would have to sneak back on to Hogwarts grounds and brave the Whomping Willow, there appeared to be no way in. As they were discussing in low tones what to do next Harry silenced Hermione by placing his fingers on her lips, and then she heard it too, a tuneless whistle and a discordant humming sound, it sounded ghastly, and it was getting closer. Crouching down below the level of the bushes the pair crept slowly toward that unpleasant noise, then Harry had to stifle a laugh because as the sound became clearer he recognised the source, it was Hagrid.

The half giant was marching through the trees along a path that appeared to come from the direction of the school or more precisely the side of the lake that held the greater part of the Forbidden Forest. The path didn’t seem to lead anywhere; it finished at a point where the tendrils of a willow that presumably was not of the Whomping variety touched the ground. As Hagrid reached this spot he pushed the branches aside revealing a stout pair of doors set in large block of stone that formed a bank behind the tree. Holding this leafy curtain to one side he fumbled for his pink umbrella, and pointed its tip at the lock between the doors.

“Ulloamoora,” he chanted, the umbrella released a small puff of smoke and a single yellow spark, “Oh bugger!” said Hagrid with a lot of feeling, “’Ave to do it the hard way again,” he said to himself in a resigned tone. He put the umbrella back inside his coat and spread his considerable arms wide gripping both outer edges of the doors in his great hands.

Harry and Hermione watching this from their hiding place heard his grunt of effort and a grating noise. The large figure straightened his back and lifted both the doors off their hinges, the lock between them still intact. With a practiced movement that showed Hagrid probably had to do this every time, he turned and leaned the double doors against the face of a convenient rock. He turned back to the cavernous interior of the hidden room that resided behind those doors. Not bothering with magic he used a flint to strike a spark and light an oil lamp that was hanging from a rafter. As the light spilt down it revealed a large irregular shape covered by a large white sheet.

“’Ello then, time for a bit of a clean I reckon,” Hagrid said obviously talking to whatever was hidden by the cloth. Harry gave Hermione a look and he mouthed the question ‘Dragon?’ she gave a silent laugh and shook her head shrugging her shoulders at the same time.

Hagrid answered Harry’s unspoken question by lifting the sheet away and exposing a gleaming and very large motorcycle. It was of no recognisable make, not that either Harry or Hermione had seen in their less than extensive exposure to the muggle variety. Harry could only recall one make, Harley Davidson, and Hermione thought that all motorbikes were made in Japan, but it wouldn’t have helped even if they had been experts. This machine was a Brutus Vampire, the most powerful conversion that Brutus Vellock had ever attempted, it was a one-off and it had belonged to Sirius Black. Hagrid spent a happy half an hour singing and humming to the motorcycle whilst he cleaned oiled and polished every bit of it. The machine had shone in the lamp light before he started, by the time he finished it sparkled.

Harry and Hermione squatting in rather uncomfortable positions in order to remain hidden suffered through Hagrid’s rendition of ‘I lost my heart to a pink eyed Hag’ and by the time he was struggling to replace the doors again had lost the feeling in their legs having passed through the pins and needles pain barrier some ten minutes before. Once Hagrid’s large hairy head disappeared from view round a corner in the path Harry let out a moan and collapsed on to his back and attempted to straighten his limbs. Stiff as he was he reacted instantly when he heard Hermione cry out she was holding her leg and trying hard not to scream in pain. Harry reached out and felt the muscles under his hands, they was as hard as wood.

“Its cramp Hermione, here let me,” and with an expert touch he massaged her leg and then holding her foot pushed her toes up stretching the rigid calf muscles and breaking the tension so that they relaxed. A common occurrence during hours of Quidditch practice, Harry knew that the pain would disappear almost as quickly as it had appeared, but Harry kept rubbing her leg, the muscles now soft and smooth to his touch.

Hermione sat on the ground her legs out in front and her arms behind supporting the rest of her body. Harry with his head bent was working away at her leg which was admittedly still a bit sore, but not what you could call ‘in pain’. She closed her eyes and began to enjoy the sensation of Harry’s hands as he continued his massage. It was like the time he had brushed her hair, she was safe in these hands, her troubles receded and she gave a sigh of contentment.

Harry looked up, and saw the dreamy expression on Hermione’s face, then back down at his hands rubbing her bare leg. He felt his ears getting a little hot. “Err… are you better now,” he stammered. Hermione opened her eyes to see a flaming faced Harry who was beginning to understand that playing the game wasn’t as easy as he first thought.

As they had no luck searching the outside of the Shack they decided that it might be profitable to explore Hagrid’s garage. A well enunciated ‘Alohomora’ and the lock gave a click and Harry swung the doors open. He tried to ignore the shrouded motorcycle but laid a hand on it as he passed and felt the hard metallic surfaces just under the veil that covered them. The rear of the garage was full of boxes, piles of yellowed parchment, and bits of machinery that could have come from just about anything. Hermione was searching in the far corner and found another sheet like the one covering the bike, underneath was an old mirror stained and with areas of silvering missing, she looked at its surface and found something else missing as well, her reflection.

“Harry, come and see this.” she grabbed him and pushed in front of the glass.

“Oh! …” he said in surprise, and he waved his arms around, nothing waved back. He stared more intently at the image in the glass and then he recognised it. “Hang on that’s the room in the Shack where we caught Wormtail.”

“Of course,” said Hermione pushing him away, then she reached out and attempted to touch the mirror, her hand passed right into the glass but did not appear out of the back of it “It’s a two way mirror,” she said triumphantly, Harry looked nonplussed, and Hermione rolled her eyes, “It’s our way in.”

The sensation was almost unpleasant, a stretching that started with the first finger tip to pass into the mirror and ended with the last toe out, and as that emerged on the other side a sort of elastic snap as everything returned to normal. However Hermione was right, it was the way in.

This mode of entry was unexpected and they wondered if any of the old Marauders had known of its existence, the possibilities it would have presented to them would have been endless. For the Shack’s latest inhabitants it caused a problem, it was a weak point in their defences, this they had not allowed for. So while Harry did the grand tour of the three rooms that formed the Shrieking Shack, Hermione put her thinking cap on to see if she could come up with a solution. In the end it was reasonably easy, a reductor curse on the mirror in the Shack triggered if the mirror in the garage was used without a counter sign. The destruction of the receiving mirror would trap the intruder in the sending one with little chance of rescue, Hermione had it all worked out by the time Harry climbed the stairs again. She may have had success with her problem but Harry’s report on the condition of the rest of the building was less encouraging. The Shack was going to take some major work to make it habitable and it would have to be done without changing it on the outside; this they knew would be harder than setting up the wards to protect it, and that was going to be difficult enough.

It was late in the evening of that first day before all the wards were in place Harry and Hermione were surprised at how robust the were. Hermione had told him that the anti-apparating spells were the same as the ones described in Hogwarts a History and used for the castle, and for once Harry didn’t mind her quoting that oft quoted tome. So the Shack was safe, at least they could believe that until one of the professors had a chance to disprove them, but it was still a mess. The facilities down the stairs had suffered far worse from neglect and damp than the large bedroom come living area on the first floor. The small kitchen was disgusting and no matter what cleaning charms they tried it resisted all attempts; the bathroom was even worse and only severe desperation drove Hermione to contemplate using it at all. It was past midnight and they were filthy and exhausted sitting on the bed in the large upstairs room. The last person to use this dilapidated piece of furniture had been Ron, and some of his bloodstains were still apparent on the covers.

“I don’t know Harry,” Hermione was quite downhearted, “I don’t think anyone can make this wreck liveable, and I’m far too tired to try any more tonight. Maybe it was not such a good idea after all.” She looked close to tears with frustration.

“We could apparate out, go to the Leaky Cauldron, get a hot bath and a meal?” suggested Harry.

“Don’t tempt me any more Mr. Potter, it’s a lovely idea but I just can’t,” she gave a massive yawn and laid back on the dirty bed, “Agh… !” she cried, “This is so revolting.” But within two minutes of her head raising a cloud of dust as it touched the pillow she was fast asleep.

Harry yawned himself then smiled down at her sleeping form, and gently brushed her hair away from her face, managing to leave a dirty streak across her forehead. He could see why Ron wanted to fall in love with this girl; he could compare her to no one, Cho had been a waste of space, Ginny had been fun, in fact Ginny had been great, but Hermione was perfect. Harry wondered if they would continue to play the game that had started in the small cave in the hills above Hogsmead, and he wondered if there would be a winner.

* * *

In his dream Harry sensed the smell of frying bacon; he wouldn’t have minded Voldemort’s nightmares half as much if they could have included such delicious aromas. Then he opened his eyes and beheld the dishevelled hangings around the old four-poster, the smell was still there and he realised he wasn’t dreaming. Hermione was draped across his chest still fast asleep, he gave her a gentle prod she gave a groan and then sat bolt upright.

“Bacon?” she croaked through a dusty mouth.

“Yeh, I can smell it as well, but it means that there is someone downstairs.” said Harry quietly.

“Surely if anyone wanted to get at us they wouldn’t stop and make breakfast, would they?” Hermione whispered, as she absent mindedly rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with her very dirty hands, leaving two black marks on her face that made her look like a panda.

“Only if they intended to force feed us the bacon so that we died of food poisoning,” said Harry half jokingly, and smiling at her appearance, “that kitchen is awful.”

Making as little noise as possible, Harry and Hermione descended the stairs wands at the ready, small noises were coming from the kitchen as well as that enticing smell. They paused at the bathroom door which was slightly open Hermione took a quick glance inside and gasped in surprise, the room was spotless, and the old cracked bath and disgusting toilet were gone, replaced with shining examples of their kind. At her unintentional cry the noises in the kitchen ceased. Harry stuck his head around the door to be greeted with a similarly clean and reappointed room, the kitchen table scrubbed to perfection was laid for two, and poking out from behind the table were a pair of large round eyes. “Dobby.” Harry uttered the name as Hermione came into the kitchen behind him.

“Master Harry, Sir and Miss Hermione… err, Miss,” the diminutive house-elf appeared in full view, bowing low to them. “I is sorry, only having the one night I have not finished cleaning,” he apologised, “I will finish upstairs today.”

“What are you doing here? And how did you know where we were?” said Harry too severely for the house-elf wrung his hands in shame and went to bang his head on the wall, but Harry held him back.

“I is so sorry, I is only doing my job, which is looking after Harry Potter and Miss Hermione.” he wailed. “I was sent Sir but if I hadn’t been sent I would have come on my own.”

“McGonagall must have sent him,” said Hermione to Harry but Harry noticed the house-elf wince when Hermione made the suggestion.

“Did she Dobby, were you sent from the Castle?” Harry asked as gently as he could.

He watched the elf squirm with some internal dilemma as he considered his answer and then very slowly Dobby replied “Yes, Harry Potter Sir, I was sent from Hogwarts Castle.”

With gentle persuasion Harry and Hermione managed to get Dobby to relax and explain to them how he managed to transform the kitchen and bathroom to a glory they had never seen. He assured them that their wards were intact, and he thought very good but no wizarding wards could prevent a house-elf from entering the home his master, even if elf appointed, lived in. He served them breakfast and dirty as they were they ate every mouthful. Dobby hoped they would give him the rest of the day to deal with the room upstairs, but if they gave him their clothes he would clean them now. This proved difficult as the only clothes either of them had were the ones they were standing up in and obviously Harry and Hermione’s game hadn’t progressed far enough to allow that level of intimacy. Then Harry suggested the invisibility cloak and Hermione readily undressed beneath it passing out her dirty garments one by one, as each one appeared Harry’s eyebrows rose further up his forehead and his imagination had to be held firmly in check.

Invisible except for her head Hermione disappeared into the bathroom and then passed out the cloak to Harry only letting him see one bare and rather dirty arm. Harry disrobed and settled under the cloak using it for warmth rather than modesty as he was sitting in the kitchen on his own. Fortunately Dobby arrived back with their cleaned clothes just as Hermione finished in the bathroom, avoiding the embarrassment of what to do when you have only one invisibility cloak and two naked people.

With Hermione dressed again Harry took his turn in the bath; they had only left the Grangers yesterday but Harry had never been as dirty as this before. The cleaning foam and warm water that issued from the six taps the bath possessed were as magical as any he had washed himself in and with a judicious amount of scrubbing he managed to get himself really clean. He emerged to find Hermione sitting in the kitchen with both their dragon coats and the rest of their belongings, waiting for him. She explained that Dobby had thrown her out of the upstairs room as he wanted to start on his self-imposed tasks for the day but had said that he would let them leave through the mirror when they need to go. Harry picked up his coat it was spotless as was Hermione’s and Dobby had not touched either, it appeared that not only could you not wrinkle reactive dragon hide it actively repelled dirt so it always remained clean. ‘So,’ thought Harry, ‘at least we should look good which ever way it goes in the end.’ But wisely he kept that particular thought to himself.

Dobby had already cleared the upstairs room of all the broken down furniture, the mirror was the only original piece left. They said goodbye to the house-elf and then squeezed through the glass into the garage. They had not bothered to install an apparation point in the Shack yet so as the garage was convenient and outside the wards they would apparate in and out from there for the moment. The CRACK of their apparation didn’t even reach the ears of a rabbit that was sitting on the grass just outside the garage doors, and a heartbeat later they were in the lane near the Leaky Caldron. They slipped un-noticed through the door and into a quiet booth, where Tom the barman served them, then left them to themselves. They sat there contemplating their drinks, they both knew that their next hurdle was Ron, but how were they going to deal with him?

Hermione had reached the stage where she could promise not to hex him into next week but she was not in a totally forgiving mood. Harry was more pragmatic about it all, he could call Ron all the names he could think of but yelling and screaming wouldn’t help matters. Although it might make him feel better, he knew it would make Ron worse. He also knew they could both talk about Ron’s mistakes for ever but that would not get the job done. He wanted to make Ron one of the team again, it would be bad enough when he found out he was going back to Hogwarts on his own. Then as he gazed at Hermione, the collar of her coat turned up protecting her neck from the occasional draught that blew through the pub when someone opened the door, he thought he knew how to do it.

They came out of the shop with a large flat parcel, the cost had surprised Harry he knew the coats were expensive but it gave him pause that Hermione’s parents had spent that much on him, their daughter he could understand.

“I hope this is going to be worth it,” said Hermione still sounding cross about the whole idea, as they walked out of the Leaky Cauldron and over to the lane. “If he so much as calls me that name I swear he’ll have to look in Mongolia for his voice.”

“I think he’s got the idea you don’t like having your name shortened,” said Harry softly. “You ought to have a nickname though,” he said, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to him. Hermione looked at him sharply, “I have just the thing I think I will call you Fiz…..” and Harry’s voice disappeared into the air as he apparated to the Burrow.

“What, Harry, what!” she yelled uselessly at the empty spot he had occupied. Then Hermione Granger gathered herself and her considerable frustration with the opposite sex and apparated. As she vanished, to follow Harry to the Burrow, the lane resounded with the echo of “MEN!”

* * *

Chapter Five

Ron

Harry was sitting on the old log bench when Hermione appeared at the Burrow still with the echo of “MEN” reverberating in the air around her. She immediately rounded on Harry. “What were you on about? You have a nickname for me? What have you heard?” poor Harry it was like being beaten with a stick, but he shrugged it off.

“Nothing,” he said innocently, and smiled at her, “only joking,” it was only a little lie, and he hid it well.

“Oh, well that’s alright then,” said Hermione calming down and her humour returning. Then just as quickly it disappeared again as she took stock of their surroundings. “Look.” she said sullenly, pointing into the sky.

Two fields away a lone figure on a broomstick flew back and forth, alternately throwing and catching a large red oddly shaped ball. “Umm… he must have heard about his captaincy to be keen enough to practice on his own like that,” said Harry. “I wonder where Ginny is?”

“Why?” Hermione snapped back, a bit too fiercely.

“Because I am surprised she isn’t up there with him,” said Harry, as if the reason could only be that simple. He took the opportunity to score a point and he rolled his eyes at her, Hermione giggled.

“Sorry,” she whispered and no more was said. Harry smiled to himself; it was fairly obvious that the game was still afoot.

Ginny, as it happened, was sitting in her usual seat in the kitchen where she could help her mother and keep an eye out on that old bench. She knew that sooner or later the wayward pair would return to confront her brother, but she was growing concerned that they might not appear before school started, and time was getting on. Then suddenly she was happy, well reasonably so, for there they were and their timing was impeccable. Ginny had worked through many Ron, Harry, Hermione meetings in her mind over the last few weeks and the situation that presented itself now fitted one of them perfectly.

“You OK for a bit Mum?” she said as she collected a very smart broomstick from the rack by the backdoor.

“What? OH yes fine,” Molly said lightly, then when she saw her daughter disappearing with the broom she added with a warning tone, “You be careful that’s Harry’s you shouldn’t really be …... what’s the use.” she said to herself, Ginny had already gone.

“There she is,” said Hermione, but Harry wasn’t really listening, he was back watching Ron continue his solo game of Quidditch.

“Who?” he asked, without thinking.

“Ginny,” growled Hermione, “and she’s got your Firebolt.” Harry’s head snapped round, as the red headed witch ran up to them.

Ginny’s mind was running through her plan, and what with trying to stay out of sight of Ron, and not dropping Harry’s broom, she paid little attention to her two friends until she was almost upon them.

“Wow! cool clothes guys,” Ginny said as she took in the sight of them in their long black coats. Then she stopped dead, all her plans forgotten and stared open mouthed at the change in Hermione. “What have you done? It looks great, Oh Mum will go spare. When did you do it?” she rushed up to her friend and gave a little teenage shriek of delight.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” replied Hermione calmly, “Why have you got Harry’s broom?”

“What, Oh sorry, quite went out of my head,” said Ginny with a giddy giggle. She held out the broom to Harry. “Hi Harry, here, go and make it OK with Ron …pleeease.” she pleaded.

Harry took the proffered broom and turned to Hermione who nodded her head in Ron’s direction, “Strike while the iron is hot Harry, but remind him he still has to make peace with me.” Hermione said with a steely glint in her eye. Ginny was looking back and forth between her two friends hoping they would agree that Ron deserved his chance to apologise and explain, if he could.

“OK,” said Harry, “I suppose mid-air is sort of neutral territory.” Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, until Harry, with a completely straight face said, “What do you want me to do with the bits Hermione?”

“Bring them to me in a bucket and I’ll finish him off,” there was no trace of humour in her words. Ginny began to feel that Ron was about to get his payback, and in a way, although she thought he deserved what was coming, she felt sorry for him.

Hermione turned and marched off toward the Burrow, lugging the large parcel they had brought from Diagon Alley, with Ginny trailing in her wake running to keep up with her. Harry watched them go then stared up into the sky again, the lone flyer weaving back and forth, the quaffle arching up in the air as he threw it to himself. Harry knew that once he and Ron started to talk things would work themselves out, they always had before, but how was he going to get the ball rolling. Then as he saw the quaffle descend into Ron’s hand again, he knew what to do.

He mounted his broom and lifted from the ground sneaking through the trees he positioned himself below and to one side of Ron. Then as Ron lofted the quaffle into the air for what must have been the hundredth time Harry burst out of his cover and streaked upwards. His Firebolt reached maximum speed in the time the quaffle was rising, and Harry shot past Ron at over one hundred and fifty miles an hour, his coat tails cracked like a whip in the wind, and Ron whose eyes had been on the quaffle very nearly fell of his broom. He saw a black blur rocketing upwards, he tried to follow its path but then to his surprise found that both the blur and the quaffle had vanished.

“Fred, George,” Ron yelled, “which one of you idiots did that?” he scanned the sky but apart from the sun shining brightly he could see nothing. Then something in the glare of the sun moved and a voice floated across the air to him.

“Not sure you should be calling anyone idiot, Ron.” Ron squinted into the sunlight trying to see, and knowing what he would find, for he recognised that voice immediately and he had never been so glad to hear it in all his life.

“Harry, it’s you, I know it is,” joy was confounded by apprehension at the way his old friend would treat him, “please, I can’t see you, come out of the sun.”

Harry looked down at his friend and he could see the anguish in his eyes. There were a lot of things Harry could forgive Ron for and a few he couldn’t, that would be up to Hermione, but at least he could start with his bit, and he urged his broom forward and came to a stop next to Ron.

“Hi,” said Harry his face neutral, “I think this is yours?” he held out the quaffle and Ron took it from him hardly daring to look him in the eyes.

“Thanks,” there was a second or two of silence, “Harry I’m really sorry, can we talk? I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“Let’s go down,” Harry replied, “I think we both need to keep our feet on the ground for this, don’t you?” He turned his broom and pointing it down went into a gentle dive landing back under the trees by the stream.

Ron was following close behind; his landing was a little clumsy, partly because of the quaffle in his arms but mainly because he was concentrating on what he should say. He slowly dismounted his broom and put it down, the quaffle with it, he stood up his head bent low in embarrassment, mustering the courage to look at Harry he squared his shoulders and raised his head to gaze down at his friend. Harry’s face was a blank mask as they stared at each other, but Ron’s was full of emotion, he struggled to control it but the glassy sheen in his eyes gave him away. He was moments away from breaking down completely when without any change in his expression Harry simply held out his hand. For a second Ron stared uncomprehendingly at it and then he realised what it meant, Harry was forgiving him. He grabbed the outstretched hand and burst into tears then pulled Harry into a fierce hug, murmuring over and over again “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The boys sat and talked under the trees for a while, Harry was right, once the talking started the problems began to unwind and Ron became more like his old self, but not quite. There was still a concern for their relationship that was keeping him bottled up.

Ron knew he had stretched his friendship with Harry to the limit and beyond and he didn’t want to do that again. In his turn Harry regarded his best friend, he knew Ron wouldn’t stray again now, at least not too far. This whole episode had been a massive shock to them both and none was more pleased to see it at an end than Harry; but Harry knew he must place a condition on his continued friendship with Ron and it concerned Hermione.

As they stood to return to the Burrow and Ron’s meeting with Hermione Harry decided that now was the time. “You’ll find she’s changed, more than you’d think.” said Harry, “and you need to know something.”

Ron said nothing but he thought he knew what was coming, Ginny had mentioned it. It was the reason she wasn’t going to chase Harry again, and if he was right it would be the reason he would have to consider Hermione in a different light. “She has become very important to me,”

Ron’s stomach dropped ‘here it comes,’ he thought.

“Not that she wasn’t before, but she must never know how important,” Harry looked at Ron whose face was a picture of surprise, he couldn’t understand why Harry would not want Hermione to know he was in love with her, but Harry wasn’t finished. “I’ve begun to realise she is the one thing that drives me on, she has become my lucky charm. If anything was to happen to her I will fail, Voldemort will beat me and I will die. Don’t get me wrong Ron if I die killing Voldemort then that’s OK, but Hermione must survive and that is the promise I want you to make me. You will protect Hermione when I can’t and that whatever happens to me you will make sure Hermione lives. Promise me Ron.”

Ron had not expected this, he imagined it would be, she’s mine now, leave her alone, keep your paws off her, but this …Harry’s commitment to her was something Ron knew he had never felt even with all those potions, it was something he could hardly understand, but he could help. He felt those emerald green eyes boring into him as Harry waited for his answer Ron returned the look. “I promise,” he said.

“Thanks mate,” said Harry with undisguised relief and clapped Ron on the back. Linking arms the two wizards walked side by side across the field back to the strange lopsided house that the Weasleys called home.

* * *

As Harry flew off to deal with his side of the Ron problem, Hermione and Ginny reached the back door of the Burrow and ran straight into the apron strings of Molly Weasley.

“Ginny who’s this… Hermione? Oh my goodness! What have you done to your lovely hair,” she cried, holding her hands up to her face to hide her eyes, and then she made a motherly decision that something had to be done to correct this awful state of affairs. “Come inside before some one sees. I’m sure I have a spell in my household book that will put things right, your poor mother would be distraught I am sure.”

As Mrs Weasley bustled over to the old kitchen chest, Ginny tried to interrupt and tell her to mind her own business, but Hermione restrained her with a look and a small smile. “Here I knew I had one,” Molly returned with a tattered book that proclaimed ‘Control Your Family, Household Spells for the Helpless’, and advanced on Hermione with her wand out. Only then she saw what Hermione was wearing and it stopped her in her tracks. “Oh no that will never do,” she looked disparagingly at the wide collared matt black garment that hung down to Hermione’s ankles and swirled about her feet, that part was OK, but up at the top, it fitted her far too well.

Now she was acting as any completely flustered mother would, total indecision as to which deplorable change, deplorable in her eyes, needed correcting first. Molly thumbed the pages of her book looking for a suitable clothes changing spell but none fitted the bill, so she fell back on the tried and tested. “Well if you have nothing else to wear then you can borrow something of Ginny’s. Now let’s see about your hair.”

“No thank-you Mrs Weasley,” said Hermione fighting hard to stop from laughing at the matriarch of the Weasley clan. “I like my hair this way and as for my coat, it was a present from my mother, so you see I wouldn’t want to change that either.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open, “And why would she give you something like that?” She asked once her composure returned. So Ginny had her mother sit down at the kitchen table and Hermione told her. By the time Molly had heard the whole story, well most of it, from the moment Hermione had blasted the Burrow to bits to their arrival back, she didn’t know what to think. Her mind was a welter of emotions as she realised that two of her ‘children’ had slipped out of her control, and she was very worried as to what was going to happen to them.

“Did you really tell McGonagall to stick the Head Girl job?” said Ginny mightily impressed.

“Language Ginny!” said Molly automatically.

“Well, I was much more polite,” said Hermione primly, “but basically, yes,” she giggled.

“How are you going to cope being out of school, with Harry?” said Ginny with a touch of jealousy that she vigorously suppressed.

“We’ll manage,” said Hermione matter of factly, “I don’t think Dobby will let us starve, and the school will help us all it can.”

Then it occurred to Ginny that in all her plans to get the three of them together again they had all been back at Hogwarts by September. “What is Ron going to think?”

“What is Ron going to think about what?” said Ron smiling as he and Harry marched through the back door. His smile vanished as he caught sight of Hermione, “Oh bloody hell!” he exclaimed, and he went bright red.

“Oh bugger!” said Hermione through tightly clenched teeth, as in seeing Ron all her anger suddenly boiled to the top again and she had to run out of the kitchen and into the lounge, closely followed by Ginny.

“Oh Heaven’s!” said Molly her hand to her forehead looking as if she would faint away, as she saw Harry dressed in his black dragon hide armour, and the realisation of it all hit her again.

“Oh well,” said Harry in a resigned tone, it had all fallen apart as he expected, “any one mind if I put the kettle on? I think we could all do with a cup of tea.”

* * *

It had taken Ginny, and then Harry working on Hermione for nearly an hour to persuade her to suppress her anger and attempt to settle her differences with Ron. Now the pair of them were shut in the lounge on their own, with the two arbitrators sitting guard on the door, they heard the occasional, well slightly more that occasional, raised voice from Hermione; but so far they had not found it necessary to intervene.

Hermione was using her full vocabulary of questionable terms, the odd one at the top of her voice, Ron amazingly, considering the way he and Hermione used to spat, was saying very little. Harry assumed that Ginny had worked hard on her brother and must have persuaded him that his best course of action was to sit still and take it. His strategy appeared to be working, the tenor of the conversation had calmed in the last ten minutes, and only the quiet murmur of comment and reply was audible through the door.

Inside the lounge things had settled, Hermione was done berating Ron, she didn’t even think about him as a former boyfriend, as far as she was concerned that particular period of time had not existed in the real world. Friend was the only title she was going to bestow on him, if he wanted to upgrade to best friend he would have to work on it. He was so contrite that he even suggested a memory charm to remove all references of their relationship from their minds. It was a solution that Hermione vetoed immediately, what was the point of all this yelling and swearing only to have it removed by magic, he would never learn that way.

“You can’t force love, Ron,” Hermione had told him, “it grows naturally or it doesn’t grow at all. Give it time, that’s what I am going to do, someday the right girl for you and the right guy for me will come along then if you’re lucky it will be OK.”

Ron kept his own council, he now knew who the right guy was for her even if she hadn’t twigged it yet, and he would keep his promise to Harry he would keep her safe as best as he could. He was going to be the third wheel again, the sidekick, but he would swallow his pride, not that there was much left of that, and play the part. Then Hermione asked him something which totally changed the position he saw himself in.

“I want you to promise me something Ron,”

Twice in one day this was uncanny. …What was the feeling oh yeh, dèjá vu.’

“I want you to promise that you will always watch Harry’s back, he sometimes gets sidetracked and he is not always as careful as he should be. I’m not important to the fight,” …‘tell that one to Harry’… “but Harry is, and it’s your job to make sure he is there at the end. Now promise!”

Growing up was not something that came naturally to Ron, with the twins still acting as if they were six years old at times perhaps the condition was understandable. Hermione and Harry had changed, of that there was no doubt, life was no longer a game for them and it couldn’t be for him either if he was to be with them. The first inklings of his place in the lives of two remarkable people began to seep into his consciousness. They didn’t want him to be the third wheel, or the sidekick, they wanted him to stand between them holding their two lives together, protecting each from his position in the middle. A task he had very nearly thrown away by his behaviour. “I promise.” he said, sincerely, and hoped against hope that he would not have to break either promise he had made that day.

It was well after mid-day by the time Hermione and Ron emerged from the lounge. Hermione graced Harry with a tight smile as she passed, and grabbed Ginny by the arm and steered her out into the garden. Harry waited for Ron, he was looking very thoughtful, but not that bad for someone that had suffered the verbal lashing that Hermione had given him.

“OK mate?” Harry asked, patting him on the shoulder.

Ron took a deep breath and blew out his cheeks letting the air slowly whistle out through his pursed lips. “Yeah, bit shaky though,” he said, then he looked at his friend, “Harry, if I ever do anything as stupid as this again stop me before it goes too far?” Harry laughed and nodded at him. “The cure is much too painful.”

“Come on Ron, I think the girls have some drinks out in the garden; there is something else we have to tell you.” Ron followed Harry out through the back door happy that the worst was over, but Harry knew it wasn’t, and he was worried how Ron was going to take this latest bit of news.

Ginny and Hermione were sitting at the picnic table out on the lawn, their conversation stopped as the boys crossed the grass to them. Ginny picked up the large jug filled with Mrs Weasley’s homemade lemonade, “Drink, you two?” she asked.

“Please,” said Harry gratefully.

“Thanks Gin,” said Ron.

They sat and Ron glanced furtively at Hermione who although still a bit stern was not actually looking as if she wanted to strangle him anymore. “Err… since we’ve umm… made up,” Hermione flashed a daggered look at him, “well… sort of.” Ron continued. “I wanted to ask you Harry if you would consider playing Quidditch again this year?”

“Love to,” said Harry, with a sigh.

“GREAT!” Ron shouted.

“Love to,” Harry repeated, and now he had made the first step he had no choice but to finish, “but I can’t. I am not going back to Hogwarts in September.”

“WHAT!” The expected eruption was blurted forth.

“I’m not going back and neither is Hermione.”

Harry thought it would take eight seconds for Ron to respond it took him three, but the response was exactly as he predicted. Ron was adamant that he was staying away as well, and appeared hurt when he was very forcefully told that he had to go back. He began to rant and rave and was getting close to saying things that would stretch the tentative friendship that had just been mended. It only took one shout from Ginny to shut him up, and allow Harry to tell him what was going on.

Ron listened with half an ear, but inside despite his joy of only a few minutes ago that his friendship with Harry and Hermione was on the mend, his disappointment began to grow.

‘He had fooled himself, he wasn’t the protector after all; he was and always would be the hanger on, confined to Hogwarts while the other two had all the fun. Perhaps this was the punishment his actions deserved, forever apart from the people he cared about the most, never to be one of the three again, damn what an idiot he had been’.

Then through the fug he managed to work himself into he heard words like “Shrieking Shack”, “easy to get to”, “don’t want you to feel left out”, “contact with students”, “most important”, and he began to listen to Harry properly.

“So you see how vital it is Ron,” were the first words that filtered across in a sensible form. “If we don’t have some idea what the Ministry, and the other side is up to, we could walk straight into a trap, and one of those instances is quite enough for me,” Harry said giving Hermione a ‘sorry’ smile as the image of Dolohov’s curse striking her down flashed across his mind .

“Well yes of course,” Ron replied, hoping that he would catch up on what he missed by his inattention. If necessary he’d ask Ginny later but well out of anyone’s earshot, the moon might be a good place.

“We thought you would understand,” said Harry lying through his teeth, they hadn’t expected it at all, and never realised how close they came to being right. “And to make you one of us again,” Harry continued, “we bought you this.” and he retrieved the cardboard box from under the table where Hermione had stowed it.

Ron loved presents mainly for the fun of ripping them open to see what surprise lurked inside, which considering some of the things his twin brothers had given him over the years, showed how much he enjoyed it. With this gift he was more careful, he knew this was a peace offering, one he was well aware that he didn’t deserve, and when he finally removed the coat from its wrapping, he knew that as a fact. He reacted in much the same way Harry had when he received his from the Grangers, but the only word that escaped his lips was “Thanks.” The expression on his face said all the rest.

“Well put it on Ron,” said Ginny exasperated by his inaction.

“Oh …yes …OK,” and he complied with his stilted response and slipped his arms into the coat and drew it around him.

Unlike Harry’s or Hermione’s, Ron’s coat finished a good three inches above his wrists and only just below his knees. He stood there like a patron of the buy-something-five-sizes-too-small shop, and a look of dismay crossed his features, but before he could say anything or anyone could laugh at his predicament the coat, as had the others, did what it said it would do on the label. By the count of ten it had expanded to fit his lanky frame like a glove, he beamed in happiness at his sister and then at his two best friends. They were standing hand in hand facing him and Ron reached out and grasped Harry’s free hand and tentatively held out his other for Hermione to take, he looked imploringly at her. Her eyes still held a smidgen of distrust, then she glanced at Harry who gave the minutest nod, she sighed in resignation and took the proffered hand. Ginny crowed and ran round the three of them in delight.

“At last, at last,” she chanted.

She was happy the three were back together again. What neither she nor any of the others saw was the distraught face that was peering at them out of the kitchen window. All that Molly Weasley could see was her youngest son and his two friends, who might as well be her kids dressed for war, and she despaired, she knew in her heart of hearts that they would never stand like that again. As the tears coursed down her face she knew, she just did, that she would lose at least one of them and might possibly lose all three.

* * *

Harry and Hermione decided to stay at the Burrow and return to the Shrieking Shack the following day, Ron was going as well and Hermione had persuaded Molly to allow Ginny to accompany them on the understanding that she was back before the end of the week. The evening meal that night was one of mixed feelings for those concerned. Molly had spoken to Arthur and he shared her worries over the trio; their meal was eaten in silence and some tension.

Harry and Ron had apparently completely buried the hatchet and were acting much as they had always done. Ginny had placed herself in between the boys and Hermione, who although she had relaxed her feelings towards Ron, found on occasion that some of his comments grated, and Ginny could see her clench her teeth to hold back a scathing remark. The rest of the evening passed in relative calm and it was as everyone was thinking of heading of to bed that Ginny cornered Harry. Making sure they would not be overheard she dragged him up the stairs and into the twins’ old room.

“You’re going to have to watch Hermione carefully for the moment Harry,” she told him in a whisper.” She is trying very hard to brush it all under the carpet but things like this hurt, girls more than most …I should know,” and she glanced at him with a sad smile. “If Ron says something stupid she could still round on him, and Ron says something stupid every other sentence.”

Harry looked at the girl that only two short months ago had set his heart racing. He felt he had let her down almost as much as Ron had Hermione. “I’m sorry Ginny, I didn’t mean to hurt you, and for those few weeks it was great to feel wanted and loved, but….”

“But you have things to do,” Ginny finished for him, “and although I would give anything to be the one for you I know I am not.” Ginny shook her head sadly and the scent of her perfume, assailed Harry’s senses once more and he closed his eyes at the memory of it. “She is,” she said obliquely, “and she will be with you right to the bitter end, I know that and Ron knows that, even if you haven’t caught on to what that means yet.”

Harry was listening to Ginny’s words but behind his closed eyes the face that ‘Dream Flowers’ had conjured for him was framed by lightly curling brown hair that sparkled in the sunlight and not the fiery red of the girl with him. “Treat her right Harry, and make sure my brother doesn’t cock things up again, I don’t think I could stand the strain.” Ginny gave Harry one last look, then leaned forward and stole one final kiss. “I love you Harry Potter, and I always will.” She turned quickly and left him standing in the empty room, ran up the landing and to her own room, and threw the door closed. Had she glanced back to the top of the stairs she would have seen a figure standing in the shadows who at the slam of the bedroom door stepped forward into the light.

Hermione had heard every word, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that she was the girl Ginny was talking about. Was she surprised by this revelation, no not really, but to hear others talking about it made the little tingly sensation that invaded her stomach when she thought seriously about Harry grow and spread until it reached her fingers and toes. Ginny was right, Hermione told herself, she cared for Harry, so much, that it hurt to be out of his sight, that was why she had told him she would never leave him. Even Petunia had said she would do as much and now it was Ginny, but was there more to that promise than the reasons she had given herself for making it.

Hermione was worried now that flirting with Harry had been the wrong thing to do, what if he thought that she was doing it on the rebound from Ron, something to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t like that at all. She was only seventeen; the only real love she had ever experienced had come from her mum and dad, she had suffered the odd crush, survived those, and then Ron, well the less she thought about that episode the better.

Harry was different, always there, undemanding, except when he needed help, and then she was always willing to provide it. He made her feel safe, he made her feel scared, he made her feel that she needed to be near him to comfort him, that’s what most of those kisses had been about. Then she thought of the first one again, in that little room in the Leaky Cauldron, that one was for her, that was her banker, the one to store away forever, so that if anything, or was it that if nothing happened, she would always have that one wonderful memory.

Did she love Harry, yes that was easy; she could just as easily say she loved Ginny, or if she gritted her teeth Ron, but was she in love with Harry? She walked towards Ginny’s room and as she passed the twins’ bedroom the door opened and Harry was standing there thrown into silhouette by the moon shining through the window behind him.……………

The scent of the perfume was receding from his senses, but he could still feel the presence of Ginny’s lips on his and the sound of her words floating in his mind, and he knew she was right, he knew who he wanted to share his life with, he had known it from the moment she appeared in his room at the Dursleys but he imagined he had known long before that. Possibly from the time at the Ministry when he thought she was dead, possibly from the time she alone supported him through the Triwizard competition, possibly from the time she had helped him defeat the Dementors and save Sirius, or possibly from the time she had been frozen by the basilisk. So many times it might have started; he even remembered her telling him he was a great wizard giving him the confidence to confront Quirrell, and that very first time on the train when Ron had tried to turn Scabbers yellow. He heard her voice again as it floated to him across the years, “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”..…………..

“Harry Potter.” said Hermione quietly. Harry lost in his thoughts had opened the bedroom door and almost walked straight into her. He stood there staring at her, her face lit by the light of the moon, the light curly bouncy hair even shone in this dim light at least that is the way it seemed to Harry.

Her eyes were thoughtful and she was biting gently on her bottom lip. Harry could feel himself begin to tremble, not with fear, he’d felt that before, this was not the same. He knew he wanted to hold her and he knew he was scared of doing it, he was being pulled toward her by some invisible force and he tried to resist it, but not very hard because he let it draw him in.

Then in less than a heartbeat something snapped and he found himself with arms full of Hermione who was hanging onto him as tightly as he was hanging onto her, a split-second later his mouth found hers and their lips were crushed together as they surrendered themselves to each other.

They sat close together on George or Fred’s old bed it didn’t matter whose it was as they were both the same. The kiss was over, it had burned itself out a while ago and although their emotions were still in turmoil they were content to sit like this and hold hands. Harry could look nowhere but at their joined hands he almost felt he had done something wrong but then Hermione had not objected to the kiss. The silence between them was awkward they each wanted to speak up but both were waiting for the other to start. In the end as usual in these circumstances they started together, then both stopped, and only then Harry dared to look at Hermione.

He cleared his throat, swallowed once, and then launched his thoughts into the silence. “I was going to say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying, and you know I can’t lie to you.”

“What have you got to be sorry about?” she asked in a whisper. “Nothing happened that I did not want to happen,” she paused for the briefest moment and looked out of the bedroom window at the moonlit countryside, the ghostly coloured trees moving in the slight summer breeze, a snowy owl silently flew past, Hedwig out on a hunt. “I heard what Ginny was saying, and I was there, standing on the landing, asking myself do I love Harry Potter?” Harry shifted his gaze from her eyes back down to their hands again.

“And how did you answer yourself?” said Harry very quietly.

“I said yes,” she replied without any hesitation, and she felt Harry’s hand squeeze hers tightly, “but what I really needed to know was… was I in love with Harry Potter?”

Harry was looking at her again his eyes their usual brilliant emerald green colour washed away by the moonlight, were begging to know her answer. “Such a silly difference that one word ‘in’, and I was thinking about that very difference just now when you opened the door and kissed me.” She smiled, took a very deep breath, and closed her eyes remembering the moment. “That was a first you know, the other times we kissed like that I kissed you, this time you kissed me and you answered all my questions for me.” Hermione pulled him closer and very gently brushed her lips against his.

“Am I in love with Harry Potter?” she asked herself out loud; then savouring each word she answered her rhetorical question, “Yes, I am.”

* * *

Chapter Six

There’s No Place Like Home

As the cockerel in the garden crowed for probably the tenth time since dawn, Ron crawled out of his bed to find that Harry was still fast asleep in his. This was not the usual state of affairs; as the boot was more often than not on the other foot. Ron assumed, quite correctly, that Harry was late to bed the previous evening, but he was unaware that it had been well after midnight before Harry and Hermione had parted company and gone their separate ways to sleep.

They had used those hours to become better acquainted with their acceptance of the subtle change in their friendship; it had certainly involved a few more kisses and not a little discussion. Now that they had finally put two and two together themselves, it became obvious to them that several people had already done the sum, made four and were waiting for them to catch up. So how were they going to play this? Go for broke, kissing and snogging each other all over the place, rolling in the hay and generally letting their hormones take control? Both admitted that it did sound rather fun, but with what they had to do too much distraction was probably a good way of getting themselves killed, Voldemort wasn’t going to give them any slack. In love or not they had to keep their wits about them, they knew that there was something very special between them and a few moments of intimacy from time to time would sustain their relationship; they felt they had rather too much on their collective plates to allow things to become overly complicated, just at the present time.

“We’ll play it cool,” said Hermione seriously.

“Right,” said Harry, “nothing over the top.”

“Exactly,” but Hermione didn’t sound very convincing, and drew Harry into another kiss.

“Not going to be easy,” commented Harry, as he came up for air.

Hermione’s breathing was fast and a little ragged, “Perhaps the excitement wears off after a while?”

“Umm,” he murmured as he considered the point, “It could but I wouldn’t bet on it,” and he pushed her back down on the bed and the next ten minutes was lost in mutual experimentation to see if it did or not. They found it didn’t, well not appreciably.

Harry and Hermione had held their love for each other in check for so long that it needed a release, and it found that release in the caressing and kissing the holding and the hugging that happened that night. It was perhaps remarkable, but despite the passion that was unleashed, the hour after midnight saw them return to their own beds still fully clothed and their respect for each other intact, there was after all a time and a place for everything.

The plan to keep everything under wraps started well and only began to fall apart at breakfast time. They met in the kitchen at the large table, having managed to avoid each other during the process of getting up. Harry smiled at Hermione and she smiled back, they were polite to each other, passing the toast and marmalade and pouring each other second cups of tea, they were trying so hard to be normal that they might as well have strung a banner over the table.

Arthur and Molly didn’t catch on but then they had spent most of the night lying awake and worrying. Arthur knew exactly what Harry was likely to come up against because the Death Eater attacks had not abated, and wizarding and muggle targets were now fair game. Molly was just scared out of her mind for them.

Ron and Ginny were another matter. Ron sighed and shrugged his shoulders with a thought of what might have been. Ginny put a brave face on it all, although inside it still hurt, and even managed to smile at Ron when they exchanged a knowing look. It was only when Harry and Hermione stopped trying to be normal, that a proper semblance of normality returned.

They paired up for the apparation back to the Shrieking Shack, Hermione held Ginny tightly by the hand and they went first. Harry offered his hand to Ron, who looked at it then grabbed him by the wrist. Ron relaxed his mind and emptied it of important thought, not usually very hard for him, Harry concentrated on his three D’s and CRACK they were standing in the dark garage. Harry knew they had it right, there was the smell of oil and polish from Sirius’ motorcycle, then “Lumos” said Hermione and the tip of her wand burst into light and the interior of the garage was revealed to all.

“Right you two,” she said to Ron and Ginny, it sounded like she was going to give a lecture. “You must fix this place in your minds, there aren’t any visuals to go on so use the smell, it should be quite enough and label it ‘Hagrid’s Garage’. This is the apparation point to get to the entrance, which is here,” and Hermione drew back the cloth covering the two-way mirror. “Oh! you should be able to see the room but it looks as if Dobby has covered the other side with a curtain. Now this is important if you don’t want to get stuck in the mirror you must remember the entry spell,” Hermione gently tapped the frame of the mirror with her wand and chanted “Niveus Bubo.” Then she stepped smartly into the mirror and stretched into the Shack.

“Niveus Bobo?” said Ron arching his eyebrows and giving Harry a look.

“NO Ron Niveus Bubo,” corrected Harry, “it means snowy owl.”

“Oh right,” and he followed Hermione’s example, said the counter charm and stepped through the mirror.

Ginny followed and then Harry brought up the rear. He became a little tangled in the hanging Dobby had so thoughtfully placed in front of, or possibly behind, the mirror depending on how you looked at it, as he freed himself from the curtain he became aware of the deathly silence in the room beyond.

He saw Hermione first with an expression of astonishment on her bright red face, he couldn’t tell if Ron was amused or annoyed but he looked at Harry and said flatly, “I can see why you didn’t tell us about all this, very cosy,” he waved his arm indicating the interior of the room.

The vision that greeted Harry, as he followed Ron’s hand to take in the upstairs room, revealed that the decorations were perhaps just a bit over stated. The drapes that were hung around the nearest end of the room were in Gryffindor colours, bold scarlet and gold, however they distorted the plain rectangular shape of the room and covered the original planking of the Shack quite well. What looked remarkably like his old school four poster bed nestled in the corner quite discrete and unpretentious. Then his gaze took in the large solid work table that dominated the centre of the room, and the six chairs that ringed it. Then as he looked to the other end of the room he realised that here there was a subtle change in the décor. It still followed the theme of Gryffindor but the shades were softer and …well they glowed. ‘Very pretty’, he thought, ‘this would make a really good room for a girl…’ then his thought processes ground to a halt for in the opposite corner of the room to his bed was a second one but the curtains around that one were of a far more feminine type.

It was at this point that the penny dropped. “Oh my!” he scrabbled for words but none came.

Hermione gave a nervous giggle. “Looks as if Dobby has out done himself this time…. Err you ought to see the bathroom.” she said to Ron and Ginny, but neither seemed inclined to move, both had seen the expression on Hermione’s face when they had stepped through the mirror, and then the look of incredularity that had seeped over Harry as he taken in the double bedroom. It was very clear that neither of them had any idea that this was waiting for them and for Ron and Ginny this moment was too precious to waste, and they milked it for all they were worth.

“I wonder what McGonagall will say when she comes to give to lessons,” said Ginny her eyes glistening with amusement. “Or Remus and Tonks,” she continued with a grin.

There was a look of mild panic on Harry’s features, but Hermione apart from some embarrassment, was regaining her composure.

“It’s Mum’s reaction I would love to see,” said Ron gleefully.

“Bloody hell,” said Harry very quietly, but with a lot of feeling. The Weasleys, unable to contain themselves anymore, burst out laughing.

Harry was looking very flustered but Hermione rose beautifully to the challenge of the situation.

“I think Harry and I will cope very well,” she said imperiously, “I mean we only have three rooms here, so there really wasn’t any alternative, sharing won’t be a problem. Will it Harry?” She was staring at him intently.

Harry was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “Err… no of course not,” he replied with far more confidence than he actually felt. “What we expected, after all.”

“Yeh right,” said Ron with a grin a Cheshire cat would have been proud of, “Let’s see the rest of this place, didn’t have much time to look around last time I was here,” and he and Ginny headed to the stairs.

Harry held Hermione back as the others clattered down to the kitchen. “Look I know this is all a bit awkward, I am sure we can reorganise things,” but even as he said it he knew he didn’t really want to. Then to his surprise Hermione looked quite hurt and her lower lip began to tremble, Harry was confused now, what had he done wrong.

“I thought after last night you wouldn’t have minded,” she said in a tremulous voice.

“I’m only thinking of you, of what the Professors and order members who come here might think,” he said desperately, trying to cover whatever mistake he had made.

“Are you sure that is all?” Harry thought Hermione was close to tears, and he was under the impression that all the progress they had made last night was about to go out of the window. In his panic he failed to see the subtle change in Hermione’s expression as she played her trump card. “Don’t you love me any more?”

Those six simple words that have spelt the downfall of many a hero cut Harry to the core. He was only seventeen, properly in love for the first time in his life, and it was all a new and strange to him. He thought he had blown it, and he would do anything to put it right again. He pulled Hermione to him and embraced her tightly.

“Of course I love you, don’t you ever think that I don’t,” the desperation in his words was as clear as day.

Hermione pushed him away to arms length, Harry was devastated at the apparent rejection, and then she lifted her head to expose a mischievous smile. “Well that’s alright then,” all trace of upset gone, she moved in and kissed him on the mouth, “don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine.” she said without a care. She turned and followed Ron and Ginny down to the kitchen where they were talking to Dobby.

Harry stared after her, he watched as the girl with the bouncy curl to her shoulder length hair traipsed lightly down the stairs, as if the conversation of the last few minutes had never happened. Then he remembered his conversation with David Granger, Harry knew he may not understand girls, but he knew for sure that the game was over, and that Hermione had won, and to be quite honest, he didn’t mind one little bit.

* * *

Hermione took Ginny back to the Burrow the following day, then she Harry and Ron set about undermining the Ministry rules and regulations as appertaining to Hogwarts and its pupils so that Ron would be able to visit them. They altered the ward on the tunnel so that Ron could cross it as well, anyone else would have to be granted access by one of the three, but they also needed somewhere in Hogwarts where they could meet or use as a place to leave messages. It had to be on the grounds so that Ron could visit it without arousing suspicion, but far enough away from the castle so that Harry and Hermione would be free from detection.

The Quidditch pitch was too open as was the lake side. They considered the Forbidden Forest, but the thought of the spiders roaming free, without Aragog to control them, put a cap on that one, then as Harry found himself humming a reasonably tuneful rendition of ‘I lost my heart to a pink eyed hag’ the obvious solution hit him. It also occurred to Hermione at the same time because she laughed at his expression and they both shouted together “HAGRID’S.” It would be ideal and if they couldn’t trust the half giant then they might as well pack up and go home.

They waited till late that evening to leave via the tunnel, and using the knot on the trunk of the Whomping Willow they immobilised its thrashing branches. With the collars of their black coats turned up they sneaked across the dark grounds towards the small pinprick of light that shone from the hut that belonged to the keeper of the keys of Hogwarts. The grounds, as always, were creepy at night; the darkness was almost complete, the twinkling lights of the castle gave a reference as to where they were but no illumination. The sounds from the forest were not encouraging either, a scream rent the air causing Ron to jump sideways into Harry, something out there had met an untimely end, or that same something had a very sick sense of humour.

Eventually they reached Hagrid’s hut and at Hermione’s urging Ron knocked on the door, there was the sound of large feet clumping across the floor and then a loud “OOS THERE?”

Ron had gone temporally dumb but at a poke from Hermione squeaked, “Hagrid, open up, it’s me Ron Weasley.”

There was the sound of a bolt being pulled and then the door was flung open revealing Hagrid standing there with his enormous crossbow in his hands. “Ron w’at you doin’ here?” he whispered loudly, then as he saw who was standing behind him his eyes widened in surprise, “’ere you best come in,” and he waved the three of them in. He stared hard into the dark, scanning the edge of the forest and the lawns, but being especially vigilant in the direction of the castle. Satisfied that there was no one watching he pulled the door closed behind them.

To Harry’s surprise the inside of the hut looked no different than it had in past years. The results of the fire of the previous term had disappeared, repaired, despite the absence of Dumbledore to aid in its reconstruction.

“Well there’s a surprise,” Hagrid said as he took in the three, then he smiled, “an’ I’m really pleased t’ see y’u all,” he spread his great arms and drew all three into an enormous hug.

The evening became one of happy and sad memories as the three talked to the half giant. He plied them with tea and cakes that were much improved on his old ones, due to Madam Maxine teaching him one or two simple recipes, out of self preservation if nothing else. Eventually the conversation turned to their intended reason for the visit, and as they had expected Hagrid was only too happy to help. He told them that his hut was used to this role of secret meeting place it had played the same part long ago and still had one or two tricks up its sleeves when it came to being inconspicuous. They needn’t worry he would talk to Professor McGonagall and they would provide Ron with good reasons for frequent visits, he was looking forward to getting one up on Umbridge and her committee.

They stayed as long as they dared, but as Hermione looked out of Hagrid's window and saw the first indications of the sky beginning to lighten, they bade farewell to their friend and slipped out of the hut and into the gloom at the edge of the forest. Harry prevented the Whomping Willow from even starting to thrash about with a well aimed stone at the knot on the trunk, and as he entered the tunnel threw the stone back out again, just in case. As they climbed out of the tunnel to the lower floor of the Shack, Dobby was waiting for them with an early breakfast which Ron dived into with great enthusiasm. Harry and Hermione picked at their food they had both come to realise that the brief respite afforded by the school holidays would soon be over, as Hagrid had reminded them that it all started again next week. Soon the wizarding world would once again be wondering where Harry Potter was and what was he doing, especially when his absence from Hogwarts was noticed. It was time for him to disappear.

Ron had ascended to the main room and collapsed on Harry’s bed, he was fast asleep by the time the other two climbed the stairs. Harry looked at his friend sprawled over most of his bed, sighed and went to sit at the table, but Hermione grabbed his hand and led him down to her end of the room.

“Don’t let it worry you Harry,” she said, as she pulled back the hangings to her bed, and climbed onto the covers, “we slept together the first night I found you, if you remember,” how could he forget, “and if Ron has issues he’ll just have to cope with them.” Harry was thinking more of his issues at this particular moment, but regardless of what they might be he crawled up to lie next to her and as she snuggled under his arm and laid her head on his chest a particular peace came over him and within minutes he was fast asleep.

They slept away all that day and the following night; Harry only stirred once, and got up to go to the bathroom. On his way back there was Ron still splashed out on his bed snoring fit to bust, and then he noticed the mattress Dobby had provided for Ron to sleep on the other night, there it was on the floor near the side of his bed. Strange he hadn’t noticed it early the other morning when Hermione had dragged him down to her end of the room, he took one step toward it when “Harry where are you, come back here,” was murmured sleepily from the bed with all the fluffy curtains, and then all of a sudden the mattress was invisible again. Harry stepped over it as he headed back to Hermione.

* * *

They all apparated back to the Burrow the next morning to find Molly preparing for the annual trip to Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies. It was a little easier for her these days with only Ron and Ginny to buy for, and neither needed much. Harry and Hermione decided to accompany them, it would be a convenient opportunity to set the diversion they had formulated over breakfast that morning, it would add some credibility to Harry’s disappearance and they could do with another hunt in the less reputable shops, not that they really knew what they were looking for. Molly and Ginny left in a Side-Along apparation, the others following on their own. Surprisingly Diagon Alley was quite crowded with students; the Ministry must have worked hard to persuade parents that Hogwarts was still the safest place for their children, so many were there on the same mission as Molly. Harry and Hermione, their dragon coats hidden under long hooded travelling cloaks, left Ron with his mother and a promise to see him soon and headed once more to Gringotts.

The head goblin protested quite loudly when Harry demanded that the contents of his vault should be sent abroad to the wizarding bank in Geneva. So loudly that several patrons of the bank pricked up their ears, and made the inference that Harry Potter was going to make a run for it, which precisely what Harry and Hermione had intended. They mollified the goblin once he had them removed from the main hall to a private room, and assured him they didn’t want to take it all and that only sufficient should be removed to make the deception of Harry’s desertion look convincing

Grippipe for that was his name was a very astute businessgoblin he and his fellows at the bank were well aware of the damage that would be done to them if Voldemort succeeded. Banks need stability, and a happy populace to do well, and the Dark Lord represented disruption and clients that would be running for their lives. They might not wish to get personally involved in the fight but they would aid the side that gave them the best chance of keeping their jobs and their lives. At the moment that was Harry, but it could change and then he would lose their support, it may sound hard but business was business, it was nothing personal after all. (No one ever said that goblins were nice people.)

So Harry had his deception, and he marched out of the bank in high dudgeon, straight into the path of Rita Skeeter and her attendant photographer. Fortunately Hermione saw the reporter before she saw her and she dived out of the bank by a small side door.

“Where are you going Harry?” Rita asked, her quick quotes quill whizzing across her pad all on its own.

Harry put on a fearsome scowl, “Away from here and the likes of you,” he growled and swept past her, his cloak swirling dramatically as the photographer took his picture. Harry was down the steps and into the crowded Alley before she could say more, but Hermione watching from a distance was relieved to see several witches and wizards rush up to give their own accounts of what had occurred in the bank.

“What do you reckon, will it work?” Harry asked when Hermione had finally caught up with him again.

“Probably not for very long,” she replied thoughtfully, “but Voldemort needs to know where you are, he will not be able to take the chance that you have slipped away. He has that prophecy hanging over his head and he will want to confront you at some time. It will spread out his minions if nothing else.”

There was one last place they wanted to visit before the disappearing act and in its gaudy coat Number 93 beckoned to them. The shop was quite busy and when Harry saw the number of Hogwarts students that were buying things, for a moment, or possibly a fraction of a moment he felt sorry for Argus Filch but he would have to admit that the feeling didn’t last. When Fred and George saw Harry and Hermione enter the shop they wondered why they had opened that day and not gone to Australia like they planned. As they had little choice they ushered the pair into the back room and stood to face the music.

“Look guys,” said Harry, mildly, “we have to disappear, but we still need to know what is going on. All we want you to do is to keep your ears to the ground and pass on anything you think might be useful.”

“Possibly, even things that may seem useless,” added Hermione, in a tone that suggested she may regard the twins in that light at the moment. They both graced her with a sickly smile.

“Sure Harry.”

“No problem.” They said one after the other.

“Use Ron as a contact, send messages to him at Hogwarts, but be careful how you do it, there will be lots of prying eyes there this year.” warned Harry. They nodded in agreement.

“One more thing boys,” the pair looked nervously to Hermione, this was where she would get her own back for what they did to her and Ron. “Free samples of all new developments your warped minds come up with, just in case they may be of use.”

The twins looked aghast; Hermione really knew how to get at a bloke, hit him where it hurt, right in the pocket. “Free?” issued from both identical throats.

“Yes free, we’ll let you know where to send them.” she added, “No delivery charges either.”

“Hermione!” they protested.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly, like a snake ready to strike.

“Nothing,” was said in duet, they knew they had got off lightly. The reason behind Ron’s behaviour was still a secret, well enough of one in that one person who didn’t know was Molly Weasley, and the twins desperately wanted to keep it that way. This was a fact that Harry and Hermione were well aware of, and the twins knew they were aware of it, and Harry and Hermione knew that they knew …and so on.

On their way out of the Alley Harry caught a glimpse of Ron and Ginny talking to Seamus and Dean and for a moment he wished he was with them and the up and coming year at Hogwarts his only worry. Then an arm snaked it’s way under his cloak to grip his, and the presence of the young woman at his side pushed all other thoughts away. “Come on Harry,” and she tugged him along, “Places to go and people to see.”

* * *

They returned to the Shack to find that Dobby had continued to work his magic on the place. All Hermione’s considerable book collection and Harry’s somewhat smaller one now resided in shelves conveniently situated near the table. It appeared the house elf had also appropriated all Harry and Hermione’s clothes and they were hung neatly in wardrobes which although the doors of these were flush with the walls they had a considerable amount of room inside.

“We ought to learn more about house elf magic,” remarked Hermione, “they can do things that would take even a good witch or wizard ages to perfect, and they don’t have to think about it.”

“Innate magic,” said Harry with rare insight, “they are natural magical creatures, they are much closer to their magic that we are. They don’t have to be taught, its just there for them.”

Hermione was impressed “Wow Harry, that was deep.” she congratulated him.

“Ohh comes to me from time to time you know,” he said airily, waving off the compliment.

The tackle that sent him flying forwards, so that he ended up lying on his bed, was followed up with a swift embrace and the very pleasant sensation of a warm vibrant body next to his. The first kisses were passionate, exploring, trying to find the limit of their love, but not reaching it, and then they became gentle and caring and as Harry caressed the silky bouncy curls of Hermione’s hair and took in the warmth and love that was in her eyes he knew which ones he preferred. Whilst the passionate ones were exciting and left him panting and a bit dizzy, the gentler sort were far more enticing and held the promise that kissing and cuddling were not the pinnacle of a loving relationship.

Dobby fed them well later that afternoon and as the evening drew in they decided to visit the last place on their list. Harry had only been in the Hogshead Tavern once before and that was for the almost disastrous initial meeting of the DA. It was situated on the outskirts of the village but on the other side of it from the Shrieking Shack. Harry and Hermione, dressed for the night, crept unseen around the outer buildings of Hogsmead. With virtually no one in residence at the school, the village was deserted, the few locals preferring to keep their movements to bright daylight hours. Keeping to a small stony track, Harry and Hermione reached the back of the tavern, they could see that there was some activity in the main room as they passed taking extra care to keep out of sight.

“Invisibility cloak next time we try this,” whispered Hermione.

Harry nodded, wishing he had had the sense to bring it this time. The hidden back door was two steps in from the far corner; Harry paced it off and stood in front of what appeared to be nothing more than a plain wall. McGonagall’s instructions were very precise only he or Hermione would be able to open the door which was charmed to recognise their wands and a simple unspoken command. Harry touched his wand to the wall and thought the one word ‘Open’ there was a very quiet click and a door shaped section of wall swung out silently. The interior of the room was dark and remained so until the door latched itself shut after both of them had crossed its threshold. At the click of the latch an oil lamp hanging in the centre of the room guttered into life, and it’s dim illumination spread out to reveal two round wooden tables and a collection of rickety looking chairs.

Although they knew there was a door in the wall behind them, they could not see any sign of it or of any other way out of the room. Then as if their presence had summoned him, a very tall long faced man appeared to walk straight through the wall in front of them and into the room. Both Harry and Hermione took an involuntary step back and raised their wands to face the new comer, his movements were very slow and deliberate as he looked them up and down, Harry saw that his eyes were deeply shadowed, and he appeared totally miserable.

“Mr. Potter and Miss. Granger I would imagine,” his voice was completely at odds with his appearance. It was light and high enough to be called girlish, and as he spoke his eyes opened wide and almost protruded from his face. The movements were so grotesque that it seemed that this was a face that was only under partial control and that given the right circumstances it could look very different from the way it was now.

“Err… yes.” said Harry, “and you are?”

“Langdon Long,” said the man, he gestured with an incredibly long arm, “Please take a seat.” Harry and Hermione sat automatically. “Butterbeers?” he asked. Hermione nodded, and with a further wave of his very long fingers two bottles and clean glasses appeared on the table. Seeing as his two guests were momentarily struck dumb, the high pitched voice continued. “Minerva told you I am here to help, and so I will, but there are others that you should meet that will help you in your quest.” He took a large pocket watch out of the inside of his robes, gazed at its face intently and nodded. “They will be here in a few minutes,” he smiled at Harry and Hermione sitting immobile at the table. “Please, drink up.”

The smile if anything was an even greater shock than his general appearance, but it goaded Harry into pouring Hermione’s drink for her and then his own. It was rather like one of those times Harry had spent travelling in a muggle lift. The three of them waited, not saying anything and not really looking at each other, just waiting, a little incidental music and it would have been perfect.

Then the metaphorical lift doors opened as two people appeared, with hardly any sound, sitting at the other table. Harry and Hermione were on their feet in an instant; wands out, ready for anything, except for what happened next. The new arrivals wore deeply cowled travelling cloaks, it was impossible to see their faces, but it was the smaller of the two that broke the impasse. He lifted his hood back and Hermione gave a gasp of surprise, then the man looked at Harry he had wide pale eyes that shone like the moon in the dimness of the lamp.

“Ah yes,” said the man, “Yes, yes. I wondered when I was going to see you again Mr. Potter.”

* * *

Chapter Seven

The Three Wise Men?

Harry did not relax his defensive position, especially as he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. The man sitting calmly at the table in front of him was supposedly dead or at least taken by the Death Eaters over twelve months ago, yet here he was as large as life, and just as strange as he ever was. Harry held his wand tightly and risked a quick glance to Hermione who had her wand trained on the second robed wizard; she looked just as tense as he felt. He was frantically trying to think of what to do when the second robed figure pulled back his hood, and gave Harry another shock on a very peculiar evening.

He was thinner than Harry remembered, but then a year with out ice cream is bound to take its toll. Mr Ollivander and Fortean Fortescue sat now unmoving under the wands of Harry and Hermione; it was something of a standoff. Then as if on cue both men reached forward and pulled up the left sleeves of their robes to show unmarked forearms. Harry breathed a sigh of relief but Hermione showed no sign of relaxing.

“Other arm!” she barked, flicking the end of her wand which sparked dangerously. Harry was immediately on guard again. The two elderly wizards smiled and repeated their former action but with the other arm, again there was no mark.

“I assure you young lady,” said Fortescue with an appreciative nod in her direction, “that should you get us to disrobe completely you will find no dark mark on either of us. I trust you have similarly checked my good friend Langdon here,” turning to smile at the tall skinny wizard. Langdon Long gave a little shriek, that any second year girl would have been proud of, and immediately bared both his forearms.

“Now we have that out of the way,” said Ollivander, “we ought to tell you what all this is about, Mr. Potter.”

Harry put out his hand and laid it on Hermione’s arm which still held her wand at the ready. She slowly responded and with only a little resistance allowed him to push it down.

“Sit please, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” the old wand maker entreated.

“Harry, call me Harry,” he said as he sat pulling Hermione next to him, “and this is Hermione.”

“Fyrsil,” said Ollivander.

“Sorry?” said Harry and Hermione almost together.

“Fyrsil,” repeated the old man, “Fyrsil Ollivander,” he smiled whimsically at long forgotten memories, “my mother was always enamoured of the welsh tongue.”

“Really,” said Hermione.

“Indeed, but enough of this,” he said brushing such trivia aside, “we are here to help you in your quest, and to pass onto you such knowledge that we have which may help.”

“Bit like before Harry,” put in Fortean, “we’ll help you with your homework.”

“Where have you been?” Hermione asked. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“Or in the hands of Voldemort,” added Harry, noticing that none of the three wizards flinched at the name.

“All Dumbledore’s doing,” piped up the wand maker, “putting us in cold storage, well that’s what he called it. Hid us away he did, in appalling accommodation I might add, with instructions to look you out if he became unavailable.”

“Well, he’s certainly that,” said Harry morosely.

Fortean Fortescue cleared his throat, “Look Harry, Albus told us what he and now you are looking for, and the thing is that the two of us, …well we have our specialities. If you remember I have this talent with history, in particular I have an interest in powerful magical objects of the past. Fyrsil here fairly obviously can teach you things about wands and what can be done with them that nobody else knows. We hope we can be useful to you.”

“I shall keep my ear to the ground,” squeaked Langdon Long, “lots of loose talk in the bar, some of it’s even true,” he giggled.

“Thank you gentlemen, you know I… ,” Hermione poked Harry in the ribs with her wand, “…sorry, we have four more Horcruxes to find, any help we can get in that direction will be very useful.”

They sat and talked for another hour or so, Langdon supplied them with refreshment and Harry noticed that none drank anything stronger than butterbeer, even the weird barman. No one was prepared to lose the edge that being sober gave them. Ollivander and Fortescue described to Harry and Hermione how Dumbledore had come to them the June before last and asked them to drop out of sight. A common practice used in the past to fool the dark forces, because they were usually so disorganised that they would never know that a disappearance had not been carried out by one of their fellows, and they never bothered to check.

“I am afraid that your disappearance Harry will not be taken in the same light,” Fortean remarked, “Voldemort will attempt to find you.”

“That’s what we were hoping,” Hermione admitted, “you know, divide his forces.”

“Yes to some extent he will, but you ought to remember he knows you have friends and those friends may know where you are,” warned Fortescue. “It could put them in some danger.”

Now Harry was worried, it was an effect of his disappearance he hadn’t considered, but fortunately Hermione had. “Fidelius Charm Harry, even those who know where we are will not be able to tell anyone, the secret is well kept,” she said.

Harry looked at her in surprise, “We have a secret keeper?”

She smiled, “Yeh, the best.” and then she laughed at a joke known only to herself and would say no more.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning to the scent of Hermione’s perfume and the sight of her sitting on the edge of his bed. They had returned late to the Shack and tumbled into their own beds, Harry was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Today they were going to tackle the large pile of parchment that had been given to them by the two wizards just before they apparated away to their undisclosed accommodation. Harry reached to his girlfriend and pulled her down for a good morning kiss.

“I wish you had used this perfume more often,” he chided gently, “it might have saved a lot of trouble.”

“Yeh, might have caused a lot as well,” was the slightly muffled reply. “Ginny used so much of it I couldn’t go into competition with her. Besides you might have lost control and ravished me or something.”

Harry went a little red at the thoughts that were flashing through his brain. “Oh no,” he managed eventually, “I would never have done anything like that.”

“Oh Really?” Hermione whispered, and Harry thought she sounded disappointed.

Harry’s face was bright red now and he decided that they should change the topic of the conversation.

“You mentioned a secret keeper last night, but you wouldn’t say who,” he said hastily.

“That’s right,” she evaded.

Harry gave Hermione a very hard look. “So who?”

Hermione’s face was unreadable, but Harry knew she didn’t want to tell him, not because she didn’t trust him with the information but because she didn’t think he would believe her. She shrugged her shoulders with the inevitability of answering. “Ron.” she said.

“RON!” Harry’s voice almost cracked as it went up. “With all the things you said about him and you trusted him with that?”

Hermione considered her answer carefully, “I may have no faith in him as far as controlling his hormonal responses, and Ron and love don’t go well in the same sentence, but well, ….” and then she turned the tables on Harry, “… who would you have chosen?”

He froze as he considered the question and his answer, then he took a deep breath. “You’re right there isn’t anyone else, well that’s not entirely accurate, I could have picked two more,” Harry’s expression darkened, “But neither of them are around to take that responsibility.” He shook his head sadly. “When did you ask him? He said nothing to me.”

“That first afternoon, when we had our ‘little’ chat,” she supplied the air quotation marks. “It was because he said nothing to you or acted any differently I knew I was right in my choice.”

“You know,” he said clambering out of bed and giving her a passing peck on the cheek, “you might just be one of the smartest witches of your age.”

Hermione watched as Harry sauntered off to the bathroom, she thought he looked very cute in his pyjamas. “Umm, never heard that one before.” she murmured quietly to herself.

They spent the rest of that day and the following few days that led up to the start of the new school term studying the parchments Fortescue had given them, and were dismayed to discover how many magical artefacts fitted the description that Dumbledore had placed on those that Tom Riddle, and then later as Voldemort, would have deemed acceptable receptacles for sections of his soul. There were several hundred, but then Ollivander and Fortescue had concentrated on producing this list for over twelve months, it was clear to Harry and Hermione that if they did not whittle the numbers down they would be hunting Horcruxes until they were old and grey themselves. They eventually decided to discount all those items not at present in the country, and those that as far as they could see had no direct or indirect connection to the original founders of the school, that still left them with a list of about twenty, and they had locations for only ten of them. Harry decided that it would be best to show the list to Professor McGonagall even if not the full reason for their quest, for if Ron was going to help them they would need good excuses for him to slip away from school, and she may have some ideas of her own. But that would have to wait a day or two for the first of September had arrived and the school was open for business again.

* * *

The journey from platform 9¾ had never seemed so long for Ron. He sat in a compartment with Neville, Seamus and Dean, and as he was no longer concerned with prefect duties, only fifth and sixth years carried out those tasks, there was nothing to occupy him but small talk. Unfortunately the small talk always ended on the subject that caused him the most pain the absence of Harry and Hermione.

“My mum said that he’s run away,” said Seamus, whose thick Irish brogue was beginning to make Ron very agitated. “It was in the Prophet that he’s taken everything he had out of Gringotts and done a bunk.”

“You believe everything you read in that rag?” said Ron coldly.

“No, but he’s not here is he?” Seamus replied defensively, “and you would tell us if you knew where he was.” Ron said nothing. “Besides where’s Granger, I thought you and her were tight at the end of last term.”

“Trouble with you Finnegan is that you think too much,” said Ron, his face as red as his hair. He leapt to his feet and headed for the door, “See you lot later,” he said to the others, and trying hard to slam the sliding door behind him, left the compartment.

Dean turned his dark features to his friend, “Sometimes Seamus you are about as subtle as a brick. Isn’t it obvious that Harry and Hermione have run off together and left Ron feeling like a real prat.”

The thoughts slowly clicked together in Seamus’ head and he gave a wicked smile. Neville sat and buried himself in his Herbology book, but he was not reading it, the conversation of his travelling companions, apart from getting rather mired in detailed speculation of the depth of Harry and Hermione’s supposed relationship, had him worried. If Harry had run who was going to stand up to Voldemort, with Dumbledore gone things were beginning to look very black.

Ron wandered down the train narrowly avoiding entering the compartment that held Lavender Brown and some of her friends, that was a meeting he wasn’t looking forward to. He saw someone at the end of the carriage leaning on the door with her head out of the window. ‘Nice legs,’ thought Ron, then the image of a bushy haired head that was no longer bushy, effectively suppressed his hormonal thoughts. Then the head that belonged to the body that was supported by those ‘nice legs’ was pulled back into the passageway, and Ron saw that despite the fact that her eyes were streaming and her face all covered with soot from the engine pulling the train, Luna Lovegood was really rather pretty. She gave him a vague look and then as if a light had been turned on in her brain, her expression changed entirely and she beamed at him.

“Hello Ronald,” she began, and then in her dizzy way she chatted on at nineteen to the dozen about nothing that made any sense to Ron. As he listened to the nonsense that dribbled out of her mouth he began to smile, he was not sure what he was smiling about, but she was certainly lightening the load he felt he was carrying. Within ten minutes he was chuckling at her trying to describe some utterly fantastic animal that her father was determined to photograph for his paper.

Luna for her part was watching the red headed boy with one part of her mind whilst the other part prattled on. She knew very well what was troubling him; he was worried about how was he going to manage without Harry and Hermione, maybe she could help to fill that gap; she would have to see.

Luna Lovegood had a remarkable ability that only Dumbledore had known about, she could think on several levels at the same time, and when her mind was so involved the speaking part tended to dive off into flights of fantasy of it own making. This was why she had her reputation of being a bit on the daft side; in fact she was very clever, and sensitive to the needs of others. It was only as she saw the first tear of mirth in Ron’s eye that she stopped talking and smiled at him. Ron returned the smile and looked into her pale blue eyes that were smiling at him as well. “Thanks,” he said simply. Luna reached up on her tip toes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Ron put his hand to the spot,

“What was that for?” he asked quietly.

“Oh for being you and for doing what you’re doing for your friends,” she replied mysteriously. “See you later,” and she headed off to find her compartment, leaving Ron standing in the gale coming in the open window as the scarlet steam engine rushed through the countryside on its way to Hogsmead Station.

Ron’s first summons to visit Hagrid arrived on the breakfast table with Pig two days after the start of term. The note simply said ‘Hagrid’s 7.30’ and was written in a heavily disguised hand, that Ron reckoned was probably Hermione’s. That evening he slipped out of dinner early and headed off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, his broom slung casually over his shoulder. To all intents and purposes the Gryffindor Quidditch captain was off to study his game and consider his team for the year, but once away from the castle and sure that no one was following him, he cut across the lawns and down the narrow path that led to the game keeper’s hut. As he picked his way through the pumpkin patch he saw the outside hut for the first time in the light since the end of last term. Like the inside all the damage caused by the fire was gone; in fact if he hadn’t seen the bare blackened roof beams for himself he would never have believed that one had happened. The small single roomed dwelling looked just has it had the first time he had seen it all those years ago. His quiet tap on the door was instantly answered by Hagrid opening it.

“Come in Ron,” the half giant whispered, “‘arry an’ ‘ermione ain’t here yet, best sit an’ wait, won’t be long I don’t re’kon. So they waited and sure enough within five minutes there was another quiet knock on the door.

Harry and Hermione piled in over the threshold looking a little dishevelled about the head but with their dull black coats as spotless as ever.

Harry gave Ron a grin, “Hi mate how’s it going, school OK?” He grabbed Ron’s hand and thumped him on the shoulder.

“Oh fine,” said Ron with a little sarcasm, “if you don’t mind the ministry bods questioning everything that happens, the fact that I am as lonely as sin, and fighting off the insinuations that my best friends have deserted wizard kind and are having a whale of a time off somewhere snogging each other silly.”

“What?” said Hermione.

“Really?” said Harry.

“Yeh,” said Ron. “…well sort of. …Oh I suppose its OK, there are only two committee members in the school and Umbridge hasn’t dared to show her face as yet. So that’s not too bad, and Seamus is the main one with the fixation on your love life.” Then Ron looked imploringly at his friends. “But it is very, very lonely and just so strange not having the two of you around.”

Hagrid got up and left saying he was going to check on Witherwings, aka Beaky, but Harry secretly thought it was to leave the three of them alone to make up for lost time. They spent the hour that Hagrid was absent doing just that even Hermione now seemed able to put her animosity toward Ron to one side, for there were far more pressing concerns than personal disagreements. They told Ron about Ollivander and Fortescue and the reason for the leaves and twigs in their hair. They had attempted to follow one of the leads to a possible Horcrux, and only their lighting reflexes had saved them.

“It was only a small house, and right in the middle of a muggle village,” said Harry still shocked by the memory of it, “but the old chap had a bloody dragon chained in his back garden.”

“It was really scary, and he breathed fire at us,” added Hermione, “but fortunately our coats protected us, and we beat a hasty retreat through the hedge.”

“So did you get to check the Horcrux?” asked Ron.

“No, never even got close,” said Harry resignedly, “but at least old Jeremiah Lamplighter, he’s the chap that owns the glass, didn’t see us. So we can always have another go.”

“What sort of glass?” asked Ron.

“Well the link is sort of tenuous,” said Hermione getting into lecturing mode, “but it is a goblet, rather like your mum’s posh wine glasses, and it is made of blue glass.”

“The blue is significant I take it?” Ron surmised.

“Yes, of course,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Blue is Ravenclaw’s colour, this glass may be the one that was her most favourite, and that could make it a powerful enough object for Voldemort to consider using it.”

“OK, so when do we have another crack at it,” said Ron cheerfully. “Get this one done then we can have a go at all the others.”

Harry gave Hermione a very steady look. She had told him that Ron would charge around like a bull in a china shop, without thinking things through, but he argued that if they gave Ron one expedition so that he could see what they were up against then he would calm down. Well one to the smart witch so far, Harry hoped he was right as well.

“Saturday evening,” Harry said, mentally crossing his fingers. “Come to the Shack in the afternoon, you should be able to slip away. Just make sure no one sees you.”

“That’s great,” the enthusiasm was unabated, “I’m doing Quidditch trials in the morning they should finish after lunch. I can store my gear in the changing rooms.”

“Quidditch trials this early?” Harry was surprised.

“Yeh, well no seeker, down on chasers, almost starting from scratch…..”

The conversation then drifted into the realms of the finer points of the game and Hermione indulged Harry his passion but lost interest herself very quickly. She stood and walked over to the window, she could see Hagrid sitting outside with Fang by his side staring up at the stars, it all looked so peaceful, it was hard to imagine all the horrors that were occurring almost daily now as Voldemort gained power. Her reverie was broken by a pair of arms snaking around her neck from behind, and the presence of a body pulled close to hers.

“Ron said cheerio but I don’t think you heard him,” Harry whispered in her ear, his breath on her neck sending a tingle down her spine. Harry peered out of the window over her shoulder, “Quiet out there isn’t it, and beautiful,” he kissed her on the neck, “almost as beautiful as you.” Hermione spun in his arms, now facing him and her lips connected with his.

“Err…Umm…” and the loud clearing of Hagrid's throat, made them leap apart. “Sorry, didn’ mean t’ disturb you, but it’s time yer wer off ter yer beds,” he said his cheeks glowing slightly.

* * *

Ron however was not the first visitor to the Shack, Minerva McGonagall stood patiently at the ward boundary in the tunnel waiting to be let in. It was Friday morning and Harry and Hermione were already up and ploughing through the piles of information the ‘Wise Men’, as they had taken to calling the Hogshead wizards, had presented them with. As usual they were making very little progress for they had no means of cross reference for the material, it was very frustrating. The arrival of the Headmistress at least gave them a break from one set of work but plunged them into another. She immediately started on brushing up their transfiguration skills, and in a few hours of close tuition had stretched them further than ever before. Well pleased with their efforts she departed at lunchtime, but just before leaving dug into the pocket of her robes and produced three more scrolls.

“I found these in my office,” she said, “I am sure Albus would have passed them onto you eventually. They are the private papers of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, not all of them obviously, but they allude to the time of the dissolution of the founders. You may find them useful.”

“We’ll read through them right away Professor,” Hermione said with her normal enthusiasm for delving through unseen information.

“No you won’t Miss Granger,” the Scot’s words were firm, “you will have some lunch then Remus Lupin will be here to help you with your defence work, and after tea Fyrsil Ollivander needs to see you. Not at the Hogshead, it will still be light, he will be at the little cave, …understand?”

“Err… yes Professor,” said Harry and Hermione almost together.

She swept out of the room and headed to the stairs, then hiding a smile said. “It’s just as well you not officially at school otherwise I would have to say something about your accommodation arrangements.” Harry and Hermione still felt student enough to worry where this was going. “As it is, you are both adults, and I rather like the way it is decorated.” Her remarks were offhand and light but despite that both Harry and Hermione found themselves blushing furiously.

Remus arrived an hour later and did not seem keen to linger in the Shack, he dragged them back out through the mirror and into the nearest part of the forbidden forest. Tonks was waiting for them, Harry thought she looked much more like her old self and she greeted them both with a kiss and a hug.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, this may be, but a lesson in the traditional sense it was not, it was much more like a running battle. Remus insisted on them using silent spell work. It was hard to start with and both Harry and Hermione lapsed into whispering or the even the occasional shout out loud, but once they discovered that any tip off to their opponent meant a swift retaliation they soon got the hang of it. The afternoon also showed them how useful their dragon hide coats were. Hermione was hit by a well aimed stunner when she mouthed a levitating spell at Tonks, there was no way she could avoid the red streak and it hit her full in the chest, she was lifted off her feet to crash back into the relatively soft ground. Her breath rushed out in a whoosh as she landed, but she remained conscious and was able to regain her feet even though she was a little unsteady. This allowed her to block the second stunner that came her way with her shield, and send a reductor into the tree Tonks was standing next to so that the Auror was showered with wood chippings and dead leaves.

By tea time they were hot, sweaty and ached all over, but they still had to meet with the old wand maker, so they had no choice but to walk out of the school grounds and then apparate to the cave high above Hogsmead. Ollivander had not arrived as yet, so they sat together on the boulder outside the entrance and looked down into the valley with the lake and the castle beyond. It was a very peaceful scene the light breeze ruffled the surface of the dark waters of the lake making the sun sparkle as if the lake was filled with diamonds rather than water. The trees below them sighed and swayed back and forth in the same light wind. The castle in the distance looked magnificent, but the sun suddenly caught on the brilliant white of Dumbledore’s tomb and Harry frowned at the sight of it. Without a sound Ollivander appeared next to them and cleared his throat to gain their attention. They both jumped up and for a few moments Harry’s heart raced with the shock of Ollivander’s sudden appearance.

“How do you manage to do that?” said Hermione, her heart was pumping no less than Harry’s.

“Do what my dear?” the old wizard asked, his mind obviously on something else.

“Apparate without a sound,” she replied, “Albus Dumbledore could do it as well, but everyone else I have ever seen makes a noise.”

“Oh that,” he said as if it was of no importance, “think quietly when you consider your three D’s and add a silencing charm at the end.”

“Is that all?” asked Harry incredulously, expecting a far more complicated answer.

“Yes, yes, that is all, it becomes second nature after a while, couldn’t do it any other way now if I tried,” he mused. Then he was all business again. “Enough of this foolishness,” he waved the subject away, “Harry you will need to know how to recognise Voldemort’s Horcruxes when you find them and because of your wand I think I have found a way.” Ollivander mumbled to himself for a moment as if he were sorting out the thoughts in his head. “Yes, yes it should work.” Then he looked at Harry properly for the first time since he arrived. “Yew,” he said, “thirteen inches long phoenix feather as the magical core. Voldemort’s wand,” he added unnecessarily. “Holly,” he motioned for Harry to get his wand from his pocket and then took it and stroked it as if an old friend. “Eleven inches long and a feather from the same phoenix to power it, their magical signatures are very similar, you locked in a Priori Incantatem I understand?”

Harry nodded, “Yes, in my fourth year, after the Triwizard tournament.”

“Good, good, splendid,” the wand maker was almost gloating. “Now has Voldemort ever given you anything,” Harry looked at him blankly; Voldemort and Harry were not on swapping gift terms. Then Hermione reached over and swept back his fringe, exposing his forehead.

“I don’t know if this counts Harry, but he did give you your scar.” she smiled encouragingly.

“Umm… well if you have nothing better,” Ollivander seemed disappointed, Harry thought he would rather have preferred it if he had a pair of his cufflinks or something similar. “All you need to do is touch your umm… scar with one hand, concentrate on the phoenix feather at your wand’s core, and touch the suspected Horcrux with the tip of your wand. The feather will do the rest and the Horcrux will be made known to you.”

“Why?” said Harry.

“Because the Horcrux will think you’re Voldemort,” said Hermione.

“Err… essentially, though it is a little more complex than that,” Ollivander seemed a bit put out with Hermione’s simplified answer, though it suited Harry fine. “It would help if you knew the phoenix concerned.”

“But I do,” said Harry remembering every inch of that wonderful bird, “Fawkes was Dumbledore’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course.” Ollivander gave Harry a grin which made him look stranger than ever, “sign of old age, my boy, getting forgetful. This should work well then.”

Hermione leaned close to Harry and whispered; “Now all we have to do is get at a suspected Horcrux to test it on.”

“Yeh” said Harry remembering their failure at their one and only attempt.

* * *

Ron actually arrived on time the following day, and while they waited for evening to set in Harry and Hermione brought Ron up to speed on everything they had learned. He tried apparating from one end of the room to the other as quietly as possible and by the sixth try a quiet click was all he produced as he disappeared. By eight o’clock dusk had crept up on them, and Harry decided it was time to go. From the garage they apparated to a quiet alley on the outskirts of Stanford Dingley, this small muggle village straddled the River Pang and concealed the abode of Jeremiah Lamplighter, their target for tonight. Ron and Hermione followed Harry as he retraced his steps to the large green hedge that surrounded the garden at the back of the house. They could hear the dragon as it moved about, its chain clanking in the gathering gloom, and a deep rumble from its throat that made the ground vibrate.

“Here,” said Ron as he thrust a paper bag into Harry’s hand, “from Fred and George.”

“What is it?” said Harry nervously, knowing only too well the sort of concoction the twins were wont to produce.

“Sleeping powder, extra strong, they gave me a couple of bags before the end of the holidays,” he said, “It’s a new product, I’m not sure if it will work on a dragon but this seemed a good opportunity to test it.”

“I don’t know Harry,” cautioned Hermione, “might be better if we stick with the sommulus charm.” She was even more suspicious of the twins’ products than Harry.

Harry considered the alternatives, “Well we can always try this,” he said tossing the bag from one hand to the other, which made Ron squeak in alarm and prepare to catch it if Harry failed, “and if it doesn’t work we’ll fall back on the spells.”

They pushed through the hedge to emerge in the garden as far away from the house as they could. Despite the darkness and their black clothing the dragon saw them immediately, and it moved surprisingly fast for its size as it turned and rushed toward them. The dragon thundered over the lawn then reached the end if its chain and was pulled to an abrupt halt. It thrashed its tail in fury as it realised it could not reach them and tear them apart with its talons, but there was nothing to stop it from using its other weapon and burning them to a cinder. Harry waited until he saw the beast begin to draw in its breath to launch its fire at them and then he threw the bag. It arched through the air and struck the dragon on the side of its muzzle, the bag burst apart and bright orange powder flew everywhere. The dragon inhaled most of it and he froze, his mouth full of the most alarming set of teeth was a gaping maw, then his eyes opened wide in surprise and he shook his head as if trying to clear it. The dragon drew in a massive stuttering breath and then produced the most enormous sneeze. A bright gout of flame shot out of the dragons throat and only cleared the top of Harry’s head by two feet making him flinch away. When Harry opened his eyes again the dragon was stretched out on the lawn fast asleep and snoring fit to bust.

Even Hermione had to admit she was impressed, but had to ask how long it would work for, Ron told her he didn’t know and suggested that they ought to get a move on. They edged around the sleeping dragon and crossed the lawn, there were no lights showing at the windows of the house and the absence of sound or movement from within suggested that there was no one at home to witness the collapse of the guardian. The dragon had guarded the only door to the house and Harry was convinced that the owner would have considered it a sufficient deterrent so they hoped there would be no additional wards protecting it, but Hermione cast a revealing charm just in case. She found nothing and a quiet “Alohomora” gained them access to the darkened house.

The first room they entered was the kitchen and it wasn’t very tidy, the same could have been said for the other rooms they examined, furniture placed haphazardly made it difficult to move around in the dark but three faint renditions of “Lumos” gave them some light to work by. The wizard’s study was the only room that had any semblance of organisation, and there on the wall was a glass fronted cabinet containing a dozen or so objects. Harry, Hermione and Ron peered through the front of the cabinet, their breath steaming up the small panes of glass that made up the doors. A shrunken head, hung by its hair, hovered over the top shelf which it shared with a crystal ball and something which looked suspiciously like a hand of glory. It was the lower shelf which held the prize they were seeking, flanked by a very old stuffed teddy bear, and the eye tooth of a dragon set on a golden plinth, was a long stemmed goblet made of blue glass and etched into the surface of the bowl was an eagle.

“That must be it Harry,” Hermione whispered. “It’s even got the Ravenclaw eagle on it.” She reached for the knob on the cabinet door only to have Harry grab her hand and hold her back.

“Check first,” he chided her gently, and watched as her revealing charm showed a rather nasty hex on the door ready to trap the unwary. Harry used a disabling charm and the yellow filaments of the hex burned brightly for a moment then faded away.

They stood in front of the open cabinet and what could possibly be the first of the four Horcruxes they needed to find. Ron and Hermione held their breaths as Harry touched his scar with his left hand and stretched out his wand in his right. He pictured in his mind the phoenix that had provided the feather for his wand and sent that thought down his arm to his wand. For an instant he heard the wonderful sound of the song of the phoenix and then the tip of his wand made contact with the glass. There was a rich tone like the ringing of a church bell, as the glass recognised something, but no part of the soul of Tom Riddle burst forth to rejoin its fellows, Harry sighed with disappointment. Ravenclaw’s glass it certainly was but a Horcrux it was not.

The angry cry of “ENERVATE” and the bellow of the reawakened dragon from outside made all three of them jump. Harry quickly closed the cabinet doors as the other extinguished their wands. To the sound of hurried footsteps reaching the kitchen door all three, with hardly any noise, concentrated on home and vanished from the study.

* * *

Chapter 8

A Little Bit Loony

Ron sat at the back of the classroom he was not paying much attention to Professor McGonagall who was, at her own insistence, still teaching the NEWT level Transfiguration classes. He had to admit to himself that Horcrux hunting was far more intense than he had expected it to be. He had imagined that the three of them would be scouring the bottoms of old chests and the backs of long unused cupboards, checking one dusty relic after another. He had not considered that these objects would be protected from just such scrutiny, and that the protection may in any way prove dangerous to the scrutineers. Ron vowed that he would listen more to Harry and Hermione who had warned him that their search would not be an easy chore, and without knowing it scored one point for the wizard who carried Voldemort’s scar on his forehead.

“Mr Weasley!” The sound of his name shouted out laced with a heavy Scots accent brought him back to reality. “Have you been listening to a word I have been saying?” Professor McGonagall continued in an exasperated tone of voice.

Ron’s stammered reply of “Err…y. y. yes sure,” gave her no confidence.

“Well can you?” McGonagall asked and arched her eyebrows with deep suspicion that Ron’s mind had been anywhere but in the classroom where it belonged.

There were a few sniggers from his fellow students as Ron’s face began to let him down and assumed the colour of a ripening tomato. “Sorry, err, what?” Ron finally admitted his mental wanderings.

McGonagall stared hard at her wayward pupil. “Can you, Mr Weasley, turn this plate into a wooden spoon?” her tone suggested a loss of points to Gryffindor, or a worse punishment to Ron, if the correct answer was not forthcoming.

For once Ron was very certain of his answer. “No,” he said matter of factly.

“And would you care to tell us why?” remarked Professor McGonagall, hoping against hope that he wasn’t going to tell her that he couldn’t remember the spell.

“Oh, well it’s because it is made of gold. None of the pure metals, such as gold, silver or lead can be transfigured into anything else, so you could make a gold spoon out of a gold plate but you can’t change gold to wood or wood to gold, …which is a bit of a shame.” He gave the Professor the briefest of smiles.

“Very well, quite correct,” she said almost grudgingly, and returned to the front of the class. “An essay on the attempts by non alchemists to turn lead into gold, it should be at least two feet long, and in my study by Friday.”

There was a scraping of chairs and a murmur of voices as the class stood to leave. Ron remained seated, his brow furrowed in thought, it had suddenly occurred to him that at least two of the objects he, Harry and Hermione were seeking, were made of gold, so even if Voldemort had changed their appearance there was no way he could transmute the metal. Ron wondered if Hermione had worked that one out yet, probably he told himself, because she was very clever, and of course she was very pretty. He sighed, now what had made him think of that? Perhaps it was always going to be that way. His own silly actions had lost him the one thing that had he played it straight, could have been his after all.

Thinking like this never really did Ron any good, and not having anyone to talk it over with only made it worse. By the time he was walking down to lunch he was feeling very depressed, then turning onto the main stairs he spied a head of yellow hair and the slim figure of Luna Lovegood below him. He didn’t think he tried to catch up with her, but by the bottom of the stairs he was at her shoulder. Luna for her part was hiding a smile, she had felt Ron’s troubled presence behind her, and had slowed her pace. It was amazing how his thoughts stood out above the other students pouring down to lunch and the little secrets she had learned from them. Now he was at her side and she turned her head to face him.

“Hi Ronald, going to lunch?” she said airily.

“Err… yes,” he replied uncertainly. He could have sworn that the girl had known he was there before she could have seen him, but her smile pushed away any doubtful thoughts.

“Fancy grabbing a sandwich or two and eating them outside?” she suggested, and Ron, bereft of the companionship of his best friends, jumped at the offer. However if the truth be told that was not his only reason.

The late summer weather was still holding, in fact on some days it could still be exceptionally warm. Today was one such day, and it found Ron and Luna sitting out on the grass enjoying a cloud free sky. Their lunch, such as it was, was consumed in short order, and as Ron watched his sunny if somewhat strange companion pick daisies out from amongst the blades of grass and then weave them into a daisy chain, he began to relax. He lay back and supported his head on folded arms, staring up into the blue of the sky, he heard the laughter of a group of students from a little way off as they played in the sunshine, and wished he could be as carefree.

“You have a lot on your mind, don’t you Ron?” Luna said, laying the completed daisy chain on his chest. “If it would help you could share the load, I may even be able to help.”

Ron propped himself up on one elbow and squinted in the sun’s glare at the girl sitting next to him. The daisy chain clung to his robes as he considered his answer. “I wish I could but I can’t,” he said eventually, “It’s all rather complicated and I wouldn’t want to betray anyone’s trust in me.”

“You mean Harry and Hermione, and the fact that they haven’t really run away,” Luna replied quietly, “I expect they are in hiding somewhere, trying to find out what Voldemort is up to, or trying to find a way of getting rid of him.” She smiled at Ron who was staring at her open mouthed, and then she reached forward and reclaimed the daisy chain, and placed it on her head like a crown.

“What could possibly have given you such an idea?” said Ron trying to cover his surprise.

“Oh” she said waving her hand in the air as if the matter had no importance, “I have my methods Ronald.” Which to Ron’s mind was not a satisfactory answer, but for the moment it seemed that was all he was going to get. For she jumped to her feet at the sound of the school bell, and with a quick, “See you later,” turned and headed back to the castle.

Ron clambered to his feet and ran after her calling for her to wait for him, and the daisy chain which had slipped from Luna’s head as she spun away lay forgotten on the grass.

“What do I do about her Gin?” Ron asked his fiery haired sister later that day. “I know she’s crackers but there is something about her that draws me in.”

Ginny regarded her brother with surprise, he had never asked her opinion on anything before, but maybe the Hermione incident had knocked a bit of sense into him, at least as far as girls were concerned.

“You say she has worked out what Harry and Hermione are up to as well?” Ginny asked.

“Yeh, not the details or anything like that, but generally she’s pretty close. I just wish I knew where she was getting her ideas from.” he replied with a frown.

“Perhaps she figured it out on her own, She’s not daft….. well she is a bit. What I mean,” said Ginny getting her thoughts back in order, “is that she isn’t stupid. In class she always gets top marks and McGonagall thinks very highly of her, but if you want to know if you should trust her then you better talk to Harry and Hermione first.” Then Ginny looked thoughtful, “Umm… it might be worth remembering that she is in Ravenclaw, and there is very little on Rowena in the school library, I know because Hermione asked me to look. It’s possible that the Ravenclaws have access to material that we don’t.”

The subject of their conversation sat alone at a small table in the Ravenclaw common room, with part of her mind she was checking the essay she had just finished for Professor Flitwick, with another she was considering how much she could tell Ron about her ability. Dumbledore had told her on her very first day that she should be careful who she let into her secret.

“Your gift is very rare Miss Lovegood,” the old Headmaster had said, “and in the past it has been used by those with ill intent to cause much mischief. You, unlike the Legilimens, need no spell to retrieve thoughts and because you can separate your mind completely, unlike the Occlumense, you could never be broken. You must find a way to hide your ability.”

So she had developed Loony Lovegood and the ruse had worked well, very few of her housemates passed the time of day with the strange girl, and she was ignored by all the others. Only once had she come close to telling anyone about her secret, but she had even fought shy of telling Harry Potter at that time. Now she was in a quandary again, for it was his best friend she wanted to tell and she wasn’t sure if it would be safe, not for her but for him. Perhaps she should ask Dumbledore for his advice. “Remember he is dead,” said one part her mind to the other, “Yes I hadn’t forgotten,” she replied, “we will just have to be very careful how we do it.”

* * *

The next time Ron had a chance to talk to Harry was an evening of much merriment in the Shack. It was Hermione’s birthday and today she could claim to be an adult in her mother’s and father’s world as well. Despite the isolation she was living in with Harry, nefarious means had been found to provide her with a suitable amount of presents, and several guests had arrived to help celebrate. Remus, Tonks, Ginny, Ron and Harry were gathered around the large working table and were engaged in demolishing the birthday cake Dobby had prepared. While Remus was regaling the others in a slightly risqué tale of the original marauders, Ron collared Harry and beckoned him down the stairs and into the kitchen. There he told his own story, leaving nothing out, even mentioning the fact that he felt some undeniable attraction to Luna, and admitting that he did not want these feelings to sway his decision. Harry was understandably amazed that Ron was being so frank, and was at a loss to know what to say. The sound of a gentle cough from the doorway made them both turn to see Hermione standing there, leaning against the door jamb, her arms folded across her chest, as she regarded the two young men.

Harry was the first to speak. “So what do you think?” he asked the girl with all the answers. Hermione watched Ron’s face most carefully, she could see how worried he was, on the one hand he may have found a very good ally in the hunt, but on the other she may be someone using her womanly wiles to put him in a position where he could betray the whole enterprise.

“I think you should ask her straight out how she knows these things,” said Hermione.

“And!” said Ron, expecting more instructions than this.

“What you do depends on the answer she gives,” she added most unhelpfully.

“Hermione, that is not much to go on,” said Ron, his exasperation clear.

“OK,” Hermione said finally making up her mind. “Get her to Hagrid's hut tomorrow after tea, and ask her then.” Ron gave an uncomprehending look. “We’ll be there to hear her answer.” she finished.

“We will?” said Harry.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “we will.” And Ron had to be satisfied with that, for that was all he was going to get.

The party broke up at eight o’clock so that Ron and Ginny could get through the tunnel and back to the castle without causing any suspicions. Remus and Tonks left with them but they separated at the edge of the forest and made their own way out of the school grounds, then apparated back to Grimmauld Place where they were staying.

Harry and Hermione sat alone on an old Gryffindor sofa, which Dobby had found for them, in a store room under the tower, it was so well used that it was probably the most comfortable piece of furniture that Harry had ever sat in. He snuggled up to Hermione and handed her his last present; Ginny had passed it to him earlier that evening. The small bottle Hermione removed from the wrapping was very familiar to her, but welcome never the less.

“I was nearly out of this. Thank-you.” she said giving him a kiss to reinforce the sentiment. She looked around the room, marvelling at the balloons and decorations Dobby had found. Considering their circumstances they had had a pretty good time, but there was one thing missing she looked at Harry. “No music,” she said wistfully, “that would have made everything perfect.”

Harry gave her a suspicious look but took his wand from his robes, waved it once and muttered “Anselmo.” Red and blue sparks erupted from the end of his wand, and they gathered in a large cloud on the far side of the room, then they began to swirl faster and faster. As the sparks faded away, they left in their place a man, sitting at a small piano. He stayed so still, not looking to the left or right, it was hard to tell if he was real, it seemed as if he was waiting for something.

“Go and ask him to play,” said Harry, “anything you like.”

Hermione stood and slowly walked over to the piano man, not really sure that her eyes were not playing tricks on her. The man didn’t acknowledge her presence, but after she whispered to him he nodded once and began to play. The song was a slow ballad, and was begging to be danced to. Hermione retraced her steps to Harry and held out her hand. Harry groaned, he knew this would happen, he didn’t like dancing very much but there was no way he was going to disappoint Hermione; he stood and held her in his arms. The dance was not complicated; they swayed with the music and really did nothing more than turn slowly around and around, but to Hermione it was the most wonderful moment as she and her Harry danced cheek to cheek. The words of the song said it better than Harry ever could and he felt the tears of happiness that were running unashamedly down Hermione’s face. Then as the last notes faded away and with them the man and the piano, Harry looked into the shining eyes of the girl he loved the most and kissed her deeply.

* * *

Luna walked down with Ron to Hagrid's hut the next day. His excuse to get her there had been quite pathetic.

“I think Hagrid has a horned snobbery in a cage, want to come and see it with me?” he had asked, with as much excitement as he could muster.

Luna had wanted to laugh out loud, how could Ron expect her to believe in such a ridiculous animal, but she didn’t because she knew the real reason behind his request and she didn’t mind the subterfuge. Everything had been made very clear to her and Luna knew now that she really should have trusted Harry all that time ago with her secret, and that there was no doubt anymore, in either of her minds, that both Ron and Hermione could be trusted as well.

The place appeared deserted, neither Hagrid nor Fang were anywhere to be seen, so Ron and Luna sat on the stone steps that led to the front door and the golden haired girl waited for the red headed young man to start his pitch.

“Err… shame really, that no one is here I mean, Hagrid must have taken the horned snoggleberry for a walk,” said Ron lamely.

“I thought it was a horned snobbery Ronald,” said Luna seriously, “I wouldn’t have bothered to come down for a horned snoggleberry, Dad and I saw one of those over the summer holidays.”

“Oh yes, …did you, …silly me I meant a snobbery,” he gave a false laugh, and wondered how deep a mess he was going to dig himself into.

Luna gave Ron a knowing look. “Ronald, there is no such thing as a snoggleberry, horned or otherwise.”

“Oh, isn’t there?” he said with a touch of panic in his voice.

“No,” she confirmed, “and I doubt very much if there is such a thing as a horned snobbery either. You’ll have to do better than that.” Ron said nothing because nothing came to mind. Then Luna decided to send the conversation off in a totally different direction. “If you wanted to get me on your own, you only had to ask you know,” she said coyly fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I mean I do find you rather cute you know, maybe a bit more than cute.”

Ron managed a muted strangled sort of noise.

“I first noticed you on the train, do you remember? Luna continued, “Then when you started playing Quidditch with Harry, I sort of, well, noticed you more.” She smiled sweetly at Ron who was beginning to wish there was no hidden agenda to this meeting. “When did you notice me?” It was so innocently asked that Ron could do nothing but answer truthfully.

“On the train coming up this time, you had your head out of the window,” Ron looked a bit embarrassed, “I thought you had nice legs,” he admitted. “Then I sort of noticed the rest of you.”

Inside Hagrid’s hut Harry and Hermione were sitting, hidden, by an open window, listening to the conversation outside, and both of them felt that despite the reason for them all being here, the two inside should not be listening to what was transpiring on the step on the other side of the door.

In those few moments of reflection Ron had totally forgotten why he and Luna were sitting on that cold stone step. He was staring into a pair of shockingly blue eyes that were dancing with light and held him entranced. The owner of those eyes reached out a hand and caressed his cheek then slipped her arm around his neck. As she pulled him towards her, Ron heard her say, “Isn’t it fortunate that we both noticed each other.” He was going to agree but at that moment her lips met his and the softness of her mouth drove all coherent thought out of his brain. Ron sealed his fate by sliding his arms around Luna’s slim frame and completing the embrace.

Inside the hut there should have been two rather embarrassed young people wishing they could have thought of some other way of discovering Luna’s secret, but at the moment Ron and Luna’s lips met outside, some unknown impulse had driven Harry and Hermione into a similar situation. The passion in both kisses was equally intense, but perhaps because Harry and Hermione had practiced more, their kiss broke first.

Harry smiled, “She knows we’re here,” he whispered breathlessly, “could you feel it?” Hermione nodded and only with difficulty prevented herself from drawing Harry back to her. “Come on, out the back door,” and he pulled her to her feet and the pair of them crept across the room.

By the time they had walked around to Hagrid's front door Ron and Luna’s kiss was just ending. Ron looked rather flushed, Luna looked serene and smiled graciously at Harry and Hermione as they walked up to the step. There was a short silence as the four looked at each other, and it was Luna who broke the impasse.

“I am a Despuamense, a mind skimmer, that’s how I knew,” she said answering all their questions in one go. “And you Harry, should be careful, if anyone sees you you’ll be in awful trouble,” she warned him.

“Luna’s right Harry,” said Hermione with an unusual hardness to her voice, it was still early enough for anyone to be out in the grounds and the events of the last five minutes had made them forget how dangerous their situation could become. “We ought to continue this at home,” she finished, glaring at the pair on the steps.

Harry didn’t pick up on the change in her manner and merely nodded, “OK you two,” he said to Ron and Luna, “Let’s go.” Then allowing the others to lead the way, Harry and Hermione checked there was no one around and turned and headed into the edge of the forest.

On the way through the passage to the Shack, Hermione slowed Harry so that they fell well behind Ron and Luna. “Do you know what a Despuamense can do Harry?” Hermione whispered to him as they stumbled through the dark tunnel.

“No not really, though I do seem to remember reading something about them in that dark arts book we found over the summer,” he replied. “I thought they called them something else.”

“Yes, they had another term for them alright,” she said evenly, “they called them mind leaches. They can invade your thoughts and pick them clean without you ever knowing. Far more subtle than a Legilimens, she could be extremely dangerous.” Hermione had a hard glint in her eyes that Harry had never seen before and it worried him.

“If she is so dangerous, why are we taking her to the Shack, and why didn’t she sell us down the river that time at the Ministry,” said Harry trying to make some sense of it all.

Hermione didn’t beat about the bush. “If she is working for the other side then we will have to deal with her, and the Shack is the best place for that. As for the Ministry perhaps it wasn’t the right time.” In the dim light Harry saw Hermione reach for her wand as if prepared to carry her suspicions to their final conclusions.

Harry restrained her and dragged her to a stop. “What’s got into you Hermione? you’ve never acted like this before, you could be condemning a perfectly innocent school girl,” he said as persuasively as possible.

“What’s got into me,” she flashed back angrily, “I’ll tell you what’s got into me, she did, she got into my mind, and she made me kiss you.”

“Oh…” said Harry understanding, and he drew her into a hug, “What has happened to the famous Granger logic. We’ve known Luna for what, two years?” he felt Hermione’s head nod in assent. “If she was working for Voldemort, now or in the past she wouldn’t have been able to hide it. Snape couldn’t manage to keep it from us; we all knew how evil he was, even if Dumbledore couldn’t see it, and just now if she meant us any harm, she could have made us fight, or try to kill each other. You are just being oversensitive.”

Hermione drew back and looked daggers at him. “Oops” thought Harry and sought to set things right again. “I do understand love, first Ron and his potions and now Luna, both taking control of you from you, and you feel that you have no defence against it.” He sighed, “I can promise you it is much worse when Voldemort does it.” Harry gazed into her face held between his hands; he could see that the anger was dissipating. “You didn’t mind kissing me did you?”

The faintest smile reached the corners of her mouth. “No of course not,” and to reinforce her words she kissed him again.

Ron had obviously let Luna through the barrier, for when Harry and Hermione reached the main room the two of them were standing by the work table. Luna looked as if she had been crying, in fact she still was, and Ron stood by her his arm protectively draped around her shoulders, he was worried and there was a look of panic about him.

“Luna’s sorry Hermione,” said Ron quickly, “she didn’t realise how upset you had been with me, or why, you hide it too well, …thanks,” he gave her a sickly smile, “and of course I never think about it, well at least not when I am with her, it seems. Luna was only trying to give you a demonstration of her ability in the nicest way she could think of.”

Hermione began to regret her sudden outburst.

“I could feel your anger,” Luna said between sniffs, “Oh, Hermione,” she cried afresh, “I thought you were going to kill me.”

Now, much though she didn’t want to, Hermione could feel the waves of fear and remorse emanating from the blond haired girl in Ron’s arms, the disadvantage of being a Despuamense clear. Only by rigid control could her secret be kept and her safety assured, that control was gone, blown away by Hermione’s anger, at that moment Luna was the most vulnerable of the four. Now it was Hermione’s turn to apologise, and taking the crying girl from Ron, she led Luna to the far end of the room and sat her on the edge of the bed and girl to girl they sorted out their differences.

Harry and Ron disappeared down to the kitchen to rustle up Dobby, or if necessary rustle up tea for themselves. Ron watched Harry as he filled the large black kettle with water. “You know mate,” he said to Harry, “I’ve begun to realise that Hermione and I could never have lasted long together, even if I had played it straight, and courted her fair and square.”

“No?” queried Harry.

“No,” Ron assured him; “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Hermione is brilliant, brilliant but scary, very scary.” Ron gave an involuntary shiver. The quiet chuckle from the two lads was lost in the noise from the kettle, as the water in it began to boil.

“You can ask if you like,” Hermione told Harry as they watched Ron and Luna descend the stairs on their way back to Hogwarts.

“Ask what?” said Harry, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck.

“Why I decided we could trust her,” she replied, not even sounding cross.

“What trust her, instead of blowing her into atoms?” he said, amazed at his temerity. “I did wonder.”

“OK…OK so I overreacted, I’m sorry,” said Hermione trying to put a lid on her temper tantrum. “I hate not feeling in control, and you said it yourself, she could have set us against each other, so I was right to be worried.”

“But you’re not now?”

“No, not now,” she sighed.

“So why?” he asked.

“She lost control, and she was completely vulnerable.” Hermione explained. If she, was working for Voldemort it would have shown, and if she was under any form of compulsive spell she would not have been able to drop her defences like that. Besides we had a really good talk, and she told me something.”

“Oh yeh, what was that?” said Harry, with a little sigh of relief, not really caring, just thankful that their latest problem had sorted itself out.

“She told me that you loved me,” said Hermione coyly.

Harry looked at her in wonderment, “But you already know that.” he said with surprise.

“I know, but a girl likes to be reassured once in a while,” she said with a smile. A smile that ended in a shrill giggle as Harry proceeded to show her just how much he did love her.

* * *

Ron and Luna reached the castle steps well before evening curfew, but as usual the main halls were deserted. Very few students ventured out of their common rooms these days, even the library was rarely occupied after dinner, it wasn’t clear if Madam Pince preferred it this way or not. Ron was very relieved the way things had gone back at the Shack; he was pleased that Luna had the Harry and Hermione seal of approval, pleased that his judgement of the girl had been upheld, glad that he wouldn’t have to continue to see her behind his best friend’s backs. That first proper kiss on the step of Hagrid’s hut had held all the confirmation Ron needed to tell him that his attraction to Luna was genuine, and now he couldn’t give her up if he tried.

Their silent companionable wanderings led them into the trophy room; Ron remembered the incident in their first year when Malfoy had tricked them with a supposed duel, and Filtch had so nearly caught them. He also recalled his detention, in the second year, when he had cleaned every cup, plate and shield in that immense cabinet that now gleamed with the gold and silver trophies. Some of them he had cleaned more than once, he tried to swallow as in his suddenly dry throat the foul taste of his own slug hex returned to haunt him. Then it occurred to him that he had never taken the trouble to look at the trophy that actually belonged to him, his Special Award for Services to the School, it should be here along with Harry’s. Yes, there it was, on the second shelf in a group of about a dozen similar awards and Harry’s next to his, both golden cups shone brightly standing there, on small wooden plinths.

“Here Luna,” he said pointing at the awards, “Have you ever seen these, Harry and I won them in our second year, I’d almost forgotten about them.”

“What Ronald?” the girl appeared distracted, “Sorry, but there is something here that is not right. Did you say you had an award?”

“Yes, its here,” Ron didn’t bother to mention that he had only been thinking about it.

“Oh that’s nice, and Harry has one too,” Luna was having trouble focusing both her thoughts and her vision. She drew closer to the glass of the cupboard door so as to see better. “What is this one.” she said almost dreamily, pointing to an award at the back of the shelf.

“That, Oh that’s Riddle’s,” Ron spat out, “the one he got for framing Hagrid, never understood why Dumbledore didn’t destroy it, once he knew that Riddle had become Voldemort.”

‘Hem- hem’, the quiet throat clearing cough was enough to make Ron’s blood run cold. “Possibly Mr Weasley because he knew he would be overstepping his powers, after all no one has ever proved that this Voldemort really exists,” the voice dragged Ron back two whole years, and he turned to stare into the rather unpleasant features of Delores Umbridge.

Ron was about to set the late unlamented Inquisitor of Hogwarts straight, when he realised that Luna was still staring into the cupboard, and swaying alarmingly on her feet. He reached out to steady her, and at his touch she turned to him, “Why is it writhing like that? It’s the only one, it looks like it is alive,” she mumbled. She appeared to be getting more unsteady by the second, and Ron held her to him to keep her on her feet, he glanced back at the trophies, he could see nothing amiss. Luna had swivelled in his arms and was staring in the same unfocused fashion at Umbridge and the two people with her, they were the Ministry spies; Ron had never caught their names. Luna regarded Umbridge and the other woman and paid them little attention, then her sight fell on the third figure a dark haired, bearded man, with a sallow complexion, Ron felt her stiffen in his grasp, and her eyes opened very wide. Luna screamed once and fainted.

* * *

Chapter 9

Gryffindor For The Cup

Two days passed before Harry and Hermione heard Ron thundering up the stairs from the tunnel. He arrived in the upstairs room red in the face and panting hard, he collapsed on the sofa and it was several minutes before he was able to gasp out his news.

“Luna’s in the hospital wing, she’s been out cold,” he said, a rasping breath between each word.

“Whoa Ron, take your time and drink this,” said Harry, handing him a goblet that had appeared out of thin air into Harry’s hand. Ron gathered himself together and gratefully took the proffered drink, which he downed in three large gulps and almost immediately felt fully refreshed.

“Thanks Harry,” said Ron wiping his mouth, then taking a deep breath launched into his story of the events of the last two days. “I don’t know what made her collapse,” he admitted after telling them of their leisurely stroll back to the castle and then Luna’s strange behaviour in the trophy room. “It may have been something she saw in the cabinet or Umbridge and her cronies; they certainly made my blood run cold. She hasn’t changed you know, Harry just as evil and vindictive as she always was.”

Harry hadn’t really expected there to be any difference in the ministry witch. “So what happened then?” he encouraged Ron to continue.

“Well, I picked Luna up and barged past them. They weren’t happy and tried to hold me back, I’m afraid I may have been a bit rough,” he said as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I ran straight to Madam Pomfrey, told her what had happened, and without a word she locked the main door to the hospital ward.” Ron gave a little laugh, “You should have heard the racket Umbridge and the others, they’re Abigail Pinkney and Mandeville Sulgrave by the way, found that out yesterday, banging on the door yelling and screaming to come in and Pomfrey ignores them.”

“Well then she has a look at Luna.” Ron stopped as the memory of the moment hit him, the pale, blonde haired girl lying so still on the bed.

Hermione saw the emotion in his face and sat down next to him on the sofa took his hand and gave him an encouraging smile. Ron gave her a sad little smile in return, and then clearing his throat, continued his tale.

“She couldn’t find anything wrong with her; apart from the fact that she was unconscious, everything else was fine, and she used those stabilising vapours, the ones she’s used on you a few times Harry,” said Ron glancing into the concerned face of his best friend. “Then she looks at the door, they were still banging away on it, mutters something I wouldn’t repeat in such company,” he grinned giving Hermione’s hand a squeeze, “rushes over to this picture she has on her desk and calls McGonagall.”

“What?” chorused Harry and Hermione.

Ron explained that it appeared teachers were as unhappy with Umbridge’s committee as all the students; probably more so, and they had developed a communication system in order to keep each of them up to date as to what the committee members were doing. Using linked pictures they could speak directly with each other, which neatly bypassed the usual method of running around all over the school, this way was much faster and left Umbridge and her minions one step behind.

So Poppy Pomfrey had called the Headmistress and she and Flitwick managed to disperse the ‘ministry attack’ on the hospital wing door. Once Umbridge had backed off Ron had been spirited out of the ward and returned to Gryffindor tower, with strict instructions to stay there until the coast was clear.

“McGonagall turned up the next morning and let me out, said Ron, “Umbridge only stays at the school for very short periods,” Ron smiled again, “it appears that the Divination Professor has taken to dogging her movements and she doesn’t like it.”

“Can’t imagine Umbridge worrying about Trelawney,” said a disbelieving Hermione.

“Probably because it is Firenze,” Ron chuckled, “it seems he just happens to be in the same corridor, or coming out of the very room Umbridge wants to enter, or sometimes it’s only the eerie sound of his hoof beats apparently coming from nowhere. Umbridge probably thinks there are loads of centaurs in the school not just one; it makes her visits to the school very nervous occasions.”

Ron went on to say that he had spent the rest of that day with Luna, Madam Pomfrey had assured him that she was sleeping now but should be allowed to wake on her own. That she had done yesterday evening but only for a few moments. “She opened her eyes, gave me a smile,” said Ron with a happier smile of his own, “and said three words. Then she went back to sleep.”

Hermione harrumphed, Harry smiled, he knew Ron would remember to tell them what she had said in a moment, Hermione was not as patient. “What did she say Ron,” she asked surprisingly pleasantly.

“What, oh err, sorry, ‘Go get Harry.’” said Ron sheepishly.

“That’s all?” Harry asked.

Ron counted out the words on his fingers. “Yep that’s it. McGonagall wouldn’t let me come until now and she said you should….”

“We’ll go over tonight after curfew,” said Harry not letting Ron finish.

“….go tonight after curfew. Ohh, you just said that. Sorry bad couple of days.” and with that Ron stretched himself out on the sofa, and after Hermione extricated her lap from under his head and replaced it with a cushion, he fell fast asleep.

* * *

Harry despatched Ron back to the castle later that afternoon with instructions to meet them by the main door at ten o’clock that night. It turned out to be a rather wet evening and Harry and Hermione were glad of their dragon hide coats to keep out the weather. They followed their usual path close to Hagrid’s hut and then cut across the lawns keeping low and using the scattered bushes for cover. Although there was a steady drizzle falling, over to the west the cloud thinned enough for the moon to peep through. Its large round face lit up the grounds with a light made unnatural by the way it was diffused by the rain, and it also reminded the pair why Remus and Tonks had not made an appearance today. The stone steps leading to the large main doors were slick with water and they glistened in the unearthly light, then just as quickly as it had appeared, the clouds thickened again, and the moon was once more hidden from view, plunging the castle into darkness.

At Harry’s quiet tap the door slowly opened enough to show Ron’s face peering out, he puffed his cheeks out in relief.

“Oh boy, I’m glad it’s you,” he whispered.

“You were expecting someone else?” retorted Hermione quietly.

“Err… no,” Ron replied missing the point. “Luna’s awake but she won’t say anything until she’s seen Harry,” Ron continued both happy that his girl was OK and slightly miffed that she wouldn’t confide in him.

“Ministry?” Harry said succinctly, looking all around him to ascertain that they were alone.

“Professor McGonagall has both of them and Filtch at the other end of the castle, Umbridge isn’t here,” said Ron thankfully.

Only once in the trip to the hospital wing did Harry and Hermione dive under the invisibility cloak, that Harry had brought, just in case. At the sound of footsteps echoing round a bend in the corridor Harry flipped out the cloak, to cover himself and Hermione, but it was only a sixth year prefect doing his rounds, and at a word from Ron he went off to do them somewhere else. They reached the doors to the hospital wing five minutes later and entering the ward saw Luna sitting up in bed surrounded by a glow of golden light from the candles by her bedside. Madam Pomfrey rose from the chair she was occupying near the door, and watched quietly as the three walked in and stopped by her. The nurse ran a critical eye over Harry and Hermione, and seemed satisfied by what she saw.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” she smiled and headed to the small well lit room at the end of the ward, pausing only to straighten Luna’s bed sheet and puff up her pillows.

“Hi,” said Luna with only the slightest touch of tiredness to her voice.

“Hi yourself,” Harry responded, “I understand you wanted to see me?” he continued more seriously.

Hermione had grabbed a couple of chairs and offered one to Harry, Ron perched himself on the edge of Luna’s bed undoing all Madam Pomfrey's straightening efforts. Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance as Ron gathered up Luna’s hand and held it tightly.

“Sorry to make it so melodramatic, but with a mind like mine that’s how it comes out sometimes.” She looked down at Ron’s hand in hers and then up at him, lost for a moment in some other thought.

“So what did you need to tell me about?” Harry encouraged her gently, “something that you saw in the trophy cabinet?”

“Yes but that’s not all of it,” all trace of loony Luna was instantly gone. “There is definitely something in that case, which shouldn’t be there, Riddles award, it’s not right.”

“I said exactly the same thing,” Ron interjected, “can’t see why Dumbledore didn’t chuck it out.”

“Quiet Ron,” said Hermione sharply, “Let Luna finish, I don’t think that is what she meant, is it?” she directed at the blonde girl.

“No, it’s very hard to put into words, but it was almost as if his cup was alive, “she searched for another way of explaining it, but there was none. She shook her head.

“That’s it; it felt alive and very unfriendly.”

“How unfriendly?” asked Hermione fearing the worst.

“Evil,” Luna said giving a little shiver.

“OK,” said Harry, “we better go and have a look at it.” But Luna laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“No, that’s only part of it,” she insisted. “That man with Umbridge.”

“What, Mandeville Sulgrave?” said Ron.

“Dark hair, beard, looks more dead than alive?” Luna’s description fitted the man well.

“Yeh, that’s the one,” Ron confirmed.

“He’s a Death Eater.” Her statement was greeted with silence, as the other three absorbed the significance of her words.

“But he can’t be, he’s Ministry, and has full access to all parts of the school,” said Ron, not wanting to disbelieve Luna but finding the information difficult to accept.

“I don’t care who he claims to be,” Luna replied, “I have no doubts, he is a Death Eater.

Hermione had no doubts now either, whatever she had thought of this strange girl, there was no questioning the fact that she was most definitely on their side.

Harry had doubts, but not about Luna or her information, it all made perfect sense. It was an easy way for Voldemort to get someone into the castle, and Umbridge was so thick she would never notice. She would probably applaud some of Sulgrave’s more death eater like tendencies. It complicated matters but they would have to work around him. Harry’s doubts concerned the Riddle trophy, what was it, and what were they going to do about it, but he had to put all these to one side as the growing noise of shouting could be heard through the hospital wing door. Hermione gave a little shriek as a ghostly form suddenly appeared through the wall by her side.

“Terribly sorry,” said the mournful voice of Nearly Headless Nick, “but the Headmistress sent me on ahead. A head, oh the irony of that,” he moaned, “quite unbearable.”

“What did McGonagall ask you to do Nick?” said Harry firmly trying to bring the ghost out of his fug.

“Oh, you must run,” he said without enthusiasm, “that man Sulgrave is coming to talk to Miss Lovegood.”

Harry turned to Luna with a concerned look. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, “now I am prepared I will be fine, just go.”

But at that moment, shouting reached the outside of the door, there was no more time. Hermione’s wand was in her hand in an instant, “Colloportus” and the door sealed itself, they were safe but they were trapped.

Mandeville Sulgrave banged impotently on the hospital door for the second time in as many days, but this time he would not be denied, he rounded on Minerva McGonagall who was glowing with anger, but unable to restrain the council member. “I will blow it in if that woman does not unlock it,” he shouted.

Inside the ward Harry was considering his options, fight, hide, all were possible but what he really needed was to get out. ‘Damn if only we could apparate to Hagrid's garage,’ he thought. Then suddenly everything went black and he could smell oil and polish, somehow he had managed it. Seconds later he was back in the hospital and was grabbed by an immensely relieved Hermione.

“Harry what happened, where did you go?” she asked frantically.

“No questions,” Harry ordered, “try and apparate to the garage,” he told her, “you too Ron.” He watched as both his friends vanished silently. “Sure you’ll be OK Luna?”

“Fine Harry, just go.” she urged him.

Harry took a deep breath concentrated and Luna saw him disappear as silently as the others. Then she raised her wand and with a quiet “Alohomora” unlocked the door. Mandeville Sulgrave, who had just applied his shoulder to the same door in a final attempt to gain access without resorting to magic, flew into the ward as the unresisting door swung open, and ended up sprawled at the foot of Luna’s bed. She leaned over to stare at his rather dishevelled appearance, smiled sweetly at him and asked, “Can I help you?” In the background she saw the Headmistress beaming at her.

“You know what we did was impossible,” said Hermione when Harry joined them in the Shack.

“Yes I know,” said Harry thoughtfully, “but we did it, didn’t we?”

“Some one must have removed the anti-apparation shield, like that time in the Great Hall when we were learning how to do it,” chipped in Ron. “Bit of luck really, we could have been in a bit of a mess there.” Harry watched as Ron slipped through the mirror back to the garage.

“Ron’s right Hermione, but who could have done it?”

“McGonagall, I suppose,” she suggested.

“Well who ever it was, said Ron his ginger head emerging from the glass again, “it was only temporary. I’ve tried to get back to Gryffindor tower and nothing happens.” he grinned openly at his two friends. “Looks like I’m stuck here for the night. Who am I sharing with?”

“The sofa,” said Harry and Hermione as one.

* * *

“It’s a Horcrux Hermione, I’m sure of it,” they were looking at a series of drawings purporting to be of Hufflepuff’s golden cup, and also at Hermione’s much read volume of Hogwarts a History. “Dumbledore showed me some memories in his pensive last year,” said Harry. “One was of Riddle at the house of the old witch that owned the cup, two days later she was dead and the cup gone.”

“You think Riddle killed her and then stole it?” asked Hermione.

“Well it would be right up his street.” Hermione nodded in silent agreement. “Then some time later,” Harry continued, “he comes to Hogwarts asking for a job he knows Dumbledore won’t give him.”

“So he had another reason, to be in the school, like switching a transformed Hufflepuff cup, which was now a Horcrux with his original award?” Hermione suggested.

“Exactly,” said Harry.

“But why would he do that?”

“Can you think of anywhere safer than Hogwarts,” said Harry, “Remember Voldemort wants these things to remain hidden.”

“But wouldn’t Dumbledore have noticed it,” Hermione was trying all the possibilities.

“No I don’t think so, Horcruxes go out of their way to remain hidden, and Dumbledore only started looking last year. He wasn’t on his best form by then, was he?” said Harry sadly, hunching his shoulders with the hated memories of the last term.

Hermione reached out to give him comfort and looked into his sad but determined face. “OK, so we have a Horcrux,” said Hermione, deciding to give up trying to disprove the idea, “what do we do about it?”

“I think we need to see our wise men again,” said Harry.

Although neither Ollivander nor Fortescue expressed any surprise at Harry’s conclusion that the trophy was a Horcrux they had no better idea of how to deal with it than he did, but they did have some suggestions.

“Your wand is your greatest ally,” Ollivander told him, “If you give it free rein there is no telling what it may do.”

“And you must be prepared to destroy the cup, or try to kill the fragment of Voldemort’s soul directly,” Fortescue added, “but beware; bereft of its home the soul fragment will try to find a temporary host, like the young Riddle did to Ginny Weasley. You could find yourself with a very difficult decision if one of your companions is taken over.”

Hermione sat quietly and listened to the two old men as they passed their ideas on to Harry, they were all going to be in a certain amount of danger, that was very clear, and they were going to need time to destroy the Horcrux. That either meant they had to make an attempt at night, when the castle was asleep, or they would have to pick a time when the castle was as empty as possible. The idea of waiting until the Christmas holidays was too awful to contemplate, so that left a Hogsmead weekend, or possibly a Quidditch match. Well it wasn’t much to go on but at least it was a start, then an idea occurred to her and using a spare piece of parchment, she scribbled out a note to Fred and George.

It turned out that there was no point in waiting for a Hogsmead weekend. McGonagall, when asked, had told them that if there was one it would not be until November and she was not sure that even then it would go ahead. Harry had vetoed the idea of using a Quidditch match, “Too many people stay in school,” he told Hermione, “You know not everybody likes the game,” he gave her a sly smile. “The main thing is we have no idea how Voldemort’s soul will react. I just wouldn’t want to take the risk, imagine what could happen if it got loose in the crowd at the match.”

“Umm, I see your point, so we do it at night,” said Hermione, “when?”

“Ron has his first Quidditch match in ten days, we’ll do it the night before,” said Harry making the decision.

“Won’t that be difficult for Ron?” asked Hermione, “I mean the night before his first game as Captain.”

Harry smiled, “It’s probably the only night I can guarantee that Ron will be awake. Besides it will take his mind off it, it’ll be fine.”

* * *

“Oh bugger!” said Ron, when Harry told him at an evening gathering at Hagrid's hut, “Well I suppose it will be OK, are we telling anyone what we are doing?”

“No” said Harry, although he was under no illusion that McGonagall wouldn’t eventually guess what they were up to, but not when. “This needs to be a tight group, I don’t want Luna there either.” he gave Ron an apologetic look, “With her mind the way it is, and Voldemort about, even a small bit of him, there is no telling what could happen. We get this first one done between the three of us, and then we’ll see.”

Before Ron left he handed Hermione a small package, “From Fred and George,” he said, “I don’t know how they get these things into the school, and I am afraid to ask, but they said that everything is there.”

“Thanks Ron,” Harry gave her a quizzical look, but Hermione said no more.

The following day Harry found Hermione in the kitchen surrounded by steam and a rather nasty smell, which he thought was rather familiar, she was obviously brewing a potion, though Harry could see no ingredients in view. She impatiently waved him away when he asked if he could help, so he took the hint and stomped up the stairs to bury himself in Gryffindors private papers. All of the founders had left some record of their work and most of it was tediously boring, but occasionally a little flash of light would strike through and some gem of information appear. This was not one of those occasions, so when he heard footsteps on the stairs he looked up expecting to see Hermione, but instead it was Ginny Weasley who was advancing across the room toward him.

“Hi Gin,” said Harry lightly, “Hermione’s in the kitchen.”

“I know,” said Ginny in a voice that was laced with suggestion that the kitchen was where she wanted her to stay.

Harry was startled by her behaviour to say the least and gave the girl a more searching examination. There was a smouldering look in her eyes that Harry hadn’t seen before, not even when they had been going out together. Her blouse was partly undone, or at least was too big for her, Harry couldn’t tell which, but he hastily drew his eyes away. Ginny continued to close the gap between them, her intent becoming clearer the closer she got. Harry would have backed away but he was stuck on the sofa, and his wand was on the work table, what on earth could he do, there was no way he could stop her.

“Err… Gin what’s all this about?” Harry stammered out.

“I have you on my own at last,” the words dripped seductively from Ginny’s lips, and she appeared about to pounce, but then her resolve seemed to falter, and Harry through his mild panic, noticed there was something wrong with the Ginny Weasley in front of him, there was no scent of Dream Flowers. Although both Ginny and Hermione used it, Ginny used it all the time, and as Hermione was trying to eek out her supplies, she used it only sparingly. What he could smell was that scented soap Tonks had given Hermione for her birthday, and then he remembered the smell of the potion Hermione had been brewing downstairs.

Harry got up and walked up to Ginny and placed his arms on her shoulders, she appeared even less sure of herself now and resisted as he embraced her. Harry shut his eyes to block out the sight of his best friends little sister and concentrated on the scent of the soap and the knowledge of the real identity of the girl in his arms. Then she stiffened ever so slightly, and Harry felt the first signs of her wanting to pull back, but he was not about to let her go. He kissed her gently on her neck and moved his lips up to her ear and whispered to her.

“Oh, I’m so glad it’s you,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else but my little Fizzy.”

The girl froze and only then did Harry dare to open his eyes, Ginny Weasley’s face was staring at him in shock, “What, how, when did you find out?” Ginny said.

“What, that despite what you look like, you aren’t Ginny at all,” said Harry matter of factly, “or did you want to know when I discovered your nickname, Hermione.”

The girl began to blush and as her face reddened the colour in her hair began to fade and in the space of a minute or so Harry saw the features of Ginny be replaced by those of Hermione, who once back to normal still had the grace to look embarrassed.

“God that was a stupid thing to do.” said Hermione crossly, talking to herself, “I’m sorry Harry, it was a spur of the moment thing, it was unfair to you, please forgive me,” she pleaded.

Harry considered his options, he tried to be cross, but found it difficult, for he knew he would never have succumbed to Ginny or a Ginny look-a-like, not now, he loved the girl he held in his arms to distraction, but he did think he deserved an explanation. He made his face as grim as possible and felt Hermione quail under his stern gaze, and at the same time her eyes began to mist over. That was all it took, and Harry was totally lost. He gathered her into a tight hug and kissed her properly, tasting the salt of tears on her cheek.

“Forgiven,” he said quietly, “but do you mind telling me what that was all about?”

So Hermione told him of her idea. She had thought to poison the cup using concentrated aconite elixir, just as he had poisoned Riddles diary with the basilisk fang, but the aconite was far too dangerous to brew anywhere but in a proper potions room. So she had asked the twins to send her some ready-made Polyjuice potion, in order that she could disguise herself and use rooms at Hogwarts. The Polyjuice just need the final ingredient added, she thought of turning into Ron but decided trying to be a boy might cause her some problems, so she picked Ginny, and then this very silly idea came to her. She was ashamed, contrite and downright disgusted with herself for even thinking of tempting Harry.

“Well, I am glad there was some method in your madness,” said Harry, “It’s nice to know that even my Fizzy can make a mistake.”

He watched to see her reaction to his use of her father’s nickname for her, but she didn’t erupt or even show any surprise, but she did snuggle closer to him, and he heard her say,

“Am I really your Fizzy?”

“Yes,” and Harry kissed her on the top of her head.

“Umm…” she thought for a moment, “I think I like that.” she said with obvious pleasure.

Harry sighed, shook his head and smiled, there was definitely something wrong in the world of love. After all this and using the only wild card he held against her, he still didn’t win any points, it just wasn’t fair.

* * *

Hermione’s plan actually worked very well. The potion she produced was so strong that she handled it like it might explode if she jiggled it too much; she made sure it was double wrapped before putting it in her pocket. The job done she returned the jar of aconite powder to the supply cupboard, and slipped out of the potions room, no one the wiser that she had been there.

The only fault in her plan was in her choice of disguise. She had forgotten how popular Ginny was, and had to fight off four attempts to ask her out on the next Hogsmead weekend, if there was one. Four times she politely turned them down, and all the way back to the Shack she worried and hoped she hadn’t ruined anything for Ginny.

The Friday night before the Quidditch match arrived and Harry and Hermione met with Ron in Hagrid's hut. Harry led them through what they were going to try and do. Ron was to remove Riddle’s award from the cabinet, they knew this bit was relatively safe as Ron had handled the cup before without any harm. Harry would use his wand to release the spell on the Horcrux and if and when Voldemort appeared Hermione would fill the empty Horcrux with the aconite.

“Then what?” asked Ron.

“Not sure,” said Harry, “we might have to play it by ear. Just keep whatever comes out of that cup away from you. Use anything that comes to mind.”

“Right,” said Ron, “OK, no problem…. Can I go home now?”

Hermione gave a nervous giggle, “Come on.” said Harry, “Let’s get on with it before I have second thoughts as well.”

They kept to their usual route up the steps of the castle, their dark coats hiding them well in the blackness, reaching the top step they kept close to the door in the shadows and waited. After maybe five minutes the door opened and the dim light from the entrance hall spilled onto the steps and then was almost blocked out again by the large form of Hagrid as he left the castle to return to his hut. He turned to close the door again but hesitated for long enough for three dark shapes to slip through and disappear into the shadows of the hall.

Harry hadn’t told him what they were up to but Hagrid silently wished them luck none the less.

Ron opened up the Marauders Map and whispered “I solemnly promise I am up to no good,” and touched his wand to the map. As before the spider like lines appeared all over the parchment as the magic of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs worked its wonders yet again. Filtch was in the small room behind his office, and Mrs Norris was with him, so at least that was one problem easily solved. Their way to the trophy room passed by the door to the caretaker’s office, and as Hermione crept past following Harry and Ron, a very quiet “Colloportus” was all that was needed to seal them in.

The map showed the rest of the school corridors to be almost clear, only on the highest level could be seen a tiny Terry Boot and Hannah Abbot as the head boy and girl did their final rounds. The trio waited until these two had gained their respective common rooms and then continued on to the trophy room, which in the quiet and darkness seemed even bigger that they knew it was. There was a momentary scare as a silvery, ghostly form appeared through the far wall and slowly drifted across the room to disappear in the way it had come. The ghost showed no evidence that it had seen them, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief before urging Ron toward the case holding Riddle’s award. For its part, the ghost floated up to the topmost room in Gryffindor tower, and made its report, then continued on its wanderings.

Hermione had found a small table, which she carried to the centre of the room. Harry relit two of the nearest torches to give them some light to work by, and Ron retrieved the small golden cup. He carried it like it was a live snake and put it down on Hermione’s table.

The three of them stood there staring at the innocent looking cup, the small plaque on the wooden plinth proclaimed Tom Riddle, for Special Services to the School.

“Ready?” said Harry, and glanced up at the others who both looked a little pale, but they nodded and stepped back to give him room. Clearing his mind, Harry lifted his wand and concentrated on an image of the wonderful bird that had provided the magical core that resided within it. Taking a deep breath, Harry touched his hand to his scar and the tip of the wand to the edge of the bowl of the cup. There was a deep ringing note and Harry thought he caught the faintest sound of phoenix song. The cup began to vibrate and a hissing sound like escaping gas came from the object now bouncing on the table top, then as suddenly as it started, the noise and movement stopped. Bubbling up from some unknown place grey smoke flowed out and over the rim of the cup and down onto the table. Across the table top and down to the floor it spilled, but it didn’t spread out, it gathered in one spot and drew in the seemingly endless stream that was now boiling from the cup.

The smoke seemed to take on substance as it gathered and piled itself into a column about six feet high. Hermione was watching the cup intently as the now diminishing flow of smoke cleared and the cup was empty once more. She un-stoppered the small bottle she held in a gloved hand and leaned forward to empty the elixir into the cup. The thick liquid poured slowly and Hermione didn’t want to take any chances with this deadly brew, she was so involved with her task she didn’t see what Harry and Ron were witnessing. The column of smoke was taking shape and solidifying into a vaguely human form. Harry was staring at where the face would form, and from the writhing smoke the haughty features he so well remembered from his second year came into focus.

Riddle was older than he had been in the diary but it could be none other than he. The reconstituted wizard was as still as if he had been petrified, and Harry’s hopes rose, if Riddle couldn’t move then things might be easier for them. Then like the lightening strike of a snake Riddle’s hand shot out to grasp Hermione’s wrist as she was pouring the last few drops of aconite elixir into the cup.

Hermione cried out in pain and dropped the bottle which bounced once on the table then fell to the hard stone floor where it smashed into a thousand pieces. This was no fragment of the sixteen year old boy that Harry remembered from the Chamber of Secrets, this was a man, and a wizard at the start of his rise to notoriety, full of the cunning and callousness that marked him out as Lord Voldemort.

“Away girl,” Voldemort hissed, and Hermione was thrown backwards from the table to crash to the floor and slide almost into the far wall. The wizard glanced once into the cup and moved to strike it to the floor, then he stopped as he caught sight of Harry looking with concern at Hermione’s still form.

“YOU!” he cried out, not in recognition, but in accusation, “You did this to me,” he reached out to grab the front of Harry’s coat but missed as Harry stepped smartly back from him.

There was a sibilant hiss from the young Voldemort and this time he held out his hand and beckoned Harry to him. Harry could feel the compulsion to move forward, Quirrell had almost beaten him with the same trick but this was a different Harry and he slashed out with his wand and Voldemort was flung to one side, but he didn’t fall, he regained his balance and faced Harry once again.

Then Harry was exposed to the cunning face of his arch enemy as he assumed an expression of surprise and concern. “We should not be fighting, I can tell, you and I are very much the same,” his voice contained more than words, Harry felt the compulsion again, but this time it hit harder. “You have it in you to be as great as I know I will become,” then Voldemort looked puzzled, “in fact I see something in you, something I recognise…Who are you?”

Harry stared the wizard down, “I am Harry Potter,” he said defiantly, “and I am the wizard who is going to defeat you.”

Voldemort laughed, “A Potter, well, well, your family was never very good at magic, I guess that you are no better.” it was a convincing lie, but Harry refused to let the words trick him.

Harry quickly looked around, Ron was helping Hermione to her feet, and he was relieved to see that she seemed OK. Voldemort was talking again but Harry was trying to see around the words the dark wizard was speaking, because he knew Voldemort was stalling for time, Harry wondered what he could be up to now, when his scar exploded in pain. The agony forced him to his knees and he heard both Ron and Hermione shout out a warning as Voldemort advanced on him again.

Then the door from the lower corridor was flung open and Voldemort stopped and turned as a figure threw itself to the floor and cried out “Master, I am here to do your bidding.”

Voldemort stood there, exaltation on his handsome but cruel face, he gripped his left sleeve and pulled it up revealing the original dark mark, it appeared to twist and writhe in front of Harry’s eyes. In response Mandeville Sulgrave dragged off his coat and there blackened and burnt into his arm was its twin, the mark of a Death Eater.

“Kill them,” was Voldemort’s simple but deadly command, and Sulgrave’s wand flashed in his hand and two bright red beams seared their way across the room toward Ron and Hermione. The pair stood their ground and Harry saw the almost negligent flicks of the wands held by his best friends and the Death Eater’s curses were deflected from their course, one to strike the trophy case that held Harry’s unwanted Triwizard cup and the other to shatter the stained glass window with a crash which must have been heard all over the castle.

Hermione was the first to reply and her “REDUCTO” blasted across the room and caught Sulgrave on his arm which flew outward as he spun around to finish hanging loosely by his side, the bone smashed to pieces. The man screamed in pain and tried to respond but a second spell, this time from Ron, laid his thigh open and the blood ran freely down his leg and onto the floor.

As Harry struggled to his feet, his scar still throbbing and his vision blurred, Voldemort’s exultation turned into contempt for the battered and bleeding Death Eater, he marched over to the weakening man and grasped the sides of his head in a powerful grip.

“You useless fool, GIVE ME YOUR POWER,” Voldemort roared, his eyes burned red and the man screamed again.

Harry could almost see Voldemort growing as he drew Sulgrave’s power from his body, and watched in horror as he ripped the Death Eater’s wand from nerveless fingers and turned to point it afresh at Hermione. Harry did the only thing he could do, his wand lay on the floor too far away for him to summon it in time, so he swept his arm in a great arc, picked up the cup, and flung its contents straight into the face of Voldemort and the Death Eater who stood at his side. There wasn’t time for Voldemort to duck and Sulgrave didn’t have the strength or reason to avoid the aconite elixir. It splashed into their eyes and probably that would have been enough, but Voldemort’s mouth was open as he started to speak the curse that would take Hermione’s life and some of the elixir caught him there as well. Sulgrave, screaming in pain, received a mouthful; he instantly stiffened and fell backwards dead before he touched the floor.

Voldemort’s eyes were bulging from his head, his hands flew to his throat, both wand and killing curse forgotten, and then the substance that made up his body began to come apart. As Professor McGonagall and four other teachers piled into the trophy room, their wands at the ready, Voldemort stretched out one hand toward Harry, and with a gurgling cry of “NEVER,” his body burst apart into an expanding ball of grey smoke and vanished.

There was silence for only a moment as the Headmistress surveyed the scene. Minerva McGonagall was very quick, and she turned to Professor Vector.

“Angela please go and head off Abigail Pinkney,” she asked the Arithmancy teacher, “I saw her coming down the stairs, we must tidy up and get Harry and Hermione out of here before she sees them.”

She looked down at Mandeville Sulgrave, the dark mark boldly etched on his forearm, and then she examined her three errant students for damage. Harry was pale, sweating a little and was holding his hand to his head, he seemed to have a headache. Hermione was limping slightly as she crossed the room to Harry and threw her arms around him hugging him tightly. Ron she thought thankfully looked unmarked, and for today, as far as she was concerned, he was the important one, for in a few hours he was leading her Quidditch team out to play against Slytherin.

“I don’t really want to know what you have been up to Harry, but Mr. Weasley, bed, and no arguments.” she said sternly, “I want you fresh as a daisy for the match.”

“But…” Ron started to complain, but the look he received from the Headmistress made him decide to go.

“Luck for tomorrow, Ron,” Harry said wearily.

“Yes Ron, luck,” Hermione endorsed.

“Thanks guys, but I might have to rely on skill,” he joked with a big grin on his face, “I think I used all my luck quotient tonight.” and with a wave he disappeared off to Gryffindor tower closely followed by Professor Flitwick.

“Right you two off to the Hospital wing,” said McGonagall, “You can stay there tonight.” There were no complaints as Harry and Hermione followed her out.

The following morning was bright and clear, perfect conditions for Quidditch, and although it was a bit of a risk, as both Umbridge and the Minister for magic were at the game, Harry and Hermione thought it was worth it. Hidden under the invisibility cloak and high in the stands they watched as Gryffindor slaughtered Slytherin, and Ron became the King again. They chanted along with the rest “Gryffindor for the Cup… Gryffindor for the Cup,” as the victorious team did their lap of honour.

Up in the highest room of Gryffindor tower the watcher smiled as the mirror on the desk showed a picture of an ecstatic Harry and Hermione clapping and cheering as if the material of the invisibility cloak didn’t exist.

“Well it’s a start,” the watcher thought, “one down and three to go.”

* * *

Chapter 10

A Hollow Victory

One Horcrux was gone, one of the last four that Voldemort had made, but the euphoria of its destruction was tempered by the fact that there were three left and they were still out there somewhere. The identity of these three was as shrouded in confusion and misdirection as had been the others, but Harry was more convinced than ever that Dumbledore had been correct in his assumption that the locket and Nagini, Voldemort’s pet snake, were important. If Riddle stayed true to form it was the founder’s artefacts that would provide the most likely resting places for the other fragments of his soul.

The only known relics of Gryffindor were the Sword and the Sorting Hat and try as he might Harry could not imagine either of those objects subjecting themselves to carrying part of Voldemort around with them. That left Rowena Ravenclaw, possibly the most secretive of the four founders, so little was known of her or left in records. Even the private papers, now in the possession of the Horcrux hunters, shed little light on this most mysterious witch. However, three of the items on Ollivander and Fortescue’s list where supposed to belong to this particular founder. Harry, Hermione and Ron had already checked out one of these to find it was a false lead and were lucky to get away without any injuries, after facing the dragon guarding it. Now as October drew to a close Harry decided they should determine if the other two were false or not.

Fortescue had provided good descriptions of the items they were looking for. A metal banded staff that Ravenclaw was thought to have used in her later years, was currently residing in an exhibition of medieval artefacts, in a large muggle museum, and so should not be too difficult to find. The second trinket was a small cloak brooch and that unfortunately was in the possession of a witch who was suspected of having connections with several dark wizards who were possibly some of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

Harry and Hermione were sitting at their worktable with Professor McGonagall. They hadn’t seen her for nearly two weeks and the sporadic tutorials had become even more rare than usual. It had taken her nearly the whole of the first week to clean up the mess she had been left with after the incident in the Trophy room. Umbridge and her full committee had descended on the school and things were looking bad, but after Mandeville Sulgrave’s body had been examined by St. Mungo’s healers and the dark mark on his arm pronounced genuine a lot of the wind had disappeared from Delores’s sails. Sulgrave, as it turned out, was personal appointee by the head of the committee, no less, and Umbridge found herself with difficult questions of her own to answer, but again she had wriggled out of a tight corner.

So Harry and Hermione took the mild telling off from the Headmistress for not letting her know that they were going to expose Sulgrave and that there was likely to be trouble, and then they told her that they were leaving for a few days research into Rowena Ravenclaw’s past. Even at this stage they didn’t want to tell her everything but Harry knew they wouldn’t be able to keep her in the dark for ever.

* * *

One of Harry’s promises he had made himself after Dumbledore’s death, had been to visit the home of James and Lily at Godrics Hollow, his only problem was that he did not know where it was, but he did know someone who did. In the two week hiatus of McGonagall’s lessons Harry had badgered Hagrid to tell him how to get there.

“I don’t know if it’s the sor’a place you’m really wan’a go to, ‘arry,” Hagrid had told him, not at all happy that the subject had come to light.

“But, don’t you see Hagrid, I must. I’ll never be able to put my Mum and Dad’s death behind me if I don’t understand,” Harry had almost pleaded.

The half giant had looked down on the boy and smiled sadly. “Do you really think you can put that behind you, Harry.” Harry’s eyes shot up to stare at Hagrid, the words had been spoken so softly and without any trace of his usual lazy accent. There was an expression of remembered pain and sadness on the rugged hairy countenance of Harry’s oldest wizarding friend.

“No,” Harry had answered, “but it will help me to cope with it.”

Hagrid had clapped him on the shoulder nearly driving him to his knees, and then in a voice much more like his usual said, “Well I’d bet’er show ye then, woo’dn wan’ ye t’ get laast.”

So the half giant he had provided Harry with a map and also a much better way of getting there. Hagrid had assumed correctly that Hermione would be going as well and he knew that doubling up on a broom, although cosy, was very uncomfortable, especially if you had a long way to go. He had almost shamefacedly admitted the existence of Sirius’ motorbike, unaware that Harry touched the bike like a talisman every time he passed through the garage. Harry had registered the right amount of surprise and wonder at the large machine when Hagrid had shown it to him, and marvelled at the way it shone after so many years hidden away. He allowed Hagrid the pride of telling him how he cared for the bike, and he thanked him for it.

Hermione was very dubious about using the motorcycle and tried to get Harry to change his mind and catch a muggle train or bus or anything that stayed on the ground, but after a few circuits of the deserted hills and mountains that ringed Hogwarts, even she admitted that it was rather exhilarating. This feeling may have been due to their safe return to the ground each time rather than the experience itself, because she quite candidly told Harry that she still didn’t like flying.

Ron wasn’t very happy about being left behind, when he was told where Harry and Hermione were going, but he realised there was no way he could disappear from school during the week. However he was going to be far from idle because beside all his normal school work Hermione had asked him to search the castle for anything Ravenclaw, and with his most important Ravenclaw to find date to help him, Ron decided he didn’t mind quite so much.

On a still October evening Harry touched his wand to the handlebars of the Brutus Vampire and the engine purred into life. For such a large machine it was very quiet, as Harry opened the throttle and it rose out of the clearing by the garage, it whispered a deep note and sped away over the tree tops. Harry was in his element, flying was a release from so many tensions, but this motorcycle presented him with a new one. Hermione was sitting behind him on the pillion; she pulled her body as close as possible to his, holding on to him tightly with both her arms around his waist. This made Harry very aware of her presence, and although the sensation was very pleasant as far as he was concerned, he could not dwell on it because flying the bike took a lot of concentration. He decided to talk to Hermione later and see if they could recreate the feeling in more comfortable circumstances.

As they sped above the countryside their position was shown on Hagrid's map as a small red dot which blinked at Harry like a heartbeat guiding him relentlessly toward the place his parents had called home. As the sun rose over the horizon and the darkness receded Harry could see that they were travelling over water, and as he expected in the distance he could make out a rugged coastline of towering cliffs with a restless sea smashing itself against the deep brown rock. They were getting close now, and moments after passing over the top of the cliffs a small muggle village came into view. Harry urged the motor bike higher to avoid detection.

The village was at the far end of a short valley, which stretched inland from the cliff top, its gently sloping sides were covered with fields, edged with hedges and stone walls, and it all looked very peaceful. Harry and Hermione’s goal was not in the village itself but just to one side of the small cluster of houses. Here they could see a copse of trees that were set on the ridge of the valley; even in the burgeoning daylight they appeared dark and quiet. The trees were so closely packed that it was difficult to see the ground beneath them but as Harry turned the bike in the air to approach from a different direction a small clearing opened up and in this space, white paint shining dully in the morning sun, Harry could see the blasted remains of his parent’s home.

Hermione felt Harry tense in her arms and for one of the few times in the trip she eased herself from Harry’s back and dared to look over his shoulder. Below on the ground she could see the devastation Voldemort had wrought on James and Lily’s home, and she felt the catch in Harry’s chest as he stifled a sob that almost escaped his lips. Then in turn her emotions rose as through the trees she could see what had upset Harry. Not far from the remains of the house there was a white stone marker and set alongside it a second, Hermione knew that they were looking down on the earthly resting place of Harry’s Mum and Dad.

She held him tight again, for his comfort this time not her own, and once the bike had landed softly on the ground she leapt off to be at his side. Harry dragged his eyes away from his parent’s graves to the girl close to him, she saw the tears rolling gently down his face and it was made all the more poignant because there were no sobs, no hysterics, just the devastated expression and the silent tears that he could not stop. She eased him away from the bike and arm in arm they went to pay their respects. Harry’s grief rose and fell throughout most of that morning, Hermione sat with him at the base of a tree close to the graves, quietly comforting him when his grief was bad and simply being there for him in the times he appeared to be able to control it. In those few hours the pair reached a depth of understanding that few couples attain, their lives were so intertwined that life for one without the other would be very hard. It would have made James and Lily happy to know that even in death they were able to do one more thing for their remarkable son.

* * *

The old manor in Little Hangleton rang once again to the screams of an insane mind, Voldemort had felt the instant the Horcrux in the Trophy Room had been destroyed just as he had when Dumbledore had stumbled on Marvolo’s ring.

He alone knew the truth of the enchantments and the strengths of the Horcruxes, and why he had not felt the loss of the first part of his soul that had resided in the old school diary. A seventh of the soul of a sixteen year old boy was not as profound as that of the grown man, and although he had caused her death he had not personally killed that girl in the bathroom. Never the less he used his part in her death to split the first part of his soul away, but it was small and insignificant, not so the others.

His soul may be split into seven pieces but those pieces were not equal, as he had grown in age and experience so the power residing in the Horcruxes had increased. The segment in the cup had been from his youth as well, but a stronger more accomplished Voldemort had prepared that one, and its loss hurt him. The fragment of his soul set in the ring was more powerful still, and Dumbledore had been unprepared for its strength and the enchantment that protected it. Its loss was significant but at least it had allowed a weakened Dumbledore to be destroyed, the trade off was acceptable.

Voldemort remembered the deaths that had allowed him to carve his soul apart, each was lovingly catalogued in full detail, the thrill of the planned deed, and the ecstasy of carrying it out; the power that flowed through him as life was riven from his victim. Only the creation of one Horcrux was unplanned, and that part of his soul was the strongest of all, but hidden in the snake it was the best protected.

He was alone, always alone; unless he summoned his followers to his presence he remained aloof and apart from them, now he required one of them to do his bidding and the call went out. Bellatrix Lestrange appeared before her lord and master, clutching her left forearm where her mark burned with his summons; she bowed low and slyly glanced around gratified to see that she was the only one he had seen fit to call.

“Ah Bella, so good of you to come,” the dry voice dripped with sarcasm, “I have need of your services,” Bella’s eyes lit with anticipation, “No fool, I have no time and no inclination for those sort of distractions.”

“As my Lord demands,” she said sullenly.

Voldemort ignored his petulant and somewhat perverted lover, “Someone has taken Dumbledore’s task to heart, they are trying to diminish me, they do not realise that it is the final Horcrux that holds the key, that it is the final enchantment that will make all the difference.” Voldemort became silent his mind in quiet turmoil and Bellatrix, knowing her masters volatility said nothing. Eventually Voldemort ceased his mental wanderings and his burning red eyes were raised once more to take in the grovelling woman. “It is Harry Potter who searches, find him, I want him here alive.”

“But my Lord, Potter is supposed to be out of the country.” Bella commented unwisely. “Your Death Eaters search abroad for him now.”

Voldemort’s anger flared, the curse was brief, but painful none the less, “NEVER question my orders, you should know that Bella,” the claw like hand reached out to caress the cringing figure in front of him. He cupped her chin in his skeletal fingers, the caress turned into a vicious grip. “Our Harry is wiser than we thought; he has laid a false trail. He is here, I doubt that he ever left, and he has had more luck than he deserves. Find him; that is your task.”

Voldemort let Bella go and sank back in his tall backed chair distracted once more by the convolutions of his dark mind. The witch free of her master’s attention slipped hastily out of the room, there was nothing to be gained by delay she would have to recall the others to widen the watch for Potter. However her advantage above the other Death Eaters was not all lost, she had men of her own out looking for any sign of the boy and they were here at home. They had been searching for months ever since that little display in Diagon Alley, what had only now occurred to her Dark Lord she had realised from the beginning, and she smiled in dark satisfaction. Her own lackeys would bring her great praise from Voldemort, when they found the boy.

* * *

The evening before Harry and Hermione arrived at the house near Godrics Hollow and elderly man and a young boy were finishing a lazy afternoon walk, making the most of the good late October weather. As they turned for home they crossed the tree lined ridge and looked down on the small village nestling in the valley. The old man looked around and sighed with contentment, this was his home, this tiny out of the way place, and he loved it, but he knew that in times past it had been even better. Throughout all of his seventy five years, except for the last fifteen or so this place had buzzed with a sort of magic that no one had ever been able to explain, then in one awful night something happened and that ever present tingle, that spark of special-ness had disappeared. He remembered the cries, shouts and screams of that night, the green fire and the explosion that destroyed the small cottage that used to be in these woods. He remembered the family that had always called that cottage home. The Potters had lived there for as long as he could remember, firstly the old couple, then in time they had left and their son had arrived with his new wife to set up home. They had a little boy of their own and appeared very happy but all three of them had vanished on the day the magic left Godrics Hollow. He remembered much more of that night, but he never spoke about it, because the other villagers who were with him that evening as they searched the rubble for the Potters remembered nothing, nothing at all.

George Davis scrabbled through the shattered remains of the Potter’s cottage, Pete, Dick, Charlie, and Jo the landlord of the Three Feathers were with him. They had heard the dull boom echo across the village just as Jo was calling last orders, and piling out of the pub had seen the lights in the sky and what appeared to be the flicker of flame through the trees. As they had raced up the hill they could hear shouts and screams, faint but discernable, then the noise had stopped, a dreadful silence had fallen, and all five men feared the worst. None of them saw the single light, like a shooting star moving in reverse, rise out of the trees and head off to the west, to disappear over the sea, nor did they hear the faint sound of a motorcycle that accompanied it.

The house had been completely destroyed and as they hunted for survivors with their bare hands George heard a noise off in the woods. Somewhere out in the trees someone was crying, George could hear it quite clearly and it drew him away from the search and the other searchers. Not far away there was a man kneeling next to what could only be two fresh graves and he was sobbing, a sound so full of remorse that George wondered if the man could have been the instigator of all this destruction and was now regretting his actions. Then the man slowly climbed to his feet, he was tall with dark hair and as he stood next to the graves he pointed at them with something that he held in his hand, and two white grave stones materialised at the head of each of the sad piles of earth. George closed his eyes for a moment for he did not really believe what he had seen, but when he opened them again the grave markers were still there, and the man had turned and was walking back toward the cottage.

He had passed George, hiding in the trees, not realising he was there and reached the clearing that contained the remains of the cottage. By the light of the moon George saw him raise his arm and point what appeared to be a stick at the four men who had paused in their search to stare at him. The tall dark man said one word “Pergatio” and a violet stream of misty tendrils shot from the end of his stick to wind themselves around the head of each man. As one they stopped their task and as if they were in a trance, turned to head back to the village. George skirted the clearing and the man now standing alone lost in his sorrow, and at a distance followed his friends back to the pub. He caught up with them at the entrance of the Three Feathers and as Jo put his hand to the door George saw the others blink their eyes and shake the cobwebs out of their heads, and the trance lifted.

“Well then goodnight lads,” Jo said quite unconcerned and locked the pub door as he did each night.

With the sound of “Night then,” “See you tomorrow,” George stood in silence as his companions of the evening began to drift off back to their homes.

“Coming George?” Pete asked.

“Err…Yes sure. You feeling OK Pete?”

“Fine,” replied his friend and they started off toward the short row of houses at the far end of the village,

“Do you think The Rovers will win at the weekend?”

George dragged his eyes from the wooded ridge dark and silent in the night back to the man by his side, “Quite possibly Pete, nothing would really surprise me any more.”

Since that night none of George’s friends or even George himself had spoken of what had occurred on the wooded ridge, and although the usual gossip in the village about other families continued the Potters were never mentioned, it was as if they had never existed. Only George Davis held the memory of the Potters and their fate and on that pleasant afternoon in October he felt the need to tell someone the strange story. So he and the child sat on an old fallen tree trunk and as the sun dipped into the sea and evening dusk arrived he passed the tale on to his grandson.

In a tree above the two muggles sat, or rather squatted, a bird, it was too big for a crow and not large enough for a raven. Perhaps you could have called it a craven and it would have fitted its characteristics well, but in truth it wasn’t a bird at all but an unregistered animagus, Neb Covey by name, and he was enamoured of Bella Lestrange.

He had fallen under the Death Eater’s thrall some time ago and he along with several others were her eyes and ears, spying for her, usually on other Death Eaters, allowing her to stay ahead of the game. Now at Bella’s orders he was watching for signs of Harry Potter. Everyone was now calling him ‘the chosen one’, the animagus didn’t know why, but whatever name he went under he would be dead meat if Neb caught him.

Neb listened to the story the old muggle told, it passed the time, and to be honest he was getting a little bored of this assignment. He’d waited in this small and to him unattractive wood for the best part of two months, not all the time of course, but it felt like it, keeping guard on some dying trees and a pile of bricks and smashed timbers that smelt musty with damp and rot. The significance of this spot to the Potter boy was obvious but apart from the two below him he had seen no one. He decided to stay one more day then he would take another of his unofficial breaks.

So it was by luck that Neb was still sitting on his perch the following day when the sound of a Brutus Vampire was once more heard in the air above Godrics Hollow. The black untidy looking bird stared down on the young witch and wizard as they sat beneath his tree. If a bird can sneer then he sneered at the couple as they acted all lovey-dovey with each other, the girl hugging the boy as his grief overcame him, to a dark wizard it was all really rather pathetic. Neb knew he would have to act but there were two of them not one, he didn’t like the odds and his natural caution got the better of him, which for his sake was probably a good thing. He listened as they talked.

“I want to make this all right again Hermione,” Harry said as he surveyed the remains of the cottage, “I owe it to Mum and Dad and maybe, if everything comes out right, it would be nice to live here.” He smiled grimly, “despite what it looks like, it actually feels like home.”

Hermione standing slightly behind him gave her young man a look of sadly remembered wishes of another time when Harry thought that he and Sirius might one day live as Godfather and son in a place such as this. She moved up beside him and slipped an arm around his waist feeling him counter with an arm over her shoulders, Hermione gazed from the protection of their embrace at the sad ruin.

“Yes,” she said, “You’re right; this would be a lovely place to live.” And turning her face towards his kissed him full on the lips.

Neb strained his ears and as the couple talked on he definitely heard the words “Oxford”, and “back tomorrow or day after”, and then the couple had mounted the motorbike and with its engine throbbing quietly had headed off towards the east. ‘Fine,’ he thought, ‘tomorrow, or the day after then, this will be too easy and I know just who to bring along.’ With an ungainly flap of his black ragged wings Neb Covey headed off to find the help he needed to deal with Harry Potter and his friend for good.

* * *

Ron and Luna had spent all their free time that day searching the many nooks and crannies of the castle for any sign of anything Ravenclaw, but the trouble was that there were just so many out of the way places it would take an army to search them all and there were only the two of them. The only real evidence they could find was the large statue which stood with those of the other three founders in the entrance hall. Rowena Ravenclaw was depicted standing in a typically studious pose with a book held open in the palm of one hand and a wand at the ready in the other. The eagle that depicted her house was perched on a stylised log by her side, strewn around her feet were objects that would not have looked out of place in many of the classrooms in use in the castle today.

Teaching and learning had obviously been her forte and as Ron’s gaze took in the statue his eyes were drawn to something hanging from Ravenclaw’s belt which appeared to be rather out of place. It had a short straight handle, only long enough to be held in one hand, and this handle was attached to a round knob-like end, about the size of an apple, which was heavily decorated. It could have been a child’s rattle but it was too solid and heavy for that, its weight was made clear by the strain depicted on the belt holding it, and the way it pushed into the folds of Ravenclaw’s robes.

“What do you reckon that is Luna?” Ron asked pointing to the object of his scrutiny.

Luna glanced in the direction of his pointing finger. “That, Ronald, is Rowena Ravenclaw’s silver seal, everyone knows that.” Then at the look of total incomprehension on Ron’s face added, “Well, everyone in Ravenclaw that is.”

“So what is it?” asked Ron again.

“Oh Ronald are you being deliberately dense?” asked Luna in a very creditable impersonation of a certain Miss H. Granger, that made Ron wince. “Ravenclaw never signed anything she always used her seal and stamped its impression at the bottom of any document. Even those few papers that Harry and Hermione have are marked that way.”

“So it would be really important to her, possibly important enough for Voldemort to use as a Horcrux,” he sighed, “Damn I wish we knew where it was.”

“That’s easy,” said Luna infuriatingly brightly, “It’s on the great mantle in Ravenclaw common room.”

Ron waited in the corridor outside the Ravenclaw common room for what seemed like hours, it was actually only twenty minutes. Then the section of wall which carried an image of a sleeping knight in armour chiselled into its surface quietly swung open to reveal Luna who beckoned to him and whispered “Come on all clear.”

Ron slipped over the threshold and recoiled at the ghastly sight that was revealed to him. Only in his worst nightmares had he found himself is such terrifying surroundings, there were books everywhere. He shuddered at the horror of it all and allowed Luna to lead him by the hand toward the massive fireplace and the huge marble mantle that surrounded it. There, about half way up, in a niche, protected by a fine glass case, the silver bright and shiny, and looking every inch a Horcrux, was Ravenclaw’s seal.

“YES,” shouted Ron in excitement.

“Shsssh,” warned Luna holding a finger to her lips.

“Sorry, forgot,” Ron whispered back, “but this is great, just the sort of thing we’re looking for.” In his excitement he grabbed Luna and swung her around, almost knocking over a large pile of books, then lowering his lips to hers lost himself in a passionate kiss that for the moment blanked out thoughts of Horcruxes, Voldemort, and even Harry and Hermione.

* * *

The Brutus Vampire slowly descended into the centre of Oxford as early morning workers were wending their way through the streets, fortunately none of them looked up and the quiet throb of the motorcycle went unnoticed in the general noise of the light traffic. They landed in a narrow lane and Harry pushed the bike around the corner into a small parking area, set aside for motorcycles and bicycles. Hermione produced a chain and padlock with a flick of her wand, and then secured the machine to a large metal post imbedded in the ground for just such a purpose. Satisfied that they had hidden the bike well, by leaving it in plain sight and locked up as any muggle would have done, Harry and Hermione headed off to find the Museum.

“It doesn’t open until ten,” said Harry as he read the notice board attached to the glass panelled doors. He pushed at them once more, they were still locked. “What do we do Hermione, open them ourselves?”

“Not worth it, the place is probably stuffed with alarms and such, there’s no point in rushing it,” she replied and turned away pulling her impatient boyfriend back down the steps. “Let’s go and have some breakfast, I’m starving.”

“Good idea,” said Harry wistfully, “but, no muggle money.”

“Just as well one of us is prepared,” she smiled at him and pulled a couple of ten pound notes out of the pocket of her long black coat. “Look’s like the meal is on me.”

Sharp at ten the doors of the museum swung open and Harry and Hermione headed up to the first floor where the Medieval Magic Exhibition was situated. It was full of all the usual rubbish the muggles associated with magic, large black cauldrons, seven toed cats, stuffed ones anyway, a mannequin dressed in a long grey cloak wielding a wand, and a witch in black, with a longed hooked nose and a pointed wide brimmed hat, riding on a broom stick. Harry eyed the effigy of the wizard with some disquiet; his long grey beard and half moon glasses made him look uncannily like Dumbledore. Then he caught a glance of the expression on Hermione’s face, outrage would possibly be an accurate description, Harry could see her desperately trying to control her temper. She was reading the description from the card hung under the flying witch,

“All witches were notoriously ugly,” she read aloud. “The possession of magic by women encouraged the growth of warts and unsightly facial hair.” her voice rose in pitch with indignity. “Oh Harry will you look at this.”

“Yes I see it,” he said trying to keep a straight face.

“Well what do you think?”

“Oh it’s all twaddle,” he said reassuringly.

“I’m glad you think so,” Hermione said feeling somewhat better.

“Yes, if she sat on a broom like that, she’d fall off as soon as she tried a turn,” he said quickly, and ducked.

But Hermione didn’t respond to his leg pull, because she had seen, in the corner of display leaning casually up against the wall a long staff banded with silver and on the top band was the image of an eagle, its wings outstretched and its talons thrust forward, Ravenclaw’s staff. It looked in very good condition, the wood was polished and the silver shone, it looked brand new. The card beside the staff said “Warlock’s Magical Staff, from the early 14^th Century.” (Reconditioned.) Harry groaned.

“All this way and it’s not the real thing.” he said in desperation.

“Hang on Harry, it says reconditioned not replica, some of it may be original.” Hermione tried to sound encouraging. “Check it out.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and looking to see if any of the Museum security staff were about stepped over the barrier and wormed his way to the back of the exhibit. The silver bands were Ravenclaw’s alright, the mark Harry recognised from the papers McGonagall had given them, was stamped into the soft metal of each of them, but the wood of the staff was new and smelled of varnish. He drew his wand not expecting any reaction from this supposed Horcrux and he wasn’t disappointed, he barely even felt the wands acknowledgement that there was some connection with the staff to Ravenclaw. It was another dead end.

“Never mind Harry, said Hermione, trying without much success to alleviate his disappointment, as they made their way back to the motorbike, “At least there is one less possibility to worry about.”

Then as they rounded the last corner they saw there was another potential worry and he was closely examining the motorcycle. The pair walked up to the dark suited man and he stood at their approach, he was very tall and quite imposing in his uniform, the muggle policeman looked down at Harry and Hermione and took in their leather like clothing.

“This yours young man?” he asked Harry.

“Err yes, officer,” said Harry remembering his muggle manners. “Is there a problem?” he asked as casually as he could.

“No, no, not at all, it’s just I’ve never seen a bike like this before,” the policeman said gazing with something like adoration at the gleaming machine. “I used to have a Triumph Bonnie, when I was much younger, wonderful feeling,” he appeared to be lost in some memory of times past, he sighed. “God that bike could really fly.”

“Err… yes I’m sure it could,” said Harry not wanting to be drawn into a subject he knew absolutely nothing about. “I’m sorry, love to chat, but we must go, we have quite a way to travel.” he added as unlocked the chain. He mounted the Brutus Vampire and Hermione dropped on to the pillion behind him.

“Of course, sorry didn’t mean to hold you up.”

The policeman watched as Harry kicked away the stand and with a hidden hand touched his wand to the bike which began its throaty rumble as the engine came to life. The officer’s expression which was enwrapped in the wonderful sound suddenly became stern. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he said, tapping his head.

“Sorry?” Harry obviously didn’t understand.

“Crash helmet, can’t ride without one.” he was told matter of factly.

Harry wondered if he could get away with a memory charm on the policeman when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.

“Here Harry,” and she passed him a replica of the crash helmet she was already wearing. Harry smiled gratefully for Hermione’s quick thinking and masterful transfiguration skills, placing the helmet over his head they waved goodbye to the policeman and he took the bike slowly out onto the road. With some difficulty Harry negotiated the traffic which was considerably heavier now but once the found a clear stretch of road he urged the motorcycle into the air and as Hermione’s disillusionment charm faded them from sight he felt the comforting presence of her arms around his waist gripping him tightly.

* * *

They flew at a leisurely pace back towards Godrics Hollow, Harry hadn’t mentioned why he specifically wanted to return before they sought out the last of Ravenclaw’s trinkets, but Hermione thought she knew, if she was correct the timing would be just right. It would certainly be a quite difficult spell, but she hoped they would be able to pull it off. Her train of thought was broken as the bike twitched slightly in a patch of unstable air and Hermione squeezed herself into Harry’s back. There was not way she would ever consider flying her favourite means of transportation, but she did feel safe with Harry. She knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and even her hastily transfigured crash helmet was helping, it enclosed her in a little world of her own and it kept her ears nice and warm.

Hermione felt Harry send the bike into a shallow dive and as they descended she dared to have a quick look down. They were circling over the wood dropping lower with each circuit and through the trees she caught occasional glimpses of the clearing with the remains of Harry’s house, she also saw something else. It could have been, by pure luck, a glint of the moon or some careless movement, but right at the edge of the clearing there was a figure, and a quick grasp at her hand told her that Harry had seen it too. He gave no other sign that he was concerned but he did steepen the dive so that the bike came to rest on the far side of the clearing from where they had last seen the figure. The place was also partly hidden by the ruins of the house and this allowed the two of them to get off the bike and crouch down, wands at the ready.

Neb Covey had been waiting for this moment, this was where he was going to hit the big time, the wizard who brought Harry Potter down and delivered him to the Dark Lord. Through the beautiful Bella of course, but she would have to acknowledge his part in it; it would do him nothing but good. He had returned to the wood with two of his more dependable friends and they had hidden themselves well but it had been a long wait and as he was stretching the cramp out of his legs he had heard, then seen, Potter and the girl coming into land. Hastily whispered instructions to his fellows and they were ready and prepared to fight. To Neb’s disappointment the bike disappeared behind the pile of rubble, so he and his companions moved forward out of the trees to get a better look, they were in no way prepared for what happened next.

A glowing ball of light rose into the air and passed over the ruins to hang above the three dark wizards bathing them in a bright light and throwing Harry and Hermione’s side of the clearing into deep shadow. Two bright red streaks shot out of that darkness to impact squarely on the chests of the two wizards standing on either side of Neb. As they collapsed to the ground the animagus realised he was hopelessly outclassed by Potter and his friend, and with a tap of his wand to his head he shimmered into his animal form and the scruffy bird took to the sky with a loud shriek. He hadn’t even cleared the tops of the trees when the shorter of two, black coated, helmeted figures, raise a wand and although Neb never heard her she spoke the word “Amovépenn” and a sickly yellow spiral shot from the wand to wrap itself around the bird. The bird cried out once again when with an audible snap all those tatty black feathers came away and a naked bird looking like a plucked chicken plummeted downwards.

Neb was fortunate that he had not been very far from the ground and that he was still in his bird form when he hit it again, but the fall knocked him out as easily as the stunners had his friends. He lay there on the ground, totally unaware as the two still helmeted figures walked across the clearing and looked down on the three fallen wizards. Hermione quickly looked away again because Neb had returned to his human shape but was as naked as he had been as a bird and it was not a pretty sight. Harry, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle at Hermione’s sensibilities, conjured some garments onto the unconscious man. Then Harry removed his crash helmet and touched his girlfriend on the arm.

“It’s OK you can look now,” he said.

“Good,” came the muffled reply, as she too discarded her helmet and turned back to their failed attackers. “What do we do with them Harry?” she asked indicating the crumpled forms on the ground.

Harry considered his options, there weren’t many of them. “We wipe their memories and dump them somewhere where they will be found, I suppose. It’s either that or…” he left the alternative unspoken.

“Fine,” said Hermione quickly a little shocked that Harry had even thought of disposing of them permanently.

The deed was quickly done and the three obliviated wizards dragged close together, and tied up so that they were all touching each other. Hermione had insisted on doing the next bit as she correctly told Harry she was better at apparation than he was, gripping a free arm there was a moments thought and then she and the assailants vanished. Harry worried for the five seconds it took Hermione to reappear and his relief at seeing her again so quickly was obvious for her to see.

“OK?” he said as she came forward to him.

“No problem,” she replied as he drew her into a hug.

“Where did you leave them?” he whispered into the short bouncy curls of her hair.

“Foyer of St. Mungo’s.” she murmured into his lips as the relief of defeating the ambush was finally let free.

A little way down the hill an old man walked slowly toward its top. George Davis had left the Three Feathers early, and had seen the light circling the wooded ridge. He watched it descend behind the trees and then the flashes of coloured lights that had followed a minute or so later. He could not believe it, tonight of all nights, was it happening all over again? He knew he had to know, so turning away from the pub he had started up the track to the woods on the hill.

Harry and Hermione stood side by side in front of the ruined cottage, their wands in their hands and hope in their hearts that the spell would work. Harry wasn’t sure, he had never tried it on anything so large before, or something that had been so completely ripped apart, but Hermione had come up with an idea. They had their wand hands clasped together and held their wands alongside each other touching down the whole of their lengths. They said the spell together and released the magic slowly “Repairo”, it was a very basic spell but it was spoken with a lot of feeling, and the way you felt when you cast a spell was very important to its outcome. The false Moody had taught them that years ago, even an unforgivable spell spoken without the thought behind it would be ineffectual, but there was plenty of thought behind this one.

The bright blue streams that issued from the touching wands wound themselves together and then spread out to touch every single piece of the ruined building. The power of the spell began to spin, and like a tornado, picked up the bricks and pieces of wood and spun them round and round. Before Harry and Hermione’s eyes the building began to repair itself and as it did so the light at the centre of the spell became brighter and brighter, and eventually they had to turn from it. Then the light was gone and in its place the white painted cottage stood once more, complete in every respect, every brick, every nail, every tile was in its proper place, everything was where it should be, everything save for its former owners, who still resided in the soft brown earth near the edge of the wood.

Harry looked in awe at the cottage; it stood there exactly as it had the evening that Voldemort had come to kill him. He could feel the pricking of emotion at the back of his eyes then the sensation of Hermione’s lips against his began to drive the sadness away, and he dared to look into her dark brown eyes and he saw the love they contained for him. Right at the edge of his senses he began to hear a song, he had thought he had heard once before since the old man had gone, then it had been quite faint, but now it was louder and this time Hermione could hear it too. She looked at him questioningly.

“Fawkes,” he said simply. Then with a rush of sound the song of the phoenix burst forth and above the house a brilliant red and gold plumed bird flashed into existence. Fawkes flew back and forward over the cottage weaving golden strands as he went, they flowed down to hold the building in a golden cage, to hide it and protect it from its enemies. Perhaps now he belonged to no one, but for as long as magic lasted in the world the immortal phoenix would be there. Fawkes, as wise as he was old, knew those that deserved his help and he would always willingly give it.

George Davis reached the crest of the rise just as the light was fading from Harry and Hermione’s repairing spell. He stood and looked at the building in much the way Harry had done. Sixteen years ago, that was the last time he had seen this cottage whole, he had worked it out the other day when he was regaling the tale to his grandson, sixteen years this very night the cottage had been destroyed. Then his awe gave way to incredularity as the large bird appeared in the sky and singing its beautiful song, wove the golden cage that surrounded the cottage. The bird vanished again and the golden cage began to dim and with it the house itself became faint and indistinct until it was only with great difficulty that he could see it at all, and he knew it was there.

He looked instead at the young man and woman standing in front of the now ghostly cottage, they held each other in such a tender embrace and the looks on their faces spoke of such love that his heart went out to them. He turned away and started back down the hill, knowing that neither he nor any of the other villagers would be welcome in this place. He did not mind, and he suspected that none of the others would ever know or care, but George was happy, happier than he had been in a very long time because he knew now that the magic had returned to Godrics Hollow.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Friends from the Past

For Harry and Hermione crossing the threshold of the reconstructed cottage in Godrics Hollow was a step backward in time. Harry had no memory of this former home other than the screams of his mother which the Dementors had brought to the surface, but everything was here. Hermione couldn’t have said why, but she knew that this night was going to be special and something of a turning point for Harry. For him it would be a time to lay some ghosts to rest, and for her it would a time for understanding and a time to make a few decisions on her future. She watched the emotions fly across Harry’s face as they explored the house, when she saw his eyes mist; she could not help but respond, she was so closely bonded to this young man that his feelings became hers and the imagined memories hurt just as much. Only two days ago they had sat under the tree and endured the pain that the two gravestones had caused, now the pain was not that of death, but of the simple evidence of living.

The repairing spell had rebuilt the house to the moment before the destruction had begun, so that all the signs of a normal evening in the Potter household were back in place. A kitchen table set for two with a meal that was never eaten, the discarded edition of the Daily Prophet dated sixteen years ago, that had been hastily thrown aside when Voldemort had shown himself. These images were bad enough but it was upstairs in his old room that the normality of it all eventually became too much for Harry. The dimly lit room with its bright colours and the empty cot rekindled a deeply hidden memory that exploded into Harry’s brain; a memory that he didn’t even know he possessed came to him as if it had happened yesterday or maybe only minutes ago, it was clear and overwhelming, and brought an anguished cry from Harry’s throat.

“Nooo!” his breath caught in his throat and he crumpled into Hermione’s arms.

Hermione helped Harry back down the stairs and made him comfortable on the sofa in the lounge, it was getting very late and she was quite tired, but the young witch knew that the house in this state would cause Harry too much heartache, so she set about her task with a will. The changes were not profound, a little packing away here, a little cleaning there, a slight rearrangement of the furniture in one room, and a freshening up elsewhere. A few spells and flicks of the wand and the house lost the urgency of those last few moments and became once more the family home it was always intended to be.

Satisfied with the results of her work, Hermione joined a now sleeping Harry on the sofa, curling herself up she rested her head on his lap, sighed once, and fell asleep.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, still half asleep he felt the weight of Hermione’s head on his legs, and putting out a hand began to stroke her soft wavy hair, that was so unlike the bushy mass it had once been. The girl mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and shifted slightly so that Harry’s caressing hand brushed lightly against the soft skin of her cheek, and he looked down at her. Her features were relaxed in slumber, there were no cares or worries to furrow her brow, to him she was the most beautiful girl in the world and he realised just how lucky he was. A feeling of utter contentment washed over him and he smiled at his fortune, and then just as sleep reached out to claim him once more a movement at the corner of his vision brought him back to wakefulness. Harry turned his head to get a better look, but all he could see was a vague misty shape moving lazily as if it was a cloud wafted by a gentle breeze until it reached the centre of the room where it stopped and began to take on a more recognisable appearance.

Coalescing into what was a wavering human form, the mist slowly settled so that the figure was standing to one side of the small fireplace. Where its face would have been was a swirling misty nothingness, and then as it reached out a ghostly arm to touch the mantle in an attempt to steady itself the swirling stopped and the face became clear. Harry watched in astonishment as features so well known to him but not remembered from life, appeared before him and he looked, not for the first time, on the ghost of his father.

Now, unlike the time in the graveyard, the form was more substantial and appeared not to be in a hurry, afraid it would vanish before it completed its task. It stood and looked enquiringly at Harry, now very much awake, with the sleeping form of Hermione draped over his legs pinning him to the sofa. The frown, if there really was a frown, faded from the ghostly face and was replaced with what most definitely a smile.

“Hello Harry,” James Potter’s unmistakeable voice floated out of the ether, it sounded a little hollow, but it was most definitely Harry’s dad. “Looks like you’ve made a good job of fixing up the old place.”

Harry nodded, a little lost for words other than err… what, and who, which would have made him feel rather stupid, had he uttered them.

“Nicely decorated as well,” James said indicating the sleeping witch in Harry’s lap, “I’m impressed.”

“Oh this is Hermione,” said Harry shakily, finally getting control of his brain and his vocal chords, “she helped.” Then as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair again, he glanced down at the girl, “I couldn’t have done it without her,” he corrected himself, “and perhaps without her with me I wouldn’t have wanted to try.”

“It’s good to have friends to rely on Harry, don’t try to do everything on your own,” said the ghostly James.

Harry smiled at his father, “Hermione is much more than a friend,” he said almost without thinking, then blushed slightly as he realised what he had said.

“In love Harry?” James hid his amusement well.

“Yes.” and Harry felt the heat rise in his face at his admission.

“Feel good about it?” his father asked.

“Wonderful.” said Harry.

“Good answer,” said Hermione, as she sleepily fastened an arm around Harry’s neck and

pulled herself up to kiss him. “Who are you talking to?” she asked when she disengaged her mouth from his.

“My Dad,” said Harry. Hermione gave him a rather wild look and spun around to face the apparition.

“Oh my,” she said, somewhat flustered by her previous actions. “Err… Hi,” and her cheeks took on a deep rosy glow, that Harry thought made her look even more appealing.

Almost as if to stave off any further embarrassment a second ghostly form began to appear beside the first, Harry knew who this would be and Hermione, holding him tightly, could feel him begin to tremble. As his mother appeared Harry resisted the impulse to rush up to her and try to hug her, he knew it would be a bitter disappointment to feel his arms pass through her and the coldness that her ghostly form would hold; he made use of the warmth of the witch by his side to comfort him.

“Hello Mum,” it would have sounded so trite, so insignificant, but Harry put a lifetime of longing into those two simple words, and Lily understood. To see her son so close and yet untouchable it broke her heart, but as she gazed out of ghostly eyes to the young couple on the sofa her heart mended, for she could see what no one else could and she knew that, as a mother, she would never have to worry about Harry again.

There was so much to say and nowhere near enough time in which to say it all. Hermione watched as Harry, James and Lily packed so many years into so few hours, and as she did she was reminded of her own family and she wondered if they could ever comprehend what was happening here. The faces of her mother and father came to her as clearly as the faces of Harry’s parents were in this room and deep in her heart she knew they would understand. She watched, she listened, she joined in the conversation, all the time holding Harry’s hand and giving him all the support she could, she wished and hoped that Lily and James would stay, but it was not to be. Their time was limited and as the talking subsided into silences filled with looks that contained incalculable amount of love they began to fade. The tears had been wept but the love remained and as Lily’s final kiss, blown to them by the thinning shade, reached them and surrounded them with a shining warmth Harry and Hermione were left alone once more.

Harry knew he would never see his mother and father again, this visit to their son had been the final unfinished task for James and Lily. The reconstruction of the cottage had allowed them to appear this once and allowed Harry the time to understand and to come to terms with what his father and mother meant to him. He looked upon his loss with the eyes of an adult now and felt the pride in what his parents had achieved, the sadness would never completely fade but it could never be used against him again. It would strengthen him in the years to come and become an ally against the forces of evil. Although alone once more Harry and Hermione knew they were in the one place that was completely safe, Fawkes had seen to that. James and Lily had told them that the magic of the phoenix was so old and complex that even though Voldemort knew where the cottage was he would never be able to find it again. The Dark Lord could stand on the spot where he knew the doorstep to be and cast spells for all he was worth, but those inside and the cottage itself, would remain hidden and safe from him.

Hermione sighed, in this one evening Harry had shouldered his adulthood, he carried it well, and she was very proud of him, but the night was drawing on and tiredness was clawing at them again. She took him by the hand and led him upstairs pushing him into the bedroom she had so recently redecorated. Harry stopped, looking at the large bed, that was not exactly like his parents’ had been, but was definitely built for two, he turned back to Hermione who was standing just inside the room; she stared steadily at him and then very deliberately shut the bedroom door behind her.

When Hermione awoke it was late in the morning, Harry was lying on his back beside her his bare chest uncovered by the blankets, his breathing was relaxed and regular and his features peaceful in sleep. She had no regrets, in fact she wondered why she had waited so long, but she knew the reason, they had never had the opportunity to let their guard down before. Only in this wonderful place were they able to let their love have free rein, without the worry that their subsequent inattention to their surroundings would bring about some disaster. Here they were safe, and so last night they gave their desires all the freedom they needed, she smiled as she ran a finger over his warm skin, they hadn’t been as tired as they thought. Now she could not imagine loving anyone else, Harry had been so careful and considerate that in the end the feeling had been breathtaking and she had never wanted it to stop.

Harry opened his eyes at the click of the latch on the bedroom door, Hermione’s side of the bed was empty and for a moment he wondered where she had gone, then he could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom and his unspoken question was answered. When she returned wrapped in a large bath towel and drying her short hair with another, she saw that he was awake and leapt on the bed to throw her arms around him. Harry could not describe how he felt; only that he had never felt this way before, there were so many emotions wound about him that they all merged together and consumed him utterly.

They stayed in the cottage in Godrics Hollow for two days, but on the Friday morning as the sun tried to lighten a rather sullen sky, it was time to leave they closed the house, mounted the motorcycle and headed off to find Ravenclaws brooch.

The home of Pattiswick Messing, the grandly named Mountfitchet Castle, was little more than a hovel and it was a hovel that had seen better days, which was probably why it had taken Harry and Hermione several days to find it. The window glass where it was in place was cracked and dirty, the front door was overgrown with ivy and Harry and Hermione couldn’t find the rear entrance because of the vegetation that covered that entire side of the building. No one had lived here for some considerable time, that was clear, and it made Harry become very cautious as he crept up to the window next to the front door. Through the stained and dirty glass he could see a small table and on it a much smaller jewellery box, Harry had no doubt that the box contained the brooch and he equally had no doubt that the whole setup was a trap. Hermione was standing behind him facing to their rear, her eyes were alert, her wand drawn, and a crouched stance showed that she was ready for anything.

“What do you reckon Harry?” she said not turning away from her vigilance.

“It’s a trap, but whose I’m not sure.” Harry replied, trying in vain to see into the shadows on the far side of the single room that made up the lower floor of the building. “Could be one of Voldemort’s or maybe our old friend RAB has been at it again but what ever we have to check it out.”

“It’s not likely to be real though is it, couldn’t we just leave it, and not take the risk?” she suggested in the hope that Harry might agree.

“We could, but then we would never know if it was a Horcrux until we have a go at Voldemort himself,” said Harry as he worked out his plan of approach. “And then it would be too late and too bad if it was.”

Hermione said nothing for she knew he was right, and she only jumped slightly when Harry raised his wand and with a silent “Reducto” reduced the front door to matchwood.

The dust began to settle, and to the eyes of the pair the only thing that had happened was the destruction of the door. Nothing leaped out of the ground to attack them nothing fell from the sky in an attempt to burn them with its fire or rend them with it’s talons, it was all a bit of a let down. Harry shrugged his shoulders and stepped across the threshold of the door, he still had his wand at the ready and Hermione was covering his back, her gaze never wavering. He approached the table, the dust on its surface was scuffed, someone had passed here recently, and several someones to judge by the number of robe sleeve trails that crisscrossed the dusty top. The jewellery box was clean and Harry could see the overlapping squares in the dust where the box had been replaced in slightly different positions. He looked around, although most of the room was as neglected and ramshackle as he expected it to be, the floor from the door to the table and then into the shadows at the back of the room was brushed clean by the passage of many travelling cloaks. This place was not as it had first appeared; a lot of people had passed this way, but for what purpose.

Harry reached forward and picked up the small box and opened it, he glanced down at the beautiful blue stoned brooch that lay inside.

“Ravenclaw’s brooch?” he breathed the words over the jewel. “I think not,” he added, partly to himself, but his original pronouncement had acted like some form of password and a flicker of light pierced the darkness that hid the rear wall. An opening began to appear.

“Hermione,” he called, “hide the bike and come in here.” Seconds later she was at his side. “Look,” he pointed to the now gaping doorway to a lighted tunnel that ran straight for a few yards then curved away to the left. “What do you reckon?” he whispered, it seemed prudent.

Wordlessly Hermione flicked her wand at the pile of debris that had been the front door and silently it sprang together again to refill the aperture. “The brooch not a Horcrux then?” she asked.

“Not even anything to do with Ravenclaw,” he replied showing her the blue stone with the lizard like emblem on it.

“Oh a chameleon, how strange,” she said and Harry raised his eyes, trust her to know exactly what it was. “They can change their colour to blend in with their backgrounds, a bit like a Metamorphmagus. I wonder whose crest that is?”

“No idea,” said Harry, “should we investigate?” he asked drawing her attention back to the passageway.

“Nothing better to do today,” she quipped. “Lead on McDuff.” She sounded most un-Hermione like.

Harry gave her a searching look. “You OK Hermione?” he asked gently, worried that the events of the last few days could have affected her in ways he wouldn’t understand, they had certainly modified his way of thinking.

Hermione smiled at his confusion, light heartedness was not a usual state of expression for her in situations like this, but a few things had changed for her. She felt very safe in his company, that had always been so, but now there was an extra excitement to everything. Just briefly, in those last two days at the cottage, she had glimpsed an existence, beyond Voldemort and all these troubles, which she found very compelling. This vision returned to her at unexpected intervals, it would make her shiver and inwardly smile then buoy her up whenever she was unsure, and drive away the uncertainty. “Never better.” she replied.

Her answer appeared to reassure Harry and he put her attitude down to the basic difference between boys and girls, it was a safe assumption because no one understood that.

“Right, let’s go,” he said, and together, wands advanced, the witch and wizard walked forward and disappeared into the tunnel.

* * *

The dark confines of the Slytherin common room were almost empty of students, a small group of older members of the house sat close to the fire. Even in the summer term the rooms were cold, now at the beginning of November they were perishing, and the fire gave the only relief, and at this time of night, the only source of light in the underground room. A tall, dark skinned, black haired boy appeared to be holding court, the five students with him sitting close and listening to his every word. Millicent Bulstrode, her considerable form overshadowing the smaller girl by her side, leaned forward and gave a wicked smile at the thought of all the trouble that was to fall on the subjects of their discussions.

Pansy Parkinson though no shrinking violet herself appeared diminished in her seat next to Millicent, the disappearance of Draco Malfoy at the end of last year had affected her badly. The loss of her boyfriend with no idea where he had gone made her feel unwanted, and it hurt. She had little interest in the machinations of Mr Zabini except that it may provide an opportunity to mete out some pain to the Gryffindors, the Slytherins natural enemy, who, she had decided were the cause of her lack of intimacy with the only boy who had paid her any attention.

The three boys, friends of Blaise, were from the sixth year and were a rather unsavoury bunch. Jonas Fettor, Offa Ditchwater and Derrick Messing were the muscle of the group, more intelligent than Crabbe or Goyle if not quite their size.

Of Draco’s two old minders there was little sign, with their lord and master gone, no good in class, and lost outside it, they had retreated to the darkest corners of the common room and watched the newcomers with loathing. Draco may have treated them with scorn, not that Crabbe and Goyle understood scorn, but at least he had included them in his plans to get even with Potter, Weasley and the Granger girl. Now without him their world was very lonely and had no purpose and with their limited brain power there was nothing they could do about it.

Blaise Zabini’s reason for this gathering by the fire was due to a request made to him by Delores Umbridge. He hadn’t been all that surprised that she had once again turned to Slytherin to help her out, but her request had. For some reason she was convinced that Harry Potter had something to do with all that fuss in the trophy room, not that any of the students really knew what had happened only that the room was now closed and off limits, and Umbridge desperately wanted to know where Mr. Potter was hiding.

To Blaise the answer was simple, read the Daily Prophet. At least once a week there was a sighting of the runaway hero, always abroad though, never in this country, but that did not satisfy the ex-inquisitor of Hogwarts. She wanted someone to lean on Potter’s friends and get the truth, and Blaise was very happy to provide his help in this matter, any semi-official harassment of Gryffindors could only be looked on as a bonus.

From that moment on Ron and Ginny had become legitimate targets for the Slytherins. As he expounded on his plans to waylay the two Gryffindors that would know where Potter was, if anyone did, Crabbe and Goyle were not the only ones to overhear his words. In another dark alcove Theodore Nott a clever, skinny, loner, listened and thought that this information, if Blaise managed to get it, would be useful to his father’s friends, and would not do him any harm either. The contacts he had made over the summer had made promises and given assurances that if he aided their cause and that of the Dark Lord then the rewards would be immense, and Theodore had liked the sound of that.

Over the next few days Blaise and his cronies watched and waited for the opportunity to get at the brother and sister. They wanted them alone if necessary, together if possible, and then it would be simple to use the old method of applying pain to one, in order to extract information from the other. Never very far behind, Theodore Nott watched and waited with them, he only left their shadow when he could not avoid it, but unfortunately for him it was on one of these occasions when Ron, Ginny and Luna happened to be together alone in an empty corridor, and the Slytherins pounced.

Ron had only the slightest of warnings as Luna sensed the approach of unfriendly thoughts, but her cry of, “Ronald, watch out!” only allowed him to turn to receive the stunner aimed at him squarely in the chest, and he was blasted off his feet. Ginny reacted faster than her brother and whirled around, red hair flying, to unleash her trademark Bat Bogey hex at the body closest to her, Offa Ditchwater reeled back, his face covered in the flapping mess that rendered him helpless. She faced her attackers her wand sparking with her anger but then lowered her guard at the sight of Millicent Bulstrode holding a weakly struggling Luna and Blaise Zabini placing his wand at her throat.

“Drop it Weasley,” Blaise said coldly, his intentions of harming Luna very clear. Ginny glared at him but lowered her wand and placed it in her robes again, defying any of then to try and take it from her. “In there,” Blaise nodded toward a classroom door and Ginny backed to the door, opened it and stepped inside. The others followed, Millicent still holding a now quiescent Luna and Jonas and Derrick dragging an unconscious Ron. Blaise glared down at Offa now sitting against the corridor wall vainly trying to free himself from Ginny’s hex, grunted at his predicament and pulled the door to.

“Bind his eyes and bring him round,” Zabini ordered, Jonas and Derrick complied and as Ron made noises of stirring the two Slytherins propped him against a desk.

“Ginny, Luna, are you OK?” Ron said weakly.

“Better that you, big brother,” Ginny replied as she knelt by his side.

Millicent Bulstrode had released Luna who sat at another desk seemingly frightened out of her wits. She made no effort to reach Ron or respond to his question, her inaction and wilted appearance encouraged the Slytherins to ignore her and they turned their attention to the Gryffindors.

Out in the corridor Gregory Goyle who had by chance crossed its end and seen Ditchwater sitting slumped against the wall, the evidence of a superb Bat Bogey hex clear for all to see plastered over his face, pushed the classroom door at Offa’s side open just a few inches. He could see everything, through the gap. Ron Weasley, for some reason blindfolded, now being lifted to his feet by Jonas and Derrick, Ginny Weasley near them and the Lovegood girl sitting alone at a desk. Blaise Zabini was walking up and down in front of the two Gryffindors, he was actually thinking very hard but Goyle could not recognise an expression he had never felt, and Millicent was over by the window looking menacing.

“All I want Weasley is an answer to a simple question,” said Blaise.

“You can stuff your questions Zabini,” Ron responded, leaving little to the imagination as to where Blaise could stuff them.

“Now, now, that’s not playing the game, you wouldn’t want little Ginny here to suffer for your stubbornness?” the oil fairly dripped from Zabini’s words. He quickly touched his wand to Ginny’s arm and she shrieked in pain. Ron struggled with his captors. “Tell me Weasley where is Potter?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” came through Ron’s gritted teeth, “He ran off with my girlfriend if you remember, so I don’t actually keep tabs on him.”

“Oh yes that right,” Blaise laughed, “You had the hots for that mudblood Granger, I’d forgotten that.” He thought for a moment. “But I bet you still know where they are.” And he reached forward once more to Ginny who backed away straight into the arms of Millicent.

Ginny screamed again but Goyle still at the door heard nothing, just the girl opening her mouth in silent terror; someone had placed a silencing charm on the room.

Goyle may not had heard anything but Ron did, behind his blindfold he could only imaging what was happening to Ginny as her screams tailed off to a whimper.

Luna was concentrating very hard, she knew they needed help and she knew there was someone in the castle who could provide that help. She called again and again to him in her mind and in the end he answered.

“I see that only the strongest persuasion is going to work on you Weasley,” proclaimed Blaise who was beginning to lose his temper.

“You can bugger off, and leave her alone,” shouted Ron, who had lost his a while ago, but could do nothing about it. “I am not telling you anything about Harry.”

“Very well, you leave me no choice,” said Zabini with a cold finality.

At the very moment that Blaise Zabini lifted his wand, pointed it directly at Ginny who Millicent had thrown to the floor, and chanted “Crucio” several things happened at once.

Ginny screamed so loudly that the sound pierced Ron like a spear and he shouted out,

“NOOO!”

Luna threw her arms over her eyes to protect them, and there was a brilliant flash of white light and a sound of rushing wind as something passed through the room and all the Slytherins collapsed to the ground.

At the door Gregory Goyle stared in amazement. Protected from the flash of light by the door only being partly open he had seen what none of the others had. There was someone who could not possibly have been there in that room. The long white hair and the star spangled robe had whirled around as the almost transparent figure passed by touching each of the Slytherins so that they crumpled to the floor. In the instant before he vanished the spectre looked Goyle directly in the eyes and the boy recognised the apparition for who it was. He was going to cry out in fear but at the instant of recognition the memory that was forming was wiped away, Goyle stepped back, turned and ran, and he did not stop until he had reached the relative safety of the Slytherin common room.

In the classroom it had gone very quiet, then Ron realising he was no longer held, pulled the blindfold away. Ginny was lying near his feet curled in a tight ball Ron bent down to her, she was making quiet whimpering noises, and he could see two red wheals on her arm that she had wrapped over her head in an attempt to protect herself. Luna stumbled toward him and knelt down next to Ginny.

“I am so sorry Ginny, I acted as fast as I could,” she wailed, the tears dripping from her eyes.

Ron looked at his girlfriend, then at the crumpled bodies lying around, “You did this?” he asked with incredularity.

“In a way, I suppose I did,” Luna said quietly.

Ron shook his head in admiration of the slight blonde headed girl, then leaned forward and kissed her.

Ginny moaned and began to move in an effort to sit up “God that was awful,” she said weakly. “Where’s Zabini?” she asked, some of the fire of anger returning to her eyes.

“Over there,” said Ron pointing with his free hand, as he helped her into a chair.

Then the door to the room was flung open and Professor McGonagall with Poppy Pomfrey in tow marched into the classroom.

“Professor…,” Ron started up ready to explain.

“It’s alright Weasley,…Ron I am fully aware of what has been going on.” she surveyed the comatose Slytherins. “Rest assured that these miscreants will be packed off as soon as it is safe to do so. I will not tolerate this type of behaviour in my school.”

The school nurse shooed Ron to one side and examined the fire headed girl, who still looked the worse for wear.

“Minerva, Miss Weasley ought to be up in the hospital wing.” Ginny began to protest, “Just for a few hours of observation,” Madam Pomfrey insisted kindly.

Ginny mumbled with a disgruntled if resigned tone as the nurse led her away. Passing Blaise lying on his side she accidentally tripped over his head stepping on his nose as she did so. “Sorry,” she said sarcastically to the unconscious Slytherin. Then she looked at her brother and smiled, “Ron would you tell Dean where I am, I promised to see him at lunch,” Ron gave her a tight smile, he still did not really approve of Ginny rekindling her attachment to his dorm mate again.

Just very briefly his thoughts paired Ginny with Harry again and he with Hermione then a slender arm encircled his waist and looking down into Luna’s eyes he forgot all about it again. “Yes OK, sure.” he said to the back of his sister’s head as she disappeared into the corridor. “Sorry,” Ron apologised to Luna.

She gave him a very deep look, “What for?” she asked, already knowing the reason.

“Nothing.” answered Ron.

Theodore Nott was almost mown down by Goyle as he rushed by heading to the Slytherin common room. He made a snap decision and he set off in the direction Goyle had run from and was in time to see Madam Pomfrey leading a slightly unsteady Ginny Weasley up the stairs towards the Hospital Wing.

“Damn,” he thought, “it’s only been ten minutes or so, surely nothing could have happened in such a short space of time.” But creeping into the corridor he realised how wrong he was.

Two house elves were levitating an unconscious Blaise out of a classroom door, and his compatriots similarly accompanied and in a similar state were being wafted down the corridor in the direction of the dungeons. Nott, keeping close to the wall, gained the door without being discovered, and although he could not see into the room he recognised Ron Weasley’s voice immediately.

“They wanted to know where Harry was Professor,” he was saying. “They tortured Ginny to make me tell. Do you think they wanted the information for Voldemort?”

“It is very possible Ron,” that was the Headmistress; Nott could not mistake that accent.

“But there are others closer to home that are most keen to get an idea of that young man’s whereabouts. So we must not jump to conclusions on that score.”

“I’m not sure the Shrieking Shack is going to be safe for them anymore.” said Ron Weasley’s voice. Theodore Nott almost laughed out loud at his luck.

“Certainly not if you keep blabbing out his location,” said McGonagall admonishing Ron for his lapse, but as Nott turned and slipped away, the damage, it appeared, had already been done.

* * *

The tunnel was far from straight; it wove back and forth, first to the left and then the right, Harry and Hermione had to keep their guard up in case they met anyone coming in the other direction, but luck was with them, and as they rounded the last bend they could see the sunlight and a clear passageway out. The very end of the tunnel was an arbour, the trees forming it were woven tightly together to form the wooded arch, and from this the pair exited onto an open lawn which led up to a large imposing stone built house. Harry quickly pulled Hermione to one side and slipped back into the tree line that marked the edge of the lawns.

The building had crenulated walls and towers and looked far more like the Mountfitchet Castle that Harry had expected to find, but it also looked as if they had stepped into a nightmare. There were Dementors here, floating along the battlements and patrolling the lawns, but that was not all; a giant, fully twenty five feet tall, was ambling over the grass towards a large barn on the far side of the house. Harry and Hermione watched with mounting trepidation as the shambling figure bent low to enter the doorway that was as large as the castle doors at Hogwarts. Then they looked at each other in alarm as a loud bellow and the red glow of flame told them that there was also a dragon in the grounds.

“None of this was visible when we flew over this way,” whispered Hermione in Harry’s ear. “It must be hidden from us as well as the muggles.”

“And with Giants and Dementors it means they’re Voldemort’s, and up to no good,” said Harry. “I reckon it’s a staging post, somewhere where their forces meet before they head off to carry out one of Riddle’s missions.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?” asked Hermione, feeling that perhaps for the two of them to take this lot on was a bit ambitious.

Harry gave her a grin that didn’t instil much confidence in her, she knew that they were not just going to slip away unnoticed; Harry was thinking on his feet again, things could get messy.

“Let’s go and see how much control they have over that dragon,” he said with a wink. “Maybe we can cause a little mayhem without exposing ourselves too much.”

They kept in the trees as they made their way around toward the sound of an unhappy dragon and they found it chained in a small clearing just inside the woods. The beast was straining at the chain that held it on the ground and out of reach of the two wizards who were firing stinging spells at its head. Whilst dragon hide was almost impervious to magic, around the face and especially their eyes dragons were very sensitive and this treatment was not sitting well with this particular specimen.

Hermione looked out on the scene from behind a tree. “Isn’t that….?” she began to ask.

“A Norwegian Ridgeback?” supplied Harry, “Yup sure is, and it looks mad to me.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t….” Hermione began again, but her words were superseded by Harry’s action. The electric blue stream that shot from the end of Harry’s wand neatly cut the restraining manacle from the dragon’s hind leg.

The beast knew it was free the moment the chain fell away but before reacting to its freedom it turned and looked directly at Harry with dark and smouldering eyes, then moving at an incredible speed the dragon whipped around and fell on the two wizards who had been teasing it and tore them to shreds. Hermione reached out for Harry who was standing exposed on the edge of the clearing and pulled him forcibly to her and behind her sheltering tree, but the dragon, finished with its grisly task, paid them no attention. Instead it launched itself into the air and headed out over the lawns directly towards the large barn that contained the giant.

It swooped over the building letting out a massive bellow and a blast of fire, the heat of which reached back to Harry and Hermione several hundred yards away. The barn erupted into flames and then the end with the doors burst open and the giant lumbered out onto the grass. The dragon and the giant obviously didn’t get along; the fight that ensued tore up great sections of the once immaculately kept lawns, as flame and swings of a massive club were exchanged. Harry and Hermione, back in the shelter of the trees, were only peripherally aware this battle of the titans because they had problems of their own.

Harry felt the coldness in the air before, in realisation of its source, he turned to stare back into the darkness of the wood, and there floating between the trees were at least half a dozen Dementors. With Hermione at his side they faced this new threat, wands were raised and twin cries of “EXPECTO PATRONUM” shouted out.

Prongs burst from Harry’s wand, and galloped off into the fray, but Hermione’s Patronus was slower to appear and as it formed she realised that this was not the small animal she usually produced, but a silver hind, equally the size of Harry’s stag.

Hermione gazed in wonder at the animal as it raced into the trees after Prongs; it should have taken the form of a shiny sliver otter, that was what it had always been before, but it seemed that some of the changes that had come over her the last few days were more profound than even she had been aware of.

Suddenly it all made perfect sense and Hermione smiled. “Elowyn,” she whispered, and it seemed to her that she had known the animal’s name all her life, only now she was free and able to run.

The advancing Dementors scattered before the two shining sliver animals as heads down they charged the dark cloaked figures. Flying back into the trees, then up into the air, the soul eaters retreated to the house.

The Patronuses having done their work returned through the woods to the witch and wizard standing by the tree. They stopped before them and both Prongs and Elowyn bowed to Harry and Hermione, then they tilted their heads together and touched muzzles. The caress was brief but the shock of the touch was felt by both the young people as the essence of their magical selves found one another.

“Aww, how sweet,” said a rather unpleasant voice from the clearing to Harry and Hermione’s back. The pair whirled around and standing not ten feet from them was a large rangy man, with matted grey hair and whiskers, he had long yellow nails and his blacks Death Eater robes appeared too tight for him. Fenrir Greyback smiled showing yellowed pointed teeth, and raised a bottle to his lips, he swallowed once then doubled over in obvious discomfort and before the shocked eyes of Harry and Hermione he began his transformation into a werewolf.

This should not be happening, it could not be happening, it was broad daylight, yet as they had seen with Remus Lupin the changes rapidly turned the man into a ravening, slavering creature, but there the similarities stopped. When Remus had transformed that evening in their third year he had lost all control, the beast in him completely took over and his only thoughts were to rend and kill anything that crossed his path. This was not so with Greyback, his eyes retained the look of sanity and intelligence, and his first action was not to pursue his prey who were moving back into the trees in what would be a fruitless attempt to escape him, but to place the bottle carefully down on the ground. Only then did he turn his attention to Harry and Hermione, and screwing his face into what was a ghastly smile, produced from vocal chords only designed to provide an unearthly howl, a sound that almost passed for speech.

“Come Potter,” the words were hard to make out and the mouth that made them dripped with saliva, but Greyback’s beckoning finger reinforced the meaning. “Don’t run, it will be over the sooner if you stay still.”

Frightened as Harry was, he was not about to give in that easily, and instinctively trying to put Hermione in an illusionary safe position behind him, he stared imminent death in the face.

He wouldn’t have believed that an animal of that size could move so silently, he knew from experience how fast they were, but there was no sound at all and as Greyback bunched his muscles and sprang forward to tear Harry apart, the dragon, swooping down into the clearing, snapped his jaws shut on the leaping werewolf. With a sickening crunch the dragon’s teeth met, Fenrir made no sound, there wasn’t time, but Harry saw his eyes bulge as his chest was crushed then torn in two. The pieces of the werewolf fell to the ground almost at Harry’s feet, and as they twitched in final spasm the effects of the lycanthropy faded, and Fenrir’s human face reappeared, his sightless eyes staring fixedly at Harry.

Hermione shuddered at the sight and drew her gaze away but it fell on a image that was equally awful, and gripping Harry tight she murmured, “Oh God.” For the dragon, with werewolf blood dripping from its jaws, had landed in the clearing and was staring back at them. Harry had faced a dragon before, not one exactly like this, but he knew how vicious they could be. This particular beast had killed two wizards, presumably finished off the giant, and had torn a werewolf in two, all in the space of a few minutes, and now it looked as if was going to finish its meal and Harry and Hermione were dessert.

Harry stepped around Greyback's body and with Hermione now at his side and hanging onto his arm faced the creature; there was no point in running, for they would never reach safety. There were a few spells that might work on the dragon and Harry was running these through his mind as he worked out what to do. The dragon licked his lips then snorted at the taste of Fenrir’s blood and a small trickle of flame dripped from its mouth onto the ground, then he raised his head and sniffed, it was almost as if he was searching for something.

“Keep absolutely still Hermione,” whispered Harry, “maybe there is something out there more interesting than us.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied quietly, as the ridgeback took a step towards them.

Then moving so fast that to them the movement was nothing more than a blur the dragon struck, but it did not bite, it stopped mere inches from the pair then pressed its nose against them and sniffed again. Harry wasn’t sure why, but some inner voice was telling him to do nothing, and he glanced reassuringly at Hermione who was standing there with her eyes tight shut and he could hear her mumbling to herself, “It’ll be OK, It’ll be OK, It’ll be OK…”

Perhaps it was the dragon hide coats that attracted, him but Harry felt it was the people in the coats that the dragon was more interested in, he felt dragon dribble run down the side of his face and heard Hermione stifle a little shriek as she received the same treatment. Then with a snort of dragon breath that ruffled their hair, the dragon drew away, sat back and regarded them tilting his head to one side like a curious puppy. Then the idea came to Harry from way in the past, his past, Hermione’s past and the dragon’s past. He could not see how it could be but then there was nothing to tell him it why it shouldn’t, the dragon just sat there not showing any interest in attacking them and he knew he was right.

“Look at him Hermione,” said Harry and somewhat unwillingly she opened her eyes.

“Remind you of anyone?”

“No Harry not really,” she said with only a trace of sarcasm, “I don’t know many dragons personally, in fact apart from those ones at the tournament and the one that tried to get us in September, I’ve only ever met one other as well you know.” Harry raised his eyebrows and she looked from him to the dragon then back to her now smiling boyfriend. “We are taking coincidence to ridiculous lengths here Harry,” she said with maximum disbelief,” are you trying to tell me that this great terrifying dragon is….”

“Norbert? …Yes,” said Harry, “I do believe he is.”

* * *

Author’s note :- For those who asked Hermione’s new Patronus is a female deer it marks another stage in her development not to mention her relationship with Harry. Analogous to the restyling of her hair but much more profound, our Hermione is not a little girl anymore.

From the OED 2001. Hind / noun a female deer, especially a red deer or sikia in and after the third year.

-Origin Old English, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch hinde and German Hinde, from the Indo-European root meaning 'hornless', shared by Greek kemas 'young deer'

I just thought it sounded better than Doe.

Sorry

Solomon.

Chapter Twelve

Back to School

Was Hermione overjoyed at being reunited with an old friend from her first year at Hogwarts? No not really. He was so much larger than the time when they had carried his crate up to the top of the astronomy tower, but then that was only to be expected now she thought about it. She remembered that even at a tender age he had the ability to tear things apart, the sound of the teddy bear being ripped to shreds in his crate came easily to her mind, and that aspect of his personality obviously had not changed much, the dripping remains of Greyback and the two wizards were testament to that.

As Norbert sat there, his head tilting from one side to the other, like a questioning puppy, she began to imagine that perhaps he could look quite tame and endearing, but she knew this was a false impression. She shuddered, this was a creature that could kill with a breath, its teeth, its claws or the flick of its tail with the razor sharp ridge running down to its tip, but for some reason it just sat there and stared at them. In the back of her mind Hermione remembered things she had learned at her muggle school about birds, and the way they would follow the first object they saw when they emerged from their eggs, perhaps dragons were similar. The three of them had been with Hagrid the day Norbert hatched, maybe in some strange way he remembered them, although she did recollect that once he had bitten Ron quite badly; she hoped that had been an accident and it wasn’t a dragon’s way of showing affection.

Norbert suddenly raised his head to look into the woods behind where Harry and Hermione were standing, something was moving through the trees again. Harry and Hermione turned, and in the shadows Dementors and several dark-cloaked human forms could be seen coming toward them. Instinctively they backed away, wands at the ready to produce a Patronus, or something more devastating for the dark wizards out there. Four or five backward steps and they stopped; there was a tree at their back. It certainly felt as solid as a tree and they could feel the rough bark-like surface as it pressed into their coats, but then it moved, and trees aren’t supposed to move like that. Harry risked a glance upward and towering over them was a great chest and beyond that a sinuous neck, and then the dragon’s head weaving slowly from side to side as it watched the creatures approaching from the woods, he and Hermione had backed into Norbert’s front legs.

Spells flashed out off the trees, but before they could reach the pair they were aimed at, Norbert swept one large foot forward to encircle Harry and Hermione, and the reductors and stunners bounced harmlessly of his hide. The wizards in the woods only had the one chance, Harry felt Norbert gather a deep breath and then he let fly with an enormous belch of fire, incinerating anything in its path. Wizard, Dementor or tree all instantly burst into flames. Harry and Hermione released their Patronuses, and as before Prongs and Elowyn leapt into the fray, driving the Dementors into the fire that was boiling from the dragon’s mouth.

The merest touch of flame and the bone-dry Dementors would flash into incandescence and be reduced to ashes in moments, their agony was short lived; the attacking wizards fared less well. There were what could only be described as human torches, out there in the blazing woods, that were running about in a frenzied effort to extinguish the flames that sought to consume them. Their screams cut through the air like knives, and made both Harry and Hermione pale at the thought of the pain they must be suffering. Then Norbert launched what appeared to be a solid ball of fire, it shot across the clearing and into the trees where it landed and exploded. The noise was tremendous, and the heat washed over the dragon and the two it was protecting, then the screaming stopped and all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire as it devoured the trees and whatever else had fallen to it.

Needless to say destruction on this scale was not going unnoticed. From the direction of the house the sound of shouting and the bellow of another beast, that Harry had no wish to discover where or what it was, rolled over the lawns. He did not know if he could communicate with Norbert or even if the dragon really cared what happened to them, but so far he appeared to be on their side. Released from Norbert’s protective talons Harry ran out so that the dragon could see him, calling his name he pointed in the direction of the house.

“Norbert…Norbert… INCENDIO!” he cried, and in example shot a jet of flame from the end of his wand toward the building. It never reached it, he never expected it to, but there was no doubt that the dragon understood. In quick succession Norbert spat fire balls that sailed over the lawns and crashed into the walls of the castle. Large lumps of stone were propelled into the air by the explosions, and the resulting conflagration bit deep into the structure of Mountfitchet Castle. Again and again, like some ancient cannon, Norbert fired on the castle and as it was slowly reduced to a pile of burning rubble there was a shimmering in the air, and Harry and Hermione knew that whatever enchantments had been on the building and the surrounding grounds had failed, and they would be once more visible to wizard and muggle alike.

The response from the wizarding world was amazingly rapid, within seconds of the wards failing the CRACK of apparating witches and wizards could be heard everywhere. This was not the sound of those escaping, but others arriving, and their dress of varied and multicoloured robes made them stand out against the black of the dark wizards. Harry, Hermione and Norbert stayed where they were, in the clearing with the blazing forest at their backs, as a brief exchange of spell fire subdued the few who had made it out of the house and onto the lawns.

“We ought to get out of here Harry,” said Hermione, “we don’t want some over zealous Auror mistaking us for two of Voldemort’s henchmen.”

“Sorry?” said Harry not following her train of thought.

“Well dressed in black and standing next to a dragon, hardly looks as if we’re here to provide tea and biscuits for the troops.” she replied.

“Oh, hadn’t thought of it that way,” he gave her a rueful smile. “What are we going to do about Norbert? Can’t just leave him for the ministry, heaven knows what they will do with him.”

“That’s true, he did help us out,” Harry gave Hermione a look that said ‘we both would have been werewolf food but for him’. “OK so he saved our lives,” she begrudgingly added.

It wasn’t hard to give Norbert praise, but to be honest he scared the living daylights out of her, and he was standing so close to them that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure how safe they were.

Norbert rumbled deep in his chest and Hermione gave a little nervous shriek, but she needn’t have worried, his disquiet was directed out on to the lawns where several of the invading wizards were heading in their direction. Harry moved out to stand between the advancing Aurors and Norbert, Hermione stepped up to be at his side when her foot made contact with something in the grass, the chinking noise caused her to look down, and there hidden in the vegetation was Greyback’s potion bottle, she bent down picked it up and put it in the pocket of her dragon hide coat.

“Drop your wands, and move away from the dragon,” said the tall, dark-skinned wizard standing slightly in front of the others, who were maintaining a respectful distance from Norbert, who was growling and dribbling fire from his mouth again.

“Hello Mr Shacklebolt,” said Harry, conversationally, “I thought you were working with the muggle prime minister, these days?”

“Well I’ll be damned; Harry Potter is that really you? And Hermione Granger as well,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. We’ve been searching for this place for months, knew it was around here somewhere, just couldn’t see where. How long have you known about it?”

“Oh about half an hour or so, wouldn’t you say Hermione?”

“Err…yes, about that I suppose,” she replied, as if this much destruction to Voldemort’s aspirations was an everyday occurrence.

“Hummm….,” Kingsley Shacklebolt was not sure whether to believe them or not. “What about the dragon?”

“Back up,” said Harry simply, “Charlie Weasley lent him to us,” he lied easily.

“Well, whatever, your timing is perfect.” he said, receiving blank looks from Harry and Hermione. “I am sure the Headmistress at Hogwarts will be relieved to hear that her wayward pupils have seen fit to return to the country, and after this,” he said waving his arm around at the devastation, “being in the Ministry’s good books. It will give more weight to the case against that Umbridge woman.”

Neither Harry nor Hermione had any idea what he was talking about and it must have shown. “Of course, you won’t know, seems she overstepped the mark a bit, had Arthur’s kids attacked.”

Harry was horrified at the news. “What Ron and Ginny?” he couldn’t believe the news.

“Are they alright?” demanded Hermione.

“Yes, they’re fine, there was some torture involved, I think,” but Kingsley was talking to fresh air, Harry and Hermione were heading back to the tunnel to reclaim their motorcycle. “I’ll need to get a report on all this from you,” he called after them, but they didn’t reply. He looked at the dragon glaring down at him, and he wondered what they were going to do with it, when with a great cry the creature spread his wings and leaped into the air vanishing as he cleared the tree tops. Faintly in the distance Kingsley could here the sound of a motorcycle which faded into nothingness as Harry and Hermione set off back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The Brutus Vampire, when going flat out, was much faster than Harry’s Firebolt, and it had to be said that Harry pushed the machine to its limit as he and Hermione tore invisibly across the sky. His passenger said nothing about the speeds they were reaching, she knew the desperation Harry was feeling and shared it, so she hung on and tried to think of something else. The object she was concentrating on nestled in the pocket of her coat, Greyback’s bottle, actually it was not the bottle itself, but the potion it contained that Hermione was interested in.

She had never heard of anything which could produce the effects of lycanthropy unless it was a full moon, and to leave the werewolf with his sanity, that was even more unheard of. She was still discussing the ramifications of this most potent potion with herself when she felt Harry put the bike into a dive. She risked a peek and saw that he was casting all caution to the wind, and was bringing the machine down on the gravel roadway that led to the castle doors. Faces peered out of windows as the deep rumble from the engine reverberated around the castle walls, and the group of students that were gathered about Hagrid's hut looked up to see the bike disappear as it landed on the road. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor watched with the others, then as the motorcycle engine fell silent, shouted “Class dismissed, an’ don’t forget the essay,” then following his students he hurried up to the castle and with his enormous stride beat most of his pupils to the doors. Of Harry and Hermione there was no sign, just the large motorcycle at the foot of the castle steps, propped on its stand, ticking quietly as the hot metal of its engine and exhaust cooled in the November air.

The two riders had leapt off the machine as soon as it came to a stop, and then taking the steps two at a time, shot through the open doors of the school. They stood for a moment in the Great Hall wondering where to go, then with “McGonagall” on his lips Harry headed to the grand stairs and up them to the Headmistress’s office. Lessons were obviously still on as there were no students walking through the corridors, but their passage was not unnoticed and doors opened as they passed and Professors poked out their heads to see what was going on. Professor Flitwick smiled to himself as he watched the tail end of a dragon hide coat whip around the corner of the corridor that led to the Heads office. ‘About time,’ he thought, ‘all this secrecy and hiding, now at least Minerva will be happy.’ and he returned to his class of first years who still hadn’t got to grips with the Wingardium Leviosa charm.

The gargoyle at the entrance to the stairs saw them coming and let Harry and Hermione by without a word, they raced up the spiral staircase and found the door at the top open and Professor McGonagall sitting calm and composed at her desk.

“Come in the pair of you, and close the door,” she lilted in her soft Scottish accent. “And what can I do for you?” she asked as if it was no more than two of her pupils standing in front of her, with some mundane school matter to discuss with her.

“Ron,” Harry gasped, he was quite out of breath.

“Ginny,” Hermione managed, but she was in no better state.

“Perfectly fine, and so is Miss Lovegood,” said the Head to quell their worries.

“Luna?” Harry coped with another word, and then steadied himself, “We heard they had been attacked.”

“Please sit and have some tea and I’ll tell you all about it.” The Professor waved her wand and a small table laden with tea and biscuits appeared with two nicely stuffed armchairs upholstered with a bright flowery pattern. So Harry and Hermione flopped down into the chairs, and while she poured, the Headmistress began to explain what had occurred.

“….Because Zabini used an unforgivable curse on Ginny the ministry became involved, and under veritaserum the involvement of Delores Umbridge came to light.” said Minerva McGonagall as she recounted the story. “It was fortunate that the curse watchers are in a different department to her so she was unable to keep it quiet, the Minister had to act, she is awaiting trial and the rest of her committee has been disbanded. The school is on its own again, and this is the icing on the cake,” she picked up a piece of parchment from her desk. “Arrived from the ministry not five minutes before you did, a complete exoneration Harry, you are free to go where you like.” She gave the two seated before her a steady look. “It must have been something fairly impressive for the Minister to change his mind; you’re not his favourite person young man, what have you two been up to?”

Now it was Professor McGonagall’s turn to listen while Harry and Hermione filled her in on the last few hours.

“So why were you there again?” inquired the Headmistress.

“Ahh, just checking a lead to Voldemort,” said Harry quietly, without looking her in the eye, “Yes that’s right, just checking.”

“Very well,” the Headmistress pursed her lips in thought, and then she looked at the large clock on the wall of the office. “End of lessons in a few minutes,” she told them, “I suggest you go to the Gryffindor common room, you ought to be able to catch up with Ron and Ginny there.”

They stood in front of the portrait of the fat lady, but no matter what they said to her without the password she was not going to let them in. This was a little embarrassing; they hadn’t thought to ask McGonagall, what were they going to do?

“Don’t you know who we are?” Harry asked of the lady in the frilly pink dress.

“Of course I do, I’m not stupid you know,” she replied.

“So couldn’t you make an exception,” he pleaded.

“No, no password, no entry,” and she turned her back on them.

Harry looked as if he wanted to argue more but Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away.

“Never mind Harry, I am sure someone will come to our rescue.” That someone just happened to be Neville Longbottom.

As Neville walked up the stairs to the painting he mumbled to himself, repeating the passwords over and over again, he wasn’t stupid but he had a fixation about forgetting the words that would open the common room door, and now he had developed appalling memory for them.

“Leo fremartus?…Leo frematus? No that’s not it,” he paused, then he tried again, “Leo fremitus,… yes that’s right.” He walked confidently to the portrait, “Leo fremitus,” he announced and the painting swung aside.

“Thanks Nev’,” said Harry as he and Hermione moved out of the shadow by the next flight of stairs.

Neville stopped in his tracks and stared in bewilderment at his two old class mates.

“Harry, is it really you? Hermione, what have you done to your hair? It…it looks great,” he stammered, as she smiled and he went a little pink. “Ron said you might come back now Umbridge is gone. Are you here to stay?”

“Not sure yet Nev’, early days and all that,” said Harry, “Err… shall we go in,” he prompted as the portrait began to swing shut again.

“Oh damn, Leo frenmentis,” Neville tried, but the fat lady paid him no heed and closed the door in his face.

Hermione laughed kindly at him, “Let me, Leo fremitus,” she said in a clear voice.

“In or out, make your mind up,” said the fat lady crossly, but nevertheless she swung aside again.

The common room was still the same and both the wayward students felt instantly at home. The fire in the grate was burning brightly and the room held that comfortable warmth that comes with the intimate knowledge of long term occupation. Neville stood there not trusting his eyes, it was hard to take in, then Hermione stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Lovely to see you again Neville,” she said and Neville knew for a fact that they were real and the pinkness in his cheeks turned into a bright red glow.

“Ron said we might see you once Zabini implicated that Umbridge woman,” said Neville repeating himself and smiling properly for the first time, “but none of us really believed him.” Then he became troubled again. “In fact you better be prepared for some initial bad feeling, a fair few students, not Gryffindors mind you, thought you had deserted us and run away.” Neville began to look very uncomfortable, “You see, that’s what it said in the Daily Prophet.”

“And as usual everyone believes what they read in the papers,” said Hermione a little crossly.

“Of course they do Hermione, and if you remember that is what we wanted them to think.” chided Harry.

“Sorry I’d forgotten… no I hadn’t,” Hermione corrected herself, “it’s just that newspapers and the Prophet in particular make me itch.”

The rest of the house began to arrive from their lessons and Harry and Hermione found themselves surrounded by a large group of students, all of whom seemed pleased to see them. As the younger ones dispersed Seamus and Dean cornered Harry and began to ask some very personal questions about what he and Hermione had been up to, and what on earth had she done to her hair. Harry neatly fielded most them, but did become a little hot under the collar in doing so, and left the boys with a distinct impression that he was being economical with the truth. He realised that Hermione had probably undergone the same treatment, because as Lavender Brown passed him on the way to the girl’s staircase she gave him a very meaningful wink.

“What did you say to Lavender?” Harry asked Hermione as they waited for Ron and Ginny to arrive. It seemed Ron was always late because he now insisted on waiting for his sister and Luna to finish their lessons and then escorting Luna to Ravenclaw tower before coming back to the common room with Ginny.

“Nothing at all,” she said in feigned surprise,” what about you and the boys?”

“Oh… nothing either,” Harry replied.

“Did they believe you?” Hermione asked him in a very quiet voice.

“No,” replied Harry in a whisper.

“Neither did Lavender,” Hermione whispered back and then she giggled.

A few of the students, now settled doing a bit of pre-evening meal homework, looked up at the pair as Hermione’s silvery laugh ended with her giving Harry a kiss on the cheek. They smiled at the scene; it felt all right now, everything was back where it should be, and they turned their attention to their work again.

They saw Ron as he entered through the portrait hole; he looked tired and didn’t notice that his sister had stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Harry and Hermione sitting together by the fire. He ambled across the common room, intent on going up to his bed for a short nap before dinner, Harry watched his best friend who was totally oblivious to all around him.

“Hi Ron, bad day?” asked Harry.

“What, Oh yeh, you ought to try these second year NEWT classes Harry, real bummer some of them.” Then it appeared that Ron realised there was something unusual in Harry greeting him to the common room, for he stopped, turned and stared at both his friends. Then an enormous grin spread across his face, and he rushed over to them, arms outstretched to grab them both in a huge hug. “HARRY, HERMIONE,” he yelled, “It’s so good to see you, you don’t know….” he seemed unable to go on, but any further embarrassment was saved by Ginny flying across the room to join in the reunion. They eventually settled themselves into the large sofa near the fire, and in the relative privacy afforded them by their housemates, they caught up on each others’ news.

“Yes, Neville told us that Blaise Zabini informed on Umbridge,” said Hermione, after Ron had explained all that had occurred in the classroom.

“Informed!” exclaimed Ron, “he spilled his guts out, if they hadn’t shut him up he would have told them every nasty little detail of his life, and some of what he did say was rather unsavoury.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said a subdued Ginny, Hermione had noticed that apart from her initial effusive welcome she had remained rather quiet. While Ron was telling Harry of his latest ideas for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Hermione took the flame haired girl to one side.

“Are you ok Gin?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Ginny gave her a resolute look, “I’m fine,…” then her lip began to tremble. Hermione put her arms around her and Ginny crumbled, and began to cry. Ron and Harry stopped talking and looked enquiringly at the girls.

“Give us a minute boys?” Hermione gave them a ‘leave it to me’ look, they took the hint.

Then Ron said, “Hey Harry how’s about coming upstairs, you haven’t seen the dorm for a while. It was a pretty lame excuse, but it allowed them to leave without fuss.

“Right,” said Hermione in a kind but business like tone, when Ginny had calmed down a bit. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s all so silly really, things I haven’t been able to share with anyone, just sort of weighing me down.” She smiled at her serious friend, “Ron’s ok, he’s had Luna, but when Dean found out that we were being targeted he dropped me like a hot brick, and it really hurt. I thought he was more like Harry and I would be able to rely on him.”

“Trouble is Ginny that there aren’t many out there like our Harry,” said Hermione, trying to comfort her.

“I’m finding that out the hard way, Hermione…” she paused, “and Harry isn’t ours is he? He’s yours.”

Hermione gazed into Ginny’s bright brown eyes, and sighed, “Oh dear, I didn’t realise.”

Ginny gave her a sad smile. “No neither did I,” she sat quietly for a moment. “It was ok to start with, and I knew you were right for each other, even now that hasn’t changed and I know I have no chance with him, but my heart won’t let him go.”

Hermione had no answer for her young friend, her own experiences with love and Harry gave her no grounds for sagely advice, it would take an older head to sort this one out. However Hermione did manage to get Ginny to tell her what else was preying on her mind.

“God, that Cruciatus curse is really horrible, far worse that the other spells Zabini used and he was touching me with his wand when he used those.” Ginny showed Hermione the marks still visible on her arms, and others on her legs that she had been too embarrassed to show even to Madam Pomfrey. “The Cruciatus didn’t last for very long because at the same time Luna did whatever it was that she did, she won’t explain, but through the pain I felt this cooling wind and I opened my eyes, and that was when I thought the curse had driven me out of my mind.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked in disbelief, when Ginny had told her what she thought she had seen.

“No I’m not but I don’t see who else it could have been.”

“And he was a ghost?”

“I think so,” Ginny replied.

“That would mean he has some unfinished business, something he still needs to do,” Hermione reasoned, “He wouldn’t be like Nick, too frightened to go on.”

“Do we tell the others?” asked Ginny.

Hermione was thoughtful, “No not yet, especially Harry, he has only just got used to the idea that the old man isn’t around anymore.” Then she made a decision, “we’ll have a word with Luna first,” Hermione put a friendly hand on Ginny’s shoulder, “and don’t worry, I doubt very much you are going mad.”

* * *

Theodore Nott thought he was going round the bend, he had the information he needed, he knew where Potter was hanging out, but every time he tried to write the location down on the piece of parchment he wanted to send to his uncle, he lost control of the pen, and an unintelligible scrawl was all that resulted. He tried again and again, but nothing worked. Even speaking the words out loud and asking another Slytherin student to write down exactly what he said didn’t produce anything but meaningless drivel. The incredibly complex Fidelius Charm that Hermione had performed to protect the Shack meant that Ron, as the secret keeper, was the only one who could pass that information onto another even if it was, as in this case, an unintentional mistake. Nott may have the knowledge that the Shrieking Shack was acting as Harry’s base, but there was no way he could let anyone else know. He was still fighting with his problem as he made his way down to the evening meal. He had concluded, after a good deal of thought, that the concealing charm was in operation and that the only option open to him now was to actually take someone there, but he, like all the other students were stuck in school until the end of term, unless there was a Hogsmead weekend, and that seemed unlikely.

So intent was he on working out his conundrum that he failed to notice how quiet it had become in the Great Hall, and it was only as his neighbour at the Slytherin table nudged him hard with his elbow did he look up and see Harry Potter, and was that Hermione Granger with him? The pair, along with a gaggle of Gryffindors, were heading towards that house’s table, Nott couldn’t believe his eyes and at that moment all sorts of possibilities began to occur to the young prospective Death Eater.

Harry and Hermione ran the gauntlet of many disapproving stares, especially from the Ravenclaw table, but they bore them in silence because they knew that the school bush telegraph would soon spread the word of Umbridge’s involvement in Harry’s absence, and as they sat and ate their first meal in many months in the wonderful surroundings of the Great Hall, they could hear the whispers flying around already.

The following morning the mood at breakfast was much more congenial, the rumour mill had obviously worked overtime that night, and Harry and Hermione were mostly forgiven for their enforced absence, but some on the Slytherin table wondered why they had bothered to come back at all.

Refreshed by a quiet evening in the Shrieking Shack, they had snuck back there at curfew after leaving the bike with Hagrid, Harry and Hermione thought it best to present as normal a face to the school as possible while still engaging in their own private agenda in finding the Horcruxes. They applauded with the others when the Headmistress announced that, with the removal of Delores Umbridge’s committee and their restrictions there would be a Hogsmead weekend next week, as there would be only another week after that before the end of term. However she did restrict those going to the fifth year and above, which caused a bit of an uproar from the fourth and third year pupils who were traditionally allowed to go, but as it was for their own safety there was no question of disobeying.

“They accepted that too well,” said Ron, “not like a certain person in our third year would have done, ‘eh Harry?” And he gave his best friend a large wink.

Hermione loved the fact that at last she had full uninterrupted access to the library; she felt this would make a great difference to the search, but she had not expected that in this instance Ron was to provide more information than the books.

The conversation was held in whispers under the stern gaze of Madam Pince, who flitted about the shelves of books like a large butterfly looking for a particularly tasty sample of literary nectar.

“Ravenclaw had this seal,” said Ron quietly when the librarian has disappeared from view.

“I’ve seen it,” announced Hermione, earning her a ‘this is my story’ sort of look from Ron, “well I’ve seen the result of her using it. It’s on every one of those bits of parchment of hers we have back home.” Now it was Harry who lay a restraining hand on her arm, “Sorry, go on Ron.” she said, taking in the quiet reprimand.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, and then he waited as Madam Pince fluttered by and disappeared into her office. “I thought it would be a good item for Voldemort to use, but the obvious catch, where was it? Ron looked at the other two, expecting them not to know, and he was right. “Then Luna pops up and says it’s in the Ravenclaw common room, and it is!” he exclaimed, a bit too excitedly and a little too loud. They heard the scraping sound as a chair was pushed back, and quickly gathering the few books that Hermione had borrowed they shot out of the library before Madam Pince had a chance to have another go at them.

“So when can we get a look at it?” asked Harry as they walked back to Gryffindor tower.

“Hopefully tonight, when everyone has gone to bed,” Ron replied, “I’ll ask Luna.”

“Fine,” said Harry, and Hermione was reminded that she needed to have a chat with the not so daft girl herself.

“I don’t get anything from it at all Harry,” said Luna as they looked up at the highly polished seal in its box on the mantelpiece. “Perhaps it is too far away, but it doesn’t give me the creeps the way the goblet did,” and she gave a shiver at the memory.

“How do we get it down?” said Ron, who was by far the tallest of the four in the

Ravenclaw common room that night, and it was still way out of his reach.

Hermione gave a tutting noise and pulled her wand from the Gryffindor robes that both she and Harry had started wearing around the school again. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she said succinctly, and with a swish and flick of her wand the box floated out of its niche and gently descended to the table that they had, cleared of its mountain of books a little earlier.

“You just had to do that didn’t you,” said Ron sarcastically.

Hermione smiled a toothy smile, and Harry rolled his eyes, the Granger-Weasley one- up-man-ship club was still going strong.

Luna looked from boy to girl and sighed, she was fully aware of the seven year long agreement between the two friends to disagree with each other at every opportunity, a situation that would have doomed any idea of a lasting relationship between them, even if Ron had not upset the apple cart. Shaking her head, not really understanding the reasons behind their behaviour, she reached forward to the box and turning the clasp it opened with a click.

Everyone’s attention was now on the box and the seal it contained, “I better not touch it, yet” said Harry, and all agreed with this as they remembered the way a shade of Voldemort had jumped out of the goblet. So Luna put her hand into the box and grasped the seal and lifted it out. “Still nothing Harry,” she said as she laid it on the table top, “and isn’t it supposed to be heavy?”

Ron picked it up, it was very light, and as he looked into its mirror like surface he realised that was exactly what it was. “Made of glass Harry, silvered on the inside like a mirror, this isn’t real.”

“Give it to me,” said Hermione, “I think there might be a way to find out a few things about this glass seal.”

Ron handed it over and Hermione placed the seal on a large sheet of parchment she found on an adjoining table. Using quill and ink that Luna provided, she began to draw lines and make calculations that surrounded the seal, occasionally tapping glass or parchment with her wand in a way that made absolutely no sense to either Harry or Ron. Luna however, was leaning over and examining every scratch of the quill and mark made and when Hermione wrote down a figure five she put a restraining hand out and said

“Shouldn’t that be a three?”

“What!” Hermione said crossly, then, “Yes of course, thanks Luna,” made the change, and continued with her Arithmancy. The noise of intense concentration continued for fully half an hour, with the odd word from Luna and question from Hermione as she realised that the blonde haired girl was as good at the subject as she was. Hermione finished her calculations with a flourish of her quill and looked at Luna who nodded in agreement that everything was correct. Then she stood back and touched the glass seal one more time, every mark on the parchment glowed for a second, and the answer appeared in a small box Hermione had drawn right at the beginning.

“There,” she said with a feeling of accomplishment.

“There, what?” said Ron.

“It’s a date?” put in Harry before another spat could start.

“Yes, it’s the date the glass seal was made,” said Luna. “That was brilliant Hermione, I would never have considered using Maha-Pudma’s equation, but I see now the way it holds everything else up, amazing.”

Hermione gave her a very happy smile, “Thanks,” she said, “But without your corrections I would have been miles out.”

“So what does it mean?” said Ron who was beginning to feel hopelessly outclassed by the two witches.

However it was Harry who answered him. “It means Ron that this seal was made the year before Tom Riddle came here for the Defence against the Dark Arts job, and swapped his award for services to the school with Hufflepuffs cup.”

The light began to dawn for the tall red head. “You think he could have stolen the seal and replaced it with this at the same time?”

“Exactly,” said Hermione.

“Well that’s good, at least we’re further along now,” said Ron, satisfied that he hadn’t led everyone on a wild goose chase.

“How so Ron?” asked Harry.

“Well we know that the seal is most likely a Horcrux, and we either have to look for it or for something else made of silver that is of value to Voldemort.” he answered smugly.

“What on earth makes you think that,” Hermione obviously didn’t believe a word of it.

“Because, if it still in the shape of the seal, it’s the seal we will look for,” he paused for a moment while he gathered his reasoning. “And because it is made of pure silver, it can only be transformed into another pure silver object.” He ran the thoughts through his head again then nodded. “Yes that’s right, immutable transfiguration laws, base metals stay as they are.”

Hermione had an expression of total shock on her face, “God he’s right, and I never even thought of that.”

Ron would have crowed if it was not for the fact that several hundred Ravenclaws were asleep in the tower above them, so he satisfied himself by licking his finger and drawing an imaginary number one in the air. Harry could not help it, so many times had he come out second best to his girlfriend, but he managed to stifle his laugh by pushing his handkerchief into his mouth, so no one heard him, and Hermione’s pride was only very slightly dented.

* * *

A few days after the discovery in Ravenclaw tower Hermione managed to get Luna on her own. Ron was busy desperately trying to get Harry back on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and at the moment was not having much luck, but Hermione could tell he was weakening. She had finally resigned herself to suffering yet another match worrying about her boyfriend’s safety, but at least he would not have to play against Slytherin. The two boys were off somewhere discussing that very subject and Hermione and Luna were sitting together in the window of a hallway, not used much by other students, which overlooked the lawns and Hagrid's hut far below.

“Ginny was very upset by the incident with Zabini,” Hermione was telling Luna of her first evening back in Gryffindor tower. “But strangely it is not so much the pain of the torture that causes her problems now; it is what she saw when the torture stopped.”

“Oh I didn’t know that,” Luna said keeping her head bowed to avoid eye contact with the smartest witch of her age.

Hermione cupped her hand under Luna’s chin and lifted it up to stare into her blue eyes, and in that initial look, call it intuition, but Hermione understood. “You know what she saw, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Luna replied somewhat unwillingly.

“Was it a spell of yours, or was it really him?” Hermione demanded.

“It wasn’t my spell, I just called,” Luna was being a little ambiguous.

“So it was him,” there was a note of success in Hermione’s voice, “Is he alive or is he dead?”

But Luna didn’t answer, because from behind Hermione there was a rustling sound of moving robes, and the brown eyed girl felt a shiver of expectation run down her neck.

“That all depends upon your point of view Miss Granger,” said an instantly recognisable voice.” Hermione spun around to stare directly into the face of Professor McGonagall. “You see, for those of us who believe in him, Albus will never be truly gone,” she continued in her lilting accent, “and I have no doubt that in times of need those who are worthy will be able to call on him.”

“But?” this was not the answer Hermione wanted.

“No more buts and let us leave this line of questions for the moment,” the Headmistress sounded quite insistent, “I think you are causing Miss Lovegood some distress.”

Hermione turned back to Luna who indeed looked rather pale and little beads of perspiration were standing out on her forehead. “Oh hell, I’m sorry Luna, I didn’t mean to,…” Hermione in turn was becoming upset, “It was just Ginny…” she put an arm around Luna’s shoulders, “Let’s go and find Ron and Harry. Don’t worry I’ll think of something to tell Ginny.” she reassured Luna.

“I am sure you will, Hermione,” said Professor McGonagall, and the headmistress looked on as the two girls headed back towards the main staircase. She turned to gaze out of the window and saw two boys coming out onto the lawns from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. There was a tear behind the spectacles the old witch was wearing as she watched the boys, and with a sad smile murmured “Take care Harry, difficult times, difficult times,” but that voice held no trace of a Scottish accent, and then the witch sighed, her form wavered and she vanished.

* * *

The Hogsmead weekend Saturday dawned overcast and cold, as Harry and Hermione made their way up the castle steps and through the main doors, and being early they were seated at the Gryffindor table several minutes before any of their housemates had made it down from the tower. Although the older Gryffindors knew that the ‘Potters’ as they had taken to calling them, although not to their faces and not in Ron’s hearing, were not sleeping in their dormitories only Ginny and Ron knew that Harry and Hermione spent their nights in the Shrieking Shack. Breakfast was a high spirited affair with most of the students in the top three years looking forward to a bit of freedom and some fun in Hogsmead.

One Slytherin student watched the Gryffindor table with special interest, he hoped his note had got through to his uncle, if it had then Potter and his friends would get a bit more than they bargained for when they reached the wizarding village. All the frustrations of trying to bypass the Fidelius Charm were forgotten, the location of Potter’s home had become of secondary importance, now there was a real chance of getting the boy himself. Theodore Nott was relieved, Potter coming back to school like that had played right into his hands, and now this Hogsmead trip was the cherry on the top of the cake.

Ginny was trailing behind the others as they made their way up to the main gates and the road that led to Hogsmead. Hermione had spoken to her the day before and tried to explain away what she had seen in that classroom, but Ginny still had her doubts and didn’t put a lot of faith in the ‘psychic projection charm’ the older girl had mentioned. She had convinced herself that she wasn’t going barmy, so that was progress, but she still felt very lonely and hurt by Dean’s rejection. ‘You certainly find out who your friends are when Voldemort or his cronies come knocking,’ Ginny told herself. A laugh from ahead made Ginny look up, there they were in pairs, Harry and Hermione out in front, their long dragon hide coats swishing about their feet as they walked, she had to admit they made an impressive couple, but she had to smile at her brother. Trying to look as cool as Harry, dressed the same, but not quite managing it, perhaps it was because he walked with a permanent stoop as he chatted with the much shorter Luna, but at least they had each other. ‘Oh damn!’ she thought, ‘there is no point in moping, what will be will be.’ and ran the few steps to catch them up and linked her arm with Ron.

Even though the third and fourth years were absent, Harry thought there were far too many people milling about. His few months’ solitude, with only Hermione for company, had made him appreciate the peace and quiet they had enjoyed, at least when they were not fighting for their lives. So to escape the crowds Harry ushered the others into the Three Broomsticks, and they found a familiar table at the back and settled down to enjoy a drink. Madam Rosmerta served them; she looked her normal cheery self, and assured Harry that she was fine when he asked after her health; the Imperius Curse had left her with no long lasting effects, apart from her feeling very, very stupid. They sat and enjoyed their butterbeers, while outside a relatively normal morning for the Hogsmead residents and the visiting students proceeded at its normal pace towards lunch time.

In a small alley by the side of Honeydukes, a tall dark haired man was talking earnestly to a skinny boy who was pointing in the direction of the pub that Harry and the others had disappeared into. The man finished the conversation obviously indicating that the boy should return to school, but from the scowl on Theodore’s face that was directed at the departing man’s back that was the last place he was thinking of going.

The disruption started quietly enough; the bellow from the hills behind the village could have been almost anything, but Harry and Hermione who were just leaving the Three Broomsticks had heard it before and not that long ago. No one else appeared to be taking much notice of the noise, which as it grew nearer became more of a shout than a roar, there was no sense to the words, if indeed they were words, but the meaning was very clear, rage, and Harry had a pretty good idea at whom this rage was going to be directed. Then as the giant shouldered his way between two buildings, knocking one of them flat, the villagers and students suddenly became aware that all was not as it should be, and with cries and screams of their own, sought shelter.

“It’s a giant,” said Ron rather unnecessarily, as the twenty five foot monster shook the brick dust from its long straggly hair, and looked through small piggy eyes for something else to destroy. A villager pushing his stall cart, gaudily decorated in honour of the students’ visit, rumbled out of a side street straight into the path of the giant. A blast of foetid breath accompanied the shout of rage that issued from the giant’s throat and the villager instantly apparated away, but the cart was not so lucky. The iron banded club the giant wielded smashed down and reduced the stall to so much fire wood, and sent cobbles from the road flying in all directions. Harry ran towards the giant, and such was their faith the others ran with him, whilst everyone else was fleeing for their lives the five youngsters were prepared to make a stand. They never got the chance.

As they rounded the corner into the main street, they realised that the giant was not alone, eight wizards dressed in black, were shooting spells to the left and right. Students and villagers were left lying in the road as spell after spell made contact. Harry and Hermione instantly crouched and began to fire back, Ron was not slow to see the way they fought and the three of them, protected in part by their coats, began to score hits. A scream from Luna made Ron whirl around to see his sister spinning down to the ground, the red glow of a spell still shining at her shoulder and Luna rushing to her side. The shock of a badly thrown stunner grazing his hip and being deflected by the dragon hide drew his attention back to the fight in hand; he just had to hope that Ginny was alright.

The three battling students began to draw the attacking wizards away and Luna, supporting Ginny’s head from the damp road, was heartened to see that she was only stunned. Touching her wand to the limp body she quietly intoned “Enervate” and Ginny began to stir, but a new menace was about to confront them. The giant, following its dark masters, stood less than the length of the Great Hall from the two girls and fixed them with it’s myopic stare, it swung it’s club which made a whistling sound as it passed through the air and began to advance.

In the doorway of a small shop a mousy haired boy watched with mounting horror as Harry and the others fought. This horror became despair as he saw the spell strike the girl and her long ginger hair flying out as Ginny collapsed, then the giant appeared and his despair turned to anger.

Five years can make a lot of difference to a small boy with a Harry Potter fixation, he was no longer small for a start, and although he still had great admiration for Harry, he had held a secret candle for the sister of Harry’s best friend for some time, now she was in trouble and he was not about to let her down. Luna tore her eyes from the giant to stare at the boy who had run up and was now standing over both her and Ginny and faced their aggressor with a look of determination on his young face.

Ginny opened her eyes, her shoulder hurt like hell, and then she saw the giant and the boy who stood in its path. Just for a second she thought it was Harry, he stood the same, defiant, rock solid, and unafraid, but then she saw that it was not, his hair was wrong and he was not wearing glasses. He raised his wand and shot two silent spells, one after the other, with great accuracy, they hit the giant straight in the eyes, his only really vulnerable spot, and the creature reeled backwards, bellowing and clawing at its face. The boy readied himself to fire again, when with a whooshing of large wings, a huge form rushed overhead to fall with rending talons and teeth on the giant, who now had to fight for his own life.

Harry was beginning to tire and his left arm hung loosely by his side, they had reduced the opposition down to three, but Ron was staggering having been hit by several stunners and Hermione was bleeding from a cut to her forehead where a piece of flying glass from a shattered window had left a long wound.

The sound of multiple apparitions in the road behind them was either defeat or rescue, and Harry almost didn’t care which, but as Tonks and Remus took position on either side of him the relief flooded in, they were safe.

“We will have to stop meeting like this Mr Potter,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, as the Aurors rounded up the remaining dark wizards. Remarkably the thought of tackling the twenty ministry operatives drove the thought of further fight from their minds. One had tried to apparate but a counter spell from an observant Auror had ended with the wizard splinched, they would find out where his legs had gone later. “Right only the dragon and the giant to deal with now,” Kingsley called to his troops, “Let’s go.”

“Dragon?” asked Harry, “There was only a giant, no dragon.” But the roar and flames from the main road told another story.

“Ginny and Luna!” cried a still dizzy Ron and he shakily headed off behind the Aurors.

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, then said as one “Norbert!” and set off at a run, catching up with Kingsley as he turned out onto the main road.

The giant was a smoking corpse some way down the street and the dragon stood in the middle of the road looking very pleased with itself. Harry could see Ginny and Luna crouched in the protection of another student who was pointing his wand in the direction of the Norwegian Ridgeback prepared to fight if the creature attacked.

“No!” Harry cried as the Aurors raised their wands, “It’s the same one, he’s on our side,” he said, and Kingsley turned and gave him a hard stare. “Well he is,” Harry insisted, “Isn’t he Hermione.” She nodded in confirmation, but deep down she wondered what the giants had done to upset this dragon so much that he showed them no mercy, and fervently hoped that Hagrid, and his half brother Gawp would not suffer because of it.

The dragon regarded the wizards, and a deep rumble sounded deep in his chest, he spread his wings and with a fierce down swing propelled himself off the ground and into the air. Three strokes to gain some height, and then he thought where he wanted to be and then he was there, with a roar that rattled window panes he swooped in to land and settled down to perch on the edge of the tower.

Kingsley watched the dragon’s departure and reappearance over Hogwarts with mixed feelings, then as he re-evaluated the dragon’s behaviour he sighed and turning to Remus said, “You had better go and tell the Headmistress that the dragon poses no danger,” he looked down at Harry, “Mr Potter says it will be fine, which I am sure will make everything ok.”

Ron having recovered most of his senses was looking on as the girl’s protector held out a hand and helped Ginny to her feet. Luna stood, said something to the boy and kissed him on the cheek then turned and walked over to her boyfriend; she slipped an arm around Ron’s waist and pulled him tight to her.

Ron still watched the scene before him, Ginny was still holding her rescuer’s hand and he was talking quietly to her, she replied and then he talked some more, she laughed and then presented her defender with a kiss. All this was getting a little much for Ron and as he prepared to uphold his sister’s honour, whether she wanted protecting or not, the pair turned and walked towards him. Ginny had a shy smile on her face and the boy….well Ron looked at him and said in a rather loud voice. “Bloody Hell.”

Harry was using his handkerchief to clean up Hermione’s forehead, and regarded the scene before him. “Must have taken a lot of guts to stand up to a giant and then a dragon,” Harry squinted through his dirty glasses, “Who is he anyway?”

Hermione laughed, “I thought you of all people should have recognised him,” and she held an imaginary camera in her hands and mimed taking a picture of Harry.

“You’re kidding?” Harry looked hard at the lad with broad shoulders and a very steady gaze. “Well I never, Colin Creevey.”

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

The Trouble with Trinkets

The attack on Hogsmead was discussed ad nauseam, especially by those who took no part in its defence. It was amazing how many had shot a spell over their shoulders as they had helped others into the meagre shelter of this or that building, or how many had faced the horrors of the giant and the dark wizards. Those who did the actual fighting and had really fired the spells said very little, at least to those who had not been with them, and counted it as very lucky that no one had been killed. There were some very nasty injuries and seven of the most serious were still in St Mungo’s, all but one were expected to make a complete recovery, given time.

The student for whom time would not prove to be the great healer was quite unconcerned about his fate, he felt no pain, and had no memories of the spell that struck him down. That was the problem he had no memories at all. The Aurors had found the lad wandering the streets not knowing who or where he was, by some sad mischance it appeared that Theodore Nott had been obliviated, and bright student that he used to be, the now ex-member of Slytherin house would be spending some considerable time being re-educated. Eventually he would lead a completely normal life, except that the life he would lead would not be his own, and perhaps considering his family’s past and present that was no bad thing. For when it was learned that an uncle of his had led the attack on Hogsmead, all sympathy for the boy suddenly evaporated, and he didn’t have all that much to begin with.

Ron glared at his sister and the boy sitting next to her in the library where they were working together, and made an uncomplimentary noise by sucking air through his teeth. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading.

“Oh for goodness sake Ron, give them a break,” she whispered at him. “She seems so much happier, and what’s wrong with him anyway?”

“Nothing I suppose,” was the morose reply, “but honestly Hermione, Colin Creevey? Surely she could do better that that?”

Hermione regarded Ron critically; not having brothers or sisters herself it made him hard to judge, but she felt that he was taking brotherly concern a little too far in this case. “How many boys do you know that would have acted in the same way and stood between Ginny and a giant, and then a possible attack from a dragon?”

“Apart from me?”

“Yes, you don’t count,” she said dryly.

“Thanks,” and then he thought for a while, “One,” he said eventually.

“Who?” she asked, already knowing what he would say, and Ron knew that she knew.

“Harry,” he said with a resigned tone, and it was the right answer. So Hermione gave him an over the glasses look and a questioning raise of her eyebrows. “Oh…well I suppose in that case,” and as Ginny looked up he caught her eye and gave her a big grin. She stared back at him and sadly shook her head quite convinced that her brother was still a little dizzy from the effects of all those stunners, and was possibly quite mad.

* * *

Harry was back in the Gryffindor common room, he had spent most of the morning with the Headmistress and Kingsley Shacklebolt going through the incident in Hogsmead. The fallout from the attack had not been all bad, although Hogsmead weekends were now a thing of the past for the foreseeable future; one of the beneficial consequences was that there now appeared to be the addition of a draconic guard for the school. Norbert was to be allowed to stay and become a permanent fixture.

Hermione’s fears for Hagrid and Gawp proved groundless. Despite Norbert’s reaction to the other giants his meeting with the Magical Creatures Professor and his brother proved that the dragon had obviously retained his ‘attachment’ to Hagrid and that possibly because of Gawp’s relatively small stature, well at least for a giant he was tolerated as well.

Hagrid was of course ecstatic at having his pet back, though Harry privately thought that the idea that Norbert could be considered a pet was all in Hagrid’s mind. The dragon himself must have thought so too, as he refused to use the nest that Hagrid prepared for him down by his hut, using instead the cave high up in the mountains behind the castle that he had used since his escape from Mountfitchet Castle. Harry had seen the place for himself; he had followed the dragon on a broom, marvelled at the view, and returned to reassure Hagrid that Norbert was living in draconic luxury.

Now Harry was waiting for Hermione, he was sitting on the sofa and dozing in front of the fire, when she slipped through the portrait hole and crept up behind him. As she leaned over the back of the sofa to wake him with a kiss she found herself grabbed by the arms and pulled forwards to end up in Harry’s lap.

“That’ll teach you to try and creep up on me,” he said, smiling at her, but she didn’t care because she got her kiss in the end. They sat and talked for a while and the conversation eventually came around to the fight in Hogsmead, but it was Hermione who brought up the comparison.

“November and Hogsmead don’t go together well do they Harry?”

“Why, what do you mean?” he asked from the depths of the part of his girlfriend where her neck met her shoulder.

“Harry! someone might come in,” she giggled half-heartedly trying to defend herself, “Well, first there was the year when you found out about Sirius, when you thought he was the one who betrayed your parents. Then last year was when you nearly strangled Mundungus, and this year… Ohh Harry …don’t!” And much to her surprise Harry didn’t.

He emerged from under her hair and sat bolt upright, “Mundungus! I can’t believe I forgot about that slime ball.”

“What about him Harry,” Hermione could not reconcile the little thief with anything important.

“Don’t you remember he had a suitcase full of stuff from Grimmauld Place?” he said. “There were rings, necklaces, cups; all sorts of small items, and other jewellery.” She could see the excitement in his face.

“The locket?” she guessed.

“Exactly,” he replied then he puffed out his cheeks and appeared to deflate. “Trouble is I can’t remember, if it was there.”

“How about trying Dumbledore’s pensive?” Hermione made the suggestion tentatively. She was not the only one that had noticed that Harry rarely mentioned the old man anymore and he never acknowledged the white tomb that drew everyone’s gaze like a magnet. It was almost as if in order to bear the pain he had blanked Dumbledore out of his mind.

He gave her an uncomfortable look, which softened the moment he saw the concern in her eyes. “Yes perhaps that’s not a bad idea,” he conceded, and once having made the decision he was not slow to act on it.

Half an hour later Harry and Hermione were in Professor McGonagall office. The Headmistress had raised no objections to them using the Pensive, only suggesting that they pack it away once they were done. She left the two students with the pensive sitting on the table between them; there was a pause in the proceedings because Harry had absolutely no idea what to do next. Then he tried to remember the way Dumbledore had used the shallow stone bowl and Harry thought back to the time when they were with Molly Weasley cleaning out Grimmauld Place. Cautiously he touched his wand to his temple, and concentrated on the memory he wanted to transfer, Ollivander had told him to always trust his wand and so that is what he did.

As he drew the thoughts from his head and the silver strand touched the bowl of the pensive Harry experienced a very peculiar sensation. It was like being unravelled, memories he didn’t know he possessed flicked past his consciousness like the frames of a film, each one slightly different to the last and each one meaningless until viewed in concert with the others. The last frame passed and Harry broke the contact, the silver stream ceased, and he looked into the pensive to see the memory swirling around like a wind with no air. Hermione was watching him intently.

“You ok Harry?” she asked reaching out to touch his hand.

“Err… Yeah fine,” he smiled but he didn’t sound so sure. He swallowed and the faint feeling of nausea faded away. “Wow! … it’s a really weird feeling, I suppose this must get easier the more you do it.”

“You want to go on?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll be fine, the next bit I’ve done before.” Harry took a sip from the goblet of water Hermione had conjured for him. “Thanks,” he took a deep breath, “right, let’s see what I remember.”

Diving into a memory was a new experience for Hermione and she held tightly to Harry’s hand as they fell, and was comforted by his warm presence. They landed at the back of the drawing room standing in front of the tapestry of the Black family tree, and stared about the dark and dingy room. There on the other side of the room trying to sort out the contents of several glass fronted cupboards were Harry, Hermione, Ron, the twins, Ginny and to the watching Harry’s sadness, Sirius. The real Harry felt the squeeze of her hand as Hermione saw the object of his gaze, then sighing, for what might have been, he concentrated on the scene before them.

He had forgotten how many bits of this and that they had cleared out that summer, he did recall that he never wanted to embark on another house tidying as long as he lived, but then he expected that most boys felt that way, it never occurred to him that Hermione was having exactly the same thoughts. As Harry watched he also became aware that there was something else he had missed, from his new vantage point he saw the little glances Hermione made in his direction, the concerned look on her face and the sadness at his manner.

“I know it’s late, but I am sorry,” said Harry.

“Sorry for what?” Hermione asked, never taking her eyes off the stream of trinkets that descended into Sirius’ sack.

“That,” he pointed as the image Hermione held out a tentative hand of friendship and comfort, which the image Harry completely ignored.

“Oh, yes, well, you had a lot on your plate, and you weren’t in a very good mood.”

“Not a good excuse though is it,” Harry said quietly.

“No, but you’ve made up for it since then,” she gave him a wicked little grin. Then her attention snapped back to the tableau before them. “Look there, in Sirius’ hand.” Sure enough there was a gold locket, it was passed from person to person and all of them attempted to open it, all except Harry who was distracted by Kreacher trying to abscond to the kitchen and his den with a large silver plate. This time they watched the passage of the locket and as with all the other stuff it ended up in the sack which eventually Sirius carried out and up the stairs. The memory ended and Harry and Hermione found themselves back in the Headmistress’s office, staring at each other over the swirling contents of the pensive.

“Do you think Mundungus took it?” Hermione asked.

“It would seem to be a good call, but there is only one way to find out,” he replied scratching his head. Harry looked at his girlfriend and smiled. “I wonder what we would have to do to get sent to Azkaban.”

“You’re not serious Harry!” Ron had grave doubts of his friend’s sanity. “There must be some other way?”

Harry was regretting leading Ron on, he had only suggested blowing up the Minister so they would be sent to Azkaban as a joke. Unfortunately Ron didn’t get it.

“Calm down Ron, neither of us is going to do anything of the sort,” said Hermione giving Harry a glare. “We thought we would wait until the Christmas holiday and have a word with your Dad.” she explained. “We were going to speak to Tonks or Remus but we know they are busy.”

“Oh well in that case,” Ron straightened his ruffled feathers, “I’ll come with you… if you like?”

“Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, mate,” said Harry trying to make up for his error.

* * *

As the scarlet steam engine pulled out of Hogsmead Station, carrying the school home for the Christmas holidays, Harry and Hermione were making their way from the garage by the Shrieking Shack up onto the road that led away from the village. Once they were sure they were out of sight of anyone who may have been outside on that cold and blustery day, they concentrated on their destination and vanished without a sound, seconds later they appeared on the gravel path that ran to the front door of the white cottage in Godrics Hollow. They had six days before they were to meet Ron and Arthur at Grimmauld Place. Ron had sent Pig to his father two days before the end of term with a request from Harry to meet him, the reply had arrived back the following day, and as a consequence all of them would be in London on Friday. For the moment however Harry and Hermione were by themselves and in the security of their new home they intended to make the most of it.

Hermione had become to realise that this sort of existence with Harry at the cottage was her vision of life after Voldemort, but lurking at the back of her mind was her greatest fear that it may never happen. She was well aware that that possibly either she, Harry or both of them may not survive the final meeting with the Dark Lord, so these few days of peace and tranquillity, if they were all they were allowed, would be enjoyed to the full. As the days passed Hermione began to love them more and more and far from her being satisfied she began to crave their continuation, it was not surprising that her determination to see a safe end to the war for all of them grew and grew.

For Harry this place was a refuge, here he could be himself, away from the danger and discomfort that had been his companions for as long as he could remember. True the danger had only become apparent in the last few years but even at Hogwarts he had never felt this free from trouble, and he had to fight the urge to lock the front door and tell the rest of the world to ‘go fish’. He had Hermione, he had their magic to sustain them and he even had Dobby, though how the house elf knew where to come was beyond him, but he knew that it was not enough. He imagined them locked safely inside; Tom’s men in their dark robes searching fruitlessly for them, but beyond the cottage the world would be a sad and blackened place. He could see his friends enslaved, or dead, Hogwarts destroyed, and magic corrupted to an evil force that would control both his own kind and the muggles as well, and he knew that he could not let that happen.

The days passed peacefully enough, the nights were intense in part, and in others so gentle and relaxing that the heights reached were even greater than when the passion was uncontrolled. There was no doubt that the physical side of their relationship was enjoyed by them both. Occasionally there was a little awkwardness, but as their familiarity with each other grew, this became a cause more of giggles than embarrassment, and an understanding of love that neither of them had appreciated until now.

On that last Thursday night Harry had awoken, he was on his back and Hermione was laid across him her body pressing into his. The moon was out and in the pale light that filtered through the window giving everything in the room a bluish glow, he looked down and studied the line of her back. With the sheet pulled back she was uncovered to the base of her spine, her skin was smooth and soft and her body curved just in the right places. As he ran his hand down he felt the warmth of her and her closeness to him which made his heart beat hard in his chest. She moved a little under his touch and made a slight sound in her sleep, Harry gave a sigh of deep contentment, he wondered how he had ever managed without her, but then he had never really been without her had he? From that moment on the train she was part of his life, not quite like now that was true, but she had been there. Now he knew he would never really ‘live’ without her by his side, and he knew that if she wasn’t there he wouldn’t really want to. He shut his eyes again and concentrated on her breathing and the movement of her body that it enjoined, in this wonderful embrace, he was slowly and surely rocked back to sleep again.

The magical alarm was set for six o’clock, and when it began to roar Hermione stirred, she reached for her wand and tapped the small Hungarian Horntail on the head, it stopped its pacing on the bedside table, yawned and curled up once more and went back to sleep. She flopped an arm to Harry’s side of the bed, he wasn’t there but the sheets were still warm from his presence. Raising her head she looked about the room, it was very dark but she could see him standing by the window gazing out to the valley below and the few twinkling lights from Godrics Hollow that reminded them that they were not the only two people on the planet.

“Are you alright Harry?” she asked still with the slur of sleep in her voice.

“Me? yeh I’m ok, I just wish…” his voice tailed off leaving the wish unspoken.

“Yeh, me too,” she said knowing exactly what was on his mind, “Come back to bed Harry, we’ve plenty of time,” her gentle plea was rewarded by Harry slipping back under the covers, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her most soundly. A little later, as the dragon roared once more, they finally disentangled themselves from each other, forced themselves out of bed, and prepared for the trip to London.

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was much as Harry remembered it, although it had benefited from having Remus and Tonks in permanent residence, to Harry it still reminded him too much of Sirius, and the thoughts were painful. Although now reconciled to the death of his parents, it occurred to Harry that everything he ever loved he lost, his Mum and Dad, Sirius, and Dumbledore, were all gone and he wondered where would it end? He gazed at Hermione sitting across the kitchen table from him, she was reading yesterday’s Prophet, she looked up and smiled, and his heart missed a beat, but he put a very firm lid on his morbid thoughts, and grinned back. Ron and Arthur arrived at the house not long after, and Harry skirting around the real reason for wanting to talk to Mundungus, presented his case to the older Weasley.

“Difficult Harry,” Arthur Weasley scratched his balding head, “But visits can be arranged, I expect it will boil down to the way the Minister is feeling about you at the moment.”

“No problem then,” said Ron confidently, “Harry is in Scrimgeour’s good books for now, aren’t you Harry?”

“Err yes, I suppose I am,” He looked questioningly at Ron’s father, how could he not know about the battles at Mountfitchet and Hogsmead? Arthur appeared very distracted, he was often a little vague but this was not the same, then he caught Ron’s eye and Harry knew that all was not well in the Weasley household.

“Dad’s been off work for the last month,” Ron confided to Harry and Hermione later that morning after Arthur had promised to do what he could, “This is his first day back,” Ron took a very deep breath before continuing. “Bill has not been responding well to his… condition,” he said sadly. “He was ok to start with, and using the Wolfsbane potion each month seemed to work, but now each time is worse than the last. Ginny and I only found out how bad things were when we got home. I always thought Bill would be ok, …I mean …not normal or anything, but like Remus, coping, now I don’t know…Mum and Dad have taken it very hard. You see we haven’t had any official visitors to the Burrow since it became obvious that Bill was in such a bad way.” Ron was controlling himself well until Hermione put an arm around his shoulders, then several large tears appeared and rolled down his cheeks. “So they know very little about what is going on, Ginny and I didn’t even tell them about Umbridge and the Slytherins. We couldn’t give them anything more to worry about could we?” Ron looked back and forth between his two friends willing them to tell him that he had done the right thing.

“Course not mate.” said Harry emphatically, “I only wish there was something we could do to help.”

Hermione slapped her hand against her forehead, “Damn I am so stupid, I’ve got it in my bag but I had completely forgotten about it until now.”

“What?” asked Harry.

“Greyback’s potion, I meant to give it to Remus to look at, but maybe Fleur or Bill would be better. Anyway it’s possible it could help the both of them.”

“Do you have any idea what she is talking about Harry?” Ron was looking very confused and upset at the same time.

Harry suddenly smiled as the penny dropped, “Yes,” he said, “It’s all to do….”

But Ron interrupted “I don’t need to know the details, as long as you two think it will help we can try, err… what ever it is.”

The three of them spent the rest of the morning searching Grimmauld Place just to make sure the locket wasn’t sitting on a shelf somewhere in the house asking to be picked up. They found the remnants of Sirius’ sack in the attic room that Buckbeak had used, there were a few bits and pieces scattered over the floor but of the locket there was no sign. The cupboards in the sitting room were as empty as the day they had finished clearing them out two years ago, and as lunch time approached they gave up the search, left the house, and making sure they were no muggles about, apparated to the Burrow.

The Weasley’s home usually full of noise and bustle was quiet and felt strangely empty and Ron’s cry of “MUM!” echoed eerily around the house. The sound of shuffling feet heralded the appearance of Molly Weasley as she came into the kitchen from the direction of the sitting room. Harry was shocked and Hermione gave little gasp because the usual jolly but forceful Molly was replaced by a pale shrunken old woman, the only part of her face that had any colour were her eyes and they were red from crying. Ron sagged, clearly upset by his mother’s condition, then shouldering the woes of his family, straightened and putting a comforting arm around Molly helped her to the kitchen table. There was no need for words between the three friends, the expression on Ron’s face said it all. Harry felt the lump rise in his throat, these people were as good as family to him and at the moment helping them was as important as getting Voldemort. Hermione was trying to be business like but the tears were pricking at her eyes as she watched, and her voice wavered with emotion as she asked Ron where she might find Fleur and Bill.

“Percy’s old room I think Hermione,” Ron told her not taking his eyes of his mother.

“Thanks Ron,” she moved to the stairs, “Harry?” she called beckoning to him.

“Err… right.” and he started to follow her, when he was halted by a very quiet voice.

“Nice to see you again Harry,”

“Thank-you Mrs Weasley it’s…..” he didn’t know how to continue.

“Don’t worry Harry,” Ron cut in, “Go and see if you can help Hermione. We’ll make some tea won’t we Mum?” he said with mock cheerfulness.

“Yes dear of course,” but there was no heart in the words.

Harry shook his head sadly and followed Hermione up the stairs, she was waiting for him on the landing, she threw her arms around him and began to cry quietly into his shoulder.

“Do you really think Greyback’s potion will help in any way?” Harry asked as he comforted his girlfriend.

“I don’t know Harry,” Hermione dried her eyes on the sleeve of her coat, “I just don’t know.”

The visit with Bill and Fleur was possibly even more traumatic than seeing Molly so badly affected. Bill was obviously seriously ill and even though it transpired that the St. Mungo’s healers had given up on him, Fleur remained stoically positive that she could help him. While Hermione and Fleur discussed the potion at great lengths, Harry sat in the chair at Bill’s bedside and wondered if he could do anything to help the man. There was more than just the lycanthropy affecting Bill that was very clear, Harry wondered if Greyback’s bite carried something else as well, some form of venom, that was slowly killing Ron’s oldest brother.

Harry remained behind when Fleur and Hermione apparated, taking the potion to the wizarding hospital to see if the healers thought it may be of use. He sat quietly next to the fitfully sleeping Bill and his thoughts turned to someone he had tried to wipe from his mind last June. He had tried because it was less painful than remembering, but it hadn’t really worked, the old man was always there; a small version of him sat on Harry’s shoulder whispering in his ear, and usually Harry listened to the advice. Now, in this sad place, Harry really concentrated on the essence that made up Albus Dumbledore, what advice would he give?

Harry unconsciously gripped his wand tightly in his hands as he thought. The Headmasters face became blindingly clear in his mind and Harry opened his eyes. The picture remained, Harry could almost see Dumbledore standing in front of him, and he asked his question.

“What do I do?”

Harry’s imagined Dumbledore winked at him, and his eyes twinkled behind his half moon glasses, then he stepped to one side and flourished his arm at the window as if in introduction and as he faded from Harry’s mind the most wonderful sound of Phoenix song soared above the groaning of the man in the bed. Harry rushed to the window and opened it, an icy blast made him shiver then with a flurry of gold and scarlet feathers a large bird flew into the room and landed on his shoulder.

“’Lo Fawkes,” Harry greeted the phoenix in a very quiet voice. The bird warbled in recognition and lowered his head to touch Harry on the cheek. The touch was light and fleeting but Harry instantly felt the wetness on his skin as a phoenix tear rubbed off on his face. Fawkes hopped down onto the table and looked sideways at Harry, the tears continued dripping from the bird’s eyes and splashed on to the polished wooden surface. The realisation hit Harry like a hammer blow and he grabbed a glass goblet from those set with the water pitcher by Bill’s bedside and began to catch the drops.

“Do you think this will help?” Harry asked of Fawkes, who did not reply but turning his head from side to side continued to cry. “Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be doing this,” Harry went on, still talking to the Phoenix and answering his own question at the same time. Harry gazed at the beautiful animal and continued his one sided conversation.

“How on earth did you know to come?” he marvelled, and in answer the bird lifted one foot and placed it on the wand Harry had placed on the table, when he had picked up the goblet. “Oh,” Harry almost sounded disappointed, “I thought …just hoped really that… silly of me,” and he lapsed into silence.

The Phoenix had stopped crying now and looked expectantly at Harry, who with goblet in hand leaned over to Bill and lifted his head from the pillow. He placed the glass to the lips that moved incessantly in delirium and he tipped it and the phoenix tears ran into Bills mouth. Fawkes began to sing, Bill gagged then swallowed, and as the phoenix song grew louder and louder Harry could feel the magical sound lift him as renewed hope flooded into his very being. As the song reached its climax the bedroom door opened to reveal Ron and his mother standing on the threshold, Harry turned and for the first time saw hope in Molly’s face, Ron was just grinning from ear to ear. The last notes faded away and Fawkes hopped from the table to the windowsill, at a tap from his beak the windows slowly opened and Fawkes turned his head once more to Harry.

“Thanks Fawkes,” Harry said smiling at the Phoenix who warbled in reply and then spreading his wings he threw himself into the air. Three faces crowded at the window and watched as the bird rapidly diminished in the sky and then vanished from view. A cough from the bed drew them back inside to see Bill lever himself up off the pillows and regard them with a look of puzzlement.

“What’s been going on Mum? And where is Fleur?” he said in a rather shaky voice.

“You’ve been rather unwell,” she managed the understatement well considering the tears that were rolling down her face. She turned and gripped Harry in a fierce embrace. “Thank-you Harry, I don’t know what we would do without you.” and she gave him a very wet kiss on the cheek.

Harry only went slightly pink and was rescued by Ron who clapped him on the back “Come on Harry let’s go downstairs I think there are some butterbeers in the larder.” he gave Harry a conspiratorial wink.

“Thanks Ron I could do with one,” and Harry allowed himself to be led away from a rapidly improving Bill and an increasingly mothering Molly.

Harry sat and drank his butterbeer while Ron busied himself trying to contact the rest of his family. Setting a magical fire in the grate, Ron stuck his head in the green flames at the same time saying quite clearly “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.” Harry couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation but once back in the kitchen Ron’s head said “Fred, George, and Ginny. …She’s working there during the holidays,” he added by way of explanation. Then his head disappeared again with the epithet “Ministry of Magic, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.” After a short silence Ron reappeared, his face was all sooty and his hair was smoking gently, Harry handed him a towel, before he burst into flames. “Phew! Thanks. Well that’s everyone; Dad will pass the word onto Percy and Charlie, do you know where Fleur and Hermione went?”

“St.Mungo’s I think,” Harry replied as he passed a bottle of butterbeer to his charred friend.

“Well we will just have to wait until they get back, they could be anywhere.” and Ron took a large swig out of his bottle. “Hot work.” and he smiled at Harry, then for no particular reason the two of them burst out laughing.

Hermione knew something had changed the instant she entered the kitchen with Fleur, both of them stopped in amazement because they were greeted by the sight of a much happier Molly Weasley standing by the stove heating some soup and singing a merry little tune.

“Bill’s much better!” Molly cried as she saw Fleur standing there with a look of astonishment on her face, the younger Mrs Weasley needed no further encouragement and giving a shriek of joy dashed towards the stairs and was up them in an instant.

“What’s been going on?” Hermione asked Ron and Harry as she joined them at the kitchen table.

“Our Harry has had a visitor,” said Ron passing Hermione a bottle of butterbeer, and she shot a look at her boyfriend.

“Fawkes,” said Harry simply.

“Phoenix tears,” Hermione gasped, and Harry could see the hope in her eyes.

“Yes and a bit of a song.” Harry closed his eyes remembering that sweet sound.” That did us all the world of good,” he added.

The atmosphere in the Burrow that evening was much lighter than it had been for quite some while and all the family, even Percy, were in attendance. Harry and Hermione sat quietly in a corner while the Weasleys engaged each other in their usual attempts to out Weasley each other and for once Molly didn’t try to calm them down. The high jinks came to an end, when in an effort to get at George; Fred began to levitate the kitchen table out of his way. At this point Molly intervened and everyone was obliged to settle and continue with less potentially destructive pursuits. Ginny, who had been giving Harry and Hermione surreptitious glances for most of the evening and gauging her mother’s reaction to the closeness of the pair decided that the time was right for her to ask for a favour of her own.

“Would you mind if I had a friend over for part of the Christmas Holidays?” was the quietly asked question she put to her mother.

Molly thought for a moment working out the logistics of another body to find room for. “I can’t see any problem, she’ll have to share with you, Luna, if she comes, and possibly Hermione,” then she looked at the last named sitting on Harry’s lap with her arms around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder. “Though maybe not Hermione,” she added thoughtfully. Ginny gave a little giggle at her mother’s expression, it was not disapproving, if anything it was a little wistful, and Ginny decided it was safe to continue.

“Err… he is not a girl,” Ginny said slowly and deliberately.

Molly’s eyebrows shot up so far that they were almost launched off her face. “Why do you want to ask a boy?” said Molly before she realised how stupid the question was. Her children were growing up far too fast and the realisation hit her that Ginny was no longer a little girl, well it had to happen some time, and the reason was obvious, but the answer Ginny gave her was not the one she expected.

“Because he saved my life,” Ginny said it slightly louder than she intended and the conversation in the room suddenly went very quiet. Ron groaned, and the look on Arthur’s face betrayed the fact that he had learned a few things once he had returned to work that he had failed to pass on to his wife. So now there was nothing for it but to tell her everything, and as they did so Molly’s face reflected anger, horror and finally thankfulness that her children had survived relatively unscathed. Harry listened not to the story, he knew it well but to the small voice that was talking in his mind, and now it had talked it had implanted that thought yet again. Harry hated that thought, he had almost controlled it, but it had got away from him again, and it sat there pointing the accusing finger. There was no doubt that because of him Ginny and Ron had been in danger. He needed to apologise, to beg forgiveness, to explain, Harry stood dislodging Hermione from his lap and walked over to Molly.

“I’m so sorry Mrs Weasley this is all my…” but he was prevented from going on by a chorus of “NO IT’S NOT” from the Weasleys and Hermione. His panic subsided, now he stood there rather embarrassed not knowing what to say, so Molly said it for him.

“Oh Harry, what are we going to do with you?” she smiled at him. “I can’t stop you from blaming yourself but you must know that none of us blame you. This is a fight that no one wants but we are in it. Some of us have been in one before; we know what it is like,” she glanced at Arthur, “you mustn’t take everything so personally, as long as we win in the end that is all that matters.”

Harry nodded accepting her words all the time knowing that as far as Tom and he were concerned it was very personal. At least Ron and Hermione knew and he thought that Professor McGonagall had guessed that the war would not end until the two of them met, and it comforted him that his friends had confidence in him. He wondered how the rest would feel if they knew that their future depended on a seventeen year old partly trained wizard defeating the most evil mind the wizarding world possessed. They must never know and he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and accepted Mrs Weasley’s assurances that all would be well.

Hermione watched Harry closely, perhaps she knew him too well but that was a near thing, everything had become much clearer to him since his talk with his parents but the longer this all went on the harder it was going to be for him to remain focused, there were too many blind alleys, false leads and disappointing results, what they needed now was a bit of luck.

“This is a bit of luck.” said Harry the following morning. He was reading the owl he had received from the Ministry not two minutes ago. Arthur had confided in him last night that permission was likely to be given for him to visit Mundungus but he would have to wait for official notification. Now he had it the brilliant green words standing out on the cream parchment, and the Ministry seal in bright red wax to make it official. “It’s an open pass,” he told Hermione, “we can go when we like.”

“Sooner the better don’t you think?” she replied linking arms with him as they walked to the wall at the end of the Weasley’s garden.

“Just what I was going to say,” said Ron, walking with them at Harry’s other side.

Harry grinned, progress he liked that. “My thoughts exactly, ready?” they all took one last look at the apparation directions on the parchment and then silently they vanished.

Ginny sighed, she had been watching them out of the kitchen window, and jumped a little when her mother spoke from directly behind her.

“Sad Ginny?”

“No, not really, just thinking,” She replied, then she turned to her mother and asked,

“Mum, you never said last night, can Colin come for Christmas?”

“Can’t really say no, can I?” and her mother smiled at her daughter’s jubilation.

“Thanks I’ll send him an owl straight away.”

* * *

The apparation point on the island that held Azkaban prison was a wind swept patch of stone close to the main gates of the forbidding edifice that was constantly pounded by the restless seas that surrounded it. At least the spray from the waves didn’t quite reach this spot, but the air was damp with it and Harry was rapidly losing his ability to see as his glasses misted over. He felt the tap of a wand against the frame of the now useless pair of spectacles and like magic the lenses cleared and he could see the smiling face of Hermione as she replaced her wand in her coat pocket.

“Thanks,” he said and smiled back, “Do you reckon we have to knock?” but his question went unanswered, as the sound of the small sally port in the main door being unlocked and swung open, made it irrelevant.

A hand appeared in the opening and a long crooked finger beckoned them in, as the hand withdrew into the gloom beyond the door the three glanced at each other, then Harry shrugged his shoulders and walked forwards. It was very dark inside and almost as damp, it was also bitterly cold. The wizard waiting for them was not very tall and he held a shielded lantern in one hand and the edge of the door in the other, which he pushed shut immediately the three had entered. He wore a long thick cloak similar to those that many wizards used when travelling, but as Harry surmised correctly he rarely travelled, the cloak was purely for warmth.

“Sneck,” the man said.

“Sorry?” said Ron.

The man grumbled in irritation, “My name is Sneck,” he said it slowly as if he was talking to an idiot, and looking at Ron the whole time. “Which of you is Potter?”

“Err… that’s me,” said Harry.

“Pass?” Sneck was not one to waste words. Harry fumbled in his coat pocket and retrieved the parchment bearing the Ministry seal. Sneck appeared to scrutinise the document thoroughly though Harry doubted he could see much in the dim light. The man mumbled as he read, then seemingly satisfied said in a clearer voice, “This way,” and he shuffled off down the passageway that led into the depths of the prison.

The building was a labyrinth of dark and dingy corridors that split and divided in so many directions that Harry knew he would never be able to find his way out again without their strange guide. He imagined this maze full of Dementors as well, truly a prison it would be impossible to escape from, and yet Sirius had managed it. He wondered who guarded the prison now that the Dementors were gone, and was about to ask when Hermione beat him to it.

Sneck fixed her with a disturbing stare. “Unwise to ask, and I would be more of a fool to answer,” he said cryptically, “but the Wizengamont always had the option to use them only Dumbledore would never allow it,” he tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial gesture. “Smart man that Dumbledore, he maintained that they were too dangerous and would get away from us one day. Just like the Dementors did but it will be much worse for us and the muggles if they ever do.”

Hermione paled at his explanation and swallowed nervously, but asked. “What do ‘They’ do to you?”

“To look them in the eyes causes madness in an instant, scrambles your brains they do. No chance of fighting them off, none at all and at their touch the flesh begins to melt off your bones. If you are lucky you may even die.” The strange little man shuddered at the thought. “Seen it once, never want to see it again” he said. “When they are abroad only safe place is in the cells.”

“They won’t attack us will they?” asked Ron the nervousness obvious in his voice.

“No they won’t,” Sneck replied. He flourished the Ministry pass Harry had given him. “That is why this is so important.”

“Oh,” Ron sounded very dubious that a piece of parchment was going to protect anyone from anything so horrible that they wouldn’t put a name to it, but Sneck would say no more.

After what seemed like hours they stopped in front of a cell door, Sneck touched it once with his wand, and a ringing sound like a hammer hitting an anvil reverberated down the passage. “Mundungus Fletcher, visitors!” Sneck called out, and the door swung open. “I will wait for you over there,” he told Harry indicating an empty cell on the other side of the corridor. “Do not come out until I come for you.” With that he turned on his heel and walked away. Harry and the others hurried into Dung’s cell and Ron pushed the door shut behind them.

Mundungus looked like prison didn’t agree with him. If it was possible he was even shabbier than ever, he stared at the young witch and wizards standing in his cell not believing that they were there until Harry spoke.

“How are you Dung?” he asked. Although he didn’t like the man and had felt no sympathy for his plight when he heard he had been arrested, he now realised what an awful place Azkaban was and he pitied the sneak thief.

“Harry that you?” Mundungus mumbled, “’Course can see it is.” There was no bitterness in his voice, he sounded mightily tired, and as if all hope had left him. “I got a year Harry, did you know? A whole year, …in this place it might as well be a thousand.” He gazed at the confines of his bare cell. “If the inside doesn’t send you mad, then those things out there will.” he nodded toward the corridor. “Can you get me out early Harry?” the man was pleading now, “I’ll do anything, anything you ask. I’ll not last a whole year, not a whole year.”

This despair was no act, even Harry could see that, and Hermione was gripping his hand tightly and when he looked at her Harry could see the compassion in her eyes. Strangely it was Ron who appeared unaffected by the thief’s condition and he remained stony faced, and unforgiving.

“I don’t know if I can do anything Dung, but if you help us I will see what I can do.” Harry said with sincerity.

“Anything Harry anything, like I said,” there was hope in his eyes, only a glimmer but it was hope, and mixed in with it was a tiny bit of the old Fletcher cunning.

“I want to know if you have ever seen this,” Harry drew his wand and made a circling motion and floating in midair was an enlarged image of the locket, it spun slowly on one end as if to display itself. “It was in Sirius’ house, was it amongst the things you took?”

Mundungus stared hard at the gold trinket. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

“Damn, think Dung think,” said Harry sharply.

“I don’t know Harry, I wasn’t the only one to take things” the thief wailed, “but…” he beckoned Harry closer, “I never sold any of the stuff from ‘you know where’, it’s with all my other things …in my stash.”

“And where might that be,” said Harry tightly.

“Oh can’t tell you that. Get me out and I’ll take you there.” Mundungus realised he had a bargaining chip and intended to use it.

“No,” the pronouncement sounded very final and Mundungus winced. “In fact,” Harry countered, “if you don’t tell me, much as I would hate to do it, I will tell the Ministry you are withholding vital information that could help in the defeat of Voldemort,” the name made Mundungus squeak and shuffle back on his bed. “How much longer would they keep you here then?”

The thief agonised over letting this prize piece of information out of his possession but he knew he wouldn’t get one over on Harry, not today, and his shoulders sagged. “Ok Harry you win, just do your best for me.” He scribbled on a scrap of parchment. “That’s the address. It will be locked up but I don’t suppose she will find it hard to get in,” he nodded toward Hermione and scowled at her. “Don’t forget to lock it up again afterwards,” he added as Harry turned to call for Sneck.

As the warder opened the door to the cell Harry took one last look at Mundungus Fletcher. His pity was tempered by the man’s insatiable deviousness. “One last thing Dung,” Harry spoke clearly so there would be no doubting his meaning, “When you do get out of here, look for another country to practice your art in, because if you get caught again I will make it my business to see you stay in this prison for a very long time.”

The little man gave a nervous giggle, he wasn’t sure if Harry was being serious, but he made his mind up not to put it to the test. “Right you are Harry,” he waved them goodbye, “Right you are.”

The journey back through the dark corridors seemed to take an age and would have been quite uneventful but for the sound of a name spoken with such malice that the words sent a shiver down the backs of all three of the youngsters.

“Harry Potter,” the voice had lost much of its superciliousness, but it was laced with a loathing that was unmistakable. “Well, well didn’t imagine I would ever see you in here.”

Harry turned and framed in the bars of the small opening in one of the cell doors was a face. It was long and thin and the white blonde hair was long and thin as well, both were streaked with dirt, it seemed that Azkaban was being as hard on Lucius Malfoy as it was on Mundungus.

“I see that the blood traitor and the little mudblood are still in tow,” he said giving Ron and Hermione a meaningful glare. “I am surprised that one or other hasn’t succumbed to the Dark Lord yet, but I suppose there is still time,” Lucius laughed and although the laugh turned into a hacking cough it didn’t stop him from watching with interest as Ron bridled at the taunt and that Hermione grabbed a tighter hold of Harry’s arm and tried to pull him back. “The mudblood has some sense after all,” goaded Lucius, but the young wizard was not to be drawn, he stared back at the face his gaze steady. Hermione continued to try to encourage Harry to leave but he steadied her and to reassure her all was well her took her hand, kissed and patted it, replacing it on his arm once again. Malfoy grinned, “Oh so that is the way of it eh Harry? Enjoy her while you can. The Dark Lord may have forgotten me but you can be sure he won’t have forgotten you, or your little friends.”

a

Harry was not unaffected by Lucius’ taunts for Hermione holding on to his arm could feel him trembling, as he fought to control the thoughts in his mind and she surmised prevent himself from unleashing a spell at Draco’s father.

As it was Harry finally found his voice, “Don’t worry about us Mr Malfoy, we can take care of ourselves,” he smiled at the man, “I would have thought that under the circumstances you would be more concerned about Draco.” Lucius’ eyes took on a look of incomprehension, he obviously knew little of what was happening on the outside, and with those few words Harry had neatly planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Harry turned from the cell leading Ron and Hermione away, by the time they reached the next corner Lucius must have regained some of his composure and they heard him shout,

“What about Draco? …What has happened to him? …POTTER! ...POTTER!” But he received only silence from the departing group and then he heard the gentle rustling sound as the guards returned to his corridor, and he backed away from the door in fear.

The frantic shouting faded into the distance and as it did Harry felt the tension leave him and he relaxed into the girl by his side. Hermione snuggled as close as she could as they walked down the dark corridors, and he in return held on to her, welcoming her warmth and support.

“Not very proud of that, like kicking someone when they’re down.” said Harry quietly in Hermione’s ear.

“And you think he wouldn’t have done the same? Do him good to worry for a change.” she said with none of the sympathy she had shown for Mundungus.

“Shows he does care about someone other than himself,” put in Ron, only hearing half of the conversation. “Phew! Glad we got away from there, I though you were going to hex him for sure,” said Ron to Harry as they descended the final spiral staircase to the main door.

“Close,” said Harry.

“Fortunate,” said Sneck. “The use of magic in the halls draws the err… guards, the parchment would not have protected us then.”

“Would Malfoy have known that?” asked Hermione shakily. Sneck nodded and she looked to Harry who puffed out his cheeks in relief that he had not responded, it had obviously been a fairly near thing.

* * *

They returned to the Burrow and appeared in the lane that skirted around the garden. It was dark, even this early in the evening, and the light from the kitchen streamed out on to the short path that led from the garden gate to the back door. The movement of people inside the kitchen made the light flicker and Harry correctly guessed that the whole of the Weasley clan and friends were gathered to celebrate Bill’s return to normality, if still being a werewolf could be called normal. Ron ran on in front eager to join the festivities, but Harry hung back and Hermione, still holding tightly to him, stayed with him.

“What’s up Harry?” she asked, knowing precisely what the problem was. “You want to find out if it’s there don’t you?”

Harry gave her an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you from all that …it looks nice and warm in there,” he said pointing up the path to the house, then he shivered himself, “But if we don’t get a break soon I think I am going to go crazy. Do you mind?”

“No need to ask, where is that address?”

Harry fumbled in his coat pocket, “Here it is,” and he tipped the parchment into the light from the house. “14 Weavers Row, Monkton on Stow. Never heard of it, can’t be much of a place,” he said and Hermione nodded in agreement. “Is it enough of a direction to apparate to or should we use the bike?” he asked her.

Hermione considered, very briefly, a long trip on the Brutus Vampire on such a cold evening, and shivered at the thought, sketchy directions they may be but they would suit her, “No it will be fine, just concentrate very hard on the address.” So that is what they did, and the pair of them vanished without a sound.

The night was even darker here than it had been at the Burrow and much colder. The moon crept out from behind a cloud and for a moment illuminated a really depressing landscape. The old factory, with its tall chimney and the small cramped streets that surrounded it, looked deserted. Many of the houses had boarded windows and those that didn’t had broken panes of glass which only served to reinforce the desolation of the area. None of the street lamps were working and when the moon disappeared again the street was plunged back into darkness, skittering noises made them both jump and although they were invisible in the black of night Harry and Hermione knew that the place was infested with rats.

The moon provided a few moments of light again and Hermione quickly checking the faded number painted on the dirty green door confirmed they were outside number 14, she drew her wand and touched it to the lock “Alohomora” there was a click but the door remained closed Harry watched as Hermione considered her options to circumnavigate the little thief’s security. Decision made she touched the lock again “Solvere Alohomora” and with a click the door moved back a few inches. Hermione gave Harry a quick grin of achievement and Harry smiled back he had not expected anything else from her. Harry gave the door a push and the it swung inwards silently on well oiled hinges, the smell of damp and decay was much stronger in the short hallway that led to a flight of stairs, but as up was the only way to go, up they went. Harry used his wand to light the way and as the landing only gave access to three doors the search took very little time. One doorway was to a small and very dirty bathroom, the second to a bedroom devoid of all furniture save the rickety looking bed, but it was the third room which overlooked the front of the house that contained the jackpot. Several boxes and a chest full of drawers and on the floor near the window the suitcase that Harry remembered Mundungus carrying that day in Hogsmead.

The sky outside had cleared and the moonlight fell through the window onto the suitcase illuminating it as if held in a spotlight. Harry extinguished his wand with a flick and they crossed the floor and knelt by the window. Hermione reached out and undid the clasp of the suitcase then lifted it open, the contents of the case glittered in the pale light and slowly she removed one item after another laying them out so that they could see exactly what each piece was.

The last trinket was placed on the floor and Hermione growled in frustration because the locket was not there. “I don’t understand, if it’s not at Grimmauld Place and its not here, where on earth could it be.” She was voicing Harry’s thoughts and he was struggling to find the answer as well. “It’s almost as if some sprite had whisked it away.”

Harry held out his hand to stop her talking, an idea had just come to him and he didn’t want to lose it. “Dung said he was not the only one to take things from Sirius’ house, remember?”

“Err… yes I think so,” Hermione replied wondering where this was leading.

“And in the pensive who else was trying to take stuff out? We’re not looking for a sprite Hermione; we’re looking for an elf.”

“Kreacher?” she asked in surprise. “But Harry you checked out his den ages ago and it wasn’t there then.”

“I know but that was after I sent him away, and if he has it with him now, then it will be at Hogwarts.”

Hermione thought Harry was grasping at straws, but they were becoming desperate so any lead had to be followed. She slumped down and leaned against the wall, glancing out of the window as she did so. She would be very glad to leave this place it was so depressing, some parts of the wizarding world were old and dark but this place of muggle desolation was worse. There was someone shuffling down the street. He was a small fat man who moved with quick jerky movements as if he was afraid that someone was about to jump out on him. He could have been any of the old tramps that must use this area as a doss, and Hermione’s heart went out to this unknown who had to exist in such depravity only when he turned and the moonlight struck him full in the face, did Hermione recognised him, and only barely manage to stifle her cry of surprise.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

The Watcher in the Tower

He had done the Dark Lord’s bidding but in the end he had failed him, and he didn’t know why. Draco Malfoy had much time on his hands these days, and he spent most of it thinking about the events of his last year at Hogwarts, and especially what had occurred on the balcony of the astronomy tower. The attempts he had made to attack and destroy the Headmaster had appeared direct enough to him, but the more he thought about it the more he realised that Dumbledore had been correct, they were done out of desperation and fear of failure. Had he really put his heart and soul into succeeding?

That is what frightened him the most, the thought that he hadn’t really wanted to kill the old man and that when the time came that thought stopped him from completing the task. For someone with his pedigree, with his innate longing for the power of the dark wizards it was a straight forward act, to kill the enemy, …but, and that was it the ‘but’ he couldn’t overcome. Snape had saved him by doing the deed himself and had since told the Dark Lord that it was he, Draco who had cast the curse that had swept the life from the Headmaster. So perhaps he was safe, but he owed Snape and repaid him by doing what he asked of him, which is why on this December day he was cooped up in this depressingly small house that Snape called home.

Since the day they ran from Hogwarts this place had become Draco’s refuge. In company with his ex-Professor and that small greasy man Wormtail, he had remained hidden, not only from the revenge of the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, but from the immediacy of the Dark Lord as well. Draco was well aware that his life was safe as long as Lord Voldemort thought he had completed his task, and in order to perpetuate that illusion he could never meet him face to face, only Snape could withstand the Dark Lord’s mastery of Legilimency, he was possibly the only wizard who could.

Snape had woven a story so complete and so believable that Draco was left under his supervision to be educated in the ways of the dark arts so that he would prove more useful in times to come. Snape had taught him certainly, but Draco suspected not as thoroughly or intensively as he could have, and it maybe that others had come to the same conclusion. For only last week Wormtail had returned from one of his short absences from Spinners End in company with a large snake. This animal, Draco was sure, he had seen in company with the Dark Lord, and when not curled up asleep it would slide around the house or lie and listen to the lessons Snape would give.

Draco did not consider the duplicity of Severus Snape or if he had an agenda that only he was following, he had seen him blast Dumbledore off the top of the tower, there was no question in his mind where the loyalties of the Professor lay. Had Draco remembered more about the way the killing curse worked then he would have doubted more, but his ignorance saved him.

The front door opened and Wormtail, preceded by an icy wind, stumbled through. He had patrolled the local streets every night since his return with the snake, and had always found them the same, dark and deserted, but tonight Draco noticed that the man was looking even more fearful than usual. His movements were fast and jerky as he looked about the room, his gaze finally settling on the coils of Nagini where they were as usual wound around the chair closest to the fire.

“There is someone out there, in the next street,” Peter Pettigrew spoke to the reptile. The snake raised her head and regarded the fat man with her slit like eyes. Peter squeaked in fear, her presence terrified him, in his animagus form he was her natural prey and when those expressionless eyes stared at him he had to fight his instinct to run. “It may be a muggle, one of those tramps, but I definitely saw a light in a house in the next street.”

Nagini’s head wove from side to side and a hissing sound issued from her mouth, a sound that was unintelligible to both Wormtail and Draco as the speech of the snakes could only be understood by a parslemouth. The fat man fumbled in his pocket for the piece of parchment that the Dark lord had given him. He unfolded it and as the snake hissed, the words appeared on the yellowed square.

“Take the boy and investigate, if it is a muggle kill it.”

“Just like that?” Pettigrew’s protest was very mild, “And what if it is a wizard?”

“Bring it to me,” appeared on the page, and then the words faded as had the ones before.

Peter hesitated then jumped backwards as Nagini made to strike at him, knowing that there was no way he could counter the snake’s wishes Peter beckoned to Malfoy.

“Come Draco, we have a job to do.”

“Professor Snape told me not to leave the house unless he was with me,” Draco’s dissention was more for the sake of it rather than the fact that he cared. Cooped up in this prison for months he was dying to get out, Snape had never thought it worth the risk and perhaps he was right.

“You will not disobey the Master!” Wormtail spat out, eyeing Nagini nervously. “Be assured what she knows he knows, the orders are his not hers.”

That little piece of information gave Draco something else to worry about. Had he ever spoken his secret out loud, thinking he was alone, with only the snake for company? No, if he had then the Dark Lord’s retribution would be swift and final, and by now he would be dead. Draco shivered as it came to his mind that if the snake was really an extension of the Dark Lord then perhaps he was not as safe as he had imagined, the snake was obviously here to spy on one of them but who, himself, Wormtail or Snape. This had all passed through his mind in a flash, and with no appreciable pause Draco had grunted his assent to the command and climbed to his feet, retrieving his wand from the table and his cloak from the stand, he gave Nagini one last look as she settled her coils again, and then he followed the fat man out into the cold.

* * *

Hermione had pulled away from the window as soon as she recognised the face in the street below and stretched her wand out to Harry’s touching it lightly and murmuring “Nox.” The faint light that Harry was using to examine the details of one of the trinkets from Mundungus’ case was instantly extinguished.

“What?” he questioned, then at the expression on her face and the movement of her eyes telling him to look outside, he cautiously peered over the windowsill and into the street below. Harry didn’t need to see his face, for that squat bent form was indelibly imprinted on his brain, and “Wormtail,” slowly escaped his mouth and his eyes began to burn with anger. The soft restraining hand that was placed on his shoulder curbed his instinct to rid the world of another piece of unwanted trash.

Hermione’s, “No Harry, please wait,” steadied him further.

They watched as the nervous little man looked this way and that, glancing again and again to the window they were looking out of. The bright moonlight was fading in and out as another bunch of clouds scudded across the sky, and although they were sure he had not seen their faces they were convinced he had seen the light. Pettigrew scuttled out of sight down one of the side alleys and Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet.

“We better get out of here Harry,” Hermione was in no doubt that Wormtail would be back and possibly with reinforcements.

“Yes quite agree, let’s see if we can find out where he went.” Harry was halfway to the door before he realised Hermione wasn’t following.

“That’s not what I meant,” then she sighed knowing that it was useless to protest. “Ok but let’s not rush into things …Slow and quiet, right Harry?”

Harry smiled and held out his hand, “Right… you know me.”

“Exactly,” she replied with feeling, but took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led down and out of the house. At the front door she halted once again pulling Harry to a stop. Hermione shut the door and pointed her wand at the lock, she said nothing but a faint pink spark shot from the end of the wand. It entered through the key hole and a faint click issued from the door.

“There, let Mundungus try to open that again, he’ll have to fly through the window if he wants to make use of his ill gotten gains.”

“I thought you were sorry for him back in Azkaban?” Harry asked.

“I was,” Hermione replied, “But I don’t see he should make a profit out of Sirius.”

Harry smiled at the strange logic of girls. “Well in that case,” the yellow mist that drifted up from Harry’s raised wand settled on the window glass and faded from view, “he won’t get in that way either. …Come on Wormtail went this way.”

The pair slipped across the road and hid in the shadows at the entrance to the cut way, Pettigrew was nowhere in sight. Hand in hand, keeping close to the wall they crept through the narrow alleyway, hoping that they wouldn’t meet anyone coming back the other way, because apart from the dark shadows there was nowhere to hide. The graffiti covered sign proclaimed the next street to be Spinners End and like all the others in the area it appeared to be deserted, and as the moon made yet another foray out from behind the clouds there were even less places to hide.

“Stupid,” Harry heard Hermione mutter the word under her breath, and then the tap of her wand on the top of his head and the familiar feeling of raw egg running down over him as he was disillusioned. “Sorry Harry should have thought of this earlier, will you do the honours?”

Invisibly smiling Harry tapped Hermione with his own wand and as his girlfriend faded from view renewed his grip on her hand so they should not be separated. Still taking care that their almost invisible forms would not be recognised for what they were, they crossed the street to the side that was out of the pale moonlight. Spinners End showed no more signs of habitation than Weavers Row had, but as the wall of the factory backed onto the rear of the houses on this the darker side of the street, Pettigrew could have gone no further. He must be inside one of them but which? Harry and Hermione could do no more other than wait and see if anyone emerged, but even wrapped warm in their dragon hide coats and sitting on a low wall huddled together, they knew it would have to be soon or the cold would get to them.

Fortunately some ten minutes later the dim light from oil lamps seeped out around a partly opened door in a house down by the end of the street. The front door to the house opened fully and Peter Pettigrew stepped onto the pavement, at this point Hermione grabbed hold of Harry and physically restrained him from leaping up to attack the second person who emerged from the house. Even in the light available there was no mistaking the white blonde hair and the long aristocratic face of Draco Malfoy, if there was any doubt to his identity it was shattered when the young wizard spoke.

“Professor Snape won’t be happy about this, Wormtail,” Harry was shaking violently and Hermione was struggling to control him, “I shall tell him when he returns,” Draco’s complaining voice cut through the air.

Pettigrew turned quickly, almost ramming his wand up Draco’s nose and wiggling it in his face. “I have told you once boy that the orders of that snake are the orders of the Master, you would be a fool to disobey him …again.” There was a moments silence while Peter allowed the words to sink in. “Oh yes boy I know, and I know that Snape is covering for you. Now stop mucking about and do as you are told.” With that Pettigrew turned on his heel and marched towards the alleyway, Draco almost had to run to keep up with him.

Hermione could feel Harry’s rage and she held him tight as she whispered in where she thought his ear might be.

“I know how you feel Harry, but now is not the time, slow and steady, you promised.” She felt his invisible body relax in her invisible arms.

“Ok I know, but Wormtail, Malfoy and Nagini all in one place…” he left it hanging there.

“They’ll still be here when we’re ready …didn’t you hear, Draco’s in hiding, I don’t think any of them are going anywhere, they’ll keep.” Hermione tried to be reassuring. “Trust me Harry,” and with invisible lips kissed his invisible cheek. “Let’s go back to the Burrow,” and with that thought the invisible pair disappeared without a sound.

* * *

“Where on earth have you two been!” was the greeting Harry and Hermione received when they stepped through the kitchen door of the Burrow. It was well after midnight and Ron was the only Weasley still sitting by the fire trying to keep warm.

“Oh …err sorry Ron but…” Harry tried hard to come up with a reason why they had left him behind but he wasn’t thinking straight yet.

Hermione pushed Harry into a chair by the large kitchen table then sat herself next to him and turned to Ron. “You seemed so happy to see everyone here this evening, and Harry had this sudden urge to check out Mundungus’ hideout, so we went.”

“And…” she could see that Ron wasn’t really cross with them; perhaps it had been a good party.

“There was nothing in the suitcase….” she replied, “but we might have another lead.”

Ron was staring at Harry, he’d seen that look on his face before. “That’s not all though, is it?”

Hermione was unsure if it was her place to speak out but Harry gave an almost imperceptible nod. “No we found out where Wormtail, Voldemort’s snake, Draco Malfoy, and Professor Snape are hiding.”

Ron’s face had changed from a rosy red the warmth of the fire had given it, to a rather pasty white as Hermione had run off the list. He drew in a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks as he let it go. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, to no one in particular.

There wasn’t much else to say and even less they could do about that particular revelation at this time of night so Hermione suggested they sleep on it and tackle it tomorrow. Harry followed Hermione and Ron up the stairs, he was getting to grips with the shock of seeing Malfoy, but the mention by him of Snape’s name left a burning deep inside that was hard to quench. Ron had opened the door of the twin’s old room and was saying something to Hermione that Harry didn’t catch, he saw her go in and he made to follow Ron up to his room, but a hand snaked out through the open bedroom door grabbed his arm and drew him in.

“Err Hermione, won’t we get into trouble with Molly” he whispered, as she pulled him closer and began to remove his coat.

“Her idea, according to Ron,” she said, “and who are we to argue.”

Harry regarded the inestimably comfortable arrangements Mrs Weasley had made for them and tended to agree with Hermione that they shouldn’t argue at all.

Over the next few days interspersed with normal holiday preparations, the ideas of what to do next were bounced back and forth between Harry, Hermione and Ron. After such a long period when the information and excitement happened in dribs and drabs they now had more on their collective plate than they knew what to do with. It was at time like this that Harry really missed the help and advice of Dumbledore, and there was no Sirius either, although Hermione had grave doubts that his advice would be the best in these circumstances. They knew they had to spread the load so Harry turned to the only other person he thought would understand…….

“Remus how involved with the Ministry are you?” Harry asked his friend and ex-Professor. He had waited to get his father’s old friend on his own, not that he didn’t trust Tonks, far from it, but he didn’t want to put her in a difficult position.

Remus gave Harry a searching look and smiled. “Do they pay me? No. …Do I tell Tonks everything?......How much do you tell Hermione?” he answered with a question of his own. Harry said nothing in reply but gave an understanding smile. “Come on Harry, I think we’ve known each other long to trust one another. Don’t you?” And Harry did, so he spent the rest of the afternoon talking everything over with the one time Marauder and part time werewolf.

At some point during the discussions Hermione, Ron and then initially to Harry’s disquiet Tonks joined the pair. However the ministry witch appeared quite unconcerned by the nature of Harry’s revelations and any possible repercussions with those in authority, and it made Harry feel much happier that at least the Auror and his friend knew what they were up to.

“If you get all these pieces of Voldemort’s soul it won’t make him any less dangerous, I mean he didn’t have any of them when he slugged it out with Dumbledore at the ministry,” commented Tonks.

“That’s true but it will make him beatable, and he won’t be able to rise again without them,” said Remus seriously, and he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “It will give us a chance.” He thought for a moment. “It seems to me that getting rid of the Horcruxes is your most important task Harry. You ought to head off to Hogwarts and find Kreacher and leave the others to us, we can keep an eye on them, …and don’t worry, we can be just as sneaky as the other side,” he said to quell the obvious retort Harry was about to make.

* * *

So it was, that late in the afternoon, two days before Christmas Harry, Hermione and Ron emerged from the tunnel that led from the Shrieking Shack. The Whomping Willow stood stock still, enshrouded in ice and snow, held in stasis by Harry pressing the knot on its trunk, reaching out from the end of the tunnel. They hurried away from the Whomping Willow for even under the immobility spell the tree had frightening presence and none of them wanted the branches to take and unexpected swing at them if it managed to shake off the spell early.

There was no way they could completely hide their journey across the snow covered lawns but as there were a few students still in residence their footprints were soon lost amongst others, and then in the trampled patches of snow that showed that the younger students still enjoyed making snowmen, their passage would go unnoticed.

Dobby met them at the castle doors and led them through the deserted corridors to a small room that none of them remembered being in before. Although the presence of appearing and disappearing rooms was not unusual in this mysterious castle, the sight of the reflective pool of water that sat in a shallow hollow formed by the stone floor made them stare with amazement. For reflected in its mirror like surface was not their own faces but the image of a small bent house elf scurrying down a dark corridor. He was holding something close to his chest as he made his way toward a large window, and they could hear his feet slapping against the floor and the mutterings of his voice, but it was too muffled to make any sense of the words.

“Dobby has done as you asked Harry Potter sir,” the house elf explained as they watched. “Kreacher goes this way every day, to the small bell tower on the Great Hall roof. There he lives and keeps his things. He is a bad elf, still stealing, he shoulds know better.” The image changed to show Kreacher scuttling across the roof and over the low edge of the cupola to disappear inside.

“How the hell are we going to get up there!” exclaimed Ron, “We’re not monkeys, … err no offence Dobby,” he added looking down at the log armed short legged house elf, and receiving a quelling look from Hermione.

“That’s easy,” said Harry, “there’s a window near the Gryffindor tower that looks right out onto the roof ridge. All we have to do is get out and walk along the ridge and there we are.”

“But Harry that must be over a hundred feet high,” the nervousness in Hermione’s voice gave away the fact that it was a fear of heights that caused the young witches greatest problem with flying.

“The roof doesn’t go to a point you know, up there the ridge is about two feet wide, I suppose it’s to give access to the bell, you’ll be fine, just like walking down a path.” said Harry with much more confidence than Hermione was feeling. “Come on,” and led the way out towards Gryffindor tower.

It was not as easy as Harry had thought it would be. He had forgotten the weather and the fact that the wide slate path was covered in a thin sheet of ice, the wind was blowing a gale, well at least it was more than a breeze, this made standing upright very difficult, and it was getting dark. Progress was made slowly on hands and knees, and surprisingly there were only two occasions when Hermione thought she was going to be sick, but all the way along the treacherous path she could hear Ron muttering under his breath, “Bloody hell, …bloody hell, …bloody hell,” as he fought to keep his grip.

They all felt much safer once they had made it to the small platform that surrounded the base of the domed shaped bell housing. The cupola was actually larger than any of them thought it was going to be, ten feet across or possibly more Harry reasoned, and on the inside of the low wall that supported the stone columns and in turn the roof, was a wooden floor that was level with the external platform. Looking over the wall Harry could see the wooden planking as it stretched away from the wall it appeared quite firm and solid, and he thought would easily carry their weight.

Directly under the bell that hung from the centre of the dome was a square hole in the flooring it was about a yard across, and was the beginnings of a shaft that descended into the darkness. All three of them climbed over the wall into the relative safety and shelter of the cupola, there was nothing to see save the countless bird droppings that dotted the floor. Kreacher was nowhere in sight the only possible place he could have gone was down through the hole in the centre of the flooring. Staring hard into the blackness of the shaft they could see nothing and the sound of the wind whistling over the roof tops made it difficult to hear anything. So when the house elf, shot out of the hole in the floor and over their shoulders, as if propelled by a spring, like a Jack-in-the-box, it came as a bit of a surprise and they all instinctively ducked down.

He was cackling insanely as he landed on the floor behind them, Harry spun around as did the others, and he made a lunge for the elf expecting him to disappear the way Dobby had on numerous occasions. But Kreacher was not running, he had other plans, and the key to those plans he held in his small grubby fist.

Harry did not see it at first, but the gold chain must have touched some stray bit of light, and the flash of the metal caught his eye. Harry didn’t know if it was by chance Kreacher should have picked that particular item from his collection or if there was some design in his actions but the heavy locket that was the goal of his search was clasped close to the elf’s chest.

Harry lent forward to catch Kreacher as the elf was backing away from him; the bird droppings must have been reasonably fresh because they were still quite wet and Harry was not looking where he was putting his feet. As he stood in the mess Harry’s feet shot from underneath him and he fell forwards, almost into Kreacher’s lap, the elf threw up his arms to ward Harry off and in that instant the golden chain freed from the elf’s grasp, whipped towards Harry and it brushed across his forehead.

The golden chain made contact with Harry’s scar, and he felt a flash of pain as he fell to the floor. The house elf looked down in horror at the locket that twitched and smoked in his hand, somehow even without the use of Harry’s wand, which was still in his pocket, the Horcrux was activated. The locket burst open in Kreacher’s hand, the elf screamed as the hot metal seared his flesh, and as before the shade of Voldemort boiled out of its hiding place.

There was a flash of magic powerful enough to knock Hermione and Ron off their feet, Harry who was already sprawled on the floor and was spared its effects, but Kreacher who had managed to stay standing was flung back to the very edge of the parapet. The house elf struggled, waving his arms furiously in yet another attempt to retain his balance, and the locket flew from his hand. His high pitched shrieks attracted the rapidly forming portion of Voldemort’s soul and in irritation swung a contemptuous arm at the wizened figure.

In this incarnation the presence of the Dark Lord was apparently much stronger, for although his hand never touched the elf, the force of the blow lifted the small wriggling creature into the air out and over the edge of the low wall. Kreacher’s despairing shriek as he vanished into the darkness cut through Harry like a knife, and he scrambled to his feet drawing his wand ready to fight. He was however quite unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. The solidifying figure of Voldemort was standing over Hermione and Ron who were lying limp and still at his feet and in the terrible wizard’s hand was a wand and it was pointed directly at Hermione’s heart.

“EXPELEARMIS” Harry shouted, quite forgetting in the heat of the moment the silent use of spells. Unfortunately silent or spoken it didn’t really matter for the spell simply passed through the shade of the Dark Lord as if he wasn’t there, but at least it drew his attention away from the bodies on the floor. Now Harry found the wand, which he recognised as Hermione’s, pointing at him instead, but Voldemort cast no spell nor sent any curse Harry’s way. The Dark Lord did not appear to be concerned in treating Harry as a threat; he was staring past him over the young wizard’s shoulder at the only obvious escape route from the bell tower. This Voldemort was distracted, called into existence by what should have been one of his other selves; he was looking for it to join with it. It never occurred to him that this callow youth barring his way was exactly what he was seeking. He took one sideways step and Harry countered with a step in the opposite direction trying to keep the distance between them.

As the Dark Lord began to become more than a shade the two performed a curious dance around the gap in the flooring, Voldemort edging toward the way out over the roof and Harry towards his friends, who were now showing signs of stirring. It was as Harry’s foot touched Hermione’s outstretched leg that Voldemort turned to flee over the low wall and Harry sent a silent “Petrificus Totalus” at the dark wizard. On Voldemort’s still incomplete manifestation it didn’t work quite as well as it should, although his upper body could still move Voldemort’s feet were clearly stuck to the floor. Then as the magic drawing Voldemort’s body together completed its work the Dark Lord shook off some of his confusion and appeared for the first time to take in the features of the wizard before him.

“Well, well….” Voldemort’s smile was most unpleasant, “your description does you an injustice Potter,” Harry was dumbfounded, there was no way this Voldemort would ever have known who he was. This was a middle aged Voldemort without the sibilant voice and deformed appearance of the one that knew Harry, but he had recognised him. “You are much younger than I was led to believe, I had such an interesting end in store for you as well…,” Voldemort searched for the name, “…. James isn’t it? …Still one must never let an opportunity pass.” He smiled again at Harry, “I imagine that the young lady is the mudblood I am told you have in tow,” The wand in Voldemort’s hand flicked down to point briefly at Hermione, who had pushed herself into a sitting position and was staring in horror at the wizard holding her wand. “Yes… an excellent opportunity to rid myself of yet another of Dumbledore’s army.”

The Dark Lord was very fast and the spell cast without the slightest sound, but Harry who had never taken his eyes off the figure standing before him saw the sight bunching of the muscles in his shoulders, which betrayed his intentions.

Harry’s shield flashed into existence. The curse unleashed by Voldemort crashed into it and was deflected upwards, shattering the dome of the bell tower and blasting stone and brick in all directions. Harry hardened the front of his shield and used it like a battering ram to push Voldemort away over what remained of the low wall and out onto the slate ridge of the Great Hall roof. Voldemort’s next point of attack was not Harry but the floor on which he was standing. The wooden planking dissolved into sawdust and Harry felt himself falling until a pair of hands grabbed the back of his coat and Hermione pulled him toward her and onto solid floor again.

“Thanks,” he said in a breathless whisper, and quickly looked back to Voldemort to see him standing out on the ridge and staring out into the dark night to one side of them. He could not see what had caught the Dark Lord’s eye but then as a bellow reverberated around the grounds of the school, Harry knew who it was. Voldemort had seen the initial flash of flame through the snow which had now started to fall, his thoughts were chaotic, he needed to find the rest of him to make himself whole, and now this dragon, was he a new enemy or an ally? He was undecided and unsure how to act but with a base animal cry came a second billow of flame aimed directly at him and the uncertainty was gone. Voldemort made to launch a spell at the oncoming dragon but instead he was struck by spell from Harry.

Harry had made the most of the momentary distraction Norbert had given him. Leaping over the wall he stood on the ridge of the hall roof and as Voldemort tried to bring down the dragon thought “Dispergere!” and put as much power as he could behind the spell.

The violet coloured beam hit Voldemort in the chest and the figure of the Dark Lord so recently formed from the vaporous soul hidden in the locket began to lose its cohesion. As his body began to come apart Voldemort screamed, instinctively he searched for the one place that would provide him with any safety, and he stretched out toward the locket that had ended up on the floor between Ron and Hermione. He screamed again in denial as Ron picked up the locket, placed it on the edge of the wall, and selecting a large stone from the rubble at his feet, smashed it to pieces. To accompany the sound of Ron’s pounding, Voldemort raged and the whoosh of dragon wings almost went unheard, but the fire ball Norbert released roared through the air and hit the roof at the spot where Voldemort stood. The Dark Lord’s weakening shade flew apart and Harry would have heard the screams fade to nothing as another piece of Tom Riddle’s soul was destroyed, but the blast of hot air from the dragon’s breath blew him off the precarious safety of the ridge, and he was too busy trying to stop himself from following Kreacher into the darkness below.

Harry knew there was nothing he could do, he could feel himself falling, and there was nothing between him and the ground but air. He heard Hermione scream, and then for him time seemed to slow down. In an almost detached way he saw the faces of his friends diminish as they strained over the parapet to get at him, but he was much too far away. He turned over in the air, and flashes of light from the castle windows passed by his eyes, as he spun. Then in the highest window of Gryffindor Tower he saw the shape of a person and then very clearly the face that went with that person and Harry smiled because he knew now that he was going to die and that someone he grieved for so much had come to claim him. Warmth spread through him, the warmth of approaching death, then the darkness of death claimed him and his last conscious thought was that he heard Hermione’s voice calling to him………..

* * *

“Harry, Harry,” there was sobbing and a wet cheek lay against his, “Oh Harry please wake up….” There was a short silence and Harry felt warmth and comfort begin to seep back into his body. “There must be something wrong, he wasn’t hurt but he isn’t coming round.” Hermione sounded so worried, and he could hear her crying again.

“Don’t fret, my dear,” the voice was steady and reassuring, “Harry will be fine, sometimes when you think you are going to die, it almost happens. If I am not mistaken then even as we speak Harry can hear us, and I am very rarely mistaken.”

“Harry, Harry,” it was Hermione’s voice again and this time there was a gentle shake to his shoulders to accompany the plea to wake up.

This time Harry obliged and opened his eyes to have his vision immediately blocked by Hermione’s relieved and beaming face. She bestowed him with several kisses and not a few scolding words on how he had scared her half to death. She moved back a bit and Harry could see that the room he was in appeared to have a large number of mirrors attached to the walls and in each mirror was a face, his.

“Would I regret it if I asked where we were?” he said quietly to Hermione.

“At the very top of Gryffindor Tower,” she said matter of factly, but Harry knew from the look in her eyes that she was hiding something.

He tried to sit up but she held his shoulders flat to the bed he was lying on. “What?” he said not trying to fight her.

“You fell from the roof,” …why was she stating the obvious?

“I know,” …he could play the game as well.

“Someone stopped you falling, and brought you here,”

“Ok,” he said uncertainly, because he just remembered the figure in the window. “Who?” he asked.

“Ahh, that would be me,” said that same steady and reassuring voice he had heard calm Hermione, and a second face swam into view.

Harry stared, and he stared, and he stared, and he still could not believe what he was seeing. His mouth suddenly became very dry and he thought he was going to pass out again. “But you’re dead.”

“Obviously not,” said Albus Dumbledore.

“No it’s not possible…Snape killed you, I saw him do it.” Harry was not convinced this was not all some cruel trick.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “As I believe I have said before I trust Severus Snape and if what you see before you is true it would seem that I was correct to trust him.”

“It’s really him,” Hermione said to reassure Harry, for she could still see the doubt in his mind.

Harry’s senses whirled, there must be some way of confirming what he could see, and then it came to him. “Ok if it is you, what happened to Buckbeak?” said Harry to the man who shouldn’t be there.

Hermione giggled, the face of the dead man smiled. “You and Miss Granger saved him and Sirius Black from death and worse by using a time turner.” Dumbledore answered, he turned his smile to Hermione then back to Harry and his bright blue eyes twinkled behind his half moon glasses. “Am I right?”

“Err… yes.” said Harry

“I asked him exactly the same question Harry,” said Hermione, “it was the only thing I knew that no one else but the Headmaster would know. It really is him.” This time Harry believed her, and instead of feeling overjoyed, hurt and anger at the old man rose up in him. It was like the end of his fifth year all over again.

“Why?” the simple question was one of accusation, and Dumbledore’s face took on an expression of sadness as he realised the state of mind Harry had slipped into.

“I could be glib and say that it seemed like a good idea at the time Harry,” said Dumbledore looking anxiously at his young protégé, “but that would suggest that I left you alone with no thought for the future, and that would be untrue.”

There was a quiet tap, tap on the door and Dumbledore opened it with a wave of his hand. Ron stepped into the room having returned from his errand, he was carrying Hermione’s wand, and he looked very cold he walked straight to the fire warming himself for a moment then he passed the wand back to Hermione. He looked between Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore trying to gauge the atmosphere in the room, but it was not forthcoming.

“I found Kreacher,” he said flatly, “I thought he might have saved himself by apparating or whatever it is that house elves do when they disappear, but perhaps he didn’t have the time or the sense to do it.” Ron shivered; his reaction was either at the thought of the way Kreacher had died or the cold. “Dobby said the he and the other house elves would deal with the body so I left them to it and brought Hermione her wand, found that in the courtyard.” Ron’s eyes moved uneasily from Harry to Dumbledore and back to Harry, but still there were no clues. “Err… feeling ok mate?”

“Thanks Ron.” Harry replied, and then he turned his gaze back to the old Headmaster, “You were saying?”

“I did not know where or when it would happen,” said Dumbledore, continuing his interrupted explanation, “but I knew Draco would have to confront me at some time. You see Harry that was the task Tom had set him, kill me, or die in the attempt.” He shook his head at the folly of Draco for even considering heading down the path that led to darkness and destruction. “At the beginning of the school year Severus informed of Draco’s task and that he had made an unbreakable vow with Narcissa to finish the job if young Malfoy was incapable.” Harry’s expression suggested that he would have had grave doubts over the potions master’s intentions. “It was the only way he could have found out what they were intending to get Draco to do, Harry. So we made our plans accordingly, it was unfortunate that the attack on the school happened when it did.” Dumbledore looked hard at Harry. “You will remember that after that abortive visit to the cave I was not feeling at my best, but that was when the attack came and we had to respond. Happily Draco could not do what he had promised, so Severus did it, but not without a great deal of persuasion. Right Harry?”

“If you say so,” Harry replied morosely, unwilling to accept the correctness of the statement.

“So Professor Snape spoke the words of the killing curse, but he did not think them. Had he done so then I would have truly died. His spell pushed me over the balcony of the Astronomy Tower and on the way down I took a potion, and carefully landed myself in the way that I was found. A useful trick to appear dead; sometimes your enemies leave you alone after that.”

“The draught of the living death!” said Hermione.

“Yes my dear, you are quite right as usual.” complimented Dumbledore, “unfortunately in combination with other potions I had consumed that day the effects took a long time to completely disappear and left me very weak. I was pronounced dead and had been apparently entombed before I was sufficiently recovered. Of the staff only Professor McGonagall knew that the body in the white tomb was not mine, Fyrsil Ollivander, Fortean Fortescue and my brother Alberforth, presently posing as Langdon Long the barman at the Hogshead, were the others who helped in the deception,”

“That’s all very well but you could have told me!” Harry said angrily.

“Yes I could, but you see Harry there were things you had to sort out on your own,” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Ron and Hermione. “And to be quite honest I am still very tired, I would have been of little use in helping with your task. Even saving you this evening has stretched me to the limit, and you have really done quite well without me.”

“I would have felt much better inside knowing you were alive,” said Harry sadly, “The way things happened after you died left me with nothing to live for. I don’t know what would have become of me if Hermione hadn’t followed me that night.”

“Ahh… but that is the important thing Harry, she did.” and he tapped the side of his nose in a knowing way.

There was nothing he could do about it, Harry still felt cheated, Dumbledore had explained his actions, and sure in the circumstances what else could he have done? But he could have let Harry in on the secret, what harm would that have been. None that he could see, that was until Hermione had a chat with him.

“I know it’s difficult to understand,” she was sitting on the bed with him while Dumbledore and Ron were pretending to be in earnest discussion over on the other side of the large round room. “But everything that happens has a very particular effect on the events that follow it; muggles call it the butterfly effect.” Harry knew a lecture was coming, which he would probably find difficult to follow, so in submission he smiled at his girlfriend, and let her continue. “If you had known that Dumbledore was alive, when you read Ron’s letter you probably would have gone to him, instead of going to Little Winging and I may never have even tried to find you. Though it’s more likely that knowing he was still alive you wouldn’t have been at the Burrow in the first place and so Ron may never have written the letter at all.”

Harry sighed; he could see now where this reasoning was leading. “What you mean is that you and I might never have realised what we mean to each other, and that everything that follows on from that would never have happened,” he said finally resigned to the fact that the past was past and he should be grateful that it turned out the way it did.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “that’s exactly what I mean.” And then she added in a very quiet voice, “Don’t you think it was worth it?”

Harry smiled at the heartfelt question and in answer he took her face in his hands feeling the softness and warmth of her skin. He lightly brushed her lips with his finger tips and Hermione closed her eyes with the pleasure that the caress bestowed. Harry moved closer and replaced his fingers with his own lips slipping his hand around the back of her head he pulled her to him. Like that first kiss so long ago this was Harry’s lifeline, the love he had for this girl surged through him and it blew away all the doubts and disappointments, he knew he would never have wanted it any other way.

On the other side of the room two pairs of eyes both blue watched the scene in one of the many mirrors before them. The older eyes twinkled with happiness for the couple, something he thought he would never have lived to see. The younger eyes were pleased as well; that relationship was something he should never have tried to prevent, to steal, or corrupt for himself. He quietly cursed his actions in his attempt to win Hermione’s heart; he had done it before, and he knew he would probably do it again, because it was something he could never forgive himself for. The enormity of his folly began to choke him up and he steadied himself with the image of the blonde haired beauty that now Ron could call his own.

It was that final thought that made Ron give a little cough, just to clear his throat and his mind, but it broke the spell and the lovers sitting on the edge of the bed, grinned at each other, and parted.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

‘Tis the Season to be Jolly

The rest of that night Harry, Hermione and Ron stayed in the tower room in the company of Albus Dumbledore. They thought they had a lot to tell him, but once they knew the secret of the mirrors it was clear that the old man already had most of the information. Nevertheless they talked for several hours then, exhausted by the events of the evening before, first Ron and then eventually Harry dozed off, but Hermione found that she could not sleep. She was feeling a little disconcerted with the knowledge that Dumbledore was able to focus these mirrors on anything he chose and that he had watched them all through the days since he had recovered enough to control the farseers. Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses at the expression on Hermione’s face, he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he patted her on the back of her hand in a reassuring way.

“Don’t concern yourself my dear, the farseers do not allow ahh… inappropriate viewing.” He smiled, “I am however very glad that you two found each other in the end. It was a very long time in the making, inevitable of course, despite the little ups and downs, but then the course of true love never did run smooth.”

If Hermione was surprised at Dumbledore’s assertion that she and Harry were fated to be together she didn’t show it, instead she gazed at the dark haired young man dozing on the sofa and thought about her feelings for him.

“It’s strange but now it has happened, I always knew it would be with him,” there was a couple of seconds silence, “Err… falling in love I mean.” She added hastily. “Why is it that we always fight the inevitable or cannot see what is right in front of us?”

“It is the nature of muggle and wizard kind, to try and change the world to fit what we want it to be,” Dumbledore answered, “and usually when it is done for our individual gratification we change it into a worse place than it would have ended up if we had not tried so hard. Tom is beginning to understand this now; he has altered what life had in store for him so much and has turned it into a very dark place indeed.”

“But Harry wants to change the world as well; will it all fall apart for him too?”

“Harry doesn’t want the change for himself,” Dumbledore looked over at the sleeping boy, “he is not even sure he will survive his attempt. He wants the change to happen so everyone else is safe and happy, especially you my dear.”

Hermione managed the smallest of sad smiles, “You will be able to help him, won’t you?”

The old man sighed, “I will do what I can of course, but my magic is not what it was and my power is weak at best.”

“But you stopped him from falling, and brought him here,” she said indignantly, “that must have taken a lot?”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, “Yes you are correct as usual, but most of the power came from Harry himself and some from the very fabric of the school; it appears to have rather a soft spot for our young hero, very little came from me and you saw how tired it made me.”

“So we are still on our own then,” Hermione suddenly felt the hours of frenetic activity catching up with her. “I just hoped that…”

“That I could take over and all your troubles would be gone?”

“Yes, silly really.” she yawned widely. Hermione lay back in her chair, her eyes were so heavy she was having difficulty in keeping them open, and in the tick between one second and the next, everything slipped into blackness and sleep claimed her.

“That is something you will never be my child,” Dumbledore said to the sleeping girl, “that prerogative is only open to old men like me.”

* * *

When Ron awoke he was lying most uncomfortably across an armchair close to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, as he tried to sit up his back protested and he grumbled with the pain. He stretched and yawned and tried to remember why he was there, he rubbed is eyes to clear the last of the sleep from them and eventually he focused on the forms of Harry and Hermione cuddled up on the sofa, they looked far more comfortable than he was, and he decided that wasn’t fair.

“Hey you two, its time to get up!” levered himself out of the chair and walked over to Harry and prodded him in the arm.”

“What time is it Ron?” Harry voice was slurred in sleep.

“Err… don’t know,” Ron admitted, “but the sun is up.” And he crossed the room to look out of the window and could see the crumbled remains of the bell tower, and then dim memories began to surface.

“Morning Harry,” murmured a voice in his ear, sending a very pleasant sensation down his spine, which was followed by a kiss on the lips.

“Morning yourself,” and he replied in kind.

“When you two have quite finished,” said Ron purposefully keep his back turned towards the pair, his mind working hard to recall the previous evening’s events and block out the activity on the sofa. “In case you have forgotten we ought to do something about the damage we did last night.” At least he remembered that much.

Then with proper wakefulness the memories of the previous evening flooded back, and all three of them began to talk at once. There was excitement as they remembered about Kreacher, the locket, the fight on the roof, and the destruction of Voldemort’s fourth piece of soul. They had done it, that they knew, but when they reached the point that ended with the blast of fire from Norbert the memories became confused. How they had made their way back into the castle was a mystery, and as to how they had finished up in the common room, none of them had a clue. The whole episode, with the old Headmaster in his room atop the Gryffindor Tower, may just as well have never happened.

They were still trying to work it all out when there was a quiet POP and Dobby, staggering under the weight of a large tray, appeared in front of them. Harry grabbed the breakfast tray the house elf had brought them before it ended up on the floor.

“Thanks Dobby, much appreciated.” Harry had long ago given up wondering how the house elf knew where to find him and almost expected him to appear just when he was needed. “Do you know how we got here?”

The elf’s large round eyes became even larger and he appeared a little uncomfortable, “No sir, Harry Potter sir, Dobby doesn’t, but he knows that the castle elves helped last night. We took care of Kreacher, he was a bad elf,” Dobby shook his head sadly at the old elf’s fate. “And Miss Hermione’s wand is back in her pocket. The bad wizard didn’t do it any harm.”

“Will you thank the other elves for us,” said Harry patting the little man on the shoulder, realising how hard it must have been for them all having to deal with Kreacher, bad elf or not.

“Yes, sir, I will sir, and Harry Potter is not to concern himself with the damage, the castle elves will fix it.” Dobby added hastily and then promptly vanished.

“Well,” said Ron advancing on the table, “no point in wasting a good breakfast.” He grinned at the others and stuffed a whole slice of toast in his mouth in one go.

They left the school as soon as they finished breakfast, and although they expected there to be a few students around they saw no one. Walking to the gates and the road beyond they apparated away, breaking their journey back to the Burrow by stopping briefly at Godrics Hollow.

Ron had never seen the small white cottage Harry and Hermione now called home, and although he envied them their independence he knew at what cost it had been bought. Ron’s tour of the small dwelling did not take very long and pausing only to collect a few belongings, they prepared to leave. Harry locked the front door while Ron and Hermione walked to the edge of the wood to take in the sight of the little valley and the village of Godrics Hollow. There was no snow this far south but the air was very cold, and some of the north facing fields still held the rime frost that gave the valley a fairytale appearance.

“Lovely place,” said Ron.

“Its home,” Hermione sounded very wistful, “All I’ve ever really wanted.”

“Is it?”

“Well maybe there will be other things in the future, but this will do for a start.” She turned to the red headed young man, “You ok Ron?”

“Me? …Yeh fine. Sorry about ….well you know, but things turned out for the best didn’t they?” The image of a certain young blonde haired lady flashed into his mind, and he smiled.

Hermione saw the far away look in Ron’s eyes; it wasn’t difficult to work out who was in his thoughts now. “Yes you’re right it was for the best, and remember Ron that all our actions, good and bad, have an effect, they will cause something else to happen, and that in turn leads to…. and so on and so on. The muggles call it the butterfly effect…”

There was something very odd here, she suddenly had an incredibly strong feeling that this conversation had occurred before, but she couldn’t remember where. She gave a little “Umm,” in thought and frowned as she wracked her brains for the answer.

“If you say so.” said Ron bowing to her superior intelligence; he hadn’t understood a word of it. He looked around for his other best friend and saw him emerging from the trees to one side of the cottage; “Come on Harry what you doing over there?”

“Checking on Mum and Dad,” said Harry with no trace of self consciousness, and smiling forgivingly at Ron’s embarrassment. “You two ready?” They nodded. “Right let’s go.”

Several hundred miles away in a snowbound Castle an old man stared into a mirror, he watched, that was all he could do for now. When the time was right their memories would return, it was better to leave it this way so that all the butterflies could have their maximum effect. Dumbledore chuckled and his blue eyes twinkled behind his half moon glasses, she was a smart one that Hermione and he made a wager with himself that she would be the first one to work it all out and remember.

* * *

Harry certainly had to mark down this Christmas as one of his better ones. On their arrival back at the Burrow they were greeted enthusiastically by Mrs Weasley who immediately began grilling Ron on what he thought of Godrics Hollow, they had used the excuse of taking Ron there as the reason for their absence over the last day and a bit. Harry didn’t like deceiving anyone, Molly in particular, but he had stretched his promise to Dumbledore in letting Remus and Tonks in on the Horcrux hunting and anyway the matriarch of the Weasley clan had enough to worry about.

Mrs Weasley was evidently satisfied that they had gone where they had assured her they were going because she didn’t mention it again and immediately enrolled Harry and Ron into helping with the preparations for the Weasley Christmas gathering. Hermione excused herself and sought out Fleur and Bill to discuss the progress on Greyback’s potion.

She found that Fleur was bitterly disappointed that the healers at St. Mungo’s, having discovered the components of the potion and reproduced it, had reached an impasse and were unable to develop the treatment any further. However she had assured Hermione that she had not given up and had passed the concoction on to two of the most brilliant potion manipulators she had ever met. To say that Hermione was concerned when she learned that it was to Fred and George that Fleur had entrusted the potion was perhaps an understatement and her unusually noisy apparation to their shop in Diagon Alley reinforced her worried state of mind.

The shop Hermione appeared in was empty but the sound of activity and a great deal of pungent smoke was issuing from the stairs that led down to the basement workshop.

“Who’s there?” was yelled up from the mists below; either Fred or George had heard the sound of her apparation.

“Hermione!” she yelled back.

“Oh bugger,” floated up the stairs to the ears of the person who was not supposed to hear it, “Err… be with you in a moment, delicate stage of the process….” was spoken in a louder tone followed by… “No not in that jar use the…” but whatever it was that should have been used was lost in the explosion that rattled the contents of the shop and changed the smoke coming up from the workshop from a deep pink to a bright yellow. The smoke was closely followed by Fred and George running up from the workshop gasping for air. They paused in the shop proper only long enough to grab Hermione by the arms and drag her on up the stairs at the back that led to the small flat on the first floor.

“Sorry about that,” either Fred or George apologised, as they sat her in the one comfortable chair, “but as we said, delicate stage,” the other finished. “Tea?” and they both looked at her hopefully. The twins had suffered Hermione’s wrath once before and they had no wish to repeat the experience.

“Thanks, little milk and no sugar,” she said sweetly and both young men looked at each other and swallowed nervously.

“Well?” it was amazing how much feeling Hermione was able to put into that simple one word question. She sat there, her cup of tea balanced on her knee, the twins sitting before her like a pair of Labradors waiting for a crumb of food from their master’s plate.

“Err… the potion, you mean?” Said one, nervously, “Going well,” finished the other, in trepidation.

Hermione couldn’t help it she burst out laughing, “Are you really that scared of me?”

“Yes,” chorused the twins.

“Oooh, power,” she chortled, but then relented, “Look, as long as you are being sensible with this potion I will trust you. Fleur does, I’m not sure about Bill, but then he has known you both since you were born. I’ll follow her lead on this one, just don’t let us down.”

“We are talking about doing something to help our brother here,” said George mildly and bravely admonishing Hermione for thinking that they would not try their hardest.

“And you would be surprised how far we’ve got,” put in Fred, “those St. Mungo’s potion twirlers have nothing on us.”

“Ok how far have you got? That explosion just now didn’t sound too helpful.”

“Oh that! That was nothing to do with the potion; that was a new formulation of the main ingredient of our old nosebleed nougat,” Fred smiled encouragingly, Hermione looked horrified. “Makes it too powerful though,” he added as an after thought.

“Here, this is how far we have progressed,” and George held out two clear bottles that he had retrieved from a small cupboard.

One contained a black liquid that, of its own accord swirled ominously in the bottle. The second bottle held a light blue transparent liquid, in its centre was suspended a golden cloud that moved with the fluid and sparkled with tiny beams of light. Hermione was entranced; the cloud in the bottle looked almost alive, constantly changing its shape, flowing from one form to another.

“The little cloud is the magic ingredient, if you’ll pardon the pun,” said George. “The black liquid is the original potion; hidden in its ingredients we found the part that governs the shape changing. When you refine it and add pure powdered moonstone to the mix the blue potion forms and the cloud appears after it stands for twenty nine minutes.”

“The whole thing is guided by the cycle of the moon,” he continued, “everything is in twenty nines.”

Hermione found this explanation at least plausible. “It’s only a theory but as it takes twenty nine minutes to form we expect the effect of the potion to last for twenty nine hours, and it will remain fresh and usable for twenty nine days. So if it works, a potential werewolf takes the potion once a day for the duration of the full moon and he or she should remain human.”

“There is still a lot of work to be done on it,” added Fred, “but we need to test it first and there isn’t a full moon until after Christmas, we were hoping to try it then.”

Hermione had to admit it that she was impressed; she had always thought the twins were far too erratic to produce anything that was genuinely useful. Sure they had come up with some innovative stuff but this Anti-interlunium potion, if it was to work, would be something of which they could be justly proud, and then she had an idea.

“You will be providing this treatment to other werewolves won’t you?”

“Oh yes, if it works,” George replied.

“And you will be providing it free of charge?” she said sweetly.

“Err …Umm, hadn’t really thought about it,” Fred replied, cautiously.

“It would be such a shame if your mother found out about Ron and the potions and…” her tone was mild, but held the threat of impending doom.

“We talked it over only the other day,” said George hastily, “don’t you remember,” Fred stared open mouthed at his brother. “Yes ‘course you do and you said it would be our public duty to give it away for nothing.”

“I did?” asked Fred, unable to take his eyes from his brothers wildly nodding head.

“Oh yes …so I did,” he said catching on at last. “Public duty, that’s right, no charge at all,” and the pain of the admission almost brought tears to his eyes.

“That’s fine then,” said Hermione, and having won another concession from the twins she relented, “I think we can call the matter of certain emotion enhancing potions closed for good don’t you?”

“Thanks Hermione,” both boys chorused.

“But don’t you ever let me catch you at anything like that again.”

Eventually Hermione returned to the Burrow. She was surprisingly in a much better frame of mind now than when she had left. Perhaps curing werewolves was not uppermost in most wizards minds these days, there were after all far more pressing problems out there to deal with, but as she watched Fleur and Bill walking out in the cold night air of that Christmas Eve, she knew that for some success with this potion would be just as life changing as anything that Voldemort could throw at them.

On Christmas morning they had all exchanged presents, and at midday demolished the most enormous meal that Harry had ever seen. Every one of the Weasley’s had turned up to partake of the festivities and Harry sat with Hermione in the middle of this large family that formed such an important part of his life. He felt a tinge of sympathy for Colin who was squashed on a sofa between Ginny and Percy, under the watchful eye of Molly Weasley, who would furrow her brow at him if the poor lad leaned closer to her daughter than her son. So he tried to sit bolt upright, hardly daring to move. Mr Weasley could obviously see the boy’s discomfort and knew the reason for it. His wife was such a dear but far too possessive where her offspring were concerned and so, with much persuasion he removed her to the kitchen, where with the older children they embarked on a long game of cards. Harry could see the tension run out of Colin as he collapsed against Ginny.

“I thought facing that giant was bad,” he said staring intently into Ginny’s brown eyes, “but standing up to your mum…”

Harry laughed, “Don’t worry about it Colin,” he reassured him, “all of us have suffered the rigors of coping with Mrs Weasley. Underneath she is really very kind, she just cares a lot.”

“I’m glad you think so Harry,” said a voice from the doorway, at these words Harry blanched and he looked for a rock to hide under, “I only came back for my knitting. Ahh there it is,” and Molly retrieved a tangled mess of wool and needles from the chair she had so recently vacated. “I’ll leave you on your own….as long as you behave Harry, and that goes for you too Colin.” was her parting shot.

She swept out of the room and as Harry gave a deep sigh of relief he heard Mrs Weasley’s voice from the kitchen, berating her husband. “Those children Arthur will be the death of me, and where did you say Ron had disappeared to?” there was silence as Mr Weasley gave an inaudible reply then “Where! Oh my sainted Aunt, they’re all growing up far too fast.”

“Where is Ron by the way?” Colin asked.

“He’s gone to see Luna at her Dad’s,” Ginny told him, “probably thought mum wouldn’t give him any peace here.”

“Probably right,” mumbled Harry into Hermione’s ear.

As it was Ron returned to the Burrow just as it was getting dark and had to run the gauntlet of his mothers displeasure as he passed through the kitchen, but even so when he entered the sitting room he had a very satisfied smile on his face.

“Good time Ron?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, really good …best ever,” and Ron plonked himself into a vacant arm chair, and gave Harry a wide grin.

* * *

Those few days after Christmas and before the start of the New Year when nothing ever seems to get done and the days pass in a dreamy holiday state were days of frantic activity in preparing for the testing of the twins potion. Two large metal cages were setup in the Weasley’s shed, empty since the disappearance of Arthur’s Ford Anglia some years before; padding and other sound proofing were packed around them, just in case things didn’t go as planned.

Tonks and Remus arrived during the afternoon before the rising of the first full moon; they had spent their Christmas keeping a very close watch on the house at Spinners End and reported to Harry that all was quiet. Severus Snape had been seen several times but had only left the house for a few hours each time, and as they didn’t have the resources to follow him his destinations on these occasions were unknown.

“We reckon he goes to the same place each time Harry,” said Remus, “the amount of time he is away is fairly constant. It’s only a guess but Tonks and I think he is reporting to Voldemort.” Remus paused for a moment, not sure if he should broach the subject he had been considering. “Look Harry, Severus is very predictable in his pattern of leaving the house it would be quite easy to set a trap, and well… deal with him if you see what I mean.”

Harry did see, and the animosity he felt toward his old potions master flared again, but the hate he expected to be there against the man who murdered Dumbledore, failed to appear. Something told him that killing Snape was not what he wanted to do, for the life of him he couldn’t understand why, but he reasoned that simple dislike was not a good excuse.

“No all we need to do is watch for a while, Snape’s destiny will catch up with him sooner or later.”

“Ok Harry whatever you say.”

Even then it didn’t occur to the young man that all these far more experienced witches and wizards were not only asking his opinion but deferring to his decisions as well. Very slowly Harry was forming his own small army; an army that one day might have to stand in the path of Voldemort and his minions.

That would hopefully be months away and for the moment not even considered, it was the potion trial that was uppermost in everyone’s mind. At the appropriate time Bill and Remus were locked in the cages and the twins brought them two identical vials of the light blue liquid with its golden sparkling centre.

“Give them a good shake and down them in one go,” said George to the two men, “Hermione tells us it would be logical for the potion to take effect in twenty nine seconds, but we’ve given it half an hour to be on the safe side.”

“You’re sure there is nothing in this that will kill us,” asked Remus looking suspiciously at the small bottle.

“No, no nothing at all…” Fred assured him, “as far as we are aware anyway,” he added quietly.

Remus grunted noncommittally. “Come on Remus you want to live forever,” said Bill with forced humour and tipped the bottle up and swallowed its contents. Remus sighed deeply, and shaking the vial so that the liquid flashed and sparkled through his closed hand, downed the potion in one.

“Urk,” and Remus’s face reflected displeasure at the taste, “Gooseberries,” he said, “I hate gooseberries.”

“Really?” said Fred.

“Fascinating,” said George, and Remus gave them both a filthy look.

They were all standing there in the cold waiting for the moon to rise, Hermione held on tight to Harry, partly for the warmth, but also in anticipation that tonight would see the fruition of something she herself had set in motion, and she desperately wanted it to succeed. The older Weasleys had their wands drawn and at the ready, they would cover the cages and seal the shed if anything went wrong, the thought of two unchained werewolves loose in the countryside around Ottery St. Catchpole was too frightening to consider.

The great silver disc appeared over the horizon and crept slowly upwards, shining its full round face into the open front of the shed and straight onto the cages secured inside.

Remus stared at his long hated nemesis and he began to sweat, the beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead. Bill sat calmly on his stool and looked the moon full in the face, he was relaxed almost as if he didn’t care, but Harry knew that was far from the truth.

Remus cried out in pain and doubled over falling off his seat, he pulled himself up and the watchers looked on in horror as his features began to change. Hermione was distraught, she had seen this once before and hoped to never see it again, but there was no doubt that Remus was once again becoming a werewolf. She buried her eyes in Harry’s coat not wanting to see the final transformation, then she realised that it had gone very quiet and that the gasps from the rest of the observers had fallen silent and that the animal sounds from inside the cage had ceased. Hermione took a cautious look, the others were crowding around the cages and she couldn’t see clearly. Harry gave her an encouraging squeeze and the two moved closer. Bill sat as before, a serene smile on his features that were bathed in the full light of the moon. Fleur had her arm inside the cage and was holding his hand as if she never dared to let go and the smile on her face said it all.

Charlie and Ron stood aside to allow Harry and Hermione to get their first look at Remus. He stood there breathing heavily, his long hair covered arms moving as he explored his face with hands that ended in thin sharp claws, Harry felt Hermione shiver against him, and then the hands fell from a face that was certainly changed but his eyes still held intelligence and he was undoubtedly, recognisably, Remus. His back was bent and his chest had burst from his shirt, his top half was covered in hair and his arms reached down to his knees which were still dressed in the old tweed trousers he had been wearing earlier. In fact his whole lower half looked remarkably normal.

“Well this is awkward,” said a voice that was almost like Remus’ but sounded as if he was speaking through a mouthful of spit, and with what was dribbling profusely off his chin was probably what he was doing. “Any ideas boys?” he asked the twins.

“Err…” said one.

“No.” said the other.

It was most odd, the sitting room was full again, and everyone was arranged around the partly changed form of Remus with Tonks sitting next to him on the sofa. Remus was trying with some difficulty to drink the cup of tea that Molly had made for them all and was not having much luck; Tonks conjured him a straw and after that he managed much better. Hermione was thinking very hard, the potion had worked for Bill, so why not for Remus, she tried to remember everything she had learned about this condition, but basically there should was no difference between the two men. Poor Remus she thought, a werewolf since the age of seven and now neither one thing nor the other, and then the penny dropped.

“Bill have you ever changed …properly I mean?”

The oldest of the Weasley’s sons turned to her, “No Hermione not fully, I have taken Wolfsbane ever since my injury, I go wolf but that’s it.”

“Remus has taken it as well,” said Tonks. “Ever since Severus first gave it to him, back in your third year. He hasn’t transformed either for quite a while.”

“Yes but…” Hermione persisted, and looked to Harry for encouragement.

“Go on Hermione,” he smiled at her, “Not like you to be indecisive. All we have are guesses and ideas, and your guesses and ideas are better than most.”

She sat up straight and looked the partly changed werewolf in the eye. “I think you changed because you expected to change,” she said boldly. “You’ve been a werewolf for so long and other potions have only relieved some of the symptoms, you didn’t expect this one to be any different but you cannot deny that it is. Bill has never changed fully and surprisingly he must have expected the twins to succeed, so the potion worked.”

“She’s right Remus,” put in Bill, “I don’t know why when I think about it, but I actually trusted my brothers to get it right and perhaps because I have only ever gone wolf it was easier for me to throw it all off.”

“So it won’t work fully for me then?” Remus sounded defeated.

“I think it will,” said Hermione, “If you believe, it will. Each time you take it the effects of the potion should increase in strength and then you won’t change either, but you have to believe it will help you.”

Hermione was, as Harry certainly expected, proved to be correct. Remus and Bill took the potion every day for the next four days and with each dose the changes Remus had undergone that first night diminished. By the last night of the full moon he looked no different than normal, except that his finger nails were rather longer than usual, and that was easily dealt with.

The New Year began on a high note for those celebrating it in the Burrow, only later in the warmth and comfort of their own room did Harry let down his guard and confided in Hermione that beyond any doubt he knew that this was the year that would see the end of this conflict. All the pain and damage that Voldemort and his followers had wrought would come to an end, and if it didn’t, then Harry knew that he would not live to celebrate another Christmas.

“We’ll be fine,” Hermione said and she really believed it, “I love you too much and you have too much to offer this world for Voldemort to win. It won’t be easy, but you’ll see my love, we will beat him in the end.”

As Harry drifted off to sleep on the first morning of the New Year he decided that he had no choice but to believe it as well.

* * *

A dark haired man sat in a room not far from that of his master, he was worried, and that was a strange feeling for him. He had joined the forces of the Dark Lord many years ago as a youth only recently released from that hell hole jokingly called a school, how he had hated Hogwarts and everything it stood for, even now the hatred was still there. He had not wavered during the uncertain years when the Dark Lord had vanished, his contempt for ordinary witches and wizards and the muggles that surrounded them gave him confidence that the forces of dark magic would prevail, and that the path he had chosen would lead to greater and better things. Then Voldemort had returned and everything began to fall into place, he had become rich and powerful, at least to his own eyes, and the muggles and the wizarding world were on the run, but now it was all beginning to go slightly sour.

He was not of the closest of the Dark Lord’s confidants but even he could discern that all was not well with the most powerful of wizards. On three separate occasions his master had demonstrated a loss of control that was unlike him. On the first occasion Lucius Malfoy was the unfortunate on the receiving end, that had been several years ago, but now twice in close succession the ranting and raving had returned, most recently in the last few days and those that had braved getting close enough to the Dark Lord could here him muttering one word over and over again. There, he could here him again; it always started low and built to a crescendo.

“Potter… Potter… POTTER!”

They all knew who he was referring to, Harry Potter, ‘the chosen one’, ‘the boy who lived’, and there were other more unflattering names that he was known by amongst the dark wizards, but there was something dreadfully personal in the way this boy was affecting the Master.

The man considered his own position, the Dark Lord was not the only one suffering because of Harry Potter’s actions. The debacle at the Ministry which forced the Master to reveal himself to the wizarding world had cost him a brother incarcerated in Azkaban.

The loss of Mountfitchet Castle and the forces there was a considerable blow to the general plan against the muggles and the Ministry of Magic, and three members of his family dead, distant relatives to be sure, but family nevertheless. Then the disastrous raid on Hogsmead had resulted in him having a second brother in Azkaban and a nephew in St.Mungo’s and on each occasion the reason behind the calamities had been Harry Potter. Something had to be done about the boy, and if the Dark Lord would not give the orders then he would take it on himself to do it. His only problem was that he did not know how.

The owl that left him the letter later that afternoon had departed hurriedly once it had deposited the parchment on the table in his room, not even bothering to wait for a reply or payment. The man regarded the parchment with suspicion, there was no one left to write to him but his name Malkanor Nott was boldly inscribed across the folded page.

He turned the letter in his hand and noted that the seal on the reverse was that of the wizarding hospital St.Mungo’s, perhaps there was news of young Theo his nephew. The hand that had written the letter was the same as the one that had put his name on the outside, but here the letters were tight and conformed, written with great deliberation.

Dear Mr. Nott,

I am fortunate to be the healer assigned to your nephew Theodore and have the task of attempting treatment. Using methods which I will not go into here I have been able to retrieve certain memories, which considering your families background you may find useful. My work in treating cases such as Theodore’s is of the most paramount importance, but my superiors do not agree and so they starve my research of funds. For a consideration I would be most happy to divulge these memories to you, unofficially of course. My office is on the fourth floor near the closed ward.

Sincerely

Artermetrius Bass.

Malkanor smiled, it amused him to think that even in the most prestigious circle of the healers, money talked and corruption was but hidden under the surface. He would visit this Artermetrius Bass and see just how far this corruption went, there was nothing going on here.

As Malkanor left the confines of Riddle Manor and apparated away to St.Mungo’s, the Dark Lord, the wizard who wanted to rule the world, Voldemort or just plain Tom Riddle sat alone in his chambers, he was not in the best of moods. He knew the moment it had happened that another Horcrux was gone and the piece of soul with it, but he had no one to blame for its loss but himself, and he was far too conceited to do that. He knew it could only be Harry Potter that was vexing him so. He could feel this certainty in his blood …Harry’s blood, and trouble him beyond reason that the boy was managing to circumnavigate the enchantments on the Horcruxes; one had caught Dumbledore so why not this barely trained youth. It never occurred to him that Harry was using old magic, and was merely tricking the Horcruxes, allowing them to open without the enchantments working. The loss of the locket, like the cup, was inconvenient but not catastrophic; the two most powerful Horcruxes were still safely hidden, even with one of those intact Voldemort’s future was ensured and there was one which he knew Potter would never find.

Voldemort’s diseased mind conjured a very gratifying future and played it out. The time would come when the boy would be here, right in front of him, on that very piece of floor that he was staring at now. He would be defeated, all his friends and allies gone, alone and on his knees, and then at the moment of his death he would see the folly of everything he had tried to accomplish. That he, Lord Voldemort the darkest of the dark wizards would arise fully in possession of all his powers and that it would be he, Harry Potter, who would make it all possible.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Memories are all that Remain

The foyer of St.Mungo’s was busier than usual, not because of any disaster though since Voldemort’s reappearance there had been enough of those, but because the holiday period naturally generated the little incidents that often ended up with one family member or another visiting the wizard hospital.

There were a plethora of minor injuries waiting to be seen by the healers and the throng of people gave Malkanor Nott the anonymity he wanted as he headed to his meeting with the healer Artermetrius Bass.

Malkanor avoided the lift and took to the stairs, they were deserted, and he quickly made his way to the fourth floor. He climbed up the last few steps and found himself in a long corridor, to his right were a set of double doors with opaque glass windows in them, and off to his left the corridor stretched into the distance with offices spaced evenly down its length. It was to his left that he turned and as he passed each door he scrutinised the nameplate fixed to it. The senior healers were given offices closest to the ward, and as he expected that the one occupied by Healer Bass was right down at the far end. Malkanor approached the last door and was about to knock when a voice issued from the nameplate attached to it.

“Healer Bass is not in his office at the moment, please state your name.” The sound was tinny and not very distinct, but once Malkanor had got over his surprise he reluctantly replied.

“Malkanor Nott.” he felt extremely silly talking to a door, but as long as no one overheard him he could pretend he did it every day.

“You are expected,” the metallic voice announced. “Please enter, you will not be kept waiting long.” The door lock clicked and the door swung open, to reveal a small office so full of books and loose sheets of parchment, that Malkanor Nott doubted he would be able to find anywhere to sit and sincerely hoped his wait would not be prolonged.

In the ten minutes he was forced to wait Malkanor studied the office and decided that this Artermetrius Bass was young and eager probably delving into areas of his craft that should be best left alone, at odds with the older members of his department, and without the experience to advance on his own. This picture suited the dark wizard someone ripe for taking and moulding to the ways of the Dark Lord, or at least to the ways of Malkanor Nott, he was bitterly disappointed when the office door was opened revealing a fat bald man of middle years, and judging by the state of his healers coat, a notable habit of messy eating.

“Art Bass,” the healer said by way of introduction holding out his hand, “Mr Nott?”

“Yes,” said Malkanor slowly, ignoring the proffered limb.

“Ahh, …good,” Bass laughed nervously and the hand was hastily withdrawn. The fat man levered himself around the desk to the chair set behind it, and with some difficulty squeezed his considerable bulk into it. He then looked expectantly at Malkanor who returned his look with a steely gaze, the he shrugged his shoulders and slowly drew a small bag from his coat pocket, which he placed on the desk, it jingled as he let it go.

Bass leaned forward and placed his hand over the bag and was about to draw it to him when with a ‘smack’ Malkanor brought his wand down trapping the fat Man’s hand between it and the desk.

The healer jumped in surprise, “Let’s leave the gold where we can both see it shall we?” said Malkanor not expecting an argument.

“Of course,… of course,” Bass massaged the back of his hand and examined the red welt that the stroke of the wand had raised. “You will be interested in how I reached these memories Mr. Nott.”

“I am more interested in what they are, but if it pleases you to tell me, then be quick.”

“Yes …yes, I will. It’s quite complex,” Malkanor made an impatient sound, “But I will simplify it for you.” Bass leaned back in his chair. “The brain is, how can I put it? Like a piece of parchment that is marked by the best quality inks, no matter how you try to clean it, whatever cleansing spells you use, once the inks have dried the marks are always there, very faint, but they are still there. If the marks happen to be numbers or words then with careful examination they can be revealed again and the sense of them discovered …so it is with the brain. Thoughts can be erased but they leave shadows behind them, and by careful application of certain spells these thoughts can be seen again.”

The fat man turned his chair with some difficulty in the cramped surroundings and reached to open a cupboard. From its interior he produced a flattish bowl made of a grey coloured stone set on a squat pedestal. He took the Pensive for that is what it was and placed it on the desk between himself and his guest, and then from his coat pocket he took a small bottle undid the stopper and poured the contents into the shallow bowl.

Malkanor looked suspiciously at the object. “You mean you are using a Pensive, but the spells for using one of these are well known, surely this must have been tried before?”

“You would have thought so,” Bass agreed, “but the general understanding that a mind wiped by the obliviate spell, is completely clean would predicate that the use of a Pensive would be a waste of time, and so as far as I am aware it has never been tried before.” He tapped his own wand on the side of the bowl. “Until now of course,” he added.

The contents of the bowl began to swirl and a young man dressed in the robe of a Slytherin student from Hogwarts rose from the surface of the silver fluid and slowly revolved at its centre. Theodore Nott stood very still and there was a look of intense concentration on the small face of the apparition. As he turned slowly round and round a small voice could be heard it was quite quiet but very distinct, and Malkanor knew that the voice was not Theodore’s.

“They wanted to know where Harry was Professor,” the voice was saying. “They tortured Ginny to make me tell. Do you think they wanted the information for Voldemort?”

“It is very possible Ron,” that was a second voice laced with an unmistakeable Scots accent. “But there are others closer to home that are most keen to get an idea of that young man’s whereabouts. So we must not jump to conclusions on that score.”

“I’m not sure the Shrieking Shack is going to be safe for them anymore.” said the first voice.

The small figure turned in silence for a few seconds then the voice began again.

“They wanted to know where Harry was Professor,”………….. Bass tapped the side of the bowl again and the voice stopped and the image of Theodore Nott sank once more into the swirling fluid.

“Interesting,” Malkanor Nott rubbed his chin in thought, “You have more memories like this, and they can be used to restore an obliviated mind to normal?”

“Oh yes I have many more, collected since I discovered the method,” Bass replied indicating a rack containing twenty or thirty small bottles of the same design to the one into which he was draining the contents of the Pensive. “Unfortunately there is no way they can be used to rebuild a witch or wizards original consciousness, I am afraid your nephew is gone forever.”

Malkanor Nott looked intently at the row of bottles and the labels that indicated their source. Artermetrius Bass in turn watched the dark wizard with interest if he was correct then there could be a considerable amount of money made from the sale of these captured memories, he just had to find the right buyer. ….perhaps this was the man he sought?

“Err… I am not sure how to approach the subject Mr Nott but there are other references to Harry Potter in those bottles, I wondered if you would be interested in them or I should get in touch with a Bella Lestrange, she appears to be the person these other thoughts were directed to.”

Malkanor turned sharply to the fat healer, “What makes you think the Harry my nephew was talking about is Harry Potter?”

“Come now Mr Nott, I am not stupid, dark wizard like yourself, your nephew with information important enough to survive the obliviate spell, information that is about someone at Hogwarts with the first name of Harry; even I recognised Minerva McGonagall’s voice,.” He spread his arms inviting a better explanation. “It has to be Harry Potter.” Then Art Bass, healer second class, revealed how stupid he really was. “If you, or this Lestrange woman, are not interested, Mr. Nott then I am sure the Ministry will be.”

That changed everything. If the healer missed the narrowing of Malkanor’s eyes, at the not so veiled threat to run to the other side, he could not miss the menace in his voice. “You would pass this information on to the Ministry? You realise that there could be serious repercussions if you did.”

Bass was aware of the displeasure but he chose to ignore it. “Of course I understand that you would be upset but I need the money, whoever pays gets the information.” He had made a fatal error.

Malkanor smiled, “My dear Healer Bass, I am sure we can avoid any unpleasantness, I think I can make an offer that even you would find difficult to refuse.”

The smile remained but there was no warmth in it, and there was no indication of what was to happen next. The green flash and the short scream the curse made as it sped the three feet that separated the end of Malkanor’s wand from the chest of Artermetrius Bass was over in an instant and without him knowing that he was a victim of the killing curse the life was driven from the body of the healer.

Malkanor stared at the lifeless man, wedged in his chair, his eyes still open and an expression of slight surprise on his face, for a moment there was silence then somewhere in the building and alarm began to toll. Set to activate at the use of any of the unforgivable curses within the confines of the hospital its shrill ringing tone eventually speared Malkanor into action. Grabbing the healer’s bag he stuffed the bowl of the Pensive and the collection of bottles containing the retrieved memories into its capacious interior, and giving the body of Artermetrius Bass a mocking bow turned to the door. As he pulled it open he was aware of the tinny voice issuing from the nameplate.

“Malkanor Nott was the last visitor to this office, …….. Malkanor Nott was the last visitor to this office……….” it repeated the message over and over again.

Showing the first signs of disquiet Malkanor gripped the nameplate and wrenched it from the door he jammed it into his pocket muffing the sound it was making and headed towards the stairs.

There was the sound of running feet coming up from the floors below and also down from the floors above, there was no easy way out, he was trapped and needed a diversion. He looked about and saw the nondescript doorway guarded by the pair of glass screened doors; he retrieved a small square box from the inside of his robes, tapped it with his wand and the box began to smoke. Hurrying as fast as he could he reached the door, and not knowing or caring what was behind it smashed the glass screen with his elbow, he then threw the box through the broken pane and scurried over to a shadowy alcove by the doors to the lifts. Healers, nurses and security wizards piled up the stairs and down converging on the fourth floor, a small crowd had gathered where the stairs met when with a flash and a very loud bang Malkanor’s box detonated.

The doors to the closed ward flew of their hinges, bits of glass and wood scattered in all directions followed by a ball of bright red flame and a cloud of black smoke. The whole building shook to the sound of the explosion and everyone gathered by the stairs was flung of their feet. In the confusion that followed as people picked themselves up, stared in horror at the smoke and flame pouring out of the closed ward and dealt with those injured by flying glass, Malkanor Nott slipped out of his hiding place and joined the throng. In the guise of helping take some of the injured down the stairs to the safety of the floors below he made good his escape, and never once did he worry himself with the damage he had caused to lives, families or property, but then if he had he would not have been worthy of the title dark wizard.

On the fourth floor the security wizards had managed to put out the flames and had all the smoke contained in a large bubble held aloft by two of their number on the points of their wands. As they struggled to pull the bubble out through the doors and up to the roof where they could release the smoke, healers and nurses searched the ward for those unfortunate enough to be inside.

Malkanor’s box had gone off about a third of the way down the ward from the doors, the damage was worse closest to the explosion, but the whole ward was wrecked. Its once neat and clean white walls were blackened and in places the ceiling was beginning to come down. Some of the beds that had lined the walls were twisted into almost unrecognisable shapes, all were overturned, and some of the bed linen was still smoking. The bodies thrown so violently out of their beds and about the ward lay on the floor and remained ominously still. In fact the only source of movement that the healers could see was from the far end of the ward where someone was trying to free themselves from the curtains that had been drawn around the last two beds closest to the windows.

A healer reached the wreckage of the beds to help the survivor disentangle themselves from the scorched material. The dark haired head of a young man was eventually revealed; he looked about him in shock not really able to understand what had happened to him. Then in despair he turned to the tangle of metal and bed clothes he had just struggled from and began to pull it apart. As he searched the healer standing helplessly behind him could hear his plaintive cry.

“Mum, Dad, I’m here, I’m coming, please be alright,” but as Neville Longbottom pulled back the twisted metal bedstead, his plea went unanswered. Lying close together arms protectively about each other shoulders were Frank and Alice Longbottom, his mother and father, and they were both dead.

“Neville!...Neville!...” There was the sound of heavy heeled shoes and the bustling of a matronly figure, as the elder Mrs Longbottom forced her way down the carnage in the ward to her grandson’s side. She gripped him fiercely murmuring her thanks at his survival, then she saw the bodies on the floor, and her hand shot to cover her mouth and stifle the small scream that threatened to escape.

The healers took over at this point and Neville and his grandmother were ushered away and they were led down the destroyed ward Mrs Longbottom could be heard explaining to the escorting medics.

“I was only away a few minutes. Just to give Neville and his parents a little time together. I was having a cup of tea. I….” the old witch broke off as the enormity of what had happened to her family finally sank in. She made to turn and re-enter the ward stretching out her hands looking for something to hold on to. “Frank!....” she called his name loudly, then with full realisation that he could no longer hear her, murmured quietly, “my son.”

Neville had tears in his eyes as he calmly but forcefully put his arm around his grandmother’s shoulders, and turned her away from the ward again. She suddenly seemed so old and frail to him, he had always been a little scared of the matriarch of the Longbottom family, but now he was having to be the strong one not just for her but for himself as well.

“Come on Gran, we must let the healers do their job now,” he said gently, “I think I could do with a cup of tea, how about you?” And although his question went unanswered the old lady allowed her grandson to lead her away from the place where her family had been torn apart.

The dark wizard who had caused all the commotion slipped unnoticed out of the hospital and made his way through the streets of London. He walked, rather than apparate, and took his own route that would lead him eventually to the dark haven of Knockturn Alley. As he reached the Thames an idea came to him, deep in the folds of his robes the metal nameplate was still shouting out its tinny message to anyone who would have cared to listen, and Malkanor needed to get rid of it. He crossed the river at Westminster Bridge and as he reached the centre furtively glanced about him for any evidence that his actions were being watched. The few muggles using the footpath were far to concerned with the sights of London town to pay any attention to the strangely dressed man standing close to the edge of the bridge, and the traffic was rushing passed at what to the wizard appeared an alarming rate. As two of the large red buses the muggles used thundered by him Malkanor pulled the talking nameplate from his pocket and flung it over the wall. He watched its flight as it fell towards the water, and the small splash it made was lost in the wind riven waves that marched their way down towards the sea.

His last connection to the disaster at St.Mungo’s gone Nott hurried on satisfied that he was safe, he might have worried more if he had known that as the nameplate span its way to the darkness and mud at the bottom of the Thames a small webbed hand reached out, grabbed it. The creature in the water drew the nameplate to the side of its head as if it was listening to the sounds it was making. Distorted by the water the tinny voice captivated the creature and it floated there rocking its head from side to side, then with a flick of its tail it darted away was lost in the murk.

Seven were killed that day in the closed ward, Frank and Alice Longbottom, the nurse on duty, and four other patients. The identities of two of these patients were unknown. They had arrived mysteriously some time before with a third, who had only recently been identified by the Aurors at the Ministry as Neb Covey. The final victim was the youngest to die and because his bed was closest to the blast Theodore Nott hadn’t stood a chance.

The death of Artermetrius Bass was only discovered later when the janitor sweeping up the glass that had found its way right down to the end of the corridor happened to glance through the late healer’s partly open office door. He gave the portly man sitting behind his desk a friendly salutation and received only a blank stare in return. This was unusual and on further examination the janitor found that the healer was in no condition to enter into a conversation at all, because he was stiff and cold, it was obvious that he hadn’t talked to anyone for quite a while.

* * *

There is a well known saying that news travels fast, but bad news even faster. So by the time Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny returned to the warmth of the Gryffindor common room at the start of the next term they knew as much about what had happened to Neville as anyone apart from the lad himself.

It was a small group of just the five of them, Neville sitting between Hermione and Ginny flanked on either side by Ron and Harry. The fire in front of them crackled merrily and threw dancing shadows into the common room, now quiet and empty of other students. Neville stared into the flames, seated about him were his best friends and if there was a time to unburden all his feelings this was it, but the words wouldn’t come. In the flickering of the fire he saw it all happen again, but the flames he imagined were much deadlier than the ones he was looking at. The fire popped and Neville heard the explosion again and the stifling heat washed over him, the blast never touched him but suddenly there was no air to breathe, and he shuddered trying to fight off the suffocation that threatened to pull him down. Only now did he become aware of the arms wrapped around him and the presence of the two girls by his side. Neville raised his head and gazed from face to face, finally to fix on Harry who returned a look full of understanding, and finally for Neville the dam broke and the tears were allowed to fall.

“Both orphans, now Harry,” he managed to say between sniffs. “You must be very brave, I never realised it hurt so much.”

“I never really knew what I had missed out on, until recently,” said Harry trying to make light of it, “so for me it was not so bad, but you have a lot of memories to cope with as well.”

“And not goods ones either,” Neville said ruefully.

“Sorry Nev’ didn’t mean….”

“It’s ok Harry, I know.” Neville gave him a sad little smile. “But I do have a memory to be proud of and maybe if I hang on to that one it will help. I’ll tell it to you.”

“Only if you want to Neville,” whispered Hermione.

Neville turned and smiled, a stronger smile now, “Yes,” he said, “I believe I do, it’s my last one of my parents, and it gives me hope.” he stared back at the fire and the memory returned to him clear and bright.

“We were sitting as usual, Mum and Dad never said much when I visited. They seemed to know me but they always just sat there and smiled at me, as if only part of them was with me in the hospital…. as if their thoughts were somewhere else entirely different. Anyway, Gran had gone for a cup of tea; she’s been finding the visits harder lately, when there was this sound of glass breaking. I think I pulled back the curtain that was around the beds, only a bit, but enough to see this small box sliding across the floor. It was bright red and smoking fit to burst. I’d never seen anything like it before, but Dad and Mum must have, and somewhere inside,” Neville tapped the side of his head, “it made a connection. I could see it in their eyes, they were clear and alert, they’ve never been that way before, and they acted as if there was nothing wrong with them. Before I knew what was happening they grabbed me and covered me with a mattress…” Neville paused and took a deep breath. “There was so little time, I only heard two words, my Mum said “love” and I heard Dad say “live”.…. I don’t know if they said any more, and then the world fell apart. But I do have that memory of them as they were …healed and whole, even if it was only for a few seconds.”

“And what better words could they leave you with,” said Hermione drying her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, “Love and live,” she looked pointedly at Harry who nodded silently in agreement.

Neville glanced around the small group of his friends, talking to them had lifted the burden, it would never go completely, but sharing the load made so much difference. “Thanks guys.” he said, only two words but sincerely spoken.

Harry reached over and placed a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Always here Nev’, always here.”

High up in Gryffindor Tower the mirrors reflected the scene below, and the old man nodded gravely, raised the one glass of Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey he allowed himself each day to his lips and drank a silent toast “To Gryffindors.”

* * *

Harry and Hermione left the school as usual once Ron, Ginny and Neville had gone up to the dormitories. They walked in silence, hand in hand, over the lawns toward the Whomping willow, and as before Harry stopped it’s writhing with a well aimed stone. These evening departures were becoming a routine occurrence and to be honest they thought little of their daily commute to their home; it was no more difficult to them than climbing the stairs to the tower was for the others. Tonight was a first however, the first of the New Year, the first of the new term, and the first time that their evening sojourn was being watched by someone concealed amongst the trees of the forbidden forest, but of this last fact Harry and Hermione were totally unaware.

The dark wizard, hidden in the dark forest, watched the progress of the witch and wizard as they disappeared into the tunnel, he had known about the reason for the presence of the strange tree in the Hogwarts grounds for quite a while. Pettigrew had told the story of his escape from Lupin, Black and Harry Potter, along with how he had stayed so loyal to the Dark Lord, and why he was the one with the silver hand so many times, that now no one wanted to listen. Malkanor had forgotten most of the witterings of the small man but the fact that the Whomping willow guarded a tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack now had a whole new significance. He would need to watch them, to make sure, and then he would act. Malkanor Nott, like those that had tried before him, thought that the Dark Lord would praise him above all others as the one who killed Harry Potter.

“You ok Harry? You’re very quiet.” The silence between them as they walked together had never lasted so long and Hermione felt that she had to say something.

“Could say the same to you,” Harry countered, as he gave her hand a little squeeze, “No I’m fine just thinking.”

“Yeh, me too.” the dampness of the tunnel made her give an involuntary shiver. “Do you think that in the end all we have are memories?”

Harry drew her in close, “In the end? I suppose we do, because nothing lasts forever, and when they end all you can have are memories.” Harry quickened his pace anxious to be out of the dark tunnel, as the conversation was threatening to take a gloomy turn.They walked up the steps from the tunnel and into the upper room of the Shack that not so long ago was home and refuge. “But it’s the things we do that make the memories.” He looked around the room; although Dobby had returned the beds he had borrowed from the school the wall hangings and the large work table were still there, it perhaps now had the appearance of a slightly overdressed classroom. “Take this place,” Harry said, “I used to think of it as a very depressing room, Ron with his broken leg, Snape catching Sirius, Lupin and Sirius revealing Wormtail.”

“And the three of us attacking Snape,” put in Hermione

Harry laughed, “That really worried you didn’t it?” Hermione nodded. “But now this creaky old building holds a completely different set of memories and they all revolve around you.”

“What is your favourite?” she asked shyly.

“Oh that’s easy, but I don’t suppose you will believe me.” Harry gazed down into her dark brown eyes and sighed.

“Well?” Hermione asked with faked exasperation when he remained silent.

“This,” was all he replied and sliding his wand from his pocket he waved it toward the far end of the room and muttered “Anselmo” and as before the red and blue sparks from Harry’s wand worked their magic and the man sitting at the piano appeared but this time he was already playing, the tune was slow and the words romantic. Harry gathered Hermione up in his arms looked into the eyes of the girl he loved the most and kissed her deeply.

As they danced in time with the music Harry held Hermione tight and whispered in her ear. “These are the memories that matter and whatever happens these are the memories that will keep us together forever.”

Then she kissed him and murmured quietly “Oh Harry, Oh Harry, I love you,” as the sound of the piano carried them on a dance that neither of them hoped would ever end.

Sadly all good things come to an end, and the best things hardly seem to last any time at all and so eventually the magic faded and with it the piano man, for some few minutes the couple danced on in the silence. Slowly they turned and turned moving across the floor to the mirror that was the back door to the Shrieking Shack then Harry stepped back and with a formal little bow invited his young lady to be the first to pass through. She demurely accepted and with a little smile that gave a promise of more delights to follow she vanished into the glass.

The following morning Harry and Hermione returned from Godrics Hollow and walked back through the Shrieking Shack and down the tunnel again with another set of memories to store away with the others. Malkanor Nott eased himself from the damp ground and watched. His only memories of the night were the cold, the dark and the awful noises that had sounded in the depths of the forest behind him. He had found the whole experience rather nerve wracking, and the blast of fire he had seen in the depths of the night, from the dragon perched on the top of the astronomy tower, had nearly made him give up. But he had stuck it out and his reward was there, walking back from the tunnel, across the lawns. So his information was right, they lived in the Shack. He knew it could be nowhere else because he had checked the building the day before and the anti- apparation wards were there for all to see, if you knew what you were looking for.

For the next few days Malkanor watched the movements of the two students, they were sadly predictable, these two had no grasp of the fundamental aspects of keeping your foe at a disadvantage. It didn’t occur to him that camping out in the forbidden forest for three nights was not exactly exhibiting masterful stealth. By the second night his presence was known by the Centaurs and two of Aragog’s children were eying up the dark wizard for a late night snack. Unfortunately his luck held, and on the third morning, after observing Harry and Hermione make their way back to the school as usual, he forced his way through the trees and out of the forest, and by a circuitous route to Hogsmead and the Hogshead Tavern. He sat in the dingy pub and ate the poor excuse for a meal the long faced barman had served him, and then he turned to his tankard and drank the sour tasting beer that appeared to be the best that was available.

There was in fact much better food and drink to be had at the tavern but Langdon Long was fastidiously fair with his clientele, the good people got the good stuff the bad the bad, and he knew that this wizard was a dark one indeed. It was a shame that Langdon was not blessed with the ability to read minds because he would certainly have found something to worry about in the thoughts of Malkanor Nott that day.

It would not take too long, five or six days, a week at the most to gather the things he needed, a day or so to set the trap, and then all that would remain of Harry Potter and his little friend would be memories.

The barman watched the dark wizard as he left the tavern and frowned at the sound of the satisfied laugh that reached his ears just as the door closed, that one was up to something, but then so were many who darkened the doorway of the Hogshead, hopefully, whatever plans the man was hatching, would not come to fruition.

Malkanor Nott continued laughing quietly to himself as he walked away, only if you were standing close to him would you have heard, “Soon Potter, soon I am going to turn you into a memory, and then you will bother no one.”

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

Bang, Crash, Wallop

The following two weeks were ones of monotonous conformity for Harry and Hermione commuting each day from Godrics Hollow to Hogwarts. They attended some lessons, but spent more time in individual tuition with the professors the Headmistress felt could do them the most good. Harry and Professor Flitwick spent a lot of time together and Harry was amazed at how much talent was confined in such a small wizard. The very simple advice from Fyrsil Ollivander to trust in his wand had proved to be a good starting point but Flitwick expanded on this and passed on the many little tricks and twiddles that made him the master of the charms. Harry found out that for some of the spells Flitwick taught him the term charm was far from accurate, but curse, charm, spell or enchantment the diminutive Professor certainly knew his stuff.

Hermione was cosseted in the Headmistresses study with the lady herself. There was a lot more than transfiguration secrets that passed between the two, but they were the only ones that Hermione saw fit to tell Harry about. If the young couple’s conversation ever began to encroach on these other subjects then Hermione would fall silent and a rosy glow would appear in her cheeks. Harry may not have had much experience in dealing with girls but he knew his Hermione and he didn’t pry, there are some things a man doesn’t need to know. The pair were marking time, they had promised Remus not to do anything about Spinners End, Horcrux hunting or Voldemort until they had seen him again, and the inactivity was beginning tell. Ron was even encouraged enough to ask Harry to get on a broom again, and delighted when he said yes, but only for training.

Harry and Hermione owed this short period of normality not only to their promise to Remus but also to the unexpected difficulties that a certain dark wizard was having in setting up his little welcome for them in the Shrieking Shack. Malkanor Nott had examined the wards on the shack carefully, and he knew that breaking them was not possible with the magical power he had at his disposal, so it was to the alchemist’s art he turned to find the mixture of unstable substances that would turn the Shrieking Shack into so much firewood.

He returned only once to his small dark room in the sprawling manor at Little Hangleton where he could still hear the demented cries from the Dark Lord and more frequently now the deathly silences when Voldemort’s twisted mind descended to unknown depths. Malkanor set his stolen pensive on the rickety table and arranged the bottled memories around it. Once he had finished with the Potter boy he would examine the rest perhaps there was something else taken from the lost minds that Healer Bass was supposed to have cared for that would prove useful. But that could wait he had places to go and people to rob.

It took far longer than he had imagined, stealing what he needed from several sources, he was now only missing one ingredient and by all accounts the entire stock of that one simple substance was at this moment residing in a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Without the fragamite, Malkanor’s gift to Harry Potter would be a ‘damp squib’, about as useful as the picture that phrase would conjure for either muggle or wizard. There was no other way, he had to get into that building, and that worried him. He remembered the tales Theo had told about the twins that owned the shop, the way they could out fox witches and wizards much older than they were, those who by rights shouldn’t have fallen for their tricks. Their products may be harmless and only made for fun but the idea of getting caught in a trap and suddenly turning into a large yellow canary or something similar was not one to be taken lightly by any dark wizard.

Malkanor approached his burglary of the shop that proudly exclaimed to everyone with its garish sign, Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes Jokes for all Occasions, with some caution. To that end he waited in a side alley until the shop was closed, and he saw the shop girl waving goodbye to the ginger twins who after a few minutes also left heading down Diagon Alley in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

The darkness of the winter evening hid the thief as he crossed the now almost deserted street, and disappeared entirely into the shadow of the joke shop doorway. He slipped a small device out of his pocket and pressed it against the lock on the door, there was a crackling noise and a very small pop and the door swung open Malkanor crossed the threshold quickly and closed the door behind him. He put away his lock pick and from another pocket took out a small withered hand that was holding a candle which he lit with the tip of his wand. The dim light the hand of glory provided showed him the inside of the shop, but there was more to see than the shelves full of jokes and potions. Two steps beyond where he was standing was a swirling patch of floor, it was an old but reliable trap, which if he stepped into it would have instantly held on to his feet and sounded an alarm. Malkanor walked carefully around the sink trap and moved towards the stairs that led down to the basement. There was a trip spell at the top of the stairs, which he stepped over, and a further sink trap halfway down, which he only just saw in time.

The workshop he found himself in was full of cartons and boxes all neatly stacked but still covering most of the floor. The work bench was the only really clear space and on the wall behind it were a large number of shelves and small drawers which held the ingredients the twins used the most often. Malkanor put down the hand of glory on the work surface and delved into his pocket yet again, this time he produced a stick about six inches long rather like a short wand but fixed to the end of the stick was what looked remarkably like a human nose.

He tapped the nose with his wand and murmured “Fragamite” then holding the end of the stick with the nose pointing toward the shelves and drawers he began to move it back and forth. He started at the top and had moved down to the third shelf when the nose began to run, as the dripping became more frequent Malkanor slowed his scanning of the shelves then as he passed a small grey coloured sack tied with a red ribbon the nose sneezed, not loudly, but enough to be heard. He wiped the nose on the sleeve of his robe and pocketed it again, and then he reached for the small sack and carefully lifted it down. He undid the ribbon and slowly opened the sack; the scintillating green powder it contained was what he had come for, and this fragamite looked fresh which made it more dangerous, dropping it could prove disastrous, and just with a single spark the resulting explosion would blow a good part of Diagon Alley to pieces.

Understandably the wizard took great care in leaving the shop and avoiding all the twin’s traps, holding the small sack in one hand and the hand of glory well away from it in the other he reached the front door. Concentrating on the sink trap by the door he didn’t see the shadows of somebody approaching it from the other side. It was only when the swirling piece of floor, he was carefully navigating himself around, became solid planking, and the door opened to reveal Fred and George returning after their evening meal, did Malkanor realise that he had company.

“Here what are you doing!” shouted Fred, who was in the lead.

“Put it all down and come out!” ordered George as he wrestled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the thief.

“Back off!” growled Malkanor, “or I drop the fragamite and you can say goodbye to your livelihood.”

George grabbed Fred’s arm to prevent him from tackling the burglar. “Not worth it bro’,” he hissed, as he recognised the small sack and knew exactly what the contents of the bag could do. “No point in getting all blown to bits for fifty Galleons of stuff.”

The two Weasley’s backed out into Diagon Alley again and gave Malkanor the room he needed to make his escape. The dark wizard dropped the hand of glory, and held the fragamite out in front of him to ward off any attempt by Fred or George to tackle him. Uncharacteristically considering the monetary loss the twins appeared calm and in control and smiled at the burglar who grasped the sack in both hands, held it close to his chest, and took a deep breath.

“Before you go,” said George.

“You ought to know,” said Fred.

“That trying to apparate with fragamite,” continued George.

But Malkanor was not listening and with a CRACK he vanished.

“Is almost as bad as giving it a light,” finished Fred to the empty space the dark wizard had so recently occupied.

“O well he’ll find out,” said Fred, picking up the discarded hand of glory, “we better go and check if he made any mess.”

And quite unconcerned with the fate of the thief they re-entered the shop.

* * *

That very same evening Harry and Hermione sat with Ron, Ginny and Colin listening to the notices Professor McGonagall regularly gave out after the evening meal. She always read out the Ministry releases on the activities of the ‘forces of evil’ their euphemism for the followers of Lord Voldemort, and much of it was bad news. Although the destruction of Mountfitchet Castle and the rounding up of the dark wizards there had for a while slowed the list of attacks and murders, recently these had increased again strangely more against muggle targets than wizard. It had occurred to Harry a while ago that perhaps Voldemort had more on his mind than the destruction of Harry Potter, but these attacks on the muggles appeared random and without any purpose. Harry was content for the moment to concentrate on his own battles with the darkest of the dark wizards.

As all the other Gryffindors were piled high with homework Harry and Hermione left the castle earlier than usual. The grounds were still covered with snow, but without any new falls the path that Hagrid had cut through the drifts was clear so the grass it revealed was crisp with frost, and the two young people crunched their way through the darkness of the evening. The path they walked appeared haphazard in its meanderings over the school grounds, but as if by some hint of purpose, it passed close to the stony ground near the base of the Whomping Willow and allowed Harry and Hermione to leave it without giving away their destination.

They walked closely side by side and talked quietly together, as they often did, passing into the tunnel and out of sight. The wards recognised them as they crossed into the confines of the Shrieking Shack, and they wasted no time as they climbed the stairs to the room on the first floor. On this evening they paid little attention to the large room crossing to the old-fashioned mirror on the far wall. Harry stood to one side and motioned for Hermione to go first and as the last bit of her disappeared through the glass Harry stepped forward to follow her…………

Sometime within the few seconds it took Harry to pass from one side of the mirror to the other Malkanor Nott’s apparation, to the pile of boxes and flasks that he had set against the outside wall of the Shrieking Shack, was completed. If he had listened to the twins parting words he would have understood why the powder in the sack he held so tightly to his chest suddenly became very warm, but he didn’t really have the time.

Malkanor Nott was a not good alchemist, but his plan worked to great effect. The fragamite did exactly has he had hoped and encouraged the other ingredients the wizard had collected to respond enthusiastically, the only down side was that the wizard himself had not intended to be quite so close to the centre of the reaction. The CRACK of his apparation was followed almost instantaneously by an explosion and a release of flame and smoke that completely obliterated the wooden structure formally known as the Shrieking Shack and lit up the sky for miles around. The blast radiated out flattening some of the smaller trees that barred its way heading out down the valley to ruffle the water of the lake and rattle the windows in Hogwarts Castle itself. The sound of that blast rumbled on and on as it ricocheted from one hill to the next making the ground tremble and shake. In the village of Hogsmead windows were broken and a few chimney stacks wobbled to settle at even more impossible angles than to those they had leaned before.

The patrons of the Three Broomsticks piled out on masse to see the flame and smoke boiling into the sky, their initial consternation was understandable but when it was realised that it was only the Shrieking Shack that someone had seen fit to demolish many shrugged their shoulders and retreated back into the pub and out of the cold air, the spectacle not worthy of getting a chill for. One unnaturally large man who had stood at the back of the crowd did not move. On his face or at least what of it could be seen through his massive beard, was an expression of absolute horror, as he watched the debris of the building begin to flutter back down to earth, he hoped against hope that it was only the building that had been destroyed. He had to know, and tankard still in hand he raced off down the lane toward the light that flickered dreadfully in the evening’s darkness………..

Harry stepped into the mirror and the familiar stretching sensation had gripped his body, he began to take the second step to clear his trailing leg from the glass, but the final snap that told him he was free never came. He felt the heat sear up his leg and the punch of air in his back that threw him forward. He crashed into Hermione, knocking her to the ground and falling on top of her, then the sound of the explosion was upon them. Harry was vaguely aware that the glass from the shattered mirror sprayed out in all directions, and that the concussion of the explosion shook the small cave that formed the garage and it was instantly filled with choking dust. Small bits of rock and earth rained down from the roof and walls onto Harry’s back and the motorcycle covered in its dust sheet. Hermione lying on the floor under Harry’s body was shielded from the worst and he tried his best to cover his head with his arms but one piece of rock slightly larger than the rest caught Harry on the side of his head and Hermione felt him go limp.

The silence after that roar of noise was intense and Hermione wondered if she had gone deaf, but then she heard her own voice calling to the young man who lay so inertly over her.

“Harry, Harry,” there was no answer.

Very carefully Hermione eased herself out from under Harry’s body and then gently turned him over onto his back, he groaned once which sent a surge of relief through the witch, at least he was still alive. A quick twitch of her wand and the oil lamp Hagrid used cast a dim and dusty light, poor to be sure, but enough for her to see blood on the side of Harry’s head and the cause of his unconsciousness. There was no time to waste, she need to get them out, so turning to the doors she fired the spell that would unlock them, but they did not open, the force of the blast had twisted them and they were jammed tight. Hermione raised her wand again to blow the doors away, and risk further collapse of the garage, then through the thickness of the doors she heard someone calling……..

Turning from the road the half giant forced his way through the tangle of undergrowth now interspersed with pieces of smoking debris from the Shack and areas that were swept clean of everything save blackened soil, until he reached the spot where the Shack had rested. Here there was nothing and a reasonably large nothing it was, it looked as if something had scraped the Shrieking Shack off the face of the earth. The open entrance to the tunnel that led to the Whomping Willow was the only recognisable evidence that the Shack had ever existed, but it didn’t stop Hagrid from calling out just to be sure.

“‘Arry! ‘Ermione! Oh Merlin’s bones I ‘ope youm wer’n’t ‘ere”. He stood in the middle of the scorched patch and looked around with a helpless expression on his face. Then a faint muffled cry brought hope to him.

“Hagrid! Hagrid! We’re trapped in the garage. Harry’s hurt!” Hermione’s yell for help drew the giant to the hidden doors. Although ravaged by the explosion and fire the willow tree had hung on to its roots and its drooping branches continued to shield doors from view, Hagrid swept them aside to reveal the stout wooden doors twisted on their hinges but still in place.

“I’ve unlocked the doors,” yelled Hermione, “but I can’t open them.”

“Its ok now m’ dear,” Hagrid said, far more calmly than he felt. “Stan’ back, I’ll ‘ave these off in a mo.” And Hagrid spread his arms wide, gripped the edge of one door, straightened his back and pulled it away. He looked in and saw a wide eyed Hermione urgently beckoning him to the back of the garage, he followed and there, behind the shrouded motorcycle, he found Harry lying still with half his face covered in blood.

Hagrid scooped him up. “Come on ‘ospital wing,” he said urgently to Hermione, and led her out into the now moonlit dark.

As he brushed past her Hermione instinctively grabbed his thick moleskin coat for support and mumbled in agreement, “Yes hospital wing.” She thought it more intently than she spoke it, and suddenly they were there.

“Bugger, ‘ow did that ‘appen.” swore Hagrid, as he collided with the door to the domain of Poppy Pomfrey that hadn’t been there a moment before. But with Harry uppermost in his mind, he shrugged the impossibility aside, and kicking the door open with one large foot, pushed his way inside………..

When Harry opened his eyes he felt that they were full of sand and he had a headache. He must have made a small sound of discomfort, because before he was fully aware a cup was pressed to his lips and a bitter tasting potion was forced into him. He was about to complain loudly when magically his headache disappeared and his eyes cleared. Blurred though his vision was without his glasses, he saw the white starched uniform of Madam Pomfrey leaning over him.

“Oh err… thanks,” he said quietly, “Hermione?” he asked anxiously.

“Next bed,” replied the nurse, “Shock and dead on her feet was that one when she came in with you.” She saw the worry in Harry’s eyes. “Don’t fret she’ll be fine when she wakes up. Now young man go back to sleep, it is still very early, explanations will be much better left for breakfast time.”

However at that breakfast time, nor at any of the others that followed shortly after the destruction of the Shrieking Shack and then their subsequent recovery, from what turned out to be minor injuries, did any explanation fully cover the events of that night. At least not until the day that Harry’s early morning tuition with Professor Flitwick was interrupted by the appearance of Fred and George Weasley.

“Had a letter from Ron,” stared George.

“Told us you were hurt the night the Shrieking Shack did the big firework,” continued Fred.

“Then we put two and two together. Our burglar must have apparated to the Shack and the fragamite he stole from us did the rest.” finished George.

Harry looked from one twin to the other, he knew they were trying to help it would just much easier if they didn’t speak as if they were one person all the time. “Err… could one of you explain what you are talking about. …Without interruptions,” he added as the twins took a simultaneous breath to start the explanation. In the end George did it…..

“We got a pretty good look at the bloke,” said George finishing up the story. “Dad says we should be able to discover who he was eventually, but safe to say he won’t be bothering you anymore.” George gave Fred a sly look. “What we couldn’t work out was why he would want to blow up the Shrieking Shack and anyway what you were doing in there with Hermione?”

Fred grinned at Harry. “Used to be the top of the Astronomy tower in our day, but I suppose times change.”

“We weren’t in the Shack we were just nearby, and it is none of your business what Hermione and I were doing.” said Harry defensively.

Professor Flitwick stifled a little giggle. Fred and George looked at one another and grinned.

“Love.” said Fred to George

“Definitely.” said George to Fred.

“Bugger off,” said Harry to the pair of them. “Err…sorry Professor,” he apologised when he remembered Flitwick was there.

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrange was on a mission, she marched through the damp and dusty corridors of the mansion in Little Hangleton, because she was looking for Malkanor Nott. For some reason, best known to himself, the master wanted to talk to him, and Bellatrix decided, that with the mood the Dark Lord was in at the moment, it was sensible not to argue with him, so menial as the task may be she set to it with a will.

The door to the wizard’s room was locked but that proved to be no barrier to Voldemort’s second in command, the fact that the room was empty was going to cause her more of a problem. While she considered how she was to impart this information to her master, without the pain that delivering negative messages usually entailed, her eyes fell on the Pensive and the row of small bottles set on the table. The grey substance that swirled in the bottles, they were obviously memories, which came as no surprise, but the names on the labels attached to the bottles, that was another matter.

One of them carried the name of Neb Covey the little weasel who had almost lost her, her position, and on another the name of Theodore Nott, Malkanor’s nephew. She knew that he had died at St.Mungo’s, in an attack that none had laid claim to, but all had been blamed for. Now Bellatrix wondered if it was Malkanor who had perpetuated that particular crime and why would he be prepared to kill his own flesh and blood.

Half an hour later and she knew the reasons behind Malkanor’s behaviour and had determined the circumstances of his absence, she had also caught up on the not at all lamented Neb Covey, she smiled, perhaps the incompetent animagus was less incompetent than she had believed.

Bellatrix assumed correctly that all these memories came from obliviated minds like the unfortunate Theodore, and thus it was likely that Neb, and the others mentioned on the bottles, would all have perished with him at St.Mungo’s. However wasteful of manpower that fact in itself was of little importance, but the information she had learned that was a different matter, it may change the Dark Lord’s whole strategy, it would prove to be very useful indeed.

The pain would stop in a moment she was sure of it. It was her fault for taking so long to report back, and the Dark Lord had struck the instant she had entered the room giving her no chance to explain. She endured the agony, knowing that the information she carried would spare her more, and endear her to her lord and master.

“Well Bellatrix, what have you to tell me?”

The rage and anger were turned off in a second. That was what made him so terrible, that and his power; it always made for nervous meetings at least on the side of those who had to meet him.

Bellatrix Lestrange lifted herself from the floor where the Cruciatus curse had thrown her.

“My Lord, Malkanor will not return, I believe he is dead.” Voldemort cocked his head to one side, an expression of curiosity on his deformed face. “He is the one responsible for the destruction at St.Mungo’s and in Hogsmead,” she was committed now and had to tell all. “He has tried to kill Harry Potter, and has paid for that folly with his life.”

“Really, do go on,” the words slid out of Voldemort’s throat like a sharp knife slides into the back of an unsuspecting victim.

So Bellatrix explained what she had learned from the memories stored in the small glass bottles, she could see that Voldemort was not happy with the turn of events and wished she had found Malkanor alive. If she was correct he was beyond the wrath of the master, happily dead, but she…………

If anything this time the pain was worse, but mercifully short.

“I thought I had made it clear the boy dies, but only by my hand.” Voldemort hissed in anger.

“Indeed my lord,” said Bellatrix, gathering her senses from another overload. “And I have the information you need. Potter was not hiding in Hogsmead, I have learned that he has returned to Godrics Hollow.” she said it with conviction hoping that she had not read too much into the memories of Neb Covey.

The mention of the abode of the late, and certainly unlamented by him, James and Lily Potter, sent a thrill of dread through the bones of Lord Voldemort. He had nearly lost his life in that place, and that troubled him, but then in a way the events of that Halloween night so many years ago would ensure his survival and eventual victory. Maybe Harry could be brought to his knees sooner than expected; the opportunity to strike should not be passed by.

Voldemort stood and stepped down from the throne like chair he had occupied for many months now. He advance towards Bellatrix and held out a skeletal hand, she took it in hers, it was cold to the touch and felt hard, almost brittle, but it gripped her as if made of metal not bone. Unpleasant and cold as she was Bellatrix feared this dark wizard, and well she might, as well all of wizard and muggle kind should, for rarely had the world seen a soul as twisted and depraved as the one he carried.

“Come my dear,” Voldemort said, with all the charm of the snake he so closely resembled. “We will see if you are correct.”

The witch was not reassured by his words at all, but hand in hand they walked to the far end of the room, then she and the Dark Lord vanished.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up, stretched his arms and gave thanks to who ever decided that on a Saturday morning he was entitled to a lie in. The sun had climbed into the sky long ago and it looked as if it was going to be a nice day. Not that he could see much through the chink in the bedroom curtains but a shaft of brilliant light, and that miniscule view was totally blocked out as a slightly out of focus face pressed itself against his.

“Morning,” he mumbled into a pair of lips that seemed intent on trying to devour his. He didn’t quite catch Hermione’s reply but he very soon got the idea of what she must have said, and all thoughts of getting out of bed were forgotten for the moment. A little later after tangled sheets were sorted out and mussed hair returned to normal, clothed and looking remarkably respectable in their muggle attire Harry and Hermione descended the stairs and made for the front door. They intended to walk down to the village and indulge in a little muggle shopping, it made a change and they were only after the essentials. Then as Harry’s hand reached for the door the house shook to a deep rumbling noise and a flash of golden light penetrated the hall and for an instant all the tiny motes of dust floating in the air flickered and sparkled as if they were alive. For the second time that morning Harry had his mind changed for him, and on this occasion it did not promise such pleasurable results.

“Back,” he said unnecessarily, for when he turned to Hermione she was already half way into the sitting room to try and see what or who was outside, and what they were up to.

Harry stared to follow her and as he reached the door of the sitting room Hermione recoiled out of it into his arms. She was shaking and seemed incapable of speech her eyes were wide with fear and she clung to him in desperation.

“What on earth is the matter?” asked Harry holding her tightly.

“I…I…think it’s him.”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean love?” he was far more concerned for her state of mind that the identity of those outside, he had never seen her so scared.

“Voldemort, Harry it must be him, that awful face those eyes, burning red.”

“Stay here,” said Harry firmly unwrapping himself from her embrace, and making for the sitting room.

“NO Harry, you mustn’t.” But he bade her to keep quiet and stay hidden in the hallway.

He turned to face the window and he saw what Hermione had seen, it made his blood run cold but nevertheless he took a step toward the wizard he knew he must destroy or be destroyed by. Harry drew his wand and prepared himself, he wasn’t ready for this but if this was the appointed time then there was no turning back.

His irritation plain to see, Voldemort launched another spell across what he perceived to be an empty clearing, as before the fire from his wand was dissipated to the four winds, and this time the protecting shield struck back. The golden light streaked towards the dark wizard who hastily conjured a shield of his own to disperse the spell, but its power drove him back and almost to his knees. Bellatrix was caught by the edge of this retaliatory burst, and was physically thrown in the air hitting the ground hard at the very edge of the clearing.

Voldemort screamed in rage at this invisible foe that was denying him access to whatever was hidden in the clearing. He may not be able to see behind the shield but he knew the magic that had made it, and he stared down at the wand in his hand.

“Well my old friend,” he said to it, “you think to stop me, you who gave me the power in the first place?” The wand didn’t answer, “You will not do that, my fine feathered friend, you may be able to hide from me, but if I cannot get to you then I will make you come to me. You and then Potter, both of you will fall before me; it is my destiny to be victorious and you are powerless to stop me.”

Voldemort raised his wand once more and putting all of his evil self behind the enchantment sent a wave of total blackness against the shield protecting the cottage. The spell clung to the shield trying to devour it, it writhed, screeching like a Banshee, almost alive, but then it froze. Great cracks appeared in the enveloping blackness and pieces of the spell fell to the ground shattering on impact.

Bellatrix had just struggled to her feet and was standing unsteadily by the trees, she saw the demise of Voldemort’s final attempt to break the protection shield, but her eyes didn’t have time to register the response, it happened far too quickly.

Fawkes’ shield, made of the oldest of old magic, had put up with quite enough of this bumptious wizard, it wasn’t going to tolerate him any more, and it wasn’t going to allow this sort of disturbance to be repeated. The shield flashed out it’s response to Voldemort’s attempt to penetrate it, stripping away the remnants of the darkness spell and then tearing the Dark Lord’s shield to ribbons.

To Harry watching all this through the sitting room window it appeared that both the intruders vanished in an instant of golden brilliance. To Voldemort the blast hit him like a sledge hammer and for a moment everything shone like the morning sun, then there was darkness, not totally back for he could see the outline of his throne and the long table that adorned his room. Realising his defeat, Voldemort’s temper exploded, and he tried to apparate back to Godrics Hollow. He had other curses and spells that would break the Phoenix’s magic, but the more he tried to remember where Godrics Hollow was, the more difficult he found it to recall its location. He had been expelled and now he was barred, and he shouted his frustration into the air.

“I WILL DESTROY YOU SHIELD MAKER, THEN ONCE YOU ARE GONE I WILL RETURN TO GODRICS HOLLOW,” he angrily brandished his wand shaking it in a clenched fist at an imaginary foe. “IT IS POTTER’S DESTINY TO AID ME, AND HE HAS NO WHERE ELSE TO RUN.”

Bellatrix picked herself up from the floor in the corner of Voldemort’s room where Fawkes’ retaliation had thrown her. Making herself as inconspicuous as possible she cowered as Voldemort shouted his warning to the heavens, then keeping close to the wall she slowly moved toward the door. Her master was not in a good mood, and although it was not really her fault that he had failed, she was well aware that she would be the one on which he would vent his spleen. These little setbacks always peeked Voldemort more than some of the big disasters and Bellatrix decided that it might be best if she kept out of his way for a while.

Back at Godrics Hollow the silence that followed the expulsion of the dark witch and wizard, seemed almost as loud as the battle that had preceded it. The relief of Voldemort’s sudden departure hit Harry as he stood staring out onto the now empty grounds at the front of the cottage, he shook his head and began to laugh quietly.

Hermione poked her head round the door when she heard Harry chuckling to himself, and turning from the window he beckoned her to him. Casting fearful glances through the window to where she thought to see the raving wizard Hermione crept across the sitting room to Harry.

“Its ok,” Harry told her, “he’s gone, he couldn’t even see the house, let alone get at us. Don’t you remember what Mum and Dad said to us about Fawkes’ enchantment? That Voldemort could rant and rave on our very doorstep and he would never get in.”

“It was him then?”

“Oh yes, it was him alright.”

“And that, that …. thing….. is what you have inhabiting your dreams and nightmares?”

“The nightmares… yes,” Harry turned to look Hermione in the face, “but I haven’t had one of those for a while, ….and of course recently my dreams have contained someone entirely different and that makes the past eminently bearable.

He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him; Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and smiled inwardly at his remark. “So you think we are still safe here?” she asked.

“Yes, Fawkes will not let that happen again.”

“Are you really sure?”

“I don’t know how I know, but yes I am really sure.” Harry frowned as if he was trying to recall some lost piece of information. “While the magic of the phoenix remains, this place will continue to be secure,” he stated, shrugging his shoulders in puzzlement as he said it. He had no idea where that thought had come from only that whoever put it in his head knew far more about the complexities of the magic of the phoenix than he did.

While Hermione liked a conundrum this was all getting a bit deep, and it was clear that Harry had none of the answers that would satisfy her, but she did think there was one thing he might be able to clear up.

“What were you laughing at just now?”

“What? …Oh I wasn’t really laughing, more relief that he couldn’t get to us, but it did make me realise something.” he said.

“Really?” Hermione asked, fixing her young man with a stare, “What was that?”

“Well… that there are things that can stop Mr Tom Riddle cold; he is not all powerful as some think, and that means he can be defeated.” Harry looked down into Hermione’s eyes. “And that means my dear, that we have a chance.”

“But I thought we had sorted that out ages ago?”

“Yes we did, up here anyway,” Harry said tapping the side of his head. “But now we have the proof.”

“And that makes the difference?”

“To me it does,” said Harry, “Doesn’t it to you?”

“Me?” replied Hermione, wrapping her arms about him and hugging him tight. “Me… I’ve always believed you could beat him, and she kissed him soundly, “but Mr Potter, be warned, you may never get the better of me.”

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

A Sneak a Snake and a Rat

Harry’s insistence, that the cottage and its surroundings were safe from any apparation other that their own, convinced Hermione, after all she had the banishment of Voldemort to back up this conviction. She was less sure of Harry’s unsubstantiated knowledge that Voldemort had actually lost the location, and that no other dark wizard would be able to find. However Harry was sure, and even if he didn’t know how this information had come to him, he was so certain that it was correct she had no option but to believe him.

They resumed their daily journey from Godrics Hollow to Hogwarts, but HarryHwith the loss of the convenient access via the Shrieking Shack another means of entrance to Hogwarts had to be devised. For the moment the pair were relying on Harry’s faithful Firebolt. He had retrieved it from the Weasley’s kitchen at the Burrow and it was now stored with the motorcycle in the garage cave that Hagrid had repaired. A short flight, doubled up on the broom, from the garage to Hagrid's hut was all that was necessary, Harry thought it a perfectly agreeable situation but eventually he sided with Hermione in that they needed to find a more permanent solution that was easier on her nerves.

It was another five days, before the long awaited contact from Remus and Tonks took place. As Harry and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, with Ron in attendance, the appearance of the werewolf and the Auror at the head table gave them the first inkling that things were on the move again. After completing their assignments, for Professors Flitwick and McGonagall respectively, Harry and Hermione met with their old Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and the Metamorphmagus in the trophy room.

Ron arrived late and out of breath having run all the way up from Hagrid's lesson and nursing a slightly bleeding finger. Although not officially taking Care of Magical Creatures Ron had started attending the lessons so that he could keep in contact with the half giant, and through him in the early part of the school year Harry and Hermione. Surprisingly, now that that situation had changed, Ron had seen no reason to stop going to the classes possibly because he was attending them with the sixth years and it gave him a chance to see Luna.

“Ok Ron?” asked Hermione, Remus and Harry were in deep discussion over the goings on at Spinners end.

“Yeh,” he panted, “Flobberworm bite, no too bad though.”

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“Don’t know,” he replied morosely, “lucky maybe.”

Hermione laughed, “Here,” she said, holding out her hand, “let me have a look.”

Tonks sitting on the periphery of Harry and Remus’s discussion watched as Hermione used her wand to clean and repair the miniscule wound on Ron’s hand. She grinned as Ron winced in imagined pain as the cut was sealed then as he flexed the fingers of his healed extremity she leaned over and remarked to the pair.

“Lucky to have our little ‘Poppy Pomfrey’ here to fix you up Ron, Flobberworm bites can go septic really fast,” she teased. “You could have ended up with a replacement silver hand just like that Wormtail bloke.”

It was an off the cuff remark that she could so easily not have made, and equally Harry may not have heard her say it, but both she and he did. Harry instantly broke off what he had been saying to Remus.

“That’s it!” an expression of triumph on his face.

“What’s it?” asked Remus.

“I’d almost forgotten… well I had until now. It makes so much sense.”

“What does?” asked Remus.

The others had stopped what they were doing turning instead to listen to Remus’s questioning and Harry’s nonsensical comments.

“It’s the obvious place, and I watched him make it out of thin air,” Harry thought for a second. “But then he couldn’t have, like gold it can’t be made like that, he must have transformed it.”

“Transformed what?” Remus almost shouted, his patience wearing thin.

“Wormtail’s hand.” said Harry as if there was no other explanation.

“Oh I see!” Hermione exclaimed, as the penny dropped. “You think Voldemort transfigured Ravenclaw’s seal or whatever guise it was hidden under into Wormtail’s hand, and that is the Horcrux we are looking for?”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “What could be better, he gave that hand to help Voldemort come back, he is so frightened of his master that he would never double cross him and Voldemort or that snake are always close to him. It has to be a Horcrux.”

Remus was looking thoughtful, “But Harry you said that Dumbledore was sure that Voldemort’s snake held the final piece of his soul, do you think he would be careless enough to have the last two Horcruxes in the same place?”

“Well it hasn’t done him much good to spread them out,” Harry replied. “And tackling Wormtail, the snake, and Snape all in one go, would be a bit of an undertaking.”

“Don’t forget that Malfoy is with them as well.” put in Ron.

“Oh I haven’t forgotten Draco Malfoy,” said Harry with a hard look in his eyes.

Tonks who had said very little gave Remus an uncomfortable look, then caught Harry’s attention by grabbing his hand. He turned to her and saw something in her downcast expression that suggested that whatever she was about to say he wasn’t going to be particularly keen to hear.

“Err…Umm,” was all that she could initially come up with.

“What?” was Harry’s succinct question.

“You know that we have both been spending a lot of time watching Spinners End, well perhaps we have spent more than we should.” she said.

Remus as well as Harry, Hermione and Ron were staring at her now with uncomprehending expressions. Then she sighed with relief, having made the decision to come clean and tell all.

“Shacklebolt called me to his office the other day; somehow he knew what we were doing…. Not about the Horcruxes, Harry,” she hastily reassured him, “but about us watching Snape. It was Snape he was concerned about, I suppose he had put two and two together and realised that you were after him, but he was very specific. ‘You tell Harry Potter to leave Severus Snape alone; things are at a very delicate stage. I don’t want that young man to go blundering in and ruining everything.’ Sorry Harry.”

The other just stared but Remus looking a little disappointed said, “Why didn’t, you tell me.”

“Just did Remus, ministerial order, sorry.” and she jumped to her feet and walked briskly from the room.

“Look we’ll talk about this later,” said Remus getting up and following her out of the door.

There was silence for a few moments following the departure of the Auror and her mate. Then Ron whistled through his teeth, “So what are we going to do now?”

Hermione was watching Harry intently; he hadn’t reacted quite the way she had expected to Tonks’ news, which when you considered what a majority of the wizarding world thought Snape had done, was quite ridiculous. The Ministry passing up the opportunity of catching a supposed murderer, that didn’t make sense, but somewhere deep in her mind a little voice kept telling her it wasn’t so daft after all.

And the reason Harry was taking all this so calmly was that a little voice was talking to him too.

“I’ll tell you what we are going to do now Ron. Regardless of what Mr Shacklebolt says, we are going Horcrux hunting, and that is not all. I want to find out what Severus Snape is really up to, we are missing something,” Harry tapped the side of his head, “I feel it up here, but finding out where he goes, that is going to be the hard bit.”

So Harry, Ron and Hermione examined every detail that Remus had told them about Spinners End. That Wormtail patrolled the nearby streets once every night, Draco rarely left the house and the snake had never been seen, but that three times a week Snape would leave the house, walk to the same spot four streets away and apparate. He never varied his actions, he was always away for the same amount of time, returning just before dawn, but there was no way anyone could follow him, they had no idea where he went.

“Well of course they wouldn’t know where he goes. There is no way you can tell where someone is apparating, unless they tell you,” said Hermione, assuredly.

“Yes there is,” Ron contradicted her.

“Pardon,” Hermione’s voice had taken on that dangerous tone she used when anyone especially Ron disputed what she knew was a certain fact.

Ron, very sensitive to Hermione’s moods now, picked up on this change almost immediately; Harry had sensed it as soon as Ron had opened his mouth. Such was the difference in the way the two of them knew the young witch concerned, but Ron was quick enough to react.

“Err… Luna, Hermione …Luna.”

“What about Luna?”

“Well when you apparate, you think where you are going, and if she is close enough….”

“She could pick the thought right out of your head.” Harry finished for him.

“Err… yes,” said Ron.

“Could she do it to someone with a mind like Snape?” asked Hermione doubtfully.

Just then the school bell rang announcing lunch time. “We better go and ask her,” said Harry and he grabbed Hermione’s hand to lead her to the Great Hall…………

“Ok Harry she can do it, or at least believes she can,” said Hermione later that day when they were alone in the library. “So how are we going to play this?”

“Well we pick a night Snape goes away, then catch Wormtail as he comes out of the house, take care of Draco, and the snake.”

“Sounds easy Harry but there are a lot of holes in it.” said Hermione helpfully, “Snape comes back and finds his house in a state, I am sure he will carry on as if nothing has happened, he could disappear and then we have no way of knowing where he is. And what did you mean by ‘take care’ of Draco?”

“Ok… ok, it was only a basic idea; we’ll have to tackle both parts of the problem at the same time, and Draco well we’ll see.” he said, becoming serious. “Look this is how we’ll do it…….”

* * *

So it was that several days later Harry’s plan with a few suggestions added to it from Hermione went into operation. As darkness fell three brooms took off from Hagrid's hut and sped away into the evening sky, in the mirror lined tower room Dumbledore watched the four leave. ‘Tonight,’ he thought, ‘more butterflies would be released to add to the confusion, but perhaps some problems will be resolved.’ He would trust Harry to do the right thing he had to, the time was getting close and he had to prepare.

The short flight over, the brooms were locked away in the garage cave and hand in had the four apparated away to appear silently outside 14 Weavers Row, and then seek the added darkness of a nearby alley.

“You clear what you are doing Ron?” Harry asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, we go to Snape’s apparation spot, hide, we wait for him to come, then Luna picks his brains, and we wait until you signal.”

“Right, …you ok Luna?”

“”Yes Harry don’t worry, I’ll make sure he gets it right,” she pulled a face at him and crossed her eyes.

“Oh that fills me with such confidence,” Harry remarked to Hermione in mock horror as Ron and Luna disappeared up the street.

Hermione giggled, “Just nerves Harry, they’ll be fine …come on.”

Harry and Hermione snuck through the dingy cut way into Spinners End and found a reasonably comfortable spot behind a low wall. From there they had a good view of the front of Snape’s house, but were in turn shielded from it by the deep shadow cast by the bulk of the derelict factory behind them. Half an hour later light briefly shone across the street as a door opened and closed, he was hard to see but they had watched that bat like figure marching through the corridors of Hogwarts too many times to mistake him for anyone else. Snape headed away at a fast walking place his cloak billowing out behind him, he still struck quite a formidable appearance and Harry hoped that Ron and Luna would be ready for him. Now all he and Hermione had to do was get close enough to take Wormtail when he went out on patrol.

The small square formed by the junction of the five roads that all met at the spot Snape had chosen for his apparation point was devoid of comfortable places to hide. A large old fashioned ‘home and overseas’, double sized, muggle posting box was the only structure that could provide any cover. It like everything else in this area it was disused, its posting slots filled in, and its red paint chipped with rust showing through, but once Ron had opened it, and removed the bins used to catch the letters, it provided just enough space for a witch to hide and not be seen. He hated leaving her on her own but there was simply no other way to get her close enough to Snape so she could skim his mind. Taking the time to give her a hug and a kiss of encouragement, Ron sealed the post box again, and headed to the doorway of a boarded up corner shop. Casting his second “Alohomora” of the evening he was safely in the building and out of sight.

Sitting there in the dark Ron considered the plan again. He knew that Luna would use her special talent to search for Snape’s mind, keeping her touch so light that she thought Snape would be unaware of the intrusion. Although he had great faith in his girlfriend’s abilities, and Luna had shown no qualms at all when Harry had asked if she thought she could do it, Ron decided that she wouldn’t mind if he worried a bit for the both of them.

Fortunately they didn’t have long to wait. Ron was able to see the ex-potions Professor through a crack in the boarding. He walked into the junction as if he owned it and marched directly up to the posting box and stopped next to it. The dark cloaked figure turned his head from side to side as he scanned the area to see if all was clear. Ron’s heart was in his mouth, did Snape know Luna was not more than two feet from his side? What would he do if Snape turned his wand on her? He slowed his breathing and slipped his wand from his pocket and bunched himself up ready to spring to Luna’s defence if necessary. Perhaps that was the reason he jumped far too high when with a CRACK, that broke the desolated silence, Snape apparated and disappeared from view.

Ron waited only the few moments it took him to rub the sore spot on his head, where he had cracked it on the door frame in his surprise at Snape’s departure, before rushing over to the post box and releasing Luna from its cramped interior.

“You ok? Did you get it?” he asked all in a rush, and pulling her out crushed her in a fierce embrace.

“I’m fine Ron, and mind my ribs,” she said with some difficulty because she was finding it hard to breathe. He let her go and holding her at arms length examined her for any sign that she might not be telling the truth. “I got it, his mind is amazing, he was projecting two completely different destinations, I could read them both but a Legilimens would only have seen the surface one, he was being very careful.”

“Where did he go?” asked Ron.

“Here let me show you,” and placing her fingers on his temples she transferred the image and Ron felt the picture of a dark wooded spot dribble into his mind.

“Wow that really good, shame we can’t tell where in the country it is.”

“Well you would have to go there and see if there were any landmarks, but it doesn’t matter as long as it gets you there.”

It was at this point that an idea crept into Ron’s head, usually that wasn’t a good place for an idea to be, especially if there was no one like Harry or Hermione around to talk it over with first, but it has to be said that Ron did think about it, for a split second, anyway.

“Right into the shop over there,” said Ron pointing out his earlier hiding place, “I won’t be long.”

“Ron what are you… NO!” cried Luna but it was too late Ron apparated disappearing without making a sound. Luna said a few choice words to the space where he had stood, the great ginger idiot was well aware that Luna was unable to follow him, her divided mind so useful in some ways made it impossible for her to apparate on her own. There was nothing she could do but wait for Harry’s signal or for Ron to return………..

Harry and Hermione hid under the invisibility cloak, it would be quicker to shrug off than a disillusionment charm, and Harry held his wand tip just clear of the fine material ready and waiting for Wormtail. Twenty minutes after Snape had disappeared up the road, the front door to his house opened, and Peter Pettigrew stepped out into the cold night air. He may have had the instinct of a rat and have his wand held tightly in is hand but Harry’s silent ‘Expelliarmus’ flying out from nowhere caught him completely by surprise. His wand shot away into the darkness and he was flung against the wall and he staggered collapsing to his knees.

Hermione was out from under the cloak in an instant and in through the front door. Draco Malfoy was sitting in an armchair, reading, when he heard the clatter as Harry’s spell effectively disarmed and disabled Wormtail. He had only half risen, when someone, who looked vaguely like Hermione Granger, burst in and without uttering a sound had him in a full body bind. With his arms clamped to his sides, and his legs held together in a vice like grip, he could do nothing but topple backwards, as stiff as a draper’s dummy, to end up resting against the back of his chair.

He could move his eyes, but that was all. He saw the girl, glance around the room, then turn back to the door to help someone drag Wormtail's body through and lay it on the moth eaten carpet. This second person had their back to him and at first Draco couldn’t tell who it was, but then they turned around and the heir to the Malfoy estate was faced with his second worst nightmare. Harry Potter stood there dressed in black his wand in his hand and a grim expression on his face. Draco tried to tell himself that this was only Harry Potter, the boy he had beaten and humiliated so many times before, but as he looked into hard emerald green eyes he realised that this was a totally different Potter, a competent and confident Potter, and Draco Malfoy began to feel afraid……………

‘Ronald Bilius Weasley you have done some bloody stupid things in your time but this on takes the biscuit.’ was the thought that ran through Ron’s head as he appeared at the spot so accurately described by Luna. But someone had to try it first, and Ron had convinced himself that this was part of his promise to Hermione to watch Harry’s back. There was no question that Harry would have tried it and probably just as he had Harry wouldn’t have given the dangers a second thought, and Harry would have got himself into all sorts of trouble just as he was going to.

‘Bugger, perhaps this wasn’t such a smart move after all,’ he thought, but so far no one had hexed or cursed him, or walloped him over the head, so maybe he had got away with it. Ron peered about him the trees in this wood were not that densely packed and he could see a lantern bobbing along some distance ahead, in fact he could see several lanterns weaving their way through the trees, all heading towards the same place. Ron carefully picked his way between the tree trunks stumbling occasionally on unseen roots, and as the woods thinned even more he began to make out the destination of these lantern carrying wizards.

An old rambling building quite large and most of it in darkness was set in a clearing in the trees Ron could see the tail end of a group of cloaked and cowled figures entering through the main door. Keeping to the shadows, as best he could, Ron crept forward until there was only a strip of grass about ten paces wide separating him from the outside wall of the building. He had to cross it to get closer, and there was no cover, he had no choice but to make a dash for it.

He ran fast and bent low; everything seemed to be going well but halfway across he collided with an invisible barrier, it didn’t stop him or hold him, but for two steps it was like walking in treacle and small golden sparks jumped off his dragon hide coat. Then he was clear of it, he was convinced he had set off some alarm and expected that at any moment wizards would come piling out to apprehend him or worse, but he reached the wall and flattened himself against it, he waited but nothing happened.

From inside the building Ron could hear voices, they were chanting but he could not make out the words. He positioned himself close to an unglazed window and very carefully eased his head around so that he could see inside. There were thirty or forty people in there, all dressed in blue robes, both witches and wizards, Ron could tell from the voices, and now he could hear the words, it was a fealty charm, not one he knew, but he recognised it as old and complex, and he could sense the magic of it prickling at his skin.

They were confirming allegiance to something or someone, Ron suddenly felt very cold what if it was to him, to Voldemort, he wished he had waited for Harry now, and with deep trepidation he turned his gaze to the raised dais at the end of the room. A wizard stood on it his blue robes hiding his face, but despite his fears as to who this unknown wizard was, it was not the man that Ron was staring at, because on either side of this wizard were two things that he did recognise. On one side was a large life size painting of Albus Dumbledore, and on the other, a tall perch with a glowing phoenix, resplendent in its gold and red plumage, sitting at its top.

As Ron tried to understand what was going on the chanting ceased, and all the witches and wizards pushed back their cowls. As their faces were revealed Ron almost lost control, he just couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and it produced a feeing of such panic that he nearly gave himself away. Then inexplicably a wave of calmness washed over him, and the panic receded. His eyes were drawn once again to the front of the room, to find that both the face in the painting, and the phoenix were staring directly at him. Unnoticed by any of the witches and wizards present in the building, Dumbledore and Fawkes were sending him waves of reassurance. Then very deliberately one amazingly blue eye winked at Ron from behind a pair of half moon glasses, and the young wizard knew it was time to leave……………

“Well there it is Harry,” said Hermione pointing at the grotesque silver hand lying in Wormtail’s lap. “Do think he knows what it is.”

“I doubt it, and it’s possible we may be wrong,”

“Not very likely though,”

“No but we need to know where that snake is before we find out. I don’t want her on the lose; if Dumbledore was right and she is a Horcrux as well we could have two Voldemorts to deal with, and I don’t think that would be a very good idea.

“Perhaps one of these two knows where she is,” suggested Hermione, indicating their trussed prisoner, and the unconscious wizard. “Do you want me to release Draco?”

“No,” Harry smiled, “I like him like that, let’s wake up this one.”

Keeping his wand well away from Pettigrew hand Harry let Hermione wake him with a silent ‘Enervate’.

Wormtail stirred, then opening his eyes sat up and took in his surroundings; things didn’t seem quite as bad as he thought they were going to be, one plus was that he was alive. Then he looked up to see his captors, he recognised them both, and it gave him hope that his survival might continue. Harry had treated him better than he had expected at their first meeting, perhaps he was still so disposed. He needed to be careful however not to antagonise the chosen one or matters could easily change, co-operate and look for the chance to escape that was the way of the rat and Peter Pettigrew was a rat through and through.

“Harry… Harry and Hermione, where is my old master, is Ron not here?” Wormtail’s voice was deeply ingratiating, and Harry felt faintly sick at the sound of it.

Harry ignored the questions, and cut to the problem at hand, “Where is the snake Peter,” he pointed his wand at Pettigrew's head. The rat faced man lifted his right hand to ward off the wand, and was surprised when Harry stepped back, but then it was his turn to recoil as suddenly Hermione’s wand was no more than an inch away from his eye.

“Answer!” the girls command cracked out, and Wormtail realised that she was the one who presented the greatest danger to him at the moment.

He let out a high pitched squeak of fear and stammered out, “In, in, in, the house, it’s much to cold for Nagini to go outside.”

“That’s not very helpful rat man,” said Hermione scathingly.

“If she is not by the fire then she will be upstairs, she has a room.” Pettigrew said quickly to forestall any unpleasantness.

Harry and Hermione looked around the book lined parlour, “Great, where are the stairs?” asked Harry.

“Behind that book case,” squeaked Wormtail, and Hermione raised her wand.

Her silent ‘Colloportus’ resulted in an odd squelching noise as the hidden door sealed itself. “Should hold her for a while anyway,” she added, then through the ceiling there was a soft thump and a dry slithering noise, it was evident that the snake was awake and on the move.

Harry and Hermione had decided that they wouldn’t have long to talk to Pettigrew and work out how to get the Horcrux from him, or discover if it was indeed possible to separate the hand from the wizard without resulting to some violent action. So following the tactics Harry had seen used on one of the interminable television programs that living with Dudley, a confirmed and fully paid up member of the television appreciation society, had exposed him to, they were going to play ‘good cop, bad cop’.

Hermione wasn’t sure if this was going to work at all, “I mean Harry films and television are nothing like real life are they?” she had asked when he had suggested the ploy, but never the less she was trying hard to be the bad cop.

“Right let’s deal with this little worm then,” she said as she returned the point of her wand to poke into Pettigrew’s ear hole, and he shrunk away as he felt the wood touch him.

“Thing is Peter,” said Harry conversationally, “is that we need to find out about something you have, and what maybe hiding in it.”

Wormtail was looking nervously from Harry to Hermione, he was confused and frightened. For someone who spent a lot of his life in the physical appearance of a rodent, those feelings were normal. He did however have another feeling that was rather alien to him, a smidgen of gratitude towards the young wizard who was questioning him. Perhaps he should try and cooperate, as long as it didn’t cause any personal danger, what was the harm.

“I don’t have much Harry,” he swallowed and made a decision, he hoped he would not regret, “But I will help if I can, I owe you that much.”

Harry bit back the retort that Wormtail owed him far more than it was in his power to repay, and remained calm as he asked, “Your hand Peter, your silver hand, Tom gave it to you didn’t he. Did he tell you what it was or where it came from?”

Peter Pettigrew lifted the shiny hand out of his lap and held it in front of his face turning it this way and that and forming it into a fist, he marvelled at it, it was a very powerful hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” snarled the girl with the wand in his ear, and the fleeting thought of fighting his way out disappeared as quickly as it had arisen.

Wormtail ignored the girl and concentrated on Harry, “You saw him make it, …that time, …made it out of thin air, and gave it to me.” He looked back to the object attached to the end of his arm, and began a thin high pitched giggle. “Made me his right hand man Harry, that’s what he did, his right hand man,” and his shoulder shook as he laughed at his own joke.

“He made you more than that Peter.” The little man continued to giggle in a way that suggested that his sanity might not be all that secure. Harry glanced quickly at Hermione who gave the ear another poke.

“Oww, no need to be rough, I heard, …though how I can with that wand in my ear,” Wormtail complained, as the giggling subsided, Harry waved Hermione back. “Thank-you Harry… What do you mean made me more?”

“Your hand is a Horcrux; it carries part of Voldemort’s soul, like his old school diary, his award to the school, the ring that Dumbledore destroyed, and the locket. They were all valuable to him all gone now, save your hand.” Wormtail’s expression was one of incredularity, then he made some connections, and the disbelief began to fade.

“He was so angry with Lucius when he returned the diary,” Pettigrew recalled, “all damaged it was with a big hole burned right through it. I remember he threw it to one side and shouted “Useless… nothing left.” It seemed quite out of place, we thought it was only an old book.”

“Only Tom would have known the significance,” Harry told Wormtail. “The loss of the magic held in that diary, was the first in a long line of disasters for him.” Harry was trying with all his might to be nice to Pettigrew; if they could get his willing help then it would be so much easier. “We need to get you away from here, somewhere safe where Tom won’t be able to find you, …do you see, …we will be able to help you, …break the spell of the Horcrux.” Harry felt as if he was talking to a child and in a way perhaps he was.

“Would you really help me, Harry?” The plea from the rat like man grated on Harry’s nerves. “Remus and Sirius wanted to kill me, but you stopped them, Wormtail was grateful then and he is grateful now, I will come with you.”

Hermione gave Harry a let’s get on with this look. She was worried, the changes in Wormtail's speech suggested to her that the man’s mind was unravelling, perhaps one too many tight corner to wriggle out of was making him unhinged, and that could make him impossible to deal with. They helped the wizard to his feet and began to lead him to the front door, then there was a loud thumping noise from behind the bookcase, and the shelves themselves, subjected to considerable force from behind them, began to bulge ominously outwards. There was a snapping sound as the wood of the bookcase gave way and Hermione’s spell failed, the shelving swung open and in the doorway so revealed the huge snake reared up and filled the opening from top to bottom.

Wormtail screamed in fear and Harry took an involuntary step backwards. The similarity was astounding; apart from her smaller size Nagini was the Basilisk that had haunted Harry’s dreams on and off since the end of his second year. He remembered well the words he had heard that no one else could hear, and now they were here again, the hissing speech of the snake was unintelligible to the others, but it made perfect sense to the young parslemouth.

“You will not take the rat Harry Potter, my lord and master sent me here to watch him and keep him safe, and that I shall do even if I have to bite you all.”

“We have a bit of a problem here,” said Harry to the others, “Nagini doesn’t seem to want you to go Peter, she was sent to watch you and she will try to kill us if we leave.”

“You can understand her?” Pettigrew was amazed and searched his pocket for the scrap of parchment; he read the words and looked fearfully from Harry to the snake.

“What is that?” said Hermione sharply and snatched the parchment from the wizard’s hand the words were fading from it but without hesitation she screwed it up and lobbed it towards the fire place. “Don’t think we need that anymore, Harry can translate for us; can’t you?”

Harry nodded understanding Hermione’s actions in getting rid of the enchanted parchment, there was no way they wanted Wormtail to know exactly what was going on, then he turned back to the snake swaying dangerously in the doorway.

“I don’t think Tom would like it if you destroyed what Wormtail is carrying,” Harry told her in parsletongue.

“My master lives in me, he has chosen me, nothing is hidden,” Nagini hissed, “I know that whether the rat is alive or dead the Horcrux will remain whole. Yes boy I know what the Horcruxes are and I also know that only when the snake splits asunder will the last one be released, and that will not happen this night.” Nagini moved forward into the room, Harry and Hermione with Wormtail between them backed out of the front door and into the road. “When I bite you boy you will not die, not here, and my master’s victory will be complete. The chosen one will give up the secret in the end and my master will be victorious.”

The words rasped out into the chill of the night, and made Harry stop and think. Perhaps Dumbledore had got it right; the snake had said as much and confirmed that she was the final Horcrux, but would the soul fragment Nagini carried die with her, if Tom was not around to gather it up? She also appeared unconcerned that whenever it happened she would die when it was released, but then maybe as a snake she did not feel the way people did, could her loyalty to Voldemort be that strong. There was no way they could let her get back to Tom; Harry knew that he and Hermione would have to stop Nagini tonight.

Harry and Hermione kept Wormtail held tightly between them and the snake as the reached the middle of the small dark street. The small fat man was wriggling in their grip and gibbering with fear as Nagini with only a brief pause in the doorway and a testing flick of her tongue to sample the coldness of the air slithered out and onto the pavement, the snake hissed again at Harry.

“What is she saying?” Hermione whispered.

“Just threats,” Harry replied, “She doesn’t want to kill me, but she isn’t so fussed about you two.”

“That’s comforting,” said Hermione dryly.

“Isn’t it though,” Harry was trying to remain calm and dispassionate about the proceedings, while frantically trying to work out how to deal with this reptilian monster sinuously weaving its way toward them. “She only wants to bite me and take me to dear old Tom, certainly looking forward to that… not.”

With the inane banter behind him and the shadow of Nagini getting closer and closer in front Peter Pettigrew decided he had had enough of the whole affair, with a shriek and the use of strength that surprised both Harry and Hermione he wrested himself from their grasp. They were thrown a couple of steps back and Pettigrew was alone in the middle of the street Nagini not ten feet from him. The man who had spent so long as Scabbers did not do as Harry expected, he did not run but shaking from head to toe he stood his ground.

“Peter she will kill you, she knows what your hand is. Quickly get back here!” Harry yelled.

But Wormtail either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear Harry’s advice to retreat. He was more frightened of this snake than he was of anything even The Dark Lord. Voldemort may hurt him but he was useful to him and let him live, this abomination did not care, if he ran she would try to kill him if he stayed she would try to kill him. ‘I only have the one advantage,’ he told himself, ‘my hand.’

Even if Nagini knew it was a Horcrux perhaps she did not know the physical strength of his silver hand, he had crushed stronger things than a snake’s neck with it and that is all she was… a great big snake. His fear left him cold and empty and for the first time in his life his thoughts slowed from the break neck speed that made being a rat so natural to him. He saw Nagini draw back and begin her strike, for her size she was remarkably fast, and Pettigrew only had the time to raise his silver hand and thrust it forward. As his hand passed into her mouth Nagini’s natural reflexes caused her jaws to snap shut and her fangs to bite deep into the living metal.

Wormtail screamed once and then appeared to freeze in place. Nagini for her part clamped her jaws tighter and tighter on the silver appendage, then as the dark coloured poison from her fangs seeped out and dripped to the ground, her body stiffened and she could not let go.

Harry pulled Hermione back to the other side of the street, neither of them had a chance to fire at the snake before she struck, because Wormtail was in the way, now it looked as if nothing could save him. The tableau spread before them was strange to behold, both combatants frozen in place only the drip, drip of the black ichor from the snakes mouth providing any movement. Harry followed the trail of fluid to the ground and saw the puffs of vapour rising from the road surface as each drip hit it and he realised that Nagini had more in common with the Hogwarts’ Basilisk than even he thought. Her venom was equally as deadly; and what had Harry done with the Basilisk tooth but destroy the Horcrux that held the sixteen year old Tom Riddle, it looked now as if Wormtail’s hand was about to suffer the same fate.

Dumbledore so far was the only wizard to witness the forced opening of a Horcrux and he had lost his hand to it, by what means Harry didn’t know, only that it was a powerful enchantment. Now here were two Horcruxes and if they were heading towards destruction, this was the last place on earth that Harry and Hermione wanted to be.

It started with a low rumbling noise that shook the ground and dislodged fragile panes of glass from the windows in the surrounding houses. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and the two of them retreated further down the street, but they could not draw their eyes away from Wormtail and Nagini locked together in stasis. The shaking subsided, and a thin keening sound began which grew as a vortex appeared above the snake and rat, it was as wide as the street and revolved slowly at roof height. There were colours in the swirling tides of whatever it was that formed the vortex. Purples and yellows twisted and turned together, orange and darker reds intermingled then flashes of bright white light sent forks of power from one side of the vortex to the other and down to touch the houses and the surface of the road.

In the street Nagini’s coils unwound until she was stretched out in an impossibly long straight line her body stiff and glowing electric blue. Wormtail his arm straight out in front of him his hand still clamped in the snakes jaws, was arching backwards his legs and back straining to perform feats they were never designed for. His head was thrown back so that his face was pointing straight up he was staring into the vortex his mouth open in a silent scream and then his sparse covering of hair began to spark and smoke and his body burst into flame.

The vortex turned faster now and it began to reach down to pluck at the flames which in turn were reaching up from Wormtail's body. The air in the street started to move with the vortex and the wind picked up small pieces of rubbish from the road and pulled at Harry and Hermione trying to draw them in, they found shelter by a low brick wall and watched in horror as the enchantment increased in violence. The noise from the wind reached to an insane level then suddenly it was cut off, the wind still turned and the flames still consumed Wormtail, and the lightening still struck, but in total silence. Only the sound of their own heavy breathing, as they huddled in the shadow of the wall, told Harry and Hermione they had not gone deaf, and then in the unnatural quiet that surrounded them the moaning began. Harry peered over the wall the scene was much as before but the Horcruxes were giving up the pieces of the dark soul they carried and the shade of Voldemort gathered over Nagini’s head. It was impossible to tell if there was just one shade or two, as the shadows whirled with the rest of the flame and smoke, but it was the shade or shades that were moaning, and it certainly sounded as if there was more than one.

Then Nagini and Wormtail or what was left of them started to turn with the wind faster and faster they revolved until their forms were lost in the blur of motion slowly rising upward until they touched the bottom of the vortex there was a vast sucking noise, a very loud BANG and a blast of brilliant white light and the vortex, Nagini and Wormtail and the shadows of Voldemort’s soul vanished.

Harry sat down on the ground and leaned against the wall, “Blimey!” was all he could come up with. Hermione plopped down beside him and took one look at his wild and dishevelled appearance and began to giggle, it was only the release of nerves but the giggle became an infectious laugh and Harry had to join in.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

The Brotherhood of Merlin

Peace and quiet had returned to Spinners End, well relative quiet anyway, the sound of laughter coming from behind a low wall was fading as Harry and Hermione regained control of themselves. Then the thump of running feet brought them completely back to the moment, and peeking over the wall they saw Luna and Ron thundering down the street from the direction that they had followed Snape earlier that evening. Emerging from their place of safety Harry and Hermione surveyed the scene where only minutes before a swirling vortex had carried away Nagini and Wormtail. It was calm and still, no sign of the horrors of the last ten minutes were left, only the partly open door to Snape’s house, and the dim light that shone from within, proved that this street was not as derelict as it appeared.

“Saw your sign,” panted Ron as he ran up beside them. “Bit dramatic though don’t you think?”

“That wasn’t us,” said Hermione, “but you’re right it was a bit on the loud side.” Then she took in Ron’s appearance, he was rather untidy looking with twigs and bits of leaves in his hair, and his shoes were very muddy. “What on earth have you been up to? You’re a mess.”

Ron in turn regarded his two friends with their hair all over the place, though for Harry that was relatively normal, their dragon hide coats covered in dust, which as he watched slid off to gather around their feet like water off a wet raincoat, and a ruddy glow to their cheeks that suggested to Ron that something exciting had been going on. “Look who’s talking, I could ask you the same question,” he said with a slight smile.

“Time for that later,” cut in Harry, “I don’t think this place is very safe at the moment. If that enchantment doesn’t bring old Tom and his followers then the muggle police must have herd it and I don’t want to be around when either lot turns up.”

“What about Draco?” asked Hermione.

“We’ll close up Snape’s house and leave dear Draco where he is. If we take him with us it will only complicate matters. We’ve found him once, I’ll find him again.” said Harry the tone of his voice suggesting that Draco had better hope that it would be far in the future. But before he could act on his words there were multiple CRACKS’ as large number of wizards, their faces covered with masks, apparated into the street. Harry grabbed Luna and shoved her down behind the low wall that had protected them before, and Hermione bundled Ron in the same direction.

“Search everywhere,” a deep voice commanded, and the Death Eaters spread out poking their lit wands into every nook and cranny. Harry looked at his friends scrunched up with him behind the wall they all stared back with wide eyes, and then as they heard footsteps approaching Harry shut his. Facing this number of dark wizards unprepared was not what Harry had in mind, in fact he really wanted to be somewhere else entirely.

The Death Eater, with wand held high, walked towards the low wall that protected the house’s tiny front garden, one of the few in this dismal street. He peered over it into the shadows below, there was nothing there, and he thought to himself nothing was about all they were going to find here, but in that he was wrong. A shout from back down the street pulled his attention away, and he raced away to where two of his fellows were manhandling something out of one of the houses.

It was Draco, still under Hermione’s petrifying spell, and still as stiff as a board. Only his eyes gave any indication that the lad was alive, and by the way they were protruding, scared out of his wits.

“Malfoy’s boy, by the look of him,” said one of the masked wizards. “We better take him with us. There’s no sign of the snake or Wormtail and the Dark Lord will want something to vent his anger on. I would rather it was not me.”

The wizards gathered in the middle of the street, and one raised his wand, “MORSMORDRE” he chanted, and the green skull erupted from the roof of Snape’s house.

“What did you do that for!” The wizard holding Draco hissed out in anger at the display, a fine secret mission this was turning out to be.

“Sorry,” his companion replied, suitably castigated, “Force of habit, I suppose.”

“Well too late now, let’s go.” And with multiple CRACKS’ that merged into one the Death Eaters disappeared…………..

The policemen in the muggle police car that moved slowly down the street five minutes later saw nothing, but the open door of Snape’s house. From the safety of the car the officer shone his powerful light into the building and it revealed only the empty and derelict room he was meant to see.

“Kids you reckon?” said one to the other.

“Yeh, crummy area this, you getting out to have a look?”

“Not bloody lightly,”

The other officer grunted in agreement, and the police car quietly passed by, turned the corner and left the scene.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes there was a fire burning merrily in the grate before him and he looked around in astonishment, for although this is where he had wanted to be it just wasn’t possible for him to be here. Then he noticed the others with him, Hermione and Luna sitting one on either side, with Ron at the far end of the sofa next to Luna, all of them taking in their surroundings with slightly disbelieving eyes.

“Clever.” said Ron admiringly.

“Impossible.” countered Harry.

“Not necessarily, it’s happened before. Remember with Hagrid?” added Hermione thoughtfully looking past Harry to the blonde haired girl at his other side. “There’s something……Damn! It’s gone again.” Luna was very aware of Hermione’s gaze, she said nothing, but kept her head down and stared intently at her shoes.

“Well whatever, are you going to tell us what happened at Snape’s house?” asked Ron, and putting the conundrum of their appearance in Gryffindor common room to one side. So in the dancing fire light, Harry and Hermione told them exactly what had occurred.

“Wow,” Ron found it hard to take it all in, it was not the first time that night that he had found himself in that position. “You think that all the Horcruxes are accounted for now?”

“Well it would seem that’s the case, but I don’t suppose there is anyway of being sure other than ask Voldemort himself.” said Harry thoughtfully. “So how did it go your end?”

Ron looked just a little uncomfortable and hesitated; Luna still counting the lace holes in her shoes elbowed him in the ribs. “Go on tell them what you did, or do you want me to tell them that you followed Snape.”

“Looks like you already did,” said Ron sourly, then he relented, “Oh damn Luna I said I’m sorry.”

“You did what?” Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief, “How could you be so stupid.”

“Ronald here can be stupid …very easily,” Luna answered for him, looking up for the first time. “He never once gave any thought as to how I would feel if he was caught,” a large tear rolled down her face, “or worse.”

“Know how you feel,” Harry and Hermione said as one, Hermione gave Harry a mild scowl.

“I meant Ron as well,” he said hastily.

“Really, I meant you.”

“Oh!” said Harry, suitably chastened, but he recovered quickly, “Come on then Ron spill the beans, what happened?”

So he mentioned the woods, the building, the gathering of the cloaked and cowled witches and wizards, Dumbledore’s painting, and Fawkes the phoenix being there, then he stopped.

“What else,” said Hermione, she knew he was finding something hard to tell.

“Well,” continued Ron eventually, “When they all stopped the chanting, they removed their hoods. There were, oh I don’t know, maybe thirty or forty of them, possibly more, I couldn’t see right into the room.” he added explaining his lack of accuracy. “Some I vaguely recognised, but I couldn’t tell you their names, but…” he paused again, “Harry… Tonks was there, and so was Shacklebolt, there was that chap who had that ice cream parlour, and the leader was the old man who sold me my wand you know Ollivander.”

“Is that all Ron?” Harry asked, “Tonks, Shacklebolt, Fortescue and Ollivander all in with Snape, but Dumbledore and Fawkes mixed up with them too, I don’t get it.”

“No, that’s not all” said Ron looking quite upset, “What am I going to do?” he agonised over his decision, and then he looked straight at Harry and confessed, “My Dad was there as well.”

“There has to be a rational explanation to all this,” said Harry, once he had absorbed Ron’s latest bombshell.

“Yes there is,” said Hermione, “but there’s something I need to check on first; in the library, come on.” She leapt to her feet, and was opening the door concealed by the portrait of the fat lady before the others had caught her up.

Their journey to the library was unimpeded, with no sign of Argus Filtch or Mrs Norris, and Hermione quickly headed for the history of magic section. After a few minutes searching she reappeared at the large work table which she had so often used in the past, carrying two large heavily bound tomes. Placing the books down she opened one which was obviously very old, its pages crackled as she turned them over, and scanned the yellowed sheets for the information she needed.

“There,” she said talking to herself, “Sixth century, and again in the Ninth, Gryffindor himself mixed up with that one.”

Harry watched as Hermione lived up to his expectations of her brilliance, as the knowledge flowed out of the dusty pages she appeared to glow with excitement as yet again her suspicions were proved correct. Then she dived into the second book she had collected, this one was relatively new, the white pages and clear script in great contrast to the older volume.

“I thought so!” Hermione exalted in her success, “The defeat of Grindelwald in 1945 it’s all here, and it makes perfect sense.

Harry grinned as Hermione jumped up and looked at each of them smiling fit to burst, it was quite clear that she had solved the mystery; she had just forgotten to let everyone else in on the secret.

“Ok clever clogs,” said Ron in a resigned tone, “we’re not mind readers you know, …uhh, well not all of us,” he said giving Luna an apologetic look, “how about telling us what you have found out.”

“What, …oh sorry, …yes, …of course.” And she sat back into her seat, “This book,” she indicated the new one, “This is The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and it confirmed the information I got from the older book.” Hermione gently stroked the cover of the ancient tome. “And this is The Legacy of the King’s Magician it’s nearly a thousand years old. Both of them tell of a group of witches and wizards who have aided in the defeat of dark magic throughout the centuries. It was formed after Merlin defeated Morgan-le-fey and Arthur killed Mordred; but as you know, in that battle the king died as well, and the loss of Arthur had a profound effect on Merlin and his magic began to diminish. This group joined together and stood behind the old man, they were able to fool the world that Merlin was as powerful as he ever was. Several times, in the intervening years, this group has come to the aid of the battle against the dark arts. They are obviously not the same people but often descendents of the original members. Gryffindor was probably one, and so was Dumbledore, because they were with him when he defeated Grindelwald fifty years or so ago.”

“You’re talking about The Order of the Phoenix, right Hermione?” Harry asked.

“No Harry, the Order was something quite different. They were Dumbledore’s own more a sort of surveillance and sabotage organisation, tripping up the enemy at any opportunity, rather than an out and out fighting group,” Hermione gave him an apologetic smile, “I suppose that if your Mum and Dad, and you, hadn’t interfered with Voldemort’s plans, then the Brotherhood would have stepped in as he became more powerful. Until now no one, apart from its members, has known where the group meets, or with any certainty, who is in it. There can be years, sometimes generations, between their gatherings, until the dark forces rise again, then as now they meet more frequently to prepare and reaffirm their loyalty. The Brotherhood of Merlin is the most secret of the secret societies that exist in our world, they swear absolute fealty to the pursuit and the destruction of dark wizards and their magic.”

“And Snape is one of them?” said Ron the disbelief clear in his voice.

* * *

Severus Snape returned to his apparation point close to the post box, this early in the morning it was still dark, and a green glow that should not have been there struck the side of his face and drew his gaze. The sight of the Dark Mark suspended over what he knew was the only magical house in the area made his blood run cold, moving quickly he raced down Spinners End to find his front door ajar and the house empty. He couldn’t understand it; the house showed signs of some disturbance, the hidden doorway to the upstairs rooms was scattered about the sitting room. But Wormtail, Nagini and Draco were nowhere to be found. Outside in the street everything appeared normal, disgusting and derelict but normal. What was Voldemort up to, why had he taken them, and had he discovered that he, Snape, was not as completely dark as he seemed?

Snape looked up at the family crest hanging on the wall, the chameleon, how apt. His wizarding family, always in the past able to disguise themselves, to fit in with which ever side appeared to have the upper hand. Only now the family was split, Pattiswick, his cousin, had gone her own way and was paying for it in Azkaban, and he Snape was playing the most dangerous game of all feet in both camps heart in neither. His commitment and promise to Dumbledore, and an unbreakable vow to protect Draco. He had to make a decision and if he made the wrong one he was likely to pay for it with his life.

He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a small hand mirror, he gazed into it and tapped the edge of the mirror with his wand.

“Severus, what can I do for you?” said an instantly recognisable voice.

“It appears I have had some visitors.”

“Yes I know, Harry and his friends were there, they located the last two Horcruxes, destroyed them.”

“I find that very difficult to believe, Headmaster, but if true has Potter taken to using the Dark Mark to signal his successes?”

“No, of course he has not.” The voice from the mirror had an anxious edge to it. “Is Draco still there?”

“No the place is deserted Pettigrew, Draco and that awful snake all gone.”

“Well Peter and Nagini will not bother us again, they were it appears the vessels that Tom had used and are gone, but Draco did not leave with Harry. I am sorry Severus but it would seem that Tom has Draco.”

Snape sighed he had hoped that with the end getting so close that he would not have to tempt fate yet again, but young Malfoy’s predicament made that impossible now. “You understand what I have to do now,” he said with resignation to the face in the mirror. “The promise I made to Draco’s mother is still binding I must try to keep him safe.”

“I quite understand Severus and so will the others,” the voice tried to be encouraging, “It will not be easy this time. Tom will be very suspicious, more than usual, the destruction of the Horcruxes will have reduced him to no more than an ordinary wizard, but even so his power will be great. Be careful Severus.”

“I will do my best Headmaster,” he replied and the gentle glow from the mirror faded, leaving Severus Snape alone to try to keep a promise and face the ultimate test.

* * *

“If this Brotherhood is so all powerful why didn’t they jump on Voldemort’s neck the moment he poked it over the parapet?” Harry asked Hermione. They were cuddled up on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. After the late night visit to the library Ron and Luna had departed to their respective dormitories, and Harry and Hermione had made use of the old but comfortable sofa as they had so many times before. They had dozed and chatted through the most of the rest of that night and now a lazy dawn was approaching.

“I don’t know Harry, the information on them is very sparse, mostly conjecture really, no solid facts,” she sounded very sleepy, and pulled herself closer to him nestling her head on his shoulder.

“But they let him carry on for so many years,” Harry sounded indignant, “all those people, my Mum and Dad. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

The tone of his voice brought Hermione wide awake; in the glimmer from the fire in grate she could see the moistness in his eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek and then ran her fingers through the tousled mop of dark hair, he turned towards her and their lips touched. There was nothing timid in their kisses anymore; it was their love that was holding them together and helping them to face what they knew was coming. Their lips parted and leaning back Hermione examined the face before her, now so strong and dependable, with only the one blemish. She ran her finger down the sinuous scar that marred Harry’s forehead, and she felt a tingle run up into her hand, it was as if the scar was alive, as alive as the man that carried it.

“Perhaps they had their reasons, waiting for all that time,” Hermione said, it took Harry a moment to tune back into the conversation. “Perhaps they were waiting for you.”

“Me?” he said with surprise. “Do you really think me being here has made any difference?”

“Harry it has made all the difference in the world, think of the prophecy, you are the one with the power to end all this. In 1945 it was Dumbledore who did it, now it is up to you.”

Harry gazed at the girl in his arms; she was so sure, so confident; he could hear it in her voice and see it in her face. “I love you Hermione,” and he smiled at her.

“That’s good Harry cos’ I love you too.” And once again the proof that love is the strongest feeling of all was demonstrated and confirmed……….

By the time breakfast was done and dusted Harry had made the decision that he was going to visit the home of the Brotherhood of Merlin. Hermione was going with him, and at the look of worry on Ron’s face, partly due to the thought that he would be left out, but mostly because of his concern for his father’s involvement in all this, made Harry decide to take him too. Luna had implanted the destination in each of their minds; she was surprised that Ron still retained such a clear picture from the night before, but then they did enjoy a particularly close intertwining of thoughts, and she had promised to clear Ron’s absence with the Headmistress.

The three neatly bypassed Argus Filtch, standing guard by the doors in the entrance hall, and walked quickly and quietly up the driveway to the main gates. Standing close together in the centre of the gravel roadway they concentrated on their destination, and with no sound to signal their going or arrival they vanished. Snape’s apparation point was a little crowded as the three arrived together, and they had some difficulty in disentangling themselves from the bushes surrounding the spot. Ron led them through the path he had tried to follow the night before, it was much easier now that he could see and it ended as before at the edge of the clearing and at the centre of this wide grassy area was the building that was the meeting place of the Brotherhood of Merlin.

“That’s the window,” said Ron pointing to the large square opening not too far from the main door of the building.

“And you said that you passed through some sort of ward or alarm as you crossed the lawn?” Hermione asked.

“Yes that’s right, gave a little golden flicker but let me through.”

“Ok,” said Harry moving out and starting to cross the lawn, “let’s see how it reacts to me.”

“Harry wait!” hissed Hermione, but he merely turned and beckoned her forward. “Oh damn!” she said with feeling, then, “Hang on, I’m coming.” And she ran to catch up with him.

He caught her by the hand as she reached him and he marched resolutely toward the building. With Hermione by his side and Ron just behind, Harry walked straight into the protection ward he assumed Fawkes had set up. It didn’t stop him or hold him, or any of the others, but for two steps it was like walking in treacle and small golden sparks jumped off their dragon hide coats. There was no alarm, and no out poring of the members of the Brotherhood to apprehend them, but there was a loud click and the main door to the building swung open.

“Looks as if we’re expected,” said Ron with a nervous laugh as they reached the open door, “After you,” he added gallantly. Hermione rolled her eyes heavenwards and the quickly followed Harry into the building.

“The Hall of Merlin,” said Harry.

“What?”

“Up there Hermione, it’s carved into that beam.” And sure enough over the central passageway deeply engraved into the old timber were the self same words.

“Gosh,” she spun around taking in the sight of the interior of the Hall. “This hall is ancient, Harry, look at the way it’s put together, like parts of Hogwarts, probably a thousand years old at least.”

“Err… one thousand, five hundred and seventy three,” said Ron slowly as he struggled with the arithmetic.

“Pardon.” said a disbelieving Hermione turning on him, “How on earth would you know that.”

“Err… there’s a date on this column, 425 AD,” he gave Hermione a big grin, “the rest is just taking away.”

Harry laughed, Hermione scowled, at them both, “And you worked all that out in your head?”

“Yes,” said Ron triumphantly.

“Amazing,” said Hermione with all the sarcasm she could muster.

“Come on you two,” said Harry still chuckling, “you can fight about it later.” He walked into the main body of the timber and stone hall, it certainly wasn’t the warmest place on earth, but it was dry and airy. At the far end of the hall was a raised platform with Fawkes’ perch to one side and to the other something large and flat covered with a sheet of dark blue material, which was itself covered in many golden stars.

“See,” Ron pointed them out, “Fawkes was there as large as life, and that under the sheet is Dumbledore’s portrait.”

Harry stepped up onto the platform; the perch was definitely the one that had stood in Dumbledore’s old study, Harry recognised it easily and then he turned and drew back the cloth covering the picture and he stood there silently staring at the thing he had uncovered.

“What is it Harry?” Hermione asked anxiously, for Harry was frozen in place his arm raised and the object only partly reviled.

“Come and look at this,” he whispered, and Ron and Hermione were quickly at his side. He finished removing the cloth and there beneath it was not a painting but a large mirror. It was not the fact that it was a mirror that had surprised him, but what he was seeing in it, or rather what he was not seeing in it. There was no Harry, Hermione or Ron reflected in the surface of the glass, instead there was a large room, its walls hung with more mirrors than Harry had thought he had ever seen before, but then he began to remember something.

“I knew it!” cried Hermione, jumping up and down in glee, something she hadn’t done since her second year, and then she realised what she was doing and stopped.

“Knew what?” said Ron, peering over Harry’s shoulder at the view in the mirror. “Oh where’s Dumbledore?” he added expecting to see the old man’s face immortalised in oils.

“He’s there,” Hermione pointed at the tall stooped figure that had just that second walked into view. “I remember it all, don’t you Harry?”

“Yes.” was all he said.

Then as Albus Dumbledore turned and walked toward the other side of the mirror, Ron’s cognitive processes clicked into gear, and he stared at the old man and said, “Bloody Hell.”

* * *

Severus Snape stood outside the mouldering manor in Little Hangleton; this could be a very easy way of committing suicide he decided, as he walked to the door where a giant stood guard. Snape drew back the sleeve of his coat and showed the mark on his forearm that identified him as a Death Eater. The giant screwed up his piggy eyes and peered down, he grunted in acceptance that the brand was real and allowed Snape to pass.

There was little light inside the building, but through the cracked and dirty windows there was enough filtering through for Snape to see the peeling wallpaper and heavily cracked plaster frieze that looked as if a light vibration would bring the whole lot down. There was too much evil in this place and Snape knew it, the very fabric of the manor reeked with it, and somewhere in amongst all this decay he had to find Draco, he just wasn’t sure where to start.

“Severus!” the voice was no more than a whisper but the urgency put into the calling of his name could have made it a shout. “Severus!” a thin feminine hand appeared from the darkness in the corner of the entrance hall and beckoned him over. A quick glance told him that apart from the owner of that arm he was alone, and he crossed the floor quickly to be grasped and dragged into the shadows and the doorway that led to the old servant’s quarters below the stairs.

The small lantern that lit the passageway behind the door allowed him to see the drawn features of the pale haired, tall woman, the owner of the arm and Draco’s mother.

“I knew you would come,” she said still keeping her voice low. “They brought Draco in a few hours ago, he was paralysed, stiff as a board, but he was alive, I could tell.” Narcissus Malfoy was beginning to lose control, Draco was all she had left and she was desperately afraid she was going to lose him as well. “What are we going to do?”

“We must keep calm Cissy,” Snape told her, “Where did they take Draco?”

“Straight to him,” she replied emphasising the objective, unable to hide her distaste for Voldemort any longer.

“Take care how you speak,” he admonished her, “walls have ears and around here that could be literally true.” He thought for a moment, “It could be very difficult to get to him; I would not be a popular visitor to our Dark Lord at the moment. Has Draco been released from the paralysing spell?”

“Yes, but it took the Dark Lord himself to do it, as none of the others could break it. You could tell he was impressed with the strength of the spell, Draco told him the Granger girl cast it.”

“Umm… yes well that particular piece of news was not unexpected.”

“But that is not all Severus. Draco was talking to him about Potter and Pettigrew and something about Nagini, but Voldemort laughed, and said “So he thinks them gone, I have you now Potter,” and he laughed again, it made very little sense. Do you know what it is that is supposed to be gone, and what is this fascination with the Potter boy, I thought the Dark Lord would have had enough of him the first time they met?”

“It’s a very long story Cissy, and one I fear is drawing to its end.”

“Perhaps that is what he is planning,” Narcissus said her grip hardening on Snape’s arm. He gave her a questioning look. “That is what it is, it is the end of the story, and it is to be tonight.”

“Cissy I think you better tell me everything you know.” And Severus Snape led her out of the light down the passageway to the rooms beyond.

* * *

“Hello Harry,” the two words from the old man hit Harry like a blow to the stomach. He did remember it all, and strangely he understood reasons for encouraging them to forget the meeting so many weeks ago.

“The time must be getting close?” there was concern in Harry’s voice, not for himself but for his friends.

“Yes Harry I think it is,” Dumbledore replied, “Why don’t you step through,” and he moved back himself, inviting them with a bow and a wave of his arm.

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron then, as he had so many times to gain access to the Shrieking Shack, he walked forward into the mirror. The sensation was no different either and between one step and the next Harry, Hermione and Ron crossed the hundreds of miles that separated the Hall of Merlin with the top most room in Gryffindor tower. The room was as he remembered it, ….at least now he remembered it, …but the last time Dumbledore was here on his own, this time however there was another wizard present and Fawkes resplendent in his scarlet and gold plumage was perched on the edge of a desk.

“Lo’ Fawkes,” Harry greeted the Phoenix. Fawkes stared at him, his large unblinking eyes made Harry feel just a little uncomfortable, and then the bird dipped his head in acknowledgment and turned his gaze to Dumbledore.

“Ahh Mr Potter….”

“I suppose you were wondering when you were going to see me again,” Harry finished for him. “Hello Mr Ollivander.”

The old wand maker looked shrewdly at Harry then smiled…. “Err… yes you could say that.”

Ron standing behind Harry and Hermione was not as confused as he expected to be, but he did have one burning question for the old wizards, one he desperately wanted answering and he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Excuse me,” he said quite loudly, everyone turned to him, and Harry raised a questioning eyebrow. With all attention pointed in his direction Ron was momentarily lost for words, and then as he saw Hermione draw breath to speak what he knew was on her mind Ron found his voice again. “Would someone please explain to me what my Dad is up to?”

“Come and sit down, all of you,” said Dumbledore, “and I will try to tell you what is going on.” He waited while they made themselves comfortable. “Hermione was quite correct in everything she discovered about the Brotherhood, for a little over fifteen hundred years the Hãlga, have banded together to aid the chosen one in the defeat of the dark wizard.”

“So Merlin, Godric Gryffindor and …you, were chosen ones?” asked Hermione.

“Yes my dear, although there were many others over the centuries, but in those instances we were, it was my …honour, I suppose, to be the chosen one in the fight against Grindelwald and of course now…”

“It’s Harry,” she finished for him.

“Yes, …. it is.”

“That is why the Brotherhood didn’t intervene the last time Voldemort rose, there was no chosen one, they had to wait for Harry, I was right,” Hermione’s delight at being proved right yet again was suddenly dampened by the expression on Harry face, “Oh Harry I’m so sorry.”

This was not going the way Harry had imagined it at all, there was no room in his thoughts for a major battle this was a private fight just him and Tom.

“But you told me that eventually it would come down to the fight between the two of us, Voldemort and me and only on that.” said Harry. “Did I misunderstand?”

“No not at all, but it would surprise me if Tom is on his own when the time for the final battle is chosen, and should you not be similarly supported?”

“But that’s no the way I wanted it to be,” the concern for his friends was too great to ignore, “In a pitched battle others will get hurt, I cannot let that happen.”

Dumbledore looked at his protégé with sympathy, and sighed. “I am sorry Harry but there is no way to prevent it. It will be incidental to your meeting with Tom, but his Death Eaters will march and the Brotherhood will be there to stop them.”

There was silence for a moment and very quietly Ron asked in a plaintive voice, “But what has all this got to do with my Dad?”

It was Ollivander who answered this time, “There has been a Weasley in the Brotherhood since the fourteenth centaury,” he told Ron, “Horwood Weasley was the first and your father the latest. Considering the company you keep young man, I would have thought you would understand.”

Ron looked in bewilderment at Hermione and Harry, “I do understand,” he said, “It’s just that I have never looked a Dad in that light before, he’s always been, you know, just Dad.”

“And that is what he was until the Brotherhood was activated two years ago when Voldemort reappeared.” Ollivander realised that a fuller disclosure as to the workings of the Brotherhood was needed here, he may well be looking at the faces of the very future of the society and at the moment those faces were puzzled. “The magic that drives the Brotherhood is very old, ancient really, much older than the society itself. Each member is chosen at birth, the magic that does this is not well understood, but each of the Brotherhood is marked in some way, and at the appropriate moment they can be called into service. You see that some of the Hãlga live their whole lives never hearing the call to arms, and pass on not knowing what they might have been asked to do. For others the call comes early, and it would seem to them as if an eternity was spent engaged in combat.”

He paused looking wistfully at the other old man sitting on the edge of the bed with the three youngsters. Dumbledore smiled and encouraged Ollivander to continue.

“So it has been for some of the older members, those who were with your Headmaster back in 1945, we were lucky enough to survive but had to carry our knowledge of the Brotherhood with us. Hermione was partly correct we older ones saw Voldemort rise, but there was no fully active Brotherhood, so we could not stop him, we did help start the Order of the Phoenix and trained its members, but we could not defeat the dark one we had to wait for Harry to be ready.”

“So Harry has to lead the Brotherhood into battle?” asked Hermione, Harry looked at her with a horrified expression.

“Oh no my dear,” replied the old wand maker, Harry visibly relaxed, “as Albus said Harry has his own battles to fight. The Brotherhood is here to make sure Harry gets to confront Voldemort and not become side tracked by his Death Eaters.”

“That’s nice,” said Harry, again unsure that he liked the way things appeared to be going. “So whatever, the Brotherhood and the Death Eaters will have to fight it out?”

“It would seem inevitable,” said Ollivander, “They will have to be dealt with either before or after your confrontation with Voldemort.” He scratched his chin while he considered a point. “I suppose if it is after then they may be more inclined to give in with less of a struggle.”

“You are assuming that I will defeat Voldemort, of course?” asked Harry with a worried smile.

“Of course my boy,” the strange old man replied jovially. “I never doubted that for a moment.”

It was nearly midday Harry and Hermione talked quietly, sitting side by side on the edge of Dumbledore’s bed, Ron and Ollivander were on the other side of the room engaged in a similar pastime, and Albus Dumbledore was attending to the many mirrors that litter this most peculiar room.

“So what are we going to do Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“Don’t have a lot of choice, do we.” he said matter of factly, “If I don’t face Tom before all hell breaks lose then a lot of people are going to be injured, or killed, or worse. Snape must know where he is hiding out.” There was a tone of frustration in Harry’s voice, and then he paused in thought. “Umm… I wonder if Luna skimmed that little piece of information from Snape’s mind as well.”

“Possible Harry, no harm in asking, I suppose.” Hermione gripped Harry’s arm and pulled him close, he could feel her whole body shaking.

“What’s the matter?”

“Its getting close Harry and I’m scared.”

“Not losing your confidence?” he said gently, remembering all the times she had bolstered his.

“No Harry, not at all,” she replied defiantly, “but someone once said only a fool goes into battle feeling unafraid.”

“And you’re no fool.”

“That’s right,”

And to calm her and comfort her he held her tight, stroked her hair and whispered into her ear, “I love you.”

There was a muted ringing noise from over where Dumbledore was working, he picked up a small hand mirror, and listened to the tinny voice that whispered an urgent message.

“You are sure of this Severus?” He was the only one who could hear the reply, but his words suggested a positive response, “Very well, I will pass this on.” There was another unintelligible sound from the mirror. “Be very careful Severus, he will suspect, and I doubt he will be forgiving. Good luck.”

The old Headmaster spun around his robes whirled dramatically and Harry could see something like the old fire in his eyes. “Fyrsil you must call the Brotherhood to order, Tom is making his move. He is sending his Death Eaters against the Ministry and the muggle government, and he intends to attack both tonight. If he is successful there will be such confusion in both the wizarding and muggle worlds that neither will recover in time to stop him taking over.”

Harry stood, “I must get to Voldemort now and put a stop to all of this, I need to know where he is.”

“No Harry you do not,” Dumbledore’s voice was stern, “You need to be away from this, attacking Tom on his home ground would put you at a great disadvantage, and I forbid you to try.”

Harry’s temper flared, “You forbid! Just who do you think you are!”

Dumbledore regarded him coldly, and Hermione grabbed him trying to shake the anger from him. “Who am I? actually Harry, since I was never given the opportunity to resign and you are technically still a student of this school I am you Headmaster, but I am also your friend. I also know that if you go to Little Hangleton you will loose to Tom, the connection between the two of you is far too strong to be tested in that particular location. Have patience, he will make a mistake, and then you will have your chance, and you will not have to wait much longer.” He sighed deeply. “Before the sun rises again the matter will be settled, his forces will be triumphant or the Brotherhood will break them.”

Ollivander was already on his feet heading to the mirror that would take him back to the Hall of Merlin, “Later Albus,” were his only words as he passed through.

“I don’t believe this,” said Harry his voice still shaking with the anger that he under Hermione’s urging was trying to suppress. “You expect me to hide while you and the Brotherhood fight it out?”

“This is what the Brotherhood is for; it is their destiny, not yours and not mine.” Dumbledore said with resignation.

“You’re not going with them?”

“No Harry, I cannot leave this castle,” he gazed affectionately at the old stones and patted the pillar he was standing next to. “She is all that is keeping me alive, I told you before how weak I was, …well perhaps I was not totally honest. So you see you are not the only one to sit on the side lines this time.” The Headmaster walked over to Harry, Hermione and Ron standing together watching him. “I want you to go to the Burrow, and promise me that you will stay there, unless you are called. Ron’s mother will need him near her, she will not know what is happening tonight,” he laid a hand on Ron’s shoulder, “but be there just in case.”

Dumbledore looked deep into Harry’s emerald green eyes, and he in turn regarded eyes of sparkling blue.

“Take this Harry,” he said holding out a small hand mirror, it was so like the one Sirius had given him all those years ago, “And I want you to promise Harry, not until you are called.”

He did not like it, he wanted desperately to strike out on his own, but deep down there was a quiet sensible voice telling him to do as he was asked, so Harry took the mirror Dumbledore offered and said “Ok I promise.”

“Right off you go then,” said Dumbledore lightly, as if the argument had never happened.

“From here?” asked Ron, Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

“It was you wasn’t it? You let us apparate in and out of the Castle, all the times when we need it?” asked Hermione.

“If that is what you wish to believe, my dear, then yes it was, but remember that Hogwarts is more than just a castle, and it looks after its own. Now go.”

And the three of them holding hands closed their eyes and vanished.

* * *

Chapter Twenty

The Final Enchantment

The early afternoon sun was warming what had started out to be a chilly day, and giving encouragement to those plants and animals that had dared to hope that spring was not all that far away after all. Harry, Hermione and Ron appeared beside the old bench seat under the weeping willow, making no sound and hardly disturbing the grass. Across the field the Weasleys home appeared to glow in the yellow sunlight, and all three could see the dumpy form of Molly Weasley as she hung out some washing in the garden making the most of the unexpected warmth. The sound of her happy humming reached the ears of the youngsters and Ron gulped on the thickness that sprang into his throat; Dumbledore was right she had no idea of what was about to happen nor that Arthur would be caught up in the middle of it. Harry looked into the small mirror he carried but only his reflection stared back.

“Only been a few minutes Harry, trust him …look we’d better follow,” said Hermione, nodding in the direction of Ron’s disappearing figure as he ran over the field toward the house.

“Yes ok,” Harry reluctantly returned the mirror to his pocket, and then the two of them set off after their friend.

“What are you doing here? And all dolled up in that silly coat,” Molly was saying to Ron. Harry knew the bluster was all bravado, Molly hated seeing them clad in their dragon hide coats, to her it was a very physical reminder that she was losing control of people she still considered children, and of the unknown danger they may find themselves in.

“Time off for good behaviour, Mum,” Ron joked, but his humour was forced, and it didn’t fool Molly for a moment.

“You’ve been expelled, haven’t you?”

“No Mum.”

“Suspended then?”

“NO, honestly we just came by to see if you were ok.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then,” she pursed her lips and gave vent to a suspicious and questioning “Umm?” she obviously didn’t believe a word.

“Any lunch going?” Ron asked hopefully, and successfully altering the direction of his mother’s train of thought.

“Might have known there was some ulterior motive for your visit,” Molly said, grateful that at last she had found one that was reasonable. “There’s some pie left over from last night, I’ll heat it up for you.”

The meal was as usual delicious, and as they sat by the fire in the kitchen and drank their tea Harry wished that this gentle peace and sense that all was well in the world could continue unaffected by events happening elsewhere. For about the tenth time he retrieved the mirror and looked into its glassy surface, but again all he saw was his own reflection looking back out.

“Put it away,” Hermione whispered, “it will ring like the other one, I’m sure, …when it is ready.” Then Molly came back down the stairs with another load of washing. “On your own Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione asked conversationally.

“What, oh yes, Fleur is at St.Mungo's,” and Molly leaned close to Hermione as she passed and whispered conspiratorially, “I think there may be another Weasley on the way,” then at Hermione’s surprised look said, “she hasn’t said anything yet but…” and winked. “Tonks was here earlier, but she left, something to do with the Ministry no doubt.” Molly dumped the clothes in the sink, whipped out her wand, and made a stirring motion over them, and they automatically began to wash themselves. “Remus and Bill are out in the old shed, almost forgot about them, doing something for Fred and George, so I thought it was best to keep out of their way.”

“Getting wise in your old age Mum?” Ron quipped.

“No but I know that when there are circumstances I may not totally approve of, but can do nothing to change, its best to ‘go with the flow’,” she looked pointedly from Hermione to Harry and back, and Hermione had the grace to blush slightly, “Ginny taught me that phrase.”

“Err I think I’ll go and see what Remus and Bill are up to,” said Harry catching Hermione’s eye.

“Me too,” she put in hastily.

“I’ll stay if you don’t mind,” Ron wiggled himself deeper into his chair, “too comfortable.” Harry and Hermione nodded understanding completely.

The forced normality of the situation at the Burrow was beginning to tell on Harry’s nerves, he glanced yet again at the mirror as he and Hermione walked down to the garage. There was a growled “Harry!” from Hermione and he hastily put it away again, sighing heavily as he did so. He could only imagine what was happening in London, would the Brotherhood alert the Ministry and would the Minister alert the muggle Prime Minister, when and where would the Death Eaters strike first. Battle was about to be joined and here he was walking in the country with his girlfriend on his arm, not that it wasn’t pleasant, it was just so detached from the reality of the situation. He couldn’t help the cry of frustration that escaped his lips and at that sound Hermione pulled him to a stop.

“Look Harry, I know it’s hard, but you mustn’t get too worked up by the delay,” she stood in front of him and passed her fingers through his hair. She seemed to be doing this a lot recently, perhaps it calmed him, it certainly didn’t do her any harm; she brushed back his fringe exposing the scar, and lazily ran her finger down its length. Again she felt the tingle in her finger tips, and then she shuddered as a shiver ran through her. “If you go off half cocked and in a tizzy, and land right in front of dear old Tom’s Death Eaters, they’ll have you for breakfast. We can’t just barge in on this fight, Dumbledore said he will tell us when.”

“I know love,” Harry acquiesced, and some of the tension he was feeling left him. He looked around at the peaceful scene, and they walked on to the shed. “It’s just so …so normal,” he finished with exasperation.

He reached the small side door to the shed and opened it, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there, his mouth open in surprise, as he stared into the relative darkness of the inside of the old wooden building. The single lamp hanging from the roof beams, threw its feeble light down onto the most abnormal sight Harry had ever seen. Sitting at a small table, calmly trying to play a game of cards, were two terrifying werewolves.

They appeared to be having some difficulty in holding the cards; their claws were definitely not designed to be used in this way, and like leaves deserting their tree in autumn, cards were continuingly fluttering to the floor. Hermione, seeing this bizarre scene from behind him, pushed passed the immobile Harry and regarded the two fearsome creatures. She struck a Mollyesque pose with her fists planted firmly on her hips.

“Ok, Remus, Bill I hope after all the trouble we went to, to cure you both of this affliction you have an excuse for this?” There was a certain edge of irritation to her voice.

The werewolves smiled at her, it was ghastly, but she stood her ground, then one of them stood and advanced towards her, its movement was menacing and the creature pulled back its lips exposing a frightening array of teeth.

“Hello Hermione,” it said, the words were slurred and covered in spit, but recognisable.

“Hello Remus…. Well I’m waiting.” Her foot was tapping on the floor with impatience and Harry was convinced that, if Remus didn’t answer soon, Hermione was going to start waggling her finger at their ex-Professor.

“Well it wasn’t really our idea,” garbled Remus.

‘Not a good start’ thought Harry;

“It was the twins.” the Werewolf spat out.

‘That does it,’ and Harry reached forward and gripped Hermione by the shoulders to steady her. “Calm down,” he whispered in her ear. “Let them tell it all before you explode.”

The story came out agonisingly slowly, not because it was complicated, but because at times it was very difficult to understand what Remus and Bill were trying to tell them. It boiled down to the fact that Fred and George flushed with the success of the Anti-interlunium potion that had cured the lycanthropy of their brother and friend, had gone back to basics and played about with the original potion Hermione had taken from Greyback. They had stripped it to its core components, refined it, added a few ingredients of their own, and produced the Interlunium Presto potion, the first two doses of which now resided in the stomachs of Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley.

“The transition was completely painless,” Remus explained, “and we have retained all our senses, but we expected that.”

“I don’t think you retained anything at all, you’re both out of your minds,” Hermione’s voice was a bit shrill and both the werewolves winced. “What possible good can come of this, it’s insane.”

“Well, in this form we are fairly impervious to magic,” said Remus.

“And quite strong,” put in Bill, and to demonstrate he took hold of the bars of one of the cages that had confined the two of them during the original experiment with the Anti-interlunium potion, and bent them out of shape. “Oh, that could have been embarrassing,” he added when he realised what he had done.

“We decided that there could be situations when having us like this would be useful. We thought it was worth the risk, Hermione.” Remus added sheepishly.

“Well I don’t, anything could have happened,” Hermione was really quite upset, she was almost in tears and Harry couldn’t understand why. “Harry needs all his friends with him, especially now.” She turned from the two surprised werewolves and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, and now Harry understood.

“Things seem to be coming to a bit of a head guys,” said Harry, with vast understatement as he comforted Hermione, and he told them what had happened at Spinners End and the little they knew of Voldemort’s plans.

“I’ve heard of this Brotherhood of Merlin but I thought it was ancient history,” said Remus, “They must be a very secretive bunch.”

“More than you could possibly know,” and Harry looked at Hermione who gave a slight nod. “You see, Mr Weasley is one,” Harry and Hermione were now possibly the only two people alive who knew what a werewolf in deep shock looked like, as Bill sat down heavily on the seat by the table. “That’s not all…” and Harry stared meaningfully at Remus.

“Tonks,” he said, and Harry nodded, “Knew there was something going on, but she’s been working so hard, it’s difficult to know if it was all ministry stuff or not.”

“So this is all happening tonight?” asked Bill.

“Yes,” Harry sighed, “in London.”

“Where?” and Bill clambered to his feet, obviously keen to go.

“Don’t know exactly,” Harry answered, “And like that I don’t think you have any way of getting there.”

“You could take me Harry.”

“No, I can’t, I have orders to stay away,” Hermione was looking at him her eyes still damp and questioning, “and for once I am doing as I’m told.”

Late in the afternoon Ron ambled over to the shed to see if Harry and Hermione wanted anything to eat, but that thought went completely out of his head when he saw the state of Remus and Bill. However his calm and understanding acceptance of the twins meddling, and the actions of the two cured lycanthropes, nearly set Hermione off again, but Ron knew his brothers well, and now very little they did surprised him anymore.

“Fleur’s back by the way.” He said, and shook his head at his brother, marvelling at the transformation, “but if you have any sense you will not let her see you like that …how long anyway?” he asked.

“Like this you mean? Twelve hours, possibly twenty four, maybe twenty nine,” said Bill.

“What you mean is that you have no idea?”

“No Ron we don’t.”

Outside the late afternoon slowly turned into evening and as the sky darkened heavy black clouds rolled in from the west. The change in the weather brought with it an oppressive feeling, the others could sense the change, but for Harry the world seemed to be closing in around him, almost shutting him away from everything else. His thoughts turned ever more inward, it was to be tonight, not just the fight between the Death Eaters and the Brotherhood, but the climax of his meetings with Tom Riddle, he just knew it. Tonight they would fight and at least one of them would not survive, it was that simple.

Harry was so preoccupied he didn’t notice Ron going over to Hermione, speaking to her, eventually quietly arguing with her, and nearly having to drag her out of the shed. Ten minutes later they were back and Harry hadn’t even moved. Hermione was a little red in the face and kept throwing Ron dark looks while she pulled at her coat to make it comfortable again.

No one talked now as the minutes ticked by, and all of them could feel the tension mounting. Remus and Bill, their card game forgotten, sat morosely waiting for the potion to wear off, Hermione and Ron sat on either side of Harry, who stared into space as if he was trying to see all the way to London, to the battle that must by now have been joined. Possibly they would have sat there all night, but from the pocket of Harry’s dragon hide coat they suddenly heard an insistent ringing.

* * *

Severus Snape had managed to remain hidden in the depths of the manor’s cellar, while above him, the sounds of the Death Eaters making preparations for their departure, kept him in fear of unwanted discovery. Finally the house had fallen silent, after the repeated noise of many apparating witches and wizards had sounded from the floors above, and Severus crept out of his hiding place. The house appeared deserted, even the shuffling and snorting of the troll guarding the main door was absent, and Severus slowly mounted the steps that would lead him back to the servant’s passageway and eventually the entrance hall.

The front door was open, the only guard a few wind blown leaves that had scudded across the threshold, but they were not paying any attention to the black cloaked wizard as he turned away and headed into the heart of the mansion. The library and the dining room were as empty as the same rooms at Hogwarts would be in the middle of the summer holidays, but then the Dark Lord had mainly used the grandly titled Morning Room for his entertainments. Severus slowly opened the door, this room like all the others was empty, the bare floor was clean and the only piece of furniture remaining was Voldemort’s high backed chair. It was placed as usual at the centre of the ornate mantle that surrounded the unlit fireplace. Behind the chair and above the mantle was an enormous mirror. It had seen better days, around the edges the silvering was showing signs of falling foul to damp; the reflection of the room gave way to coppery tendrils encroaching from under the large carved wooden frame, giving it a diseased appearance.

The ex-potions Professor walked slowly across the room his boots making an unnaturally loud noise on the wooden floor. He stood in front of the chair and stared at it hoping that its very presence would tell him where Draco Malfoy was being hidden.

“Ah Severus,” the voice, where there had existed only silence, made Snape jump, and his eyes flash to the mirror, but fast as he was Tom Riddle was even faster. The rope Voldemort conjured wrapped itself around Snape effectively immobilising him, only by chance was his hand in his pocket and holding his wand and only by luck was he able to tap the side of his mirror with his wand, and open the link with Gryffindor tower.

Dumbledore could see nothing but the dark inside of Severus Snape’s pocket, and the conversation he could hear was muffled by the coat, but the voices were recognisable none the less.

“So good of you to call, even at this late hour, I was beginning to worry about you.” Voldemort mocked his captive. Unable to move Severus continued to stare into the mirror; behind him in the middle of the room, stood Voldemort, his slit like eyes burning red. His bald head and pinched and drawn features, made him appear like a dead man looking for somewhere to lie down. Standing next to the darkest of dark wizards was Draco his face set with an expression of abject fear, and even in the reflection Severus could see that the lad was shaking.

“You have a lot of explaining to do my old friend, but I believe this is what you were looking for,” Voldemort continued coldly, indicating the shivering lad by his side. “You see Narcissa told me everything. You would have thought I would have remembered Lily Potter, and the power of the feelings a mother has for her child.” he gave Draco an evil look and the young wizard flinched. “It was so easy to break her, a threat here and the application of a spell there and Narcissa couldn’t stop talking. She is now,” Voldemort pondered a moment, “…ahh, awaiting my pleasure. I have sent her on with her sister and my army for company.” He twiddled his wand in his hand. “She actually told me she hated me for what I had done to her family.” He shook his head in wonder and there was surprise in his voice.

Voldemort stirred his wand in the air, and Severus was forced to turn and face the wizard who was surely going to kill him.

“Now what do I do with you?” Voldemort asked, and he gave an unconvincing show of indecision. “Even thought it was not your task you did rid me of Dumbledore, but you conspired with others to free Draco from my grasp.” Voldemort turned to look down on the snivelling youth, “Is he really worth your life Severus? For that is what it may cost you. I will have to consider your fate, but first I have an appointment with a certain Phoenix, and destiny, and I invite both of you to join me.” Voldemort made it sound as if it was an honour, but both Draco and Severus knew it would be far from that.

Voldemort hooked his finger at Severus, who unbidden was compelled to move toward him.

“Tonight my friends,” Voldemort said to Draco and Severus, in an unnaturally expansive and conspiratorial fashion. “Tonight is the night I seize power, tonight both the muggle and magical ministries will fall under my control, and I will destroy the phoenix that is hiding Potter, and then I will take from Harry Potter what is rightfully mine.”

Hundreds of miles away Dumbledore listened to Voldemort’s words relayed by Severus’ mirror. He was worried, there was something he was missing, and if Tom did succeed in destroying Fawkes then Harry would be at his mercy and all their plans would fail. That was the other conundrum, why was Tom so keen to kill Harry. Tom still only knew half of the prophecy, he still did not know the danger Harry represented, and yet he wanted Harry dead, to take something from him. What could Harry possibly possess that would be of value to Tom, what did Harry have that no other witch or wizard had? Then as if a brand new torch had just been lit, the idea flashed into his mind, and Dumbledore understood. He was wrong to suggest that Nagini held the final Horcrux; oh so wrong. It was held somewhere much closer to home than that. There was no question in the old man’s mind now Harry had to get to the Phoenix first, it was going to be tonight, the end of Tom Riddle or the end of everything else.

* * *

The streets of London were busy; the normal hustle and bustle of muggle activity continued apace. It looked for all the world like a very ordinary evening, but something extraordinary was about to happen. It had taken time for Voldemort’s forces to gather, not all of them could apparate, and the giants and the trolls had to come by a very circuitous route. Tight fit though it was the giants had squeezed themselves through one of the many tunnels that ran beneath the city, guided by smaller dark wizards, they reached their goal and the largest of the giants began to force his way to the surface.

The steel grid in the centre of the road began to buckle upwards, there was a sudden screeching of brakes and the loud blaring of a horn as the muggle bus driver fought to avoid the thing that was rising up out of nowhere, right in his path. Fully twenty five feet tall, the emerging giant towered over the double decker bus that had pulled to a stop just missing him. All around traffic had ground to a halt as two more giants, equally the size of the first, emerged, then a general panic ensued, as the muggles in desperation tried to get as far away from whatever was going on as quickly as possible.

Some were not fast enough as the giants began to lay about them with their huge iron banded clubs. The bus was reduced to twisted and broken metal in seconds many of its passengers trapped inside. A few of them were able to see the additional horrors that rose out of the ground. Trolls, five of them, smelling as bad as they looked, they held their ugly stone maces aloft, and used them to great effect in clearing the area. Then men dark cloaked, and masked, spitting multicoloured fire from the sticks that they carried, followed the unnatural creatures out onto the road.

Then the numbers of the dark cloaked men began to swell as comrades appeared out of thin air. Each appearance was preceded by a loud CRACK that sounded to the muggles like gunfire, and now the panic for them was complete. Over one hundred of the followers of Lord Voldemort, three giants, and five trolls, stood on the south side of the river and stared across the bridge at the tall illuminated clock tower. As if to signal the start of the invasion the great bell at its top began to toll.

Voldemort’s army, the giants and trolls began their march into the heart of the city. Slowed to the walking pace of the wizards before them, the giants swung their clubs from side to side destroying everything they passed. As they moved up the slight incline onto the bridge that crossed the river, a giant’s club smashed down, and the huge gleaming white statue of the South Bank Lion was reduced to rubble. The witches and wizards of the dark, jeered with triumphant voices, as the muggle world was torn to pieces around them.

As Voldemort had promised, the way to the muggle seat of government, and then their own Ministry of Magic, was open to them. The Minister, they knew, had locked himself in with the few Aurors he had managed to call to his aid, their spies had told them so, but these wizards would pose little threat to the course of the night, and as for the muggles, they stood no chance. Then the slow but steady advance faltered, for an unexpected barrier had suddenly appeared in the distance. A line of witches and wizards, two deep, clothed in blue robes, appeared with a single deafening CRACK. They stretched out across the road to bar the forces of Voldemort access to the centre of the capital.

The Brotherhood had waited, hidden, until the place and time of Voldemort’s attack was, irrevocably committed, and then they had made their move, apparating in, and standing shoulder to shoulder, this was where they were going to make their stand. The destruction of Voldemort’s Death Eaters was all that mattered; it had to be now, tonight, to give the chosen one his chance to face the Dark Lord in equal combat. As had happened before, the members of the Brotherhood of Merlin may not live to see this final meeting come to pass, but they would play their part, and fight to the end.

Dumbledore watched his mirrors, now that battle was about to be joined he could act. He knew where they were now; he had confidence that the Brotherhood would hold the dark forces back, but Voldemort was on his way and they would not be able to stop the man himself.

The old Headmaster knew he had his failings he was not always right and had made some mistakes, but nobody could ever say he was not prepared, at least not this time.

He set in motion plans that he had long devised, he contacted those he knew he could trust, and bade them wait until he called, and then Dumbledore did the hardest job of all that evening, he called his own Parsifal, his own young knight, his own Harry, to send him to meet his destiny, and fulfil the prophecy.

* * *

Harry, his mouth suddenly dry, let the mirror ring in his pocket for the fourth time, then quickly and all of a fumble, he retrieved it to stare at a reflection that was not his own.

“Westminster Bridge Harry,” Dumbledore told him, “Tom is after Fawkes but you must get to him first. The Brotherhood will not want you there; for they do not know that you must face Tom tonight. I promise you, help will come.” The old man faltered, “And Harry, take my love with you and know that it will be with you always.” Then his image faded and the only face that Harry could see was his own.

Harry looked up at the others, they were all staring back, and as he gazed at them the initial fear and trepidation the message from the mirror had produced changed into a fierce resolve to make sure that after tonight Tom Riddle would have no impact on their lives or the lives of anyone else.

“Well you heard the man.” Harry said getting to his feet, everyone arose with him, looks of determination on their faces. “Westminster Bridge…..” but he didn’t finish for at that moment there was a CRACK of someone apparating and Tonks her pink hair a mess and blood from a small cut to her face trailing down to her chin appeared in their midst.

She was reeling from the effects of a glancing blow from a Confundus charm, but her instinct to apparate had probably saved her from something worse “I didn’t know what to do for the best,” she gasped out and fell into the claws of Remus who very carefully embraced her. “I hoped you were back to normal and could help, but….” Her confusion allowed her to ramble on. “…Voldemort has arrived, and we are not holding them.” She stopped suddenly, her senses beginning to return, and she realised that Remus would have no idea what she was talking about. Then she looked around at the company gathered in the garage. None of them seemed surprised by her condition or her cry for help. Remus tried to smile at her and relieve her confusion, but it may not have looked the way he intended, and he only succeeded in dribbling on her shoulder.

“We will come and help,” It was Harry not Remus who spoke.

“No Harry, you of all wizards should not be there; not tonight.” Tonks said adamantly.

Harry stood before her and placed a hand on each shoulder, feeling the slimy wetness under his right hand, and held her at arms length. “Actually it is essential that I am there tonight, and neither you, nor the whole of the rest of The Brotherhood of Merlin is going to stop me.” As he spoke it appeared to those with him in that rickety old shed that he began to grow in stature. Harry Potter took on the mantle of his destiny and it fitted him as well as his black dragon hide coat.

They apparated away together without a sound, and a hundred and fifty miles to the east a strange little group of two wizards, two witches and two werewolves, snapped into existence in a quiet corner of Parliament Square. There was not a muggle witch or wizard to be seen, but from not very far away the sounds of a titanic battle raged.

“Where is everyone?” said Ron “I would have thought the place would be crawling with muggles.”

“Most of the muggles ran away when the giants appeared.” said Tonks. “We did tell the muggle Prime Minister was earlier today when we knew what was likely to happen, but he didn’t believe us. We suggested he use a terror alert to clear the centre of London,” said Tonks, as a stray reductor curse sped down Whitehall hitting a set of traffic lights and blowing them to pieces. “At least no one could have accused him of telling lies this time, she added wryly.

“Everyone must be up on the bridge,” said Harry, “Dumbledore said I have to get to Fawkes so we better get going. Have you finished yet Hermione?”

“Almost,” she replied putting the last bit of tape on Bills arm securing his wand there just in case the potion wore off. “And remember Bill, and you to Remus, find a cloak if you do change back because you left all your clothes at the Burrow.”

The two werewolves grinned at each other and then, with them in the lead, the group left the safety of the square and turned toward Westminster Bridge. The sight that met their eyes was one of total chaos.

In the centre of the bridge two groups of witches and wizards, the black and the blue, were facing each other firing spells back and forth. Many spells and curses were deflected or absorbed by hastily produced shield charms but a few of the more powerful or deadly struck home and the crumpled forms of the victims could be seen on both sides of the battle. Harry could see on the far side of the bridge the towering forms of three giants that blocked the roadway completely, they stood there roaring challenges and swinging their ugly looking clubs banded with great iron rings. In front of the giants were five trolls at least as big as the one Harry and Ron had fought in their first year, the stone maces they carried were as every bit as menacing as the clubs of the giants.

The massed legion of Voldemort’s Death Eaters out numbering the Brotherhood two to one was slowly pushing them back towards the parliament side of the bridge, and it was not only the numbers on the dark side that was beginning to tell. There was a bright green flash amongst the horde of the dark above the spot where Voldemort had apparated into their midst. The green glow didn’t fade but expanded outwards and upwards as it formed itself into the Dark Mark. The grinning green skull the mark of the Dark Lord gave encouragement to the Death Eaters and despair to the Members of the Brotherhood.

Into this mess marched Harry and his small band, unseen by Voldemort who urged his followers to close on the Brotherhood, they moved between the ranks of the blue robed witches and wizards then met, with the others, the onslaught of the Death Eaters.

Spells of varying colours flashed out of the massed ranks of the Death Eaters as they ran forward. Many were ineffectual, but the few killing curses used smashed through shields, witch and wizard alike, to leave only death behind them. Fire was returned from the ranks of the blue and although lighter it was more accurate and the spells used better applied. The Brotherhood did stop a significant number of Death Eaters in their tracks, but the struggle was unequal and the Brotherhood had to give ground.

Then leaping high over the retreating wizards, two terrifying nightmares landed amongst the Death Eaters and letting the beast within them free Remus and Bill began to deal out a bit of death of their own. Slashing claws and rending teeth deprived several of Voldemort’s followers of their lives, and persuaded far more than that, that they didn’t want to join them.

The three dressed in their black dragon hide coats were caught in the press of the blue robed Brotherhood, having to retreat with them and unable to fight. Harry began to feel the frustration build in him. He stopped his now backward march and Ron and Hermione stopped with him. Dumbledore had told him to get to Fawkes but the phoenix was nowhere to be seen, so Harry pictured the bird in his mind and called out to him. There was an answering cry, and the sound of phoenix song filled the air, the burst of golden light as the phoenix appeared pushed back the darkness of the night and turned it into day. Harry gazed at the wonderful sight as Fawkes swooped and soared above the battle, and in answer to an unspoken command Harry raised his wand high above his head

The instant that Voldemort saw the phoenix he began to move forward himself, bringing the giants and trolls with him, by his side Draco and Severus Snape still bound tight, were forced to follow. He had reached the centre of the bridge when to his chagrin he watched as the phoenix soaring above the battle burst into flame and vanished, but then his vision fell on something else a young man dressed in black, and he began to laugh in triumph.

Harry stared upwards at the beautiful bird, now hovering above him, the sound of the most wonderful song in the world filled his head, the wand in his hand was thrumming with the power of the phoenix, and then Fawkes burst into flame. The fiery bird flew up, high into the dark sky, and then dived straight for Harry, but he did not hit him. As Fawkes’ fire struck the tip of Harry’s upraised wand it flowed into the holly shaft held so tightly in Harry’s hand, but it didn’t stop there. The energy coursed through Harry’s arm and his body filling him with a magic so powerful that Harry himself began to glow.

Harry could feel the magic swell inside him; it suffused every tiny bit of his being with light. Everything he had ever learned, and far more, was instantly available to him now, there was no indecision, but there was one thing, something small and dark, that was trying to hold him back. Harry knew that this intruder had lived with him for as long as he could remember; part of him, but not part of him. Now with the fire of Fawkes the phoenix racing around his body there was no room for this trespasser, and with a scream of rage that only Harry could hear it was ejected. At that moment the scar on Harry’s forehead exploded with almost unbearable pain.

Hermione was staring at Harry, she saw the fire disappear into him, but in seconds, her elation at the gift from the phoenix, turned to horror as Harry grasping at his forehead and screaming in pain collapsed on to the road. As he lay there his hand fell away, and Hermione could see his scar, now red and livid, it writhed and twisted, not so much like the bolt of lightening it had always seemed before, but with the sinuous movement of a snake. Then it burst open along its length, but no blood welled up to run down onto the road. As with the book, the ring, the cup, the locket and Pettigrew’s silver hand, the ghost of the most powerful of dark wizards was freed. So it was that the final enchantment was broken and the last resting place of Voldemort’s soul was revealed. The shade of the Dark Lord imprisoned unintentionally inside Harry Potter all those years ago, by the most evil of acts, was driven out.

Hermione was at his side in an instant, the seemingly unending stream of dark smoke that had produced the other shades of Voldemort was still pouring from the open wound on Harry’s forehead. Hermione held him as Harry writhed in pain on the cold tarmac of the road surface. Then as the smoke thinned, and eventually stopped, the pain receded, and Harry became quiet and still. Hermione cried out in despair as she looked down on her unresponsive boyfriend, then his eyelids flickered and his eyes opened. The green of his eyes was the brightest she had ever seen, but surrounding this intense colour the rest of his eyes were suffused with a deep golden hue which pulsed and glowed with a light of its own. The power of the Phoenix still coursed through Harry’s body, a body that was now entirely free from the Dark Lord and prepared to face his destiny.

Despite the furious battles that were going on around them time stood still for the chosen one and his mate, Harry stared into Hermione’s calm brown eyes, she knew that she could lose him, but she believed that she would not, and with that one look and the slightest nod of her head she released him, and standing he turned to face Voldemort.

The sight which he beheld was not that which he expected. Not ten yards from him the rapidly solidifying form of the Dark Lord’s shade stood tall and cloaked in black much more real than the other shades had appeared. Behind the spectre, with Draco and Snape at his side was Voldemort, his nose-less face fixed on the apparition that had erupted from Harry’s scar. Voldemort’s initial laugh of triumph and expression of success at the sight of Harry Potter now within his grasp, had change to silence and a look of uncertainty, as the final Horcrux that was no Horcrux was broken by the power of the phoenix.

The Dark Lord waited as his surroundings wavered from insubstantial wisps of tattered smoke into the solidness of Westminster Bridge and the witches and wizards on it. He could feel his power returning, hard and raw the power was but it was incomplete, something was missing he was not yet whole. There were two sources of energy he could feel, that could fill the void and make him complete, and his eyes sought them out. Close by was a youth clad in a dull black coat, standing it seemed unaffected by the war going on around him. The Dark Lord was drawn to this boy, but also repelled by an ancient magic that was forcing him away. He turned instead to the second source, it emanated from the group standing, now isolated, in the centre of the bridge. It was the tall man in the centre that the Dark Lord focused his attention on, deformed he may be, but the same attraction that he had found in the youth was there in this creature as well.

On the night Peter Pettigrew had mixed the brew that returned Voldemort to the wizarding world, he had used the blood of an enemy forcibly taken. He could have used almost any wizard to provide this but on Voldemort’s direction had used blood from the one person that really should have been left out of the mix. By using Harry’s blood the seed for potential disaster had been sown. At the time Dumbledore may not have known the way it would play out in the end, but he knew it was a mistake, and it had given him hope.

And now the consequences of that mistake were revealed.

The shade of the Dark Lord could not decide if he should go to Voldemort or to Harry and choosing one over the other would forever seal the choice. So he would not give, he would take, he could not take the power from Harry, not yet, but he could take it from Voldemort and then with his power increased he would have the chance of having them both.

The Dark Lord, the embodiment of Lord Voldemort at his most powerful, snatched away by the rebounding Avada Kedavra curse, began to reach out, and rather than surrender to Tom Riddle he started to search for a way to consume the magic he possessed.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort, the reconstituted wizard, could feel the power of his old self reaching out, not to join with him, but to pull him to his knees. The compulsion to give in was tremendous, but he resisted, this was not the way it should be, the contents of the final Horcrux, the greatest part of what used to be Voldemort, held in Harry by the enchantment that had sealed the boy’s destiny, should be bowing down to him, and not he Tom subservient to it.

The deformed face of Tom Riddle was creased in effort and he cried out, “NO, I will not let you, you are mine, come to me.”

But the Dark Lord did not bow to the command, a black shadow flickered around the being and he extended an arm and beckoned with one finger and Voldemort took one hesitating step forward.

Harry, full to the brim with the power that Fawkes had bestowed upon him stood implacably with his friends near him observing the fight between Tom and the shade with some detachment. The first frightening thought that he was going to have to face two Voldemorts was fading, some titanic struggle was waging back and forth between the twin incarnations of the darkest of wizards, and Harry was loathe to interrupt. The encroaching tide of dark forces began to drive Ron, Hermione and the others away from Harry leaving him alone, but no dark wizard turned on him. Perhaps it was that finally the Death Eaters realised that Harry was Voldemort’s prey alone, or maybe it was that Harry was surrounded by a faint but discernable golden glow that deflected the odd stray spell or curse, that passed by too close, up in to the air to disperse harmlessly. With the main fighting now moving behind him Harry concentrated all his attention on the Dark Lords and fortunately did not witness what happened next.

Bellatrix Lestrange had lost sight of her charge in the confusion of the meeting with the Brotherhood, but Narcissa had no wand and would be easy to find afterward assuming she survived of course. Voldemort’s second in command marked the pair dressed in dragon hide, Hermione and Ron fighting side by side were unaware of her attention as they dispatched a wizard with the combined use of an “Expelliarmus” and a “Reducto” which effectively disarmed him and broke both his legs at the same time. The dark witch drew back her wand and mustering all the hate at her command fired a curse straight at Hermione. The red streak closed on the young woman so rapidly, that neither she, nor Ron, had time to react. The curse smashed into Hermione’s chest shredding the black dragon hide as if it was so much parchment, and the girl cried out in surprise and pain as she was thrown backwards. Hermione was lifted off her feet to crash to the ground by the bridge wall her limbs askew, blood trickling from her mouth, and a smoking hole in the front of her coat.

Despite his horror, there was no time to stop and check, Ron knew he could not help Hermione any more, he just hoped he had done enough. Harry was facing up to Voldemort and was way past needing him, so now the only way Ron felt he could repay his debt to his best friends was to do his best and take as many of the enemy with him as he could, and he would start with Bellatrix.

With a yell of rage Ron ran directly at Draco’s aunt, he fired any spell that came to mind as he ran, but in his rage his aim was not good. Both the wizards standing on either side of Bellatrix fell writhing to the ground under Ron’s assault, but the witch herself was unharmed, and the spell she returned caught Ron just above his hip tearing through his coat and his side. He had gained considerable momentum in his run across the bridge and the force of the spell spun him up into the air and he sailed over the low parapet and then plunged towards the dark waters of the Thames some thirty feet below. His last sight of Bellatrix was a view of her face as it turned from one of ecstatic triumph to one of absolute horror, then the darkness swallowed him and Ron never felt or heard the splash as he hit the water.

The eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange stared skywards but they saw nothing, at least not anymore. The last image burned into the back of them was of the ghastly sight of teeth and fangs as Remus Lupin closed his werewolf mouth around her throat, and ripped the life from her. Remus reared back on his distorted legs and raised his muzzle to the night and howled. A howl not of triumph but one of pain and despair for his fallen friends and it rang across the water and the deserted streets of London and those muggles that heard it shivered in their shoes, and wondered what it meant. The sound faded, replaced by the sobs of a man crouched over the remains of an evil witch, for Fred and George’s potion had finally worn off and Remus the man had returned. He pulled the blood soaked robe from Bellatrix’s shoulders to cover his nakedness, and retrieving his wand from where Hermione had strapped it to his arm turned to see what help he could be.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-one

Neither Can Live

The nightmarish scene on Westminster Bridge in the centre of London would have done credit to the most warped imagination, but other than the creatures involved in this deadly play there was no one around to apply such thought. On the south side of the bridge the trolls and giants were ranged across its width, as they marched slowly up the slight incline toward the beleaguered forces of the Brotherhood of Merlin. They were being hard pressed by the dark witches and wizards Voldemort had already set against them and were being pushed back to the north bank under the shadow of the tower often called Big Ben.

In the centre of the bridge seemingly unaware and uninterested in the battle going on around them were five figures. A group of three one bound tight with rope, a long faced blonde haired youth, and a bald man with slit like apertures where his nose should be and burning red eyes, were closest to the advancing trolls and giants. Some way in front of them a tall dark cloaked man stood in the very centre of the bridge, in amongst all the abnormality that was occurring this night this man was the most abnormal. The darkness surrounding his cloak appeared to flicker out and cancel the light provided by the moon and the street lamps that lined the sides of the roadway. He was turned slightly towards the group of three arm outstretched making hooking movements with one of his long fingers toward the bald man who seemed to be trying to resist some compulsion to cross over to this strange apparition. Involved as this central figure was with this strange deformed man, his attention never wavered from the final person included in this weird tableau. A young man dressed in a long black coat stood still and implacable as if he would bar the passage of anyone daring to cross the bridge. That he should try this appeared suicidal that he might just be capable of doing it was manifested in the golden glow that surrounded him and that amber fire shot from his normally emerald green eyes as he stared his opponents down.

Behind this young man battled the forces of Voldemort and the Brotherhood of Merlin and by weight of numbers and not skill the dark wizards were winning. Many of Harry Potter’s allies had fallen some never to rise again, but in their defeat they were carrying out the purpose of the Brotherhood, to give the chosen one the time to fight and with luck the chance to win. And now the time to fight had arrived. The impasse on the bridge was broken by the one wizard who appeared to be in the least favourable position.

In their slow advance across the bridge Voldemort had given neither Severus Snape or Draco Malfoy much thought. The former was bound tight and the later scared out of his wits, but scared though Draco was his wits had not entirely left him. Taking great care not to be seen he feigned ducking down to avoid one of the stray spells flying past and scooped a discarded wand from the road, hiding it up the sleeve of his robe he now wondered what on earth he was to do with it. He watched with mounting trepidation the almost silent battle between the wizard which had boiled out of the scar on Harry Potter’s forehead and Voldemort. Almost silent because Draco could hear the grunts of effort as Voldemort fought to resist the summons from the Dark Lord, and with a quick sidelong glance at his former Potions Professor, Draco acted. He touched the wand to the ropes binding Snape’s arms to his sides and they vanished leaving wisps of smoke where they had once been.

Voldemort was too preoccupied to notice that Snape was lose, and Severus, taking his and Draco’s one and only chance, grabbed the boy and began to run. They had passed by Harry who had ignored the distraction of their escape and almost made it to the dubious safety of the general mêlée on the northern half of the bridge, when Voldemort caught the movement of the running figures out of the corner of his eye and gave vent to a cry of rage.

“TRATOR!” and, in his final act as a wizard, Voldemort flung his hatred from his wand. The curse caught Severus in the back and threw him forward bringing Draco down hard on the road. The man who had caused Harry Potter so much pain and heart ache in his years at Hogwarts, crumpled and slid over the ground. He came to rest at the feet of a young witch, with a smoking hole in her chest, who lay still and quiet, but Severus Snape saw none of this, his sightless eyes open in the shock of his own death.

The Dark Lord used the moment of distraction as Voldemort cast his curse at the running man. In that instant he struck, overwhelming Voldemort with his power, and drawing from the dark wizard every last drop of his magical essence. Voldemort was no more, the Dark Lord had reduced him to shell, a being called Tom Riddle, a man armed with a stick. Tom gasped and fell to his knees the yew wand dropping from nerveless fingers, it twitched once as it hit the ground then took off again, flying through the air, to the hand of the totally solid, and very real, shade who was now truly the Dark Lord a wizard who was more complete and powerful than ever.

This was the fight that had awaited Harry since the night his parents were taken from him. He was not destined to battle with the reconstituted Tom Riddle, now reduced to something that was less than a wizard; his fight was to be with the original, The Dark Lord, The Voldemort, that had strode up the path to the door of the cottage in Godrics Hollow and destroyed Harry’s family for no reason other than that they opposed him. The Dark Lord that in his arrogance tried to kill a little boy who even then was protected by a magic so old that only Lily, an old man, and a scarlet and gold plumed phoenix fully understood. Once again this wizard faced the boy that had so nearly ended his life, last time he had expected to kill him, this time he was sure he would succeed.

The wand made of yew with the phoenix feather at its core spat concentrated magic at the young man in the black coat, but dwelling inside Harry was the power of the phoenix itself and that power responded. The air around the two wizards at the centre of the bridge sparked and crackled with the power that was flowing between the two. Bolts of lightening crashed, out one struck an unlucky troll and he was reduced to a pile of grey ash in an instant. The violence of the duel was such that the secondary battle slowly came to a stop the warring sides stunned into inactivity by the display of forces none of them could ever reach or comprehend. Into the consciousness of some of the remaining Brotherhood, almost surrounded now by the dark wizards, crept a sound as incongruous and unbelievable as those occurring out on the bridge.

The sound popped and banged rising and falling in volume first quiet then louder but each of the louder sounds was greater than the last, something was coming getting closer with each passing second. Then over the buildings on the north side of the river balanced it seemed rather unsteadily in the air flew a car, a pale blue Ford Anglia, dipped and bucked as it slowly descended to the road that led to Westminster Bridge. The car hit the ground rather hard, and bounced into the air again before its wheels made permanent contact with the tarmac. It rolled silently forward to come to rest within feet of the nearest of the stunned combatants. The sole occupant of the vehicle eased his long frame from its interior, his long white beard, which was tucked into his belt, shone, and the light from the street lamps sparkled off his half moon glasses. Albus Dumbledore reached into the car and removed from it his tall hat and a sword inset with rubies. He placed the hat on his head and held the weapon with business like efficiency.

Those dark wizards near him backed away with mutterings of alarm, which turned to shouts of chagrin, as the old man gestured with the sword. The view of the buildings and road to the north wrinkled and was then pulled aside, as a huge invisible curtain opened revealing hundreds of magical folk. Witches and wizards, and creatures of the Forbidden Forest began to march through, bringing with them the smell of heather and the fresh air of the Scottish Highlands. If this was not enough to quell the darkest heart, from high above the river the cry of a dragon rent the air, the sound of his wings cutting through the air caused further consternation.

The giants and trolls, exposed as they were on the far side of the bridge, looked skyward in fear at the noise, and the gout of flame released from the dragon’s throat made them turn and attempt to run. Escape was not an option, Norbert had these creatures in his sights and he was not about to let them go. He belched once, twice, three times, and huge balls of flame shot from his frightening maw to land around the giants and trolls, whose frantic efforts to escape only resulted in more carnage. Norbert landed extended his wings to fill the road from side to side and stretched his neck up and up. Trapped by fire and the dragon the giants made one last effort to barge their way passed but Norbert drew in a deep breath and then he slowly let it go. The fire that roared from his throat went on and on, it seemed that it would never stop, and as he weaved his neck from side to side he incinerated everything.

The loss of their large allies was enough for most of the dark wizards now standing in shock on the north side of the bridge. They may have significantly reduced the numbers of the blue robed wizards, but they realised that with the appearance of Dumbledore, a man who should have been dead, and his army, there was no way they could win. In ones and twos they began to throw down their wands, capture and incarceration had to be preferable to death; at least that is what they hoped.

Despite their capitulation the night’s reckoning was not over. Out on the bridge the duel between Harry and the Dark Lord still raged, neither one able to defeat the other, the elemental forces released were stupendous, it was a fight of attrition and would continue until both would be destroyed; there could be no other outcome.

The reinforcements that had streamed through the portal quickly took the surrender of the dark wizards and forcing them aside cleared the roadway. Albus Dumbledore strode out and up the gentle incline onto the bridge as quickly as his ailing body would allow. The Ford Anglia followed the old man. It kept close feeding him the magic of Hogwarts that had given the car a life of its own, and now in turn, was keeping the old man alive. Dumbledore tried to focus his attention on Harry, but the sight of friends and acquaintances strewn on the ground pulled at the heart of the old man. There was sadness to see that Severus Snape’s past had finally brought him down and he could not hold back the tears from his eyes as he passed the quiet form of Hermione, lying where Bellatrix Lestrange’s curse had thrown her. Although he yearned to help he could not stop, Harry had to be his concern now, he didn’t have much time left and he owed it all to the young man fighting for his life.

Some yards away, all that remained of Tom Riddle was trying to get to his feet, his body racked with pain and despair, and a look of complete madness on his deformed face. He had been cheated, brought down by no one other than himself, it wasn’t fair and he wanted his magic back. Like a child unable to get his own way Tom began to yell and scream banging his fist onto the road in his frustration.

‘There was his magic, his own soul had stolen it, ripped it from him, but he was going to get it back. He would bite, kick, and scratch, he would beat him with his fists; he would make the big bully give it to him’.

However impotent his attack on Harry and The Dark Lord would be Albus Dumbledore could not allow Tom to try; an ill-considered interruption would kill them all. So as Riddle stumbled along the road and his intention became clear, the old Headmaster gestered with one hand and with a growl and grinding of gears Arthur Weasley’s old car, gathered speed, rushed passed Dumbledore, and the duelling pair, and very deliberately ran Tom Riddle down. Tom made only the slightest scream, as the car knocked him over and he passed under it’s wheels; as he died his reconstituted body began to dissolve and return to it component parts. The bone of the father unknowingly given; the flesh of the servant willingly given; and the blood of the enemy forcibly taken; lay in a wet steaming puddle at the side of the road.

Albus Dumbledore walked as close as he dared to stand behind Harry, the magical force of the duel plucked at his robe and threatened to pull his hat from his head. His timing had to be just right, he only had the one chance, closing his eyes he concentrated on his life force and he slowly brought it to the surface. Dumbledore’s life was long, and although he may not always have made the right decisions, the decisions he made were made for the right reasons; they had all led him to this moment, and the reason for his existence began to shine forth.

Brighter and brighter he shone. Harry with his back to the old man and busy as he was saw nothing but for The Dark Lord it was a different matter. Over Harry’s shoulder, he could see the man who had thwarted him at every turn, shining with his inner light lending his support to this young wizard, and it disturbed him. In that fatal moment he lost the total commitment that was necessary to hold Harry at bay, and the force of Harry’s attack made him take a step back.

That was the sign Dumbledore had waited for. He threw Gryffindors sword toward Harry, who without the slightest break in his concentration or his magical attack, sensed its presence and snatched it out of the air. With one mighty stroke he brought the blade down and across the chest of the wizard before him. The Dark Lord tottered on his feet and blood gushed from his mouth and the wound that passed from shoulder to hip. He dropped heavily to his knees and then over onto his side his heart cut in two.

For a few seconds Harry stood looking down at the body lying at his feet, the phoenix in him exulted in the victory but Harry’s own consciousness felt less than comfortable with what he had done. He knew it was necessary, but he didn’t have to like it. Then Harry became aware of the person standing behind him, he turned to stare into the glowing face of Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor,” said Harry wearily, “It’s done.”

“Yes Harry, you did magnificently,” the old man said kindly to the tired young man.

Harry’s eyes turned to the body strewn bridge. “Was all this really necessary? Was there no way to avoid this?”

The Headmaster’s shoulders sagged, “No Harry this was the only way. The price of victory has always been high; sometimes I have thought it was too high. But whatever the price this time, I know that what has happened today, will bring a lasting peace and bind the wizarding world closer than ever before.”

The glow surrounding the old man began to brighten, and Harry had to shield his eyes.

“Professor?” there was more in the question than just the one word.

The old man smiled, “I told you once that, my power was weak and that it was the castle that was sustaining me, did I not? He didn’t wait for Harry to answer. “Well it would seem that my time is finally running out.”

“NO.” Harry reached toward Dumbledore, the amber fire in his eyes intensified. “I won’t allow it.”

But the old wizard stayed his hand, “Not this time Harry, I am content to let it end here. These last few months have been very tiring for me; it is time for me to rest. Live well Harry.” Dumbledore flared to incandescence, forcing Harry to close his eyes against the glare, and then with a quiet pop his light was extinguished and when Harry opened his eyes again the old Headmaster was gone.

The peoples of the wizarding world were gathered at the end of the bridge. All of them the good and the bad had seen the fight, its end in victory or defeat, depending on which side they were seeing it from and then the departure of Albus Dumbledore. Now they were all staring at the last remaining figure out on the bridge, some in awe and some in trepidation, as his eyes appeared to flash with golden flames. He scanned the crowd, he was looking for someone, but he couldn’t seem to find them, and then his eyes unwillingly examined the fallen, and he saw her.

The cry of anguish from his throat rent the night sky, and the power within him burst forth, to those watching it was if they had lost one Dark Lord, only to replace him with another, more terrible and powerful than the last.

Harry moved so quickly that he became a blur, and then he was there at Hermione’s side. Her eyes were closed and her expression peaceful, Harry could see the great rent in her coat and the few wisps of smoke that still coiled up from the blasted edges. He knelt by her side and the amber tears that were filling his eyes fell freely to splash on the ground sparkling with the magic they contained until they darkened and rolled away. With shaking hands Harry reached out and touched Hermione, he carefully undid her coat and pulled the scorched hide away, he expected to see the devastation that the spell had wrought on her body, instead there was a large plate with a glassy surface lying over her chest, it was pitted and blackened by the magic it had repelled but it was moving up and down, ever so slightly, in time with Hermione’s shallow breathing.

“Harry, Harry!” it was Remus, “I am so sorry.”

Harry turned to look into the human face of his old friend, and smiled. “It’s ok Remus she’s alive,” The grief stricken expression of the last of the Marauders turned into a smile of partial relief at Hermione’s survival, but still tinged with worry at his lack of knowledge concerning the fate of Harry’s other friend.

“It was Ron, he must have made her wear this,” Harry continued, oblivious to Remus’ disquiet, and indicating the large thick dragon scale that was strung from Hermione’s neck. “It’s an old back plate from a Russian Blue, Charlie gave it to him years ago, I’ve seen it hanging on his bedroom wall.”

Harry stopped realising that he was babbling in his relief. “I must get Hermione to Madam Pomfrey, I’ll thank Ron later, tell him for me.” And he scooped Hermione into his arms and with a flash of golden light the pair vanished.

The hospital wing at Hogwarts carried it usual air of quiet efficiency as madam Pomfrey dealt with the few injured witches and wizards the healers at St. Mungo’s were too busy to attend to. If she was surprised at Harry’s unorthodox entry to the ward she didn’t show it. She was surprised that it was Hermione Harry had clasped in his arms, as several people had told her of the young woman’s death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“On the bed here Harry,” the nurse instructed him, and Harry carefully laid his burden on the white sheets. One glance was all that Madam Pomfrey needed to ascertain that the news of Miss Granger’s death were somewhat premature but perhaps not by much. Poppy lifted the inch thick dragon scale and cut the string from around Hermione’s neck. Despite the protection from Ron’s bedroom ornament Hermione’s skin was burnt and bruised, her breathing remained shallow and her lips had a bluish cast to them.

“Umm… the scale deflected the magic alright Harry but the blow to her chest was still considerable,” the nurse looked worriedly at the young man with the glowing golden eyes. “I don’t know how much damage she has in there, it doesn’t look too hopeful.”

Harry’s elation and certainty that Hermione was going to be fine was crushed from him and again he felt the despair and anger build up and flare out. He laid a flaming hand to Hermione’s chest but all he could feel was the hopelessness at ever being able to repair the damage he found. If the power of the phoenix had resided in someone trained in the healing arts then maybe it would have been different, but this was still plain old Harry and all he could offer was an abounding love for the young witch before him and his inability broke his heart and the tears rose in him yet again.

This time as the magically charged tears fell a quick thinking Poppy grabbed a goblet and braved Harry’s golden flames, plunging her hand in to catch the drops of liquid that fell so freely.

Harry, in his grief, was not aware as Poppy carefully raised Hermione’s head and gently trickled the tears between her lips, but his flaming hand did register the changes that they wrought. Under his burning palm Harry knew she was healing and the power of the phoenix that was in him calmed and the flames went out.

Hermione’s breathing deepened the ugly marks on her skin began to fade and then she opened her eyes. “Hi,” the word was faint and barely audible, but the little smile that creased her lips was like a fanfare of trumpets to Harry and he laughed in joy.

“Hi yourself,”

“Did we win?”

“Yes, we did but I’ll tell you about it later, rest now.” And as if in obedience to his suggestion Hermione sighed, closed her eyes and slept.

For as long as he sat there and watched her, Poppy Pomfrey watched Harry. He was so different from the young boy she had first met all that time ago. For one thing he didn’t have glowing eyes then, and he wasn’t carrying the weight of everything that had happened to him in the intervening years, culminating in the events of this night. Some of the patients that had arrived most recently had mentioned the way Harry had reacted in finding Hermione and their fears of a wizard so powerful. Poppy did not want to see Harry go the way of Tom Riddle so once calm had returned to the ward with all the patients tucked up in bed she sought him out.

“What are you going to do with it Harry?” the obliqueness of her question made him look up and regard the nurse with his burning eyes.

“Do with what, Madam Pomfrey?”

“All the power Harry, you know there is no one who could stand in your way. You could make the wizarding world follow you; you could make it the way you want it to be.”

“I suppose I could,” he replied quietly, “I hadn’t really thought about it, but I didn’t do all this for me, I did it for Hermione and for witches like her, and I did it for Ron and wizards like him.” Harry gave an ironic laugh. “And in a way I suppose I did it for muggles like my uncle and aunt, and dear old Dudley.” Harry gazed at the bed filled ward and the occupants of those beds. “They were frightened of me, weren’t they, when I thought Hermione was dead and let it all go?”

“Yes Harry they were.”

“Well I don’t want that. This world of ours has had enough of Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, and Dark Lords to last a very long time, and I don’t intent to take the job.”

Harry held out his hands, palm up over Hermione’s bed, and fixed his eyes on the cup he formed with them. Amber flames flashed out, and Harry began to glow again, but slowly the halo of light left his body and was pushed down his out stretched arms, so that only his hands retained the golden light. Then even that was gone, and all that remained in Harry’s cupped hands was a pile of grey ashes. The ashes broke apart, and some of them spilled out of Harry’s hands down onto the white bed sheets below, as an incredibly ugly phoenix chick pushed his head clear and turned to look at his new master.

“Lo Fawkes,” said Harry and the little bird gave a squawk and a trill of cheeps that sounded like a laugh.

Harry placed the re-born phoenix in a shallow bowl on the table by Hermione’s head, and the bird cheeped softly to the sleeping girl.

“There,” said Harry looking back once more to the nurse who was smiling at him, “All gone, I am just plain Harry now, just Harry.”

“Oh my dear,” Poppy could not help the emotion from getting to her, “you have never been and never will be just Harry. You are much, much more than that.”

When Hermione awoke several hours later she found Harry fast asleep. Sitting in the chair by her bed, with his top half bent over and sprawled across her he looked most uncomfortable. She reached down, and with a gentle caress, stroked the side of his face. She allowed her fingers to wander through Harry’s hair it was more tangled than usual and there was a distinct smell of smoke wafting up from it. There was a small sound from a bed further down the ward and Hermione glanced up there was no one there but her eyes caught the view out of the window.

It was still dark outside but the sky she could see through the window at the end of the ward held that first promise of dawn not being too far away, and then the feeling hit her in a rush, the excitement of a dawn that would break on a day that was free of Voldemort, dark wizards and the fear of sudden death, and she could not help but laugh. Although not loud the sound of merriment encroached on the sleeping wizard and Harry opened his eyes. She was still staring up out of the window and Harry saw the brightness in her eyes and the happiness on her face and he fell in love with her all over again. A slight movement caused her gaze to snap down, and there he was awake rising up, and then in an intertwining of arms in an embrace so strong that it seemed he would never let go. The sweetness of his lips on hers, and the dampness of the tears of happiness that flowed from them both, filled her heart to bursting.

They sat together watching the dawn and each other in equal amounts. They talked quietly of the events of that last momentous night and Harry told her about Dumbledore and Hermione cried for him, for the old man who had now truly left them for ever.

“Do you know what happened to everyone else?” Hermione asked.

“No, not really,” Harry replied suddenly worried for all of his friends, “I did see Remus before I brought you here, but can’t remember seeing any of the others. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” but he remembered the bodies lying on the bridge and he began to have his doubts.

The sun eventually crawled over the mountains that surrounded Hogwarts castle and as its first rays pierced the windows and lit the interior of the hospital wing Poppy Pomfrey emerged from her office and busied herself with her patients. She gave Hermione only a passing inspection and to the surprise of both Harry and the patient concerned allowed her get up and make herself presentable. It was as Harry was waiting for Hermione to emerge from the small bathroom to one side of the ward that the main doors opened and Professor McGonagall walked in. Harry watched the face of the old witch as she crossed the floor to where he sat but he could not read in it whether the news she undoubtedly carried was good or bad. Hermione wearing a borrowed robe returned to the ward and reached Harry at the same time as the Headmistress, unconsciously he had risen in respect of his old Professor, and now the two youngsters stood side by side waiting to hear what she had to say.

Professor McGonagall looked at the pair, their expectant faces turned to her.

“Sit down, the both of you,” she said in a friendly tone, and waited as they seated themselves on Hermione’s bed. “Well…” it was clear that she was having difficulty in speaking up. “….last night was not without its cost. The Brotherhood lost ten good witches and wizards, fortunately Arthur Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks will recover from their injuries, they are at St.Mungo’s. Bill and Remus are fine and back to normal.” She gave Harry and Hermione a wry smile. “Having spoken to them I doubt they will try Fred and George’s latest elixir again, Bill especially found his actions of last night very disturbing, however valiant they were, for our side.” Harry had a question burning in his throat but he was reluctant to stop the Headmistress now she was talking.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Fyrsil Ollivander were both killed, as was Severus, and of course we lost Albus, but you know that.” She continued, “The others you wouldn’t know, even I never guessed they were in the Brotherhood, but they were all from good families,” her eyes became a little distant as she thought those that had fallen, “I even taught some of them,” she added quietly and fell silent as small tear appeared in the corner of her eye.

Harry couldn’t deny his question any longer, there was one member of the team that she hadn’t mentioned, and he had to know.

“What has happened to Ron?”

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a cry of dismay, in all of this she had forgotten about one of her oldest friends. In her defence she hadn’t really forgotten him it just never occurred to her that anything could have happened to the tall ginger haired lad, but no one had mentioned him at all, and her worry increased as McGonagall’s face took on a sombre expression.

“No body seems to know Harry, we’ve looked for him but we can’t find him?” Harry gave the old witch a questioning look. “He is not among the injured, and he is not among the dead, all of them were identifiable, all except the thing that Arthur’s car killed, that sort of came to bits. Remus said he was sure he saw Ron hit just after Hermione but he couldn’t be certain as he was too busy dealing with Bellatrix Lestrange. I am so sorry Harry, Hermione but we just don’t know.”

“Has anyone thought to ask Luna?” said Hermione the idea that the blond haired Despuamense coming to her in that instant.

McGonagall looked bemused, but Harry beamed at her.

“Hermione’s right, if Ron is alive, Luna will know, I’m sure of it,” he made it sound as hopeful as he could.

But their initial intention to seek out Luna Lovegood were thwarted the moment the Hospital Wing doors opened again to view a large muscular group of wizards all with wands drawn and Rufus Scrimgeour the Minister for Magic hidden in their midst.

“Harry Potter, you will present yourself before the Minister,” called out the man standing in the centre of the front line. He had the look of someone puffed up with his own importance, and was making the most of it, but he visibly shook, as Harry slowly walked towards him, and it made the end of his wand wobble up and down.

“What is all this!” an enraged Professor McGonagall pushed herself past Harry to stand between him and the bunch of Aurors accompanying the Minister. “You have no right…” but she was not allowed to finish.

“We have come to determine the state of Harry James Potter, to decide if he represents a threat to the magical community,” said the spokesman, in as confident voice as he could manage.

“What nonsense!” McGonagall exploded. “This boy, and to me he is no more than a boy, has just saved all your miserable lives, destroyed one of the most evil wizards in living memory, and you think he is a threat!”

At this point it was the Minister that spoke up, “It is precisely because he was able to do it that we are here.” His tone was measured, implacable. “We need to know whose side he is on.”

The Headmistress opened and closed her mouth unable to articulate her thoughts adequately.

The Minister gave the spokesman Auror a poke and he now unrolled a sheet of parchment, cleared his throat and announced. “Several members of the forces of the late wizard, ‘who shall not be named’, who are now in custody, have made the following statement. In that after killing said wizard ‘who shall not be named’, that Harry Potter turned to face them his eyes shooting golden flames and offered, to any that would take it, a place at his side, ruling the wizarding world.”

There was a stunned silence, which if left to continue would have become uncomfortable, but it was broken by a silvery laugh, as Hermione suddenly realised the absurdity of the situation and could not help herself. Her laughter proved contagious as Poppy Pomfrey and those patients in the beds at the far end of the ward that were able joined in. Then Harry and finally Professor McGonagall joined in.

The Aurors and the Minister looked a little hurt at the reaction of the people in the ward, convinced as they were in the gravity of their mission. Then, as the laughter did not seem inclined to abate Scrimgeour pushed his way to the front and tried to take charge.

He confronted Harry. “You don’t deny that you killed err, ‘he who must not be named’.

“Voldemort and the Dark Lord? Yes they both had to die, I killed one and Mr Weasley’s car ran the other one over.” Harry said with a small smile at the Minister.

“Two of them? You killed two? Why wasn’t I told of this?” he looked accusingly at the Aurors. The Minister was clearly way out of his depth with this. “But you had help you must have.” Scrimgeour was desperately try to find some sense in Harry explanation that he could believe in.

“Of course,” Harry replied now he understood what the Minister needed. “This for one,” and he raised his hand high above his head the sword of Gryffindor appeared out of thin air and dropped neatly into it. The Minister gave a shriek as Harry brought the glittering blade down to point it at the floor. “And Fawkes the power I used was his, but I don’t have it any more,” Harry even manage to sound wistful at the loss. “He’s over here.”

Harry picked up the bowl he had placed the phoenix chick in some hours earlier, but it was empty. The Minister made a disbelieving noise.

“All true Minister,” Poppy Pomfrey chipped in, “I saw him do it with my own eyes.”

Scrimgeour grunted reluctantly accepting the word of the school nurse.

“But it was Professor Dumbledore who really did it,” Harry continued smoothly. “And I don’t know how so there is no point in asking. I thought he was as dead as the next wizard, but there he was gave me the sword and swish Voldemort was dead.”

“Ahh!” cried the Minister in relief, “so that’s the truth of it, Dumbledore, well I never, fancy that. Full of surprises that man.”

“Yes he was,” said Harry with real sadness now.

But the Minister was not listening he was off on some grand idea of his own mumbling and muttering to himself. Then he turned to his Aurors to shoo them out of the way. “We must find some way of honouring the old chap.”

“Perhaps Dumbledore Day?” suggested the man with the now useless roll of parchment.

“Capital idea,” the Minister was back to his normal happy self, and looked back to Harry once more. “Sorry about all this my lad, but we hade to check you understand. No hard feelings?”

Harry shook his head. “No feelings at all,” he said in a voice that only Professor McGonagall and Hermione could hear.

The Minister and his protection disappeared down the corridor that led to the main staircase, and Hermione snuggled up to Harry and slipped her arm around his waist.

He gave her a wry smile, “Come on we’ve wasted enough time here, let’s go and find Ron.”

* * *

Ronald Bilius Weasley was very confused; he reasoned that this was probably a fairly common occurrence for him his as he was not unduly worried by it. What did give him cause for concern was, that other than his name, he could not remember anything about himself, who he was, what he did, and why he was lying in the dark, in a place that smelt fairly unpleasant and was decidedly damp. He in fact, was more than damp he was wet and uncomfortably cold, and he had a dull throbbing pain in his right side. He found that if he moved the pain became worse, so he practiced staying still, but although it made him feel better it was not helping with his situation, whatever his situation was. He was near water, of that he was sure, because apart from his saturated condition, he could here it, a quiet lapping noise intruded on his senses and vied for his attention with an insistent droning sound. He studied this other sound for a while, as he had nothing better to do, and decided after some serious consideration that it was a voice, speaking slowly so that the sounds tended to merge together. He felt quite pleased with himself when he finally deciphered the words “Malkanor Nott was the last person to visit this office.” He had absolutely no idea what the words meant, or alluded to, and in fact now he knew what they were, the constant repetition was beginning to get on his nerves.

It was at this point he had a visitor, because it was dark he couldn’t see them but the rather unpleasant odour that filled the place in which he was confined increased to an almost unbearable level. He tried to talk to his unseen companion but all he received in reply was a vile screeching noise that hurt his ears and in the end he was very glad that after a short time he, she or it went away again. He lay still again trying to gather his scrambled thoughts when it occurred to him that his feet which had almost reached the point of being dry were in fact becoming wet again. Moving his legs he could hear the sloshing of water and as the wetness began to encroach on the lower half of his legs it dawned on Ron that the water level was rising and he was sure that this was not a good thing and that he ought to do something about it.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he hauled himself into a sitting position, and nearly cracked his skull open on the roof of, what he now knew was, a rather small prison. After a bit of scrabbling around Ron knew he was in serious trouble, the space that held him was only as wide as the length of his body, and the roof came down to meet the floor only a few feet behind him. It was like being in a small cave at the seaside but he couldn’t find any way out, and the tide was coming in.

* * *

“He’s alive Harry. He’s wet and smelly, but he is alive,” said Luna.

Harry and Hermione had gone looking for Ron’s girlfriend and had bumped into her not far from the hospital wing.

“I knew you were looking for me, so I… well here I am,” the girl had said, and it had almost made sense. Then in answer to their question she had provided the reply “He’s alive Harry. He’s wet and smelly, but he is alive,”

“Well at least that’s something,” said Harry with considerable relief. “Any idea where?”

“No Harry, nothing specific.”

“He must have gone into the river,” said Hermione, “I saw it a happen to one of Voldemort’s side. Two spells at once lifted him right over the wall, really messed him up, quite impressive…Oh sorry Luna,” she apologised at the expression on the younger girls face. “I’m sure Ron wasn’t…”

“It’s ok I know he wasn’t badly hurt, but the link with him is very tenuous, I am only getting fleeting impressions, and now I can feel fear,” she said looking imploringly at Harry. “You can reach him you know,” Harry frowned at her, “He won’t ever leave you Harry, and you will have to admit it at some time.”

Hermione was shifting her gaze back and forth between Harry and Luna there was something here she didn’t understand.

“What is Luna talking about Harry,” she demanded, the concern evident in her tone. “Who won’t leave you, does she mean Ron?”

Harry sat himself down on the small window seat near where they had been talking. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “No not Ron, I think this is what she means,” he said, and as Hermione stared at him his eyes began to glow again, and she could feel the air around him alive with the magic he possessed. There was a brilliant flash of flame and Fawkes burst into existence, he flapped his wings, hovering in the air above the trio, and then swooped down and landed on Harry’s leg. Harry winced as the phoenix’s claws dug into him then murmured his thanks to the bird as he realised how hard he was gripping his new master and relaxed his hold.

“But Harry you told the Minister that the magic of the phoenix had left you,” said Hermione looking in awe at Fawkes.

“It has, well most of it,” he replied running his hand over the birds back, “however Fawkes himself would appear to be another matter. I haven’t really had the chance to really think about what happened last night, but it would seem that Fawkes and I are linked in some way now, perhaps in the way he was with Dumbledore, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were others before him, cos’ who knows how old Fawkes really is.”

“Fawkes might,” said Hermione with a smile and she sat down next to Harry and put an arm around his shoulder.

“I suppose you’re right, perhaps we’ll ask him one day.”

“Err… Harry, Ron?” reminded Luna.

Harry looked up. “Sorry Luna, …bit distracted, …right.” He turned to the phoenix as if to say something then looked back at Luna. “Are you sure he can find him?”

Luna’s expression was as close to one of impatience as she could manage. “Well if you ask him we might find out,” said the mild mannered girl evenly.

“Right, sorry,” Then he spoke to the Phoenix. “Can you find Ron and get him back to us?”

Fawkes tipped his head to one side as if considering the request the spread his wings and took to the air. There was a bright flash and the bird vanished, there was nothing Harry, Hermione and Luna could do now but wait.

* * *

Ron racked his brains to try and work out what chain of circumstances had brought him to this rather unpleasant situation, but everything was bound up in a cotton-woolly sort of mess. It didn’t help that it was pitch black, the only thing his senses were telling him, apart from the smell, was that he was rapidly running out of space, and soon there would be water everywhere. He just wished there was some light, and then as if by magic there was so much light that his dark adapted eyes were blinded.

“Oww my eyes!” he cried, and hurriedly shut them, but he didn’t want to miss out on whatever was blinding him, so he cautiously opened them again. The brilliance had faded somewhat, but all Ron could see were spots of coloured light that flashed and whirled in front of his eyes. Then slowly they too faded, and Ron could see the slightly glowing shape of a large bird. It warbled a greeting, which for some unaccountable reason made Ron feel much better and he smiled.

“I know you, don’t I?” he said to the bird, who said nothing in return. “Give me a minute and I’ll work it out, but in the meantime I don’t suppose you know how to get out of here?” The bird looked sideways at him and extended a wing. “Oh!” said Ron in surprise and then hoping that it the right thing to do reached out and gripped the end of proffered feathers. He suddenly felt as if he weighed nothing at all and he nearly let go but fortunately he didn’t.

There was a flash of flame, and Ron felt warm all over, there was a second of darkness again, and then he was kneeling on hard cold stone. He let go of the bird and was immediately smothered by someone that was saying his name again and again, and in between each word was planting kiss after kiss on his lips. Although unexpected, Ron decided the sensation was very pleasant, the girl, he thought it was a girl, brought warmth to him that so far only the flame of the phoenix had done, and she smelled wonderful, much nicer than he did.

That’s what it was, a phoenix he had remembered, now how did he know that? But he found that with the girl continuing to kiss him he was having difficulty in concentrating. So as gently as he could he disentangled himself, and stood up, helping her to her feet as he did so. The kissing girl was not alone, there were two others standing behind her, a dark haired boy, and a very pretty girl, they were both smiling and Ron thought he should know who they were. The kissing girl was in his arms once again, and Ron began to hope that this was a normal position for her, and decided it was only fair to find out. So he looked down at her and said, “Hi my name is Ron, err…who are you?”

There was a second or two of silence as Harry stared at Hermione, and then they both stared at Luna whose eyes had never left Ron’s face. She reached up, placed her hands on either side of his head, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss which lasted long enough to make even Harry and Hermione slightly uncomfortable.

Ron surfaced, “Wow,” was all he said, and then he passed out…….

In a small cave under the banks of the Thames, a strange looking head broke the surface of the water and saw that her latest acquisition was no longer there. In a way she was sad because he had looked nice, she knew so few surface dwellers, well none at all really, it had seemed such a wonderful opportunity to get to know one better. He had landed almost in her arms and she had brought him to her home, but just as mysteriously as he appeared in her life, he had gone again. All that remained on her little beach was a single feather it sparkled with golden light, it was beautiful, and when she looked at it, it made her feel happy.

……Two hours later Ron opened his eyes again, and looked around the familiar surroundings of the hospital ward. He could see Luna, Harry and Hermione, standing near the end of his bed, talking quietly. Madam Pomfrey was making a fuss over the occupant of the bed next to him, but it was the erstwhile nurse who first spotted that Ron had rejoined the land of the living.

“Ahh Mr Weasley awake I see.”

“Umm… yes, I suppose I am,” at his words the conversation at the end of the bed stopped and three pairs of eyes were focused on his face. “Err… Hi,” he managed, then,

“I don’t suppose you know what happened to me?”

There was delight in the expressions that were returned to him, and an immediate reaction from Luna who rushed to him, and enfolded him in a huge hug.

“You know who we are?” she said, kissing him soundly.

“’Course I do.”

“But you don’t remember anything else?”

“Well… its all a bit of a muddle, bit like a dream. I remember seeing Hermione hit,” his face paled and he looked up, “you ok?”

Hermione smiled, “Thanks to you, and that old dragon scale,” she giggled at her next words, “never better.”

Ron smiled back, then his face creased in thought, “I remember a pain in my side then flying through the air, then not much else but a cold, dark, wetness, and a rather unpleasant smell.”

“Fish,” said Luna, “You stank of fish when Fawkes brought you back.”

“Fawkes!” cried Ron, “Yes I remember him too. I owe him one.”

“Yes perhaps you do, but it was Harry who sent him,” Luna told him.

Then for the first time since surfacing, Ron looked into the face of his best friend. Harry was standing at the foot of the bed, initially he looked the same good old Harry, but there was something else. Something in his face that had never been there before, a depth of understanding, of wisdom, as if Harry had suddenly accumulated the knowledge of ages. Harry smiled, but it was the smile of a very tired man that Ron could see.

“What happened Harry?”

“We won Ron,” Harry replied, “Voldemort is gone, and so is Dumbledore, but it is over, its time for everyone to live again.” Harry sighed, for the first time he really believed it; he had done all he could for his friends, now it was up to them. Hermione sidled up to him and put a supportive arm around his waist. A curl of flame seemed to erupt from Harry’s shoulder, and Fawkes appeared his talons gripping the dragon hide as if he would never let go.

Ron and Luna stared at the three of them as Harry turned and gave Hermione a kiss, and Fawkes gave an approving warble.

“See you Ron,” said Harry smiling down at his old friend, then his eyes blazed with golden fire and the trio vanished.

* * *

A/N Well the battles are over, all the violent ones anyway, so if you want to stop here then I will understand. For those of you who like it all neat and tidy and a nice ending there is one more piece. This was originally tacked on to the end of the last chapter but it made it rather too long so now it had a life of its own. I hope you like this chapter as much as most of you liked the others. I can only apologise to those who find mistakes in the text I have put before you, it is not intentional and if the site allowed me to I would correct them, but I would lose your valuable comments if I substitute a chapter, so the mistakes remain. The four stories I have written have taught me a lot, and I hope one day to use this lesson and write something of my own but as the chapter says ‘Que Sera Sera’.

Solomon Aegis.

Chapter Twenty Two

‘Que Sera Sera’

“She’s been asking again Ron.” Arthur Weasley told is son, when he returned home from work.

Ron looked up from the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading. “Well my answer is the same I don’t know. The Prophet thinks it does though, umm…” he scanned the page.” Australia this time, you could tell her that, but I assume the Minister reads the paper.”

“She reads everything, especially anything with a reference to Harry and Hermione. It’s been four months you know.”

“Yes Dad I do know, and I wonder every day what has happened to them.”

Ron well knew, in his own mind, the reason that he had heard nothing from his friends since that day in the hospital ward at Hogwarts, but it was strange they had disappeared so completely. So much had happened in the wizarding world that would have interested them…………….

For a start, there was a new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour had done himself few favours following the defeat of Voldemort and within weeks a vote of no confidence had seen the rise of Wilhelmina Punruddocke to the seat. Ron had even met her once, in fact he had met her twice but the first time she had not held the post of Minister, she had just been wearing one of the blue robes of the Brotherhood of Merlin and nobody but Ron appeared to know that she had been a member, not even Wilhelmina.

Like all the other badly injured members of the Brotherhood, that had remained behind on Westminster Bridge that night, all their memories of the sect, including the identity of other members had vanished, as thoroughly as the rest of the Brotherhood had. Despite exhaustive searches by the ministry, the remaining active members of the Brotherhood were unknown, and now unknowable.

However, the new Minister was pro Harry, and that was a bit of an understatement, and she was desperate to grant Harry the reward that was due to him. Ron suspected that if Harry knew, then it was one of the reasons that he and Hermione had remained hidden from the rest of the world.

But that was not all; the total capitulation of Voldemort’s forces that night on Westminster Bridge, had presented the authorities with more problems than they really wanted. It was clear that only a very few of these witches and wizards were hard line, and for them the answer was simple, permanent residence in Azkaban, sadly was the only option. The rest were the usual disadvantaged people with a grudge against the establishment. They had hoped for change and a movement out of the gutter for themselves, with someone else in charge, regardless of who he was. Incarceration for these disaffected peoples would not help, and there wasn’t room for them all anyway. It was going to be a long time before anyone could say that this problem was completely solved.

Most of Voldemort’s closest followers had perished in the battle, or were accounted for, except for two. Narcissus Malfoy and her son Draco had vanished as completely as Harry and Hermione, but the ministry put no effort into finding them, the threat they posed was assumed to be negligible.

Of the only other player, in the whole of that last year, whose fate Ron had any interest in, was a certain Delores Umbridge; the matter was resolved, though not completely to Ron’s satisfaction. Her trial was noisy with her denouncements that she thought she was doing the right thing all along, and that Harry was really the menace, but as the judicial panel was headed by the new Minister she made little headway. In recognition of her previous years of service to the ministry she was not sent to Azkaban, but she was severely censured for her actions and lack of thought. Her wand was confiscated and she was put to work at St.Mungos, in charge of the sanitary department. Ron was outraged, until he discovered that she was the only member of that department, and that she was solely responsible for the distribution, collection and cleaning of bedpans. After some thought he redefined his position, for she would have to do all of this without magic, and now he felt, that perhaps, all things considered, her punishment fitted the crime.

For Harry’s other friends the world had moved on as well. Tonks and Remus had decided to make their attachment to each other permanent, a wedding was planned for later in the year, and Molly had got it right, there was another Weasley on the way and Bill and Fleur, as well as everyone else, were eagerly awaiting the event. Bill and Remus had another reason to celebrate; the continued use of Weasley’s Werewolf Remedy, the new name of the anti-interlunium potion, had proved its worth and simplified their lives considerably, as it had with all the others similarly affected. The twins had followed Hermione’s advice and had made the potion freely available, so it had not made the twins much money, but this selfless act of self preservation, had finally made their mother realise their worth and give them the praise they deserved. To Fred and George that was more important than wealth …well almost.

Once all the initial fuss over Voldemort’s demise had died down Ron, had returned to Hogwarts for the final time, he was back with all his friends except the two he most wanted to see, and talk over all the adventures. He had Luna to keep him on the straight and narrow and as Ginny seemed content with Colin he had nothing to worry him in that department either. In the continued absence of Harry and Hermione, Ron often found himself with Neville just sitting and chatting with the quiet lad. He often wondered what would have happened if Voldemort had chosen the botanist instead of Harry Potter as his foe. As the weeks rolled on Ron found himself doing something else that was strange to him, he worked, not that a final term can make up for seven years of inattention but it helped and his NEWTS were not as disastrous as he and his family had always thought they would be……..

They were good enough to impress Luna’s father anyway, and as he sat and read the Prophet he contemplated the thought that within a few more weeks Ronald Bilius Weasley would be a certified employee of the Quibbler, a man with a mission, he was just not sure what his mission was, but it was a start.

Ron heard Ginny’s shriek of laughter from the garden. Colin had arrived back with her at the end of term, and surprisingly Molly had made no objections to him staying. It seemed that, at last, she had accepted the inevitable and given up on trying to prevent her children from growing up. Ron glanced up from his paper and looked out of the window. He was amazed to see that it was still so early in the afternoon; his father normally didn’t arrive home until much later.

“Early today Dad?” he asked, as Arthur looked in the larder for something to eat.

“Yes I know,” Arthur replied grabbing a lump of cheese and some bread, “Loads of work to do as well, but something told me I should be here, don’t know why but there it is,” he said, shrugging off the confusion and sitting at the table.

“Umm…,” Ron pondered, “I wonder where Luna has got to?”

* * *

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Fawkes the phoenix appeared on the crest of a small hill on the outskirts of the sleepy village of Godrics Hollow. They had left Ron, Luna and the hospital wing only moments before, and now stood with their backs to the white cottage looking out over the secluded valley that held the muggle village. It was a beautiful day, a day like no other, the first day of the rest of their lives.

Now that they had seen Ron and Luna safely back together, Harry and Hermione decided that their immediate duties were done. This was to be their time, a little bit of peace and quiet, away from everyone and everything, a time just for them. Fawkes spread his wings, leapt from Harry’s shoulder, and soared into the air, three powerful down strokes and he had reached the top of the roof and settled on the ridge, his form shimmered for a moment then disappeared.

“He’ll make sure we’re not disturbed,” said Harry squinting up to look at the invisible phoenix. “Once we go inside the cottage will disappear from the magical world as well, and with it any memory of where it is. No one will know where we are.”

“How long Harry?”

“As long as you like my love.” And Harry took Hermione in his arms and kissed her most soundly.

“Forever Harry.” she replied, and returned the embrace enthusiastically…………..

It was not quite forever, they stayed in that blissful isolation for three months. During that time Harry became accustomed to the legacy of the phoenix, and Hermione became accustomed to her new Harry. If he had become a little more serious she didn’t mind, you cannot have the wisdom of a phoenix infuse you totally not to have a bit of it rub off. She watched him control his magic, and hide his power, she watched her young man with pride, but mostly she watched him with love. And Harry returned that love, so much so, that now with all the uncertainty of their future behind them, they both knew that they never wanted to be parted from each other again, not ever.

At the beginning of July they left Godrics Hollow, and journeyed to London to stay with Hermione’s mum and dad. Fawkes followed, and peace from interruption came with him. To say that their welcome was ecstatic was perhaps an understatement. Both David and Natalie had worried constantly since the muggle news had reported their version of the fateful night in London. They had seen around the government’s lame explanation of the events and put two and two together. Hermione was mortified that she had not contacted them before; she had not considered that the garbled media reports, all wholly inaccurate, would have meant anything to them.

But as David Granger said, “The most important thing is that you are both safe and the nightmare is over.”

The pair of teenagers passed a happy three weeks in the anonymity of the muggle world and the bosom of Hermione’s family. It was obvious to her parents the way the relationship had developed between their daughter and this impressive young man, and David Granger was not at all surprised when Harry cornered him in the garden and they sat at the same picnic table to talk as they had done once before.

“Sir?” Harry started.

“David, Harry, you remember?” said Hermione’s father.

“Err… yes sir, …umm David,” replied Harry uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “You see it’ like this,” and the young wizard, the saviour of the world went bright red. “Umm….”

Mr Granger smiled, and then quickly changed it to a mild frown, when Harry plucked up the courage to look him in the eye, but could still think of nothing to say.

“Tell you what Harry;” said the older man, “I think in retrospect it is not right for you to call me David.”

“Oh err…” Harry was now confused as well as embarrassed.

A hinge on the back door to the house gave a squeak as it moved, and Hermione stood there framed in the opening. David Granger turned to stare at his daughter, she had never looked so beautiful, and he had never been more proud of her, then he turned his gaze back to the young man sitting with him. Harry was transfixed by the sight of Hermione; the light in his eyes clearly showed his abounding love for the young woman.

“No Harry, not David,” and Mr. Granger clapped him on the shoulder, “I think you should start calling me Dad.”

* * *

Parting from the Granger’s this time, was a much happier affair. Harry and Hermione were not departing to do battle, the dark wizards were defeated and if not dead then secure. Only Draco and his mother were still at large, their whereabouts unknown, forgotten now by the ministry, but it was Harry’s intention that this oversight would soon be remedied.

The forest at the foot of the high mountains, that Fawkes led them to, was dark and depressing, and the darkest and most depressing part of this forest was where the three of them were heading. They found it by a small stream that unaccountably burbled happily as it flowed by, perhaps it knew it would soon be away from this place and out in the sunshine. In the cliff wall, that the stream had cut when it was younger and more vigorous, was a cave, the opening was as tall as a man, and it was as wide as it was tall. From this opening a faint yellow light crept inches into the darkness of the forest, and the murmur of voices vied with the sound of the running water.

“If you won’t let me dress it Mum then it will turn nasty,” there was a reply that did not reach the mouth of the cave. “That’s ridiculous, …I need you.”

“Draco,” Harry’s voice was clear and certainly loud enough to be heard by the occupants of the cave, and it was met by absolute silence.

“Draco,” Harry repeated, “there is no point in hiding; we know you’re in there.”

“Get away from here Potter, leave us alone!”

“I am sorry Draco but I can’t do that.”

“Come any closer and I will kill you!”

Harry however seemed unmoved. “Don’t make threats Draco. I know that neither you nor your mother has a wand. How you have survived this long is beyond me.”

“It’s been very hard,” said Draco as he emerged from the cave.

Hermione’s wand was in her hand in an instant and was pointing straight at the young man, but Harry put out his hand and pushed it back down.She gave him and apologetic look. “Sorry instinct.”

Harry gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, I know.”

The young wizard standing before them was not the Draco Malfoy of old, his features were gaunt, his clothes and those bits of him that were visible were filthy. His eyes so often in the past burning with hate for those he despised were dull in defeat, and Harry saw his shoulders sag as he stood there waiting for fate to catch up with him.

“Do what you have to Harry,” he said with a sigh, “My mother is back there, she’s hurt, she fell over the other day when we were searching for food, she won’t give you any trouble.”

“Go and deal with her Hermione,” Harry said, and he watched as she marched passed Draco into the cave.

“Not even going to do the deed yourself Harry,” Draco looked up and Harry could see two large tears in the corners of his eyes. “Mum, may not be perfect in your eyes, but she never killed anyone you know, and everything she did, …she did it for me.”

“And what about you Draco?” asked Harry.

“Me?” he gave an ironic laugh, “Everything I did was for me, to save my soul …or my life, but I never killed anyone either.”

“But you tried.”

“I won’t deny that, but do you know Harry, Dumbledore was right, in the end I couldn’t do it, and all that did was make matters worse. Now here we are, me with nothing, and you the most powerful wizard in the world. Cos’ that’s what you are, aren’t you Harry, the most powerful wizard in the world?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, and Fawkes flew down from his perch in a tree and landed on Harry’s shoulder. As Draco stared at his old adversary Harry’s eyes began to glow and golden fire seemed to leap from them. “Certainly powerful enough to do what must be done here.”

Draco resigned to his fate closed his eyes waiting for the killing curse to take his life as he assumed it had already taken his mother, but it never came. There was a most unpleasant feeling of being stretched out and pulled through a very small hole, and then when he opened his eyes again the forest was gone, and Draco found himself in a large airy room. He looked around, the building was old, very old; large stones and huge oak beams formed the walls that held up the timbered roof, it could have been part of Hogwarts but Draco thought it was even older than that venerable castle.

“Draco,” he spun around at the sound of his mother’s voice. She was propped up on a bench with Hermione kneeling at her side treating the large ulcerated wound on her leg.

“There,” said Hermione with an air of satisfaction, “That should do until a healer can have a look at it.” She put her wand away and stood up, backing away from the bench to allow Draco to crouch down by his mother.

He examined the neat white bandage that now covered the weeping sore and noticed that the signs of the creeping infection that had worried him so much were diminishing.

He held his mother’s hand; his eyes turned down to the floor and very quietly he said, “Thank-you Granger.”

“My pleasure,” said the witch, from her position next to Harry, who gripping her hand gave it a squeeze of accomplishment.

“So what happens now, Harry? A rest here then off to Azkaban, to spend the rest of my life with my father?” asked Draco.

“That depends entirely on you,” Harry told him, “I have made Arrangements for you to stay here. You and your mother will be …ahh supervised; I suppose you could call it.”

“A prison you mean Harry?”

“No Draco a chance to learn and start again. They will look into your soul; they will help you, if you will let them, and if or when they find you worthy then they will release you.”

“And if they don’t?” Harry’s look said it all, “Ok I understand.” Draco slowly shook his head. “Better than I expected, Thank-you Harry.”

“That’s two thank-yous in as many minutes,” said a deep voice from the shadows and Fortean Fortescue, dressed in the blue robes of the Brotherhood of Merlin, stepped out and into the room. “There maybe hope for this one after all, Harry.”

* * *

The willow by the river was hanging heavy with leaves, its long whip like branches trailing on the ground, but they caused no concern to the young couple who had just apparated into the shade beneath them, for this willow did not whomp. It did provide shelter and a good place to hide whilst they watched the others in the garden of the Burrow. They saw them gather, in ones and twos the people closest to Harry and Hermione arrived and sat about in the afternoon sun and chatted, about the past, the present but most especially about the future. So engrossed were the young couple in watching their friends that they did not hear the soft footfalls of a blonde haired girl as she approached them along the river bank.

“Hello,” said Luna, making Harry and Hermione jump in surprise, “I wondered when you two were coming over. I felt you appear about twenty minutes ago and I was getting bored waiting.”

“Should have known we couldn’t hide from you,” said Harry grinning at the young Despuamense, he peered back through the trailing branches. “We just wanted to see them all together one last time, without all the fuss, and the questions, and…”

“You only wanted to have to tell them once that you were going to leave for good,” Luna said sadly.

“Yes, that’s right,” Harry replied.

“Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Harry laughed, “As if we could keep it from you anyway.”

“That’s the problem, we don’t know for sure,” Hermione said, with some exasperation, “we had thought of going back to the muggle world, or locking ourselves away in Godrics Hollow, but neither will give us what we want.”

“And what is that?”

“A normal life.” said Harry.

“But you aren’t normal,” Luna said matter of factly, “and I think you may be stuck with that, just as I am.”

Harry sat down on the bench that nestled under the tree and the girls sat on either side of him. He put an arm around each of them and looked at them in turn.

“It’s not fair is it?” he said at last to Luna, and she shook her head in answer to his question. “But, as you say, we’re stuck with it and I suppose we will have to make the best of it.”

Luna stood up and held out her hands to the two reluctant heroes. “Don’t worry,” she cocked her head in the direction of the Burrow as if she was listening to something, “I think you’ll find that it all works out alright in the end.”

In the garden suspicions were growing as to why everyone had all felt this strange compulsion to visit the Burrow on this sunny afternoon. Then their suspicions took on a new light, and they knew something big was in the air, when Professor McGonagall apparated into the garden.

She looked around the gathering of witches and wizards, smiled and said, “Well then doesn’t this coven look familiar, all that we need is for Harry and Hermione to turn up and it would be complete.”

The conversations died, and everyone looked this way and that, hoping to be the first to see them, wondering if indeed the elusive pair would turn up. In the end it was Neville who spotted them first, crossing the field from the direction of the river with Luna walking calmly beside them. He was so glad to see them that all he could do was grin inanely at them and in something of a daze, walked over to the garden gate and held it open for his friends.

“Hi Nev’” said Harry as he shook him by the hand, “How were the exams?”

“Great Harry, thanks,” he replied a little non-plussed that Harry could be concerned with anything so normal.

Hermione gave Neville a smile and a kiss on the cheek in greeting and then they were almost buried in an avalanche of well wishers. Ron watched his two oldest friends from the back of the group, he didn’t attempt to push his way through, and there were tears in his eyes as he turned and slipped back into the Burrow.

Molly Weasley cried over them, Arthur must have mentioned the Minister’s interest in them at least a dozen times. The twins congratulated Harry, smiled winsomely at Hermione and then wisely kept their distance from her. Ginny and Colin watched the pair with only slight envy in their eyes, vowing with each other to try and be just like them. Neville and Luna did nothing but smile at them each time their eyes met, and Hagrid sat drinking from a large bucket that Molly had provided when the half giant became overwhelmed with emotion after Hermione had given him a hug. Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy were full of congratulations. Tonks gave them both a big kiss, but it was Remus who gave Harry the best accolade of all.

“You are a remarkable young man Harry,” he said, thickly as they sat together later that day, “James, Lily and Sirius would be very proud of you, and so am I,” he patted him on the shoulder, “very proud.” And only Harry saw the tears that fell, as Remus remembered his old friends.

Professor McGonagall talked to the pair in a serious but quiet voice for some time. Something she was saying appeared to interest them, and as they left her she called out. “Think about it the both of you, and let me know, there is no rush.”

It was almost as if he was avoiding them, but eventually they tracked him down. Ron was leaning over the garden wall staring at the blood red sun that was sinking below the horizon as evening drew in. He was holding a half finished butterbeer bottle in one hand occasionally taking swigs from it, he looked in a thoughtful mood.

“To the end of an era,” he said taking another drink. He knew they were standing behind him, but he didn’t turn around. “Now it’s all over we can finally drop the pretence.”

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but instead of answering he waved her forward toward Ron, indicating that he was not the one to ask.

“What do you mean Ron?” she asked as she moved to stand next to him, “what pretence?”

Ron turned to look at her with rather red and slightly unfocused eyes. “That after all I did to you and Harry that we are still friends.”

Hermione was flabbergasted, “You mean you are still worried about….” she was having difficulty in finding the right words, “…. and the…. but we sorted that out ages ago.”

Ron gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, as if he didn’t believe her. Now Hermione was getting a little cross, and pulled Ron around to face her. “And you great dummy, you saved my life. If you hadn’t forced that silly dragon scale on me before the battle I wouldn’t be here.”

“You really don’t hold any grudges that I wanted to keep you for, myself and tried to drive Harry away?”

Hermione couldn’t believe that things, she had long ago consigned to the dustbin full of life’s little mistakes, were still worrying the morose young man in front of her.

“No of course I don’t,” and she threw her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. “Oh God Ronald Weasley, you can be so dense at times!”

He stood unmoving until he realised that Hermione was earnest in her protestations and very slowly he returned her embrace.

“You’re probably right Hermione,” Ron said as he drew away again and he gave a her a sick sort of grin, “you usually are. I think dense must be a natural state for me. Can we just acknol… acknlodg… decide that I was wrong to even try, to even want to try?”

“Yes,” she agreed, “if you want.”

“Forgiven?”

Hermione sighed, “Yes.”

“Thanks,” was the very sincere reply.

Harry watched the interplay between his two best friends, glad that at last they had reached an understanding, and then Luna appeared at his side.

“Have they sorted it all out?” she asked.

“It seems so,” said Harry, “I didn’t realise he worried about it so much. I mean such a lot has happened since then, I find it hard to recall all the ins and outs of it.”

Luna snorted, “No you don’t Harry Potter, you remember every little detail, its part of Fawkes’ gift, I know,” and she tapped the side of her head. “Ron has struggled with his daemon, every day, and it’s not the thought that he lost Hermione that worries him, but the thought that he could have kept the two of you apart. He has tried very hard to be there for you both, and I think that the good outweighs the bad, don’t you?” Harry nodded, “it is only right he should be forgiven.” Luna looked more closely at her boyfriend, grunted then said “Excuse me a moment.”

She walked over to where Ron stood supported by the garden wall, and he turned to look at her. “Hi,” he gave her a cheery wave.

“What have you been drinking Ronald.”

“Err…. ummm.”

“Has anyone seen my cooking sherry!” came a cry from the Kitchen, “I need it for the trifle.” said Molly Weasley poking her head out of the window.

“Ronald you didn’t?” said Luna with as much exasperation as she could muster, while keeping a straight face.

“Well… I was feeling down, and Hagrid has monopolised all the Old Peculiar, it was all there was.” he handled the guilty butterbeer bottle nervously.

“Need any more?”

“No in fact I wish I hadn’t started it,” his face had taken on a slightly green cast, and with his red hair he didn’t look too good.

“Easily remedied,” said Luna brightly and she drew her wand. “Subveri ebrius,” she chanted and touched her wand to Ron’s head.

He looked at her in horror, clapped his hand over his mouth, and made a mad dash for the house. He reappeared a few minutes later now looking just a little pale, and mopping his forehead with a damp cloth.

“Better Ronald?” asked Luna unsympathetically.

“Yes thanks, only just made the bathroom though. That’s a really nasty spell you know, I’ve got a stinking headache.”

“Well whose fault is that?” she said taking him by the arm and leading him away. She gave Harry and Hermione a smile and a wink, “Take care you two.”

“Thanks Luna, see you Ron.” said Harry, but Ron was already having his ear bent by his girlfriend.

“Well” said Hermione, “I think he is in good hands.”

Harry laughed, “You could be right there,” and he took hold of her hand. “Time to go?”

“Yes Harry, time to go.” And without a sound and without anyone knowing they had gone the two disappeared.

* * *

Summer in Godrics Hollow was the same as in many small rural villages. The relative peace and quiet that normally existed was disturbed to some extent by an influx of visitors, but welcome or not it allowed Harry and Hermione to explore with some anonymity. Previously they had not strayed out of the cottage or its garden, but the beauty of the little valley and the idea of a trip to the coast, by the winding path that led down the brown stone cliffs to the tiny beach, was too much to resist.

Even in the middle of summer the water on this part of the coastline was too cold to endure for long, and by lunch time Harry and Hermione were on their way back to the cottage. They stopped for a while in the village itself, the few …well two shops and the pub, edged onto the small village green where half a dozen people sat on benches or were sprawled on the grass enjoying the sun.

“Excuse me,” Harry and Hermione stopped and turned to the elderly man that had spoken. He was sitting alone on one of the benches, a walking stick between his knees with his hands clasped over its top. “Are you the young couple who live up on the hill?”

“Us?” said Harry, “How could we be, there’s nothing up there, not that we’ve seen.”

The man smiled, it was a friendly smile. “My name is George Davis,” he said, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

………. “So you see I know who and what you are, and I don’t know if anyone has ever said this before, but you look so much like your father Mr. Potter.” He looked at Harry and Hermione who were sitting next to him, slightly open mouthed, as he concluded his tale. “The only other person I have ever told this story to is my grandson, who else would believe me?” He laughed quietly. “I didn’t want the story to die with me, you see, it is too special.”

“You felt it, then when we came back to live here, I mean?” asked Hermione.

“Oh yes, my dear, a wonderful day. The magic had been gone for so long, but now its back I can feel it tingling in the air, can’t you?” Then he laughed at the absurdity of his question. “Of course you can,” then his expression changed to one of concern. “You won’t leave because I know will you? I suppose you could alter my memory, so I forget like all the others, but my memories are all that remain these days, and I would hate to lose them.”

“No we won’t be leaving, and yes we could change your memories but we won’t,” said Harry holding out his hand to the old man. “My name is Harry, and this is Hermione.”

They shook hands and then George Davis took Hermione’s proffered hand. “Delightful, I am so pleased to meet you Mrs Potter.”

“Err… Granger actually, Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.

“Oh sorry, not married then? Just that you look so…”

Harry and Hermione laughed at the old man’s embarrassment. “Not married yet, Mr Davis,” said Harry.

“Working on it,” said Hermione with a grin.

“Oh that’s wonderful.”

“Yes it is,” said Harry, “but we have things like getting a job and earning some money sorted out first.”

“You have to work?” George said in some surprise, “I would have thought all that would have been too mundane for people like you.”

“Oh there’s no getting away from the mundane, muggle or wizard it all boils down to the same thing,” Hermione told him.

“What are you going to do? Err… if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well an old friend of ours has made us an offer,” said Hermione

“We’ve been trying to make up our minds,” said Harry.

“Challenging work?” George asked Harry.

“Yes indeed?”

“Good prospects Hermione?”

“Err… I suppose so, yes.”

“Would you both enjoy doing it?” said George looking earnestly at the pair.

They laughed, “Yes,” they said together.

“Well then if I were you I would take it, but that is only the opinion of one old …what is it …oh yes, muggle.”

Harry looked at Hermione and she nodded in agreement. “Thank-you Mr Davis,” said Harry, “Muggle or wizard it doesn’t matter, your advice is good; we think we’ll take it.”

* * *

The breeze off the lake was warm, and the splashing of a lazy tentacle out on the water told Harry and Hermione that they were not entirely alone. The brilliant white of the tomb shone in the sunlight, and made the names carved on its surface difficult to read. This place was now a memorial to all those who had lost their lives to the forces of the Dark Lord, not just to Dumbledore. Although his name was written above all the others they were all equal in the sacrifice they had made, and it mattered not that the body entombed in the stone was unknown, save to three, it became the body of every one of them, and was revered as such by those who visited this most important of places.

“It’s nearly over, isn’t it Harry,” said Hermione, from the hug that she and Harry appeared to constantly share.

“Over …no, it’s only just beginning,” he said with a laugh, and pulling her by the hand he started up the lawns towards the doors of the old castle. “Come on,” he chided his companion who seemed to be reluctant to leave the lake side, “Student teachers or not McGonagall will have loads of things for us to do, lessons to prepare, you know … homework.”

Hermione’s silvery laugh sent goose bumps down Harry’s back, “Oh well in that case we better get going.”

Halfway up the lawns Hermione slowed down then stopped, and Harry turned to her. “What?”

“Are you happy Harry?” She asked her face serious.

Harry Potter looked at the young woman he intended to share the rest of his life with. Over her shoulder he could see the white tomb, the years of struggle and adventure that lay behind it and the faces of all those who had died so that ultimately he could be here with her. How could he not be happy, for his sake, for her sake, and for their sakes? He smiled, “Yes,” he said.

Together they ran on to the Castle doors, to face the future that lay before them, the girl with all the answers, and the boy who still carried that famous scar.

* * *

THE END.

Author’s Note: Well there it is I hope you enjoyed my last foray into the world of Harry, Hermione and all of their friend’s and enemies. It has been fun for the most part, except for the bits when the inspiration dies, but the characters are so wonderful that the block doesn’t last too long.

I dedicate The Final Enchantment to Hermione, not the one in the pages that you have just read but to the one that I married, for although they have different names, you would be surprised just how similar they are. I feel no need to continue this story because I have lived it with her, and I hope that the Harry and Hermione who are passing through the doors of Hogwarts as you read this have as much happiness as we have had. (I know they will).

Thank-you for reading and thank-you to the reviewers, it gives one a real buzz to see them.

All the best for the future.

Solomon Aegis

Wiltshire, England

April 2007