Notes:
Sorry this wasn't posted sooner. Life has a way of interfering with important things like fanfiction. I still feel like this chapter isn't as good as I want, but time is short, so here it is.
In answer to one question, this story (what there is of it so far) will be posted as quickly as possible so I can beat the publishing deadline for DH. That's why I'm posting these first chapters ahead of time, so I can sneak in my "explanation" for Hermione's odd behavior before the real answer (if any) is revealed in Book 7. The first of these revelatory flashbacks appears in the next chapter (following a set-up in this chapter). But as my introductory notes stated, this novel is a long way from completion. When these few finished chapters are posted, there will be a long delay before the story resumes. The basic plot is fixed in my head, but as this is planned as a massive novel (my first), it will take a while before those bones can be fleshed out into a proper story. All I can promise is that I'll do my best not to make the wait any longer than it has to be.
And as far as Ginny is concerned, she will be an integral part of the story, playing, if you will, the role of our favorite couple's personal "garden gnome." I admit, I'll be playing with the readers' heads in much the same manner as J.K. has done. When Ginny gets rolling, I imagine everyone will be wishing for a "de-gnoming," and as soon as possible. But at least I can guarantee a happy H/Hr ending (as if this site would permit any thing else!). However, I can't promise that the journey won't be fraught with perils, not all of them at the hand of Voldemort.
Thanks, as always, to brad for not hesitating to balance the positives with the inevitable negatives. A fan writer who makes no mistakes is either lucky, or too good to be wasting his time writing for free. Since the latter is out of the question here, I'll take the former and be glad for it. I'm likewise glad that I've piqued your curiosity. I promise, all will be explained in short order. And Harry's just venting a little leftover Changst (I just made that word up) when he references less-than-trustworthy Ravenclaws. But maybe he's on to something. Despite Hagrid's assertion that there was "not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few Ravenclaws among Voldemort's supporters, hiding behind a veneer of respectability.
It's time for the adventure to resume (including the details of Harry's dream). You lot keep an eye on Ginny for me, won't you? I don't trust her any more than you do.
Harry and Ginny fell out of the fireplace at the Burrow and landed in a tangled heap on the rug. It had been a dizzying journey, made more exciting by a near-collision that nearly lost Harry his glasses. When Harry tried to orient himself, he found himself surrounded by darkness. His glasses were still clinging to his face (just barely). Why could he see nothing? An intake of breath quickly revealed the answer. A flowery scent filled his nostrils, accompanied by a tickling sensation that nearly made him sneeze. His head was completely smothered by Ginny's hair, which fell around his shoulders like a satiny waterfall. He was trying to find his balance to extricate himself from his predicament when -
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?"
The sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice spurred Harry like a shot of Pepper-Up Potion. He reeled back, his head falling clear of Ginny's and banging against the fireplace. He sat up slowly, rubbing the knot on the back of his head.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Ginny asked in a worried voice as she caught him by the elbow and helped him to sit up.
"I'm fine," Harry said, though he felt otherwise. Turning quickly, he looked up at Mrs. Weasley and said, "Sorry, I lost my balance. Someone nearly collided with us on the Floo network. Whoever's working the switchboard must have accidentally sent us on an intercept course with someone flying across our path. If I hadn't caught Ginny at the last second, there's no telling where she'd have ended up. I didn't want her to pop out somewhere dodgy, you know, like I did that time I came out at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley."
Ginny was now smoothing out her robes, which had been flung above her knees in her tumble. Harry turned away as quickly as he could, not wanting Mrs. Weasley (nor, indeed, Ginny) to think him a voyeur. He scrambled to his feet and helped Ginny upright. Her long red hair danced around her shoulders like threads of fiery silk, and she brushed it out of her face hastily, sending a small trickle of soot down her back.
Looking for a quick change of subject, Harry asked, "Where's Hermione? Is she upstairs studying?"
"She was," Mrs Weasley said, her tight expression relaxing as she drew her wand from her apron pocket and performed the cleaning spell on Harry and Ginny. "She came down a few minutes ago and went out to help Ron with the de-gnoming. Now that you're here, you can go give them a hand. I'll call you when lunch is ready."
"Right," Harry said. He hurried past Mrs. Weasley and out the back door, Ginny hard on his heels. When the screen door banged shut behind them, Harry heaved a sigh of relief. To his surprise, Ginny began to giggle. "What's so funny?" Harry asked.
"You," Ginny answered through her muffled laughter. "You should have seen your face when Mum was looking down on you."
"I didn't want her to get the wrong idea," Harry said.
"The way we were rolling about," Ginny said, "it's a wonder she didn't turn you into a toad. Trevor Potter, the Toad Who Lived," she giggled.
When Ginny's laughter showed no sign of abating, Harry said, "Ron's right, you're too much like Fred and George."
"And if I am?" Ginny challenged with a cocked eyebrow. "Mum never gave them enough credit. They've got the right idea, you ask me. Have a few laughs today, for tomorrow You-Know-Who might do you in."
"That's nothing to joke about," Harry said seriously.
"I'm not joking," Ginny said as her smile retreated. "Mum said it herself two years ago. Nearly the whole family's in the Order of the Phoenix. We could all snuff it tomorrow. Fenrir nearly did Bill in only a month ago. Any one of us could be next, and we might not get off with only a scarred face. And that's not counting Tom Riddle nearly killing me in the Chamber of Secrets my first year at Hogwarts. If You-Know-Who wants to kill all of us, what's to stop him?"
"Me," Harry said quietly, with no trace of bravado. "I'll stop him."
Ginny looked at Harry as if she had never seen him properly before. She leaned very close, so close that Harry could again smell the familiar bouquet of her hair. He pulled away suddenly, and Ginny retreated, her face going pink.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I...I didn't..."
"I know," Harry smiled thinly. "Come on, let's go see Ron and Hermione. I have something to tell all of you."
Ron and Hermione were in the final stages of de-gnoming the vegetable garden. Sighting over the back hedge, Harry saw tiny shapes that were unquestionably gnomes, wandering about dizzily. Even as he watched, a small, dark shape flew through the air and landed with a muted thump in the field beyond the hedge.
"Good one, Hermione!" a familiar voice exclaimed. Turning, Harry saw Ron nodding his approval at Hermione's toss. Hermione was looking rather pleased with herself. Harry grinned. She had apparently got over her reticence at dispensing with garden gnomes in so precipitous (and seemingly callous) a manner. Hermione had a soft spot in her heart for all living things (which went far toward explaining her choice of career), and she had been a bit timid about de-gnoming the Weasleys' vegetable garden on her first visit to the Burrow five years ago. But if her expression now were any measure by which to judge, she had finally come to accept Ron's repeated assurances that the gnomes were more than hardy enough to shrug off being tossed through the air into the field. Harry recalled his own hesitation on the occasion of his first de-gnoming. He had tried to drop the first gnome he caught gently over the back hedge in what he perceived as a humane manner, only to be rewarded for his compassion with a painful bite from the gnome's needle-sharp teeth. He didn't know if Hermione had been initiated in like manner, but she would have seen by now that the gnomes did indeed return to the garden time after time with no harm done. Armed with that assurance, she had become a de-gnomer to please even Mrs. Weasley.
There were many aspects about Hermione that pleased Mrs. Weasley. The coolness she had demonstrated toward Hermione in Diagon Alley seemed to have manifested itself only recently, and Harry was sure he knew why. He preferred not to dwell on that, however. Now, he waved to Ron and Hermione, calling out to them. Hermione turned, her face breaking into an even brighter smile as she saw Harry.
"Did you see?" she said excitedly as Harry walked up to her. "That gnome won't be nicking any more turnips from the garden today."
"Hermione," Harry said in a voice brimming with mock severity, "don't you know gnomes have feelings, too?"
"There are plenty of wild plants that gnomes can eat that people can't," Hermione said reasonably. "We don't go into the forest to nick their food, so they shouldn't feel the need to come here and steal ours."
Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, staring into her dancing eyes. He had to be careful not to lose himself to the point where he forgot to breathe. He kissed her lightly, and her hands teased at the back of his head, riffling through his untidy hair. They parted quickly, and they were unsurprised to see both Ron and Ginny smiling a bit awkwardly.
"Did you leave any gnomes for me, Ron?" Harry asked somewhat clumsily.
"I was going to," Ron said with an exaggerated shrug. "But Hermione was like a house afire. She has a future in magical pest control if she decides not to go after the Minister's job."
Blushing slightly at the compliment, Hermione looked at Ron and said, "I think we're about done, don't you?"
Ron looked around grandly and said, "Not a gnome in sight. Full marks, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, Professor Weasley," Hermione said with a nod. Harry laughed. But the smile quickly melted from his face, and he cast his eyes back toward the house searchingly. Seeing this, Ron altered his own expression into one of anticipation.
"We only have a few minutes," Harry said. "Your mum will be calling us for lunch."
Ginny, who had not spoken since her and Harry's discussion on the subject of Lord Voldemort, said in a low, expectant voice, "You said you wanted to tell us something. Is it about why you're coming back to Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Come on, let's take a walk."
Following the line of the back hedge, Harry led his friends a safe distance away before turning and facing them. Keeping one eye on the towering roof of the Burrow, he turned to look at Ginny as he said, "Ron and Hermione already know a bit about what I'm going to say. I didn't mean to hurt you by leaving you out. I figured the fewer people who knew the truth, the less chance Voldemort would find out too quickly. The less Voldemort knows about our plans, the better." Ron and Ginny both flinched slightly at the sound of Voldemort's name. Hermione's aspect did not alter. "After Snape killed Dumbledore, I was determined to set straight off to rid the world of Voldemort. That's what the prophesy says I'm here to do, and I reckoned I'd better be about it before anyone else died."
"Except you," Ginny said quietly, her words echoing the thoughts of the other two listeners.
"I was going to set off right after the wedding," Harry said, still looking at Ginny. "Ron and Hermione were going to come with me. I didn't ask them to come. But they wouldn't let me go off alone."
"Too right there, mate," Ron said determinedly as Hermione nodded her agreement.
"But now you're not going?" Ginny said, unable to disguise the relief in her voice. "You're staying on to complete your last year?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"What changed your mind?" Ron asked.
"Not what," Harry said. "Who."
"Did someone visit you at the Dursleys and persuade you to postpone your decision?" Hermione asked. "Was it Remus? Or Tonks?"
"No," Harry said. "It was...it was Dumbledore."
"But..." Hermione said, "but...Dumbledore's dead. How could he talk to you? Is he - is he a ghost?"
"No," Harry said. "He came to me in a dream."
"Are you sure it was him?" Ron asked reasonably. "Maybe it was You-Know-Who, getting into your head again, like when he made you think Sirius was being tortured."
"It wasn't," Harry said, fighting back the misery of remembering his role in his godfather's death. If he had not blindly followed Voldemort's false trail to the Department of Mysteries, where he believed Sirius was being tortured to death, the real Sirius would not have been lured to the Ministry to rescue Harry. He would still be alive. "What, you think Voldemort is so afraid of me that he'd try to keep me in school so I wouldn't come after him? And Dumbledore's advice was completely the opposite to what Voldemort would ever want me to do."
"I'm guessing he told you that getting another year of training will better prepare you to face Voldemort when the time comes," Hermione said.
"Exactly," Harry said. "He made me realize that I don't know anywhere near enough magic to go up against even a Death Eater, much less Voldemort himself. You remember when I tried to stop Snape from leaving Hogwarts after he killed Dumbledore? I might as well have been a First Year for all the good I did. He blocked every spell I tried without batting an eye. I should have known right then that if I couldn't defeat one stinking Death Eater," Harry spat out these words as if they were stinksap on his tongue, "I definitely wasn't trained enough to go after Voldemort. But I was fired up, I wanted to make him pay for what he'd done. If it had been Voldemort in my dream, he'd have liked nothing better than to have me come straight at him, blind with hatred. If I'd done that - done what I originally intended - I would have gone off and got myself killed. Worse than that, I'd have got my friends killed with me. Enough people have died because of my stupidity. If I can't stop my friends from coming with me - "
"And you can't," Ron said firmly, a moment before Hermione would have said the same thing.
"Then at least I can prepare myself as best I can before we all go off," Harry finished. "That's what Dumbledore told me to do. He said there are special courses I can take to arm myself against the forces of Darkness. Professor McGonagall has already been alerted, because my Hogwarts letter contained a book list for those new courses. According to Dumbledore, my parents took the same courses I'll be taking, and so did Sirius. That's one of the things that decided me. In a way, it'll be like they're all still fighting on through me. Of course, that extra learning wasn't enough to stop Voldemort from killing my mum and dad," he added grimly. "But according to Dumbledore, I have an edge they didn't. There's something about me that can destroy Voldemort. I don't know what it is, but I'm finally convinced that it's there. I just have to find it. I used to think that was all I needed to carry me through. But Dumbledore reminded me that it takes more than talent and ability to accomplish something. If Hermione is smarter than any of us - which she is - " Harry smiled at Hermione, who blushed slightly, "that doesn't mean she got all those high marks without working hard for them. If there's something about me that can do in Voldemort, I won't be able to use it properly until I've learned everything I can about how to combat the Dark Arts. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stop mucking about and learn everything I need to know to defeat Voldemort."
"And then you can go after the Horcruxes," Ginny said.
Harry, Ron and Hermione all jerked their heads in Ginny's direction.
"How do you know about that?" Ron said in astonishment.
"I have my sources," Ginny said mysteriously. Harry managed a hard smile. Fred and George had said the same thing to him in Diagon Alley. Harry reflected again that Ginny was indeed much like the twins, whether for good or ill.
Ron's eyes were now narrowed suspiciously at his sister. "I hope you aren't thinking about coming with us to chase down the Horcruxes?"
Rather than replying immediately, Ginny assumed a thoughtful mien. Her eyes falling on Harry, she said at last, "I haven't decided yet. After what Harry just said about being prepared, I don't know if I'd be a help or a hindrance. And I won't be seventeen until after the end of the school year, so the point is moot until then. Mum and Dad would never let me go, and if I left anyway, they'd report my absence to the Ministry, and that would endanger all of you. You'd hardly be able to keep your mission a secret from You-Know-Who if my trail was being hounded by Magical Law Enforcement wizards. So for now, I'm keeping my options open. It's not a decision I'll make lightly. If I think I can make a real contribution - well, we'll see. But if I'm convinced at the end of the year that I can pull my weight, I hope I'll have your support - all of you." Her brown eyes were fixed firmly on Ron as she spoke. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, substituting a silent nod. The gesture seemed to Harry more an acknowledgment of Ginny's statement - of her stubborn determination so analogous of his own Weasley temperament - than outright agreement. Perhaps sensing this herself, Ginny did not press her brother further, but responded with a short nod of her own.
As if that answering nod had been a signal, Molly Weasley's magically magnified voice rang out, "Lunch is ready! Everyone who isn't at the table in one minute will go hungry!"
"She means it," Ginny said with a strained smile. "I've heard that tone before."
"So have I," Ron said.
"Let's go, then," Hermione said. "I don't think there's anything more to discuss now."
Listening with more than his ears, Harry heard the unspoken words that followed Hermione's declaration: "We'll resume this later, when we're alone."
"Right," Harry said, nodding to Hermione in acknowledgment of her silent pronouncement.
After lunch, Harry and Hermione excused themselves from the Weasleys and headed off past the vegetable garden and into
the woods that surrounded the Burrow, masking its presence from the non-magical inhabitants of Ottery St. Catchpole.
They walked unhurriedly, hand-in-hand, enjoying the tranquility of the countryside, the smell of the moist earth
mingled with the perfume of the trees and wildflowers compassing them on all sides. Neither seemed inclined to disturb
the silence by speaking. At length Hermione cast her eyes around them and sighed.
"I love it here," she said. "It's like something out of a dream."
They turned to face each other. Both seemed to sense a deeper meaning behind Hermione's words, though even she wasn't sure if she had spoken spontaneously or with purpose aforethought. Either way, the subject had been broached. Harry smiled, his hold on Hermione's hand increasing slightly.
"Do you want to tell me about your dream?" she asked. "I could tell by looking at you that there was a bit more than you told Ron and Ginny."
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "It was an odd sort of dream. I was standing on the Hogwarts grounds. It was just after Dumbledore had fallen from the tower. I was looking down on him, like I did for real last month. But this time, when I was looking at his face, he - he opened his eyes and looked back at me."
"That must have been horrible," Hermione said.
"There was no one else there," Harry continued. "Just the two of us. We looked at each other for a moment, then Dumbledore got up and stood in front of me. He looked straight into my eyes - he still had his glasses on, and he looked over them, like he used to do when he wanted to tell me something important."
"My grandmum used to do that," Hermione said. "I think it was her way of showing me that what she was about to say was so important that nothing, even two little panes of glass, should come between us at that moment. It was just the two of us, becoming one."
"I think you're right," Harry said thoughtfully, as if he'd never looked at it that way before.
"What exactly did Dumbledore say?" Hermione asked.
"Well," Harry said, "it's pretty much like I said. He told me that I had a big job to do, and that he wouldn't be there to help me like he did before. I had to learn to take care of myself, and the first step toward that was to go back to school so I could finish my training. He said - he said it was what my mum and dad would have wanted, and Sirius, too. He told me to send a letter to Professor McGonagall, saying I was coming back. He said she'd know what to do. He said something about plans already having been made for me, whatever that means."
"It probably means," Hermione speculated, "that Dumbledore knew you'd have to face Voldemort eventually, so he must have prepared your courses in advance for your final year."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I remember our talk the night Sirius died. He said that, according to the Prophesy, Voldemort and I couldn't exist together. One of us - one of us would have to kill the other. Maybe he made plans for that right then. I think - "
"What?" Hermione said.
"I think that's the real reason he went and got Professor Slughorn out of retirement." Harry said. "McGonagall told him about our career chat, and when I didn't get an Outstanding O.W.L. in Potions, he knew Snape wouldn't accept me into his advanced class, and I couldn't qualify as an Auror without taking Advanced Potions."
"You've only just figured that out, have you?" Hermione said, wearing her maddeningly familiar expression of superiority, tempered now with a devilish twinkle in her eye that was more maddening still, if in an entirely different way. "Dumbledore knew that Snape could easily fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, leaving Slughorn to step in as Potions Master, thus solving two problems at once."
"But how in the bloody hell did Dumbledore expect me to pass my Defense class with Snape in charge?" Harry demanded argumentatively. "He must have known that Snape would do everything he could to keep my marks down so he'd have an excuse to fail me, like he did in Potions. Remember when he smashed my potion sample on purpose so he'd have an excuse to give me a zero? He was doing pretty much the same thing all last year, working to keep me from learning enough to get the N.E.W.T. mark I'd need to qualify as an Auror trainee. The way I look at it, Dumbledore would've done better to pull ruddy Lockhart out of St. Mungo's and give him his old job back. All I'd've had to do then is stay out of his path and learn what I needed to know on my own, like I did when we were conducting the D.A. meetings behind Umbridge's back."
If Harry expected his argument to change Hermione's expression, he was mistaken. If anything, her transcendent smile grew even wider.
"But you've just said it yourself, Harry," she beamed. "Don't you see? You got your only Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts, despite Dolores Umbridge's best efforts to the contrary. You proved to everyone, not least Dumbledore, that you could teach yourself what you need to know. I think Dumbledore had every confidence in you that you could do it again, and he was right, wasn't he? Snape did his worst, but in the end, you excelled in the class. If we'd sat our exams at the end of the year," she said with a slight catch in her voice, "I think you'd have done smashingly, and I'm sure Dumbledore thought the same."
"Last year, yeah," Harry said grudgingly. "But what about this year? It's too much to hope that Dumbledore would have found another Defense teacher and sacked Snape, like he should have done years ago. What if all that rubbish last year hadn't happened and Snape carried on again like before? I know Snape always said I was too sure of myself by half, but even I'm not arrogant enough to think I could learn enough on my own to go off and face Voldemort. What would Dumbledore have done then?"
"I think it's perfectly obvious what he would have done," Hermione said, her smile softening, and the triumph in her voice giving way to a quiet reverence. "He would have taught you himself. Everyone knows that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. Even Voldemort knew it. Who better to prepare you to face the challenges ahead of you than Dumbledore? He knew you were set on going off after you finished school. Nothing anyone could do or say would stop you. Knowing that, do you think he'd have sent you off without doing everything he could to help you succeed?" Hermione's voice dropped still lower as she said, "I know you said Dumbledore apologized to you for a lot of things he wished he'd done differently over the years. But he always did them with your best interests at heart. If he'd lived to carry on, he'd have done everything in his power, not just to help you pass your N.E.W.T.'s and qualify as an Auror, but to prepare you to go off against Voldemort. I know he would have done. And I think you do, too."
And as Hermione's voice faded into silence, Harry knew in his heart that she was right.
"Dumbledore took over teaching me Occlumency last year," he murmured. "He said that he knew my sessions with Snape hadn't worked out the way he hoped. To be exact," Harry smiled thinly, "he said they'd been a fiasco."
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, and his eyes locked onto hers, reflecting a deep sorrow that made him look as old as she had ever seen.
"When Dumbledore found what he thought was another one of Voldemort's Horcruxes," Harry said heavily, "he took me along. At first I thought it was so I could get back something of what Voldemort took from me when he killed my parents. That was part of it, but there was more to it than that. I think - I think Dumbledore knew he was dying. The Dark Curse that withered his arm when he destroyed the first Horcrux was killing him, and he was afraid, but not of dying. He was afraid he would die without doing what he set out to do, to find and destroy all of the Horcruxes. If he'd done that, Voldemort would have been mortal again. I would at least have had a chance against him when I went off. But he came to realize he'd never live long enough to do that. So he took me along to kind of, I dunno, show me what had to be done so I could carry on after..."
Harry's throat tightened. Hermione said nothing, but held his hand tightly, lending him her strength. Perhaps drawing upon this, Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, it was with a renewed conviction, tempered with a touch of weariness that added to his aged aspect.
"If Dumbledore was planning on doing what you said - and I think he was - that's all done now. But Dumbledore never did anything by halves. He must have drawn up some kind of plan that he intended to follow. And even though he's not here to carry it out, I think that plan still exists. That's what he meant when he told me in my dream that plans had already been made. He must have left instructions for Professor McGonagall, just in case. I expect she'll hand those plans over to whoever she hires to fill the Defense job, maybe even carry out some of them herself, just to be sure. It'll almost be like Dumbledore himself is still here, keeping his promise."
Harry let out a heavy sigh. It seemed to Hermione that his eyes became noticeably brighter. He looked down at her and smiled.
"I don't know if I could've told all that to anyone else, even Ron."
"That's it, then?" Hermione said, feeling the weight of their shared burden lift from her. "Is that when the dream ended and you woke up?"
Harry's expression grew serious again. Hermione came alert at once.
"Was there something else Dumbledore said? Something you just remembered?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Two things, actually. But the first wasn't anything new." When Hermione questioned Harry with her eyes, he said, "He just told me again what he's said before, you know, about how the power I need to destroy Voldemort is inside me. He said I should never forget my mum's sacrifice - that it was the power of love that saved me that night, and it would be that same power that would destroy Voldemort. But - there was something different this time - something about the way he looked at me, you know, over the rims of his glasses. It was like he knew something - a secret he thought I should know without his having to say it. And then, all at once, I knew. I understood what he'd meant all along."
"What do you mean?" Hermione said.
Harry smiled, and his aged aspect seemed to fall away like a tattered cloak. His face appeared to glow in such fashion that the golden sunlight shining down on them paled by contrast.
"Like I said, Dumbledore must have told me that a hundred times," Harry said softly. "I always thought it was rubbish. But that was only because I didn't understand what he meant. Now I do."
Harry looked deeply into Hermione's eyes, the two of them embracing on a level beyond the physical. Hermione could feel her heart beating, the sound magnified against the quiet surrounding them. Having forgotten to breathe, Hermione inhaled softly and whispered, "You said there were two things Dumbledore said? What was the other?"
Shaking himself back to the moment, Harry opened his mouth, hesitating as a distant look passed over his eyes. In a voice that seemed to come from miles away, he said, "It was something really strange. He said that, even though he was gone, he'd still be there for me when I really needed him."
"What do you suppose he meant by that?" Hermione pondered. "Is he going to keep visiting you in your dreams?"
"Dunno," Harry said. "But the very last thing he said was that if I had any questions, I'd find the answers at Hogwarts."
"What happened then?" Hermione said.
"While he was standing right in front of me," Harry said, "he suddenly erupted into a column of fire. He shot straight up into the air, lighting up the whole sky - and then he turned into a phoenix, you know, like we saw over - "
"Over his tomb," Hermione finished quietly.
"That's when I woke up," Harry said, shivering at the memory despite the heat of the day. "The first two times it happened, I thought it was just a dream. But the third time, I realized it was more than that. So I told Dumbledore I'd do what he said. I reckon he must have heard me, wherever he is, because I didn't have any more dreams after that."
There was nothing more to say. Their hands still linked, Harry and Hermione resumed their walk. Their burden shed, they opened themselves once more to their surroundings, becoming one with earth and sky, and with each other. Topping a low rise, they passed through an opening in the trees and emerged into the paddock where the Weasley children would practice Quidditch out of sight of Muggle eyes. They halted, and Harry lifted his head to stare longingly at the open sky. Hermione smiled as she placed her hand on his neck and teased at the fringe of hair above the collar of his shirt.
"Are you going to speak to Professor McGonagall about continuing Quidditch this year?" Hermione asked.
Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the sky. "You're right, we'll all need something to take our minds off everything. I think Professor McGonagall will agree." Turning, he added with a note of melancholy, "But it won't be the same."
"Nothing can ever be the same," Hermione agreed. "Hogwarts won't seem right without Dumbledore."
"One thing isn't going to change," Harry said quietly. "The way I feel about you."
Harry placed his hand on Hermione's arm. The fingers that had been teasing his hair slipped around his neck and drew his face to hers.
"I'm afraid, Harry," she said, her voice aching as her eyes embraced his. "I don't want to lose you. I'll never forget how I felt when Ron and I were waiting outside the hospital wing at the end of our first year - waiting to hear if - if you - "
Harry slipped his hands around Hermione's waist and pulled her against him. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet, flowery aroma permeating her thick, bushy tresses.
"I love you," he murmured almost painfully through her hair.
Their lips found each other's in a soft, urgent kiss that deepened with every moment. Harry's fingers tangled in Hermione's mane as hers clung to his back. They sank to the soft grass, their kisses becoming more passionate. Hermione's hands, acting as if with a will of their own, were under Harry's shirt, stroking the smooth skin of his back. Harry's own hands were moving along Hermione's hips, sliding up her middle toward the soft swell of her breasts. His fingers found the neck of her blouse and began to toy with her buttons. One after another they parted, and Hermione felt the inner curves of her bosom tingling to the warmth of Harry's breath. His lips touched her skin, and Hermione sighed deeply. But a moment later she pulled back, her hands slipping from around Harry to fumble with her buttons.
"We can't," she said, her eyes staring down the shallow valley between her breasts as she hastily buttoned her blouse.
As Harry's muddled brain slowly cleared, he sat back and watched blankly as Hermione methodically slid each button into its slot until the pale skin below her neck was once again hidden from his hungry eyes. When Hermione looked up at last, fearful what Harry's response to her sudden reversal might be, she was surprised to see a wan smile on his face.
"Things were a lot simpler between us before last year, weren't they?" he said.
"I don't think things were ever as simple as we imagined," Hermione said, her hands falling into her lap with the completion of her task. "But they definitely became more complicated last year. And it's only going to get worse. I've begun to think the founders should have added an extra spell to the wards protecting Hogwarts. Something to prevent students from falling in love. It would make it much easier to focus on our studies if we weren't distracted by...other concerns."
"I don't think there's a spell ever invented that could have stopped me from falling in love with you," Harry said seriously. He leaned close and took Hermione's chin between his thumb and forefinger. "But I can't deny that it's going to be bloody difficult concentrating on ways to kill Voldemort when all I can think about is how fantastic it feels to touch you."
Her cheeks going red, Hermione said, "I feel the same way. When you touch me, a part of me wants to throw common sense to the wind and let my passion run wild. Just now, there was a moment when I wanted nothing more in the world than to pull you against me and..."
Hermione's voice trailed off as the pink glow on her cheeks began to creep down to paint the portion of her bosom not hidden by the neck of her blouse. Harry touched her face, and she wrapped her hand around his and held it against her cheek.
"There are too many trap doors for us to rush into something like this," Hermione said. "And what's waiting at the bottom is a lot dodgier than Devil's Snare. We need to go slowly."
"Are you having doubts?" Harry asked.
"About us?" Hermione said quickly. "No. Never. But it's too soon for us to move to the next stage. We have too many other things to do first. We need to think clearly about where we're going - and it's bloody difficult for me to keep a clear thought in my head when you kiss me like you've been. If we'd carried on like we nearly did, I'd never be able to look at you all year at school without remembering. How would it look for me to be sitting in Madam Pomfrey's class, trying to memorize the ingredients of a healing potion with a silly grin on my face?"
"It would look like you were channeling Ron from the Welcoming Feast for Beauxbatons," Harry said. Hermione laughed so hard she fell back on the grass. Harry lay down beside her. His hand caressed her shoulder and neck, but did not approach the buttons she had so recently done up. He kissed her, and Hermione held him against her, writhing against the firm, Quidditch-hardened muscles underneath his shirt.
"Harry," Hermione breathed into his ear. "I need you to keep your mind on your studies this year. I couldn't bear to lose you for any reason, but if I thought I was the cause..."
"My thoughts are going to be centered on you no matter what," Harry said. "In every class we don't share, you'll be sitting beside me. Your voice will be in my ear, telling me to do my best. Your smile will give me hope when everything seems hopeless. I'll think of the day when we can finally be together - really together. I'm not going to let anything stop me from spending my life with you. I'm going to work like I've never worked before. I'm going to become the best wizard I can be. Because I'm in love with the cleverest witch there is, and I never want to be less than worthy of her."
"I told you a long time ago that you were a great wizard," Hermione whispered, her eyes brimming with tears of love. "I was right."
"If I am," Harry said, "it's because of you."
They held each other, Harry's hands laced through Hermione's bushy brown hair. He inhaled her sweet fragrance as he clung to her desperately, never wanting to let her go. He never knew how long they lay together, but the sun was edging toward the tops of the trees when they finally disentangled themselves and sat up. Hermione brushed her hair out of her eyes, Harry lending her a hand.
"I think I'd better wash my hair tonight," she said, combing leaves and twigs from her bushy tresses.
"After you've dried off," Harry said, "can I have your towel to sleep with? It won't be as good as having you, but if you're going to keep putting me off, I'll have to settle for what I can get."
Hermione laughed, and Harry kissed her. The vibrations from her laughter tickled his lips, making him laugh in turn. For a moment, their love was become something pure and innocent, almost child-like. But Harry knew that, if he remained in contact with Hermione for much longer, he would be overcome with feelings of a more adult nature, stirrings which, once awakened, he would be hard pressed to put to sleep again. Reluctantly, he pulled his face from Hermione's, savoring her taste on his lips. He rose up, drawing her with him. He slipped his arm around her waist, and Hermione imitated the gesture after a fashion, her hand falling below Harry's hips to cup his bum.
"You're a cheeky monkey," Harry laughed as Hermione gave his backside a squeeze.
"Just because I'm not indulging in the banquet just yet, that doesn't mean I can't sample the side dishes," she said, her dark eyes twinkling.
Hermione was careful to raise her hand to a more socially acceptable position before coming in sight of the Burrow. As if reading each other's mind, they parted smoothly, their hands sliding into each other's. Hand-in-hand, they walked unconcernedly into the Weasleys' back garden, where they found Ron and Ginny sitting in chairs with glasses in their hands, the light of the westering sun lending their faces a golden glow.
"Where've you two been?" Ron asked.
"More to the point," Ginny said, eyeing Hermione's disheveled hair, "what have you been doing?"
"Nothing worth Rita Skeeter writing about in the Daily Prophet," Hermione said, winking at Harry.
"Bugger," Ron said, his blue eyes smirking over the rim of his glass as he drained its contents.
"How are plans for the wedding coming?" Harry asked.
"Slow but sure," Ginny said. "I'll be helping Mum all day tomorrow."
"Can you use an extra hand?" Hermione asked.
"I was counting on it," Ginny smiled.
"Can I help?" Harry asked.
"You can help me," Ron said. "Dad needs to put up some sort of bower, with flowers and stuff, for Bill and Fleur to stand under. Dad fancies himself a builder, but, well..." His eyes rolled up toward the drunken lines of the Burrow, which structure looked as if the next gust of wind might send it tumbling to the ground. Harry had suspected from the moment he first saw the Burrow that it must be held up by magic, and his subsequent visits had done nothing to disabuse him of that notion.
"Who's performing the ceremony?" Harry asked, turning his attention back to Ron. He'd given little thought to that aspect of the ceremony. In all the times he'd looked at his parents' wedding photos, he'd never thought to ask what sort of ceremony they'd had. It was too late to ask their Best Man, Sirius, but he would make a point of asking Remus the next time he saw him.
"I keep forgetting," Ron said, "you and Hermione don't know a lot of stuff about the wizarding world, growing up in Muggle homes."
"I've been reading up a bit on wizard weddings," Hermione said.
"Any special reason?" Ginny smiled.
Hermione coughed lightly, and Harry interceded by asking Ron directly, "So, how will Bill and Fleur be getting married?"
"It's a standard ceremony," Ron said. "Nothing fancy. Basically, they just exchange vows in front of everyone, declaring their love for each other and all that rubbish." Ginny shot Ron a sour look, which he either did not notice, or pretended not to. "When that's done," Ron went on, "the groom's attendant - I think the Muggles'd call him the Best Man - hands over the license for them to sign."
"Who did Bill choose as his attendant?" Harry asked. "Your dad? Or Charlie? Or does he have a best mate, like my dad had Sirius?"
"No," Ron said, going slightly pink. "It's, uh, me, actually."
"That's quite an honor," Harry said, feeling the aura of pride emanating from Ron.
"Not really," Ginny said as she swirled her drink casually, her eyes focused on the ice cubes spinning in slow circles around the circumference of her glass. "It's tradition to ask the youngest male family member. Bill didn't have a choice. Since Pigwidgeon didn't exactly qualify, it was Ron or nothing."
Seeing Ron's cheeks going pink, Harry said, "With you holding the license, the whole ceremony is in your hands. Apart from the bride and groom, you'll be the most important person there."
"The license is enchanted, isn't it?" Hermione said, following Harry's lead to divert Ron from his sister's barbed comment. Despite her inflection, it was less a question than a statement.
"Right," Ron said. "When the Ministry issues a license, they place an enchantment on it, something like the one you used on those fake Galleons that signaled us when a D.A. meeting was being convened."
"A Protean Charm," Hermione said, her voice catching slightly in a manner that only Harry noticed.
"The license also comes with an enchanted quill," Ron continued. "When Bill and Fleur sign their copy of the license, their signatures will appear at the same moment on another copy of the license at the Ministry. That officially sanctions the union under wizarding law."
"Where are the license and quill now?" Harry asked.
"The license is in my room," Ron said. "I'll have it in my robes when the ceremony begins, and I'll hand it over once the vows are completed."
"I suggested he give it over to Mum for safe keeping," Ginny said. "With all the mess and clutter up there, you could lose a herd of thestrals."
"I'm not going to lose it," Ron said petulantly, sounding as if this were not the first time he and Ginny had clashed in this manner.
"What about the quill?" Hermione asked, trying to defuse the situation. Ron was about to answer, but Ginny spoke first.
"The bride's attendant - you'd call her the maid of honor - keeps that. That'll be Fleur's sister, Gabrielle. She'll present it when Ron hands over the license." A jaunty lift of her fiery eyebrow added an unspoken, "If he hands it over." Ron frowned again but made no other reply. "When both Bill and Fleur have signed," Ginny concluded, "they'll draw their wands and tap the document together. That will activate the enchantment, bonding the signatures permanently on both copies. The moment that happens, the quill will crumble to dust in Fleur's hand - traditionally, the bride signs last," she clarified for Harry and Hermione. "As a final gesture, Fleur will hold out her hand, and she and Bill will blow the dust away, signifying that the ceremony is final and irrevocable."
"Sort of like breaking glasses at a Muggle wedding," Hermione observed.
"I wonder if my mum and dad got married that way?" Harry mused aloud. "Mum was Muggle-born, so they could have gone either way."
"I expect they had two ceremonies," Hermione said. "One wizard ceremony, the other, Muggle. That would explain Sirius being Best Man, since Ron just said wizard ceremonies don't have that position to fill. Hagrid specifically called him the Best Man, not the attendant, which argues for a Muggle ceremony in addition to a wizarding one."
"Why two ceremonies?" Harry asked.
"Because that way, the marriage would be legal in both worlds," Hermione said. "Your mother was Muggle-born, so it's reasonable that they'd want to have a ceremony her parents could attend. And if for some reason they ever had to live in the Muggle world, I don't imagine they could show anyone a license with the seal of the Ministry of Magic on it, could they?"
Harry looked at Hermione curiously. Her earlier remark implied that she had been giving serious thought to the subject of marriage, and this had only been underscored by her attention to Ron's and Ginny's description of the upcoming wedding at the Burrow. If she had been thinking along such lines, did that mean she was pondering her own wedding in more than an abstract sense? It was certainly something Harry had thought about, though he had as yet said nothing to Hermione. With so much to do, so many dangers lying ahead of them, marriage was not something he'd considered for the near future. Later, when Voldemort was gone, there would be plenty of time for such plans. For now, however...
"It's all a lot of fuss," Ron said dismissively, turning Harry's thoughts back to the present. "As far as the Ministry is concerned, Bill and Fleur don't even have to have the ceremony. They could just sign the license and head straight off for the honeymoon."
A hungry look flickered across Ron's eyes, which presented a very transparent window to his thoughts that could hardly go unnoticed. Harry was sure that a small part of Ron - or one not so small - still remembered the thrill attendant to Fleur's magical veela aura, which had enchanted so many boys at Hogwarts, both before and during the Triwizard Tournament, and none more so than Ron. Oddly, Harry had not been affected by Fleur's siren-like enchantment during her stay at Hogwarts (though he had succumbed readily enough at the Quidditch World Cup when the Bulgarian National Team's veela mascots were cavorting across the pitch). He and Fleur had been in close proximity many times in their roles as their respective school Champions. Harry had frequently stood close enough to Fleur to reach out and touch her, yet he'd never felt the slightest urge to do so. By contrast, Ron could not come within a dozen yards of the vivacious veela without dissolving into a drooling idiot (though Ginny would have remarked caustically that this was only marginally removed from his natural state). Harry had given this dichotomy no thought at the time, his attention being distracted by the Triwizard Tournament (among other things). It was only last month that he understood why he had been immune to Fleur's charms.
"Is that all you think marriage is about?" Ginny said coldly, eyes narrowed.
Ron shrugged, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin. "It's still legal," he said.
"That wouldn't be very romantic, would it?" Hermione observed. "I've read about loads of different wizarding ceremonies that sound fascinating. It'll be hard to choose when the time comes. But I'll definitely want something special, something I'll remember for the rest of my life."
"When are the bride and groom arriving?" Harry asked Ginny, trying to divert her attention from Ron's dreamy expression.
"According to custom, they're not allowed to see each other until the moment the ceremony begins," Ginny said, her eyes not quite leaving Ron as she turned to face Harry. "Mum said Fleur will be in France, with her family, until the day of the ceremony. Since Fleur's sister isn't old enough to Apparate, they'll all arrive by Intercontinental portkey. I'm not sure where they'll be staying, but I imagine the Department of International Magical Cooperation will arrange something for them, if they haven't already. They'll all pop in early, with the rest of the guests, except for Fleur. At the proper moment, she'll Apparate under the bower at the same moment as Bill."
"Bill will be staying here," Ron answered the second part of Harry's question when Ginny ran out of breath. "He'll arrive a day early, to help out. On the actual day, he'll have to stay up in his room until the time comes to pop in."
"How will he know when Fleur is arriving so he can Apparate under the bower with her?" Hermione asked with her usual insight.
"Easy enough," Ron said. "You know how Apparation works, right? First you see your destination with your mind, then you let your body follow after." Hermione nodded. "Dad'll place a Charm on the bower so that it gives off a kind of signal that only a mind open to Apparation can hear. Bill and Fleur will already be concentrating on the bower, and when they hear the signal, they'll both Disapparate from their respective locations and appear together at virtually the same moment."
"That's so beautiful," Hermione said, and Harry thought he saw a gleam in her eyes as if to indicate that she was making a mental note of all that Ron had said. He'd seen that same look in class a hundred times when a teacher said something significant that she wanted to remember for future reference.
"You know," Ginny now put in, "there's a superstition that goes along with the role of attendant in a wizard wedding."
"What?" Hermione said, her curiosity aroused.
"Ginny - " Ron began in an exasperated tone, but Ginny spoke over him.
"Superstition has it that the attendant will be married himself within a year," Ginny said, grinning broadly at her brother.
"That's a load of rubbish," Ron said gruffly. "Gabrielle is Fleur's attendant, she she's hardly old enough to marry. She's only just starting at Beauxbatons this term."
"Well," Hermione said knowledgably, "if I remember correctly, French wizarding law allows a girl to marry at any age as long as her parents give their consent. Some marriages are arranged at birth, and they take place as soon as the promised couple receive their wands."
"This isn't France," Ron said stubbornly. "I don't plan on getting married for a bit."
"That shouldn't prove difficult," Ginny remarked. "Who'd have you?"
"Loads of girls," Ron said hotly.
"Name one," Ginny challenged airily.
His ears going pink, Ron rose from his chair and entered the house, slamming the screen door behind him.
"That was cruel, Ginny," Hermione said reprovingly.
Ginny merely shrugged and sipped nonchalantly from her glass.
Looking for a way to ease the tension between Hermione and Ginny, Harry asked, "How many people will be coming?"
Lowering her glass, Ginny said, "We don't know yet."
"Has everyone R.S.V.P.'d?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Ginny said. "But each guest is allowed to invite one person to come along. Some will bring a date or a friend, and others will come alone. Since the guests often don't know themselves if they'll be bringing someone until the last minute, the final number is always up in the air until the last guest arrives." Casting her eyes back toward the door through which her brother had just vanished, she added tartly, "Some blokes never do manage."
"It's still a small guest list, right?" Harry said.
"Yes," Ginny nodded. "For security purposes, every guest will be personally approved by Mum or Dad. We can't take chances, especially after...you know."
Silence fell around the small group. The tragic events of the previous school year were scarcely a month old, and none of them was as yet prepared to reopen that wound.
"I expect you'll have invited only family and a few close friends," Hermione said. After a pause, she asked, "Have you invited anyone to be your personal guest?"
Ginny suddenly turned a very deep shade of pink. "No," she said slowly. "No, there's - there's no one I want to invite."
Hermione saw that Ginny was suddenly looking in every direction except toward Harry. Harry could not fail to notice this as well, and he, in turn, abruptly found himself looking away from Hermione. The awkwardness of the moment was broken by a voice from the house.
"Ginny, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley called out, "I need you to give me a hand with something."
Grateful to have a reason to look in a specific direction - any direction away from Harry - Ginny turned in her chair and said, "Coming, Mum."
Ginny and Hermione rose together, trotting off toward the Burrow. Harry watched as they disappeared through the door, which banged shut behind them. Alone now, Harry sat for a moment, pondering all that had been said - and more, what had not been said. Needing to clear his head, he realized that what he wanted more than anything was to take to the air on his Firebolt. Shading his eyes with his hand, he estimated that, allowing for travel time, he would have perhaps another twenty minutes of daylight before dusk settled over Ottery St. Catchpole. That should be time enough to practice a few dives and turns in preparation for the upcoming Quidditch season. He might even have a go at the Wronski Feint.
His broom was up in Ron's room, lying across the camp bed that sat parallel to Ron's regular bed. Ron had taken Harry's trunk upstairs to their shared room, and had been unable to resist the temptation of taking Harry's broom out and admiring it. When Harry had playfully taken Ron to task for "violating his privacy," Ron replied straight-faced (doing his best imitation of Percy) that, the room being his, he made the rules and Harry could "ruddy well walk up one flight and kip with the ghoul" if he didn't like it.
In fact, Mrs. Weasley had offered Harry his own room - there was plenty of space now that Percy and the twins had all vacated the house. Hermione had likewise been offered her own room for privacy's sake. She and Harry had both declined, preferring to share living quarters with Ron and Ginny. With so many plans to be sorted out for the coming year, and beyond, it was paramount to have someone at hand with whom to exchange thoughts - and fears - especially in the late-night hours when the imagination was most vulnerable. The value of such an arrangement far outweighed the minimal benefits of a private room. Harry knew that his head would explode if he did not have an outlet for his turbulent thoughts in this time following the events of the previous month. Apart from Ron, the only person with whom Harry could be completely honest in such matters was Hermione.
Harry had entertained the notion of asking Mrs. Weasley if he and Hermione could share one of the spare rooms. He dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it came. He knew she would never agree to such an arrangement. He could hear Mrs. Weasley's voice sniffing, "It's not proper for an unmarried witch and wizard to share the same space under one roof." No matter that he and Hermione would be sleeping in separate beds (knowing Hermione as he did, he knew better than to suggest otherwise). Being completely honest with himself, Harry could not say whether he could resist the temptations attendant to sharing a room with Hermione, separate beds or no, and that indecision would be his undoing where Mrs. Weasley was concerned. If Mrs. Weasley was not a true Legilimens after the fashion of Dumbledore (not to mention Voldemort and Snape), she would do until one came along. She had demonstrated an uncanny ability to look straight through her children as if they were made of glass, nor had Harry been spared in this regard. Nothing short of his opening a vein and swearing an oath on his own blood would have shifted her from her resolute position of immobility.
An odd thought sprang unbidden into Harry's mind. What if the present living arrangements were reversed, but the other way around? What would Mrs. Weasley's reaction be to Harry rooming with Ginny, and Hermione with Ron?
Harry shook his head. Where had that notion sprung from?
With a sharp mental jerk, Harry returned his attention to the problem at hand. The sun was sinking toward the trees, and his Firebolt was at the very top of the house. Trudging up and down the many flights of stairs leading to Ron's room would waste valuable time better spent in the air. In addition, Ron, seeing what Harry was doing, would almost certainly want to join him. And for reasons not quite clear, Harry felt the need to be alone right now. There were times in a friendship when distance was as important as intimacy, and this was one of those times.
There was only one thing for it. Drawing his wand, Harry pointed it at Ron's window and said, "Accio Firebolt!" A moment later, Harry's faithful broomstick leaped from Ron's open window and darted to his side.
The Ministry won't know whose spell that was, Harry argued in his mind. For all they know, it could have been cast by Mrs. Weasley, or Ron, or Hermione. All the same, Harry hurried away as quickly as he could without breaking into a full run. If a Ministry owl turned up while he was absent... If I don't see it, it's not really there, is it? He chuckled. That kind of reasoning might pass for sound logic when one was five years old, but it would hardly serve for a wizard about to enter his majority. But for now, in the absence of something more substantial, it would have to do.
Harry walked up the hill back to the paddock, following the well-worn path through the woods beyond which the Muggle inhabitants of Ottery St. Catchpole lived in blissful ignorance of the nearby family whom Uncle Vernon had referred to as "weirdos." Remembering what had nearly happened here between him and Hermione only a few hours earlier, Harry forcibly jerked his thoughts back to the purpose of his return. Staring at the open space framing the indigo sky overhead, Harry recalled the last time he flew his broomstick here. A sharp twinge pricked at his insides. He shrugged it off impatiently and straddled his broom. He kicked off, soaring high into the sky. He pulled up quickly. If he soared too high, there was a danger that he would be seen by Muggle eyes. That was not something that could be brushed off as easily as an underage spell. Ministry Obliviators would have to be called in to modify the memories of any non-magical persons who had seen "a young man flying on a broom." That would bring unwanted trouble down on the Weasleys, made worse for that Mr. Weasley was a Ministry employee. He'd already got Mr. Weasley in trouble when he and Ron had flown the enchanted Ford Anglia to Hogwarts when Dobby had blocked their access to Platform 9 3/4. No matter that Harry had more than repaid Mr. Weasley by saving his life when Voldemort's snake, Nagini (possessed by Voldemort himself) had bitten him outside the Department of Mysteries over a year ago. The Weasleys had become family to Harry. He owed it to them to treat them with the respect they deserved, and not to carelessly bring unnecessary troubles down on their heads. Merlin knew they already had enough to be getting on with.
Leveling off at a safe height, Harry began to zoom around the confined space, imagining he was chasing the Golden Snitch as Gryffindor's Seeker. He practiced twists and turns, climbs and dives. He tried the Wronski Feint a few times, but he was unable to begin his dive at a great enough height to get the proper feel of the maneuver, so he gave it up. He wanted to practice catching the Snitch, or something at least approximating the tiny winged sphere, but he was unsure how to duplicate a magical object when he was forbidden to do magic (curse the slowness with which the days between now and the 31st were passing!).
In times past, he and Ron had taken turns tossing apples into the air for the other to chase down. With no one but himself present, Harry tried chucking small stones as high as he could (he wanted to test his skills on something more closely approximating the size and shape of the Snitch; apples were too large). But even standing astride his broom, he was unable to kick off quickly enough after throwing the stones to catch them before they fell to the ground. His biggest handicap was his inability to throw the stones high enough. His feeble tosses only served to remind him how lucky he was to be playing Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He could never have made the team as a Chaser with such a poor throwing arm. His father had been a Chaser in his day. Ginny Weasley was an excellent Chaser. If she returned to the team this year, Gryffindor might have a passable squad, even without a pair of Beaters to equal the departed Fred and George. They still needed to fill the other two Chasers' positions, but they were solid at Keeper with Ron protecting the goal rings.
It struck Harry of a sudden that, even if he followed Hermione's advice to play Quidditch for therapeutic reasons, there was no way he could repeat as Quidditch captain. He had far too much to concentrate on without adding the burden of whipping a team into a competitive frenzy throughout practices and games, not to mention the many strategy sessions that would be necessary.
In Harry's judgment, there was only one choice for the job. Years ago, Ron had looked into the Mirror of Erised and seen himself holding the Quidditch Cup, wearing both Quidditch captains' robes and a shining Head Boy badge. While Harry had already been given the Head Boy badge per Dumbledore's instructions, there was no reason why Ron could not realize the second of his two mirror fantasies (the first had come to pass a year ago, when Ron was carried off the pitch by his jubilant teammates after their spectacular victory over Ravenclaw, the Cup held high in his hands). Harry nodded, a smile spreading across his face. The Quidditch captain was chosen by mutual consent of the team and the head of House. He was sure Professor McGonagall would gladly name Ron to succeed him as Captain of Quidditch, and the team, with Harry's support, would concur.
But Harry's heart sank as he remembered that Professor McGonagall was no longer head of Gryffindor House. Having assumed the position of headmistress, she must now designate another to replace her as the administrator of Gryffindor House. Harry realized that he had no idea who would fill that vacancy. There would be two new heads this year. Professor Slughorn had already been named to replace Snape as head of Slytherin House. Harry's stomach knotted every time he thought of Snape, of his treachery and deceit - and murder. He shook his head. Vengeance was a path leading only to ruin. If he was to fulfill his destiny as the destroyer of Voldemort, it must be out of a sense of duty, not revenge. There was a time not so long ago when he would have scoffed at the notion. Voldemort had killed Harry's parents, leaving him to be brought up by the Dursleys. That decision had ultimately been Dumbledore's, of course, and Harry knew now (as he had not until only recently) that it was the only decision the old wizard could have made under the circumstances. But it would not have been necessary if not for Voldemort.
Harry shook his head again. He had come out here to clear his thoughts, not burden them with such weighty matters. Sighing heavily, he stooped to pick up another small stone. He rolled the hard, round object in his palm, staring up at the darkening sky contemplatively. Lost in his musings, he was unaware that he was no longer alone until a quiet, throaty voice spoke from behind him.
"I can do that for you if you'd like."
Harry whirled suddenly. A girl with very long dirty-blonde hair was ambling toward him. Her eyes were so overlarge that they were easily visible in the gathering dusk, and she had a dreamy look on her face as she looked up at the sky before stopping in front of Harry. She smiled wanly, her pale face glowing in the twilight, and Harry responded in kind.
"Hi, Luna," he said. "How long have you been here?"
"Here?" Luna replied vacantly. "You mean, here in the village, or here as in here in the clearing with you?"
It was all Harry could do not to laugh. Luna Lovegood was in Ginny's year, though in Ravenclaw. She lived with her father in Ottery St. Catchpole (her mother was dead), one of only three wizarding families in the small village. The other, apart from the Weasleys, was the Fawcetts. To Harry's knowledge, they had no school-age children. Luna had been attending Hogwarts as long as Ginny, but Harry had met her for the first time only two years ago. There were times when Luna seemed as detached from reality as if she were a ghost who had lost her way on the path to the next world.
"Here with me," Harry said at last. "Been watching me practice, have you?"
"I hope you don't mind," Luna said.
"No," Harry said quickly. "Er - you said you wanted to help me practice?"
"Yes," Luna smiled. "It looks like you could do with a bit more height on your throws."
"I was thinking the same thing," Harry laughed. "How's your throwing arm?"
"Pretty good," Luna said. "I was asked to try out for Chaser on the Ravenclaw team last year, but I was never that enthusiastic about playing. I like to watch, though."
"Right," Harry said. He extended his hand, offering Luna the stone. She took it and examined it as though it were a perfect diamond and not a common pebble. At length she lifted her oversized eyes, which caught Harry's before turning skyward. Harry mounted his broom, and Luna hurled the stone high without warning.
Harry was off like a projectile. The stone had already begun its descent when Harry looped and sped downward. He reached out and plucked the stone from the air. A short distance below, Luna clapped. Harry smiled down on her, bowing his head.
"Have another go?" he asked. When Luna nodded, Harry dropped the stone carefully so that it fell a few feet in front of her. She picked it up and threw it over Harry's head. He turned quickly, his eyes straining to catch sight of the tiny object against the deepening gloom. The failing light, he decided, added to the challenge, offsetting the obvious drawbacks of not having a real Snitch to chase. He spotted the falling stone when it was less than six feet from the ground. His Firebolt instantly obeyed the forward lunge of his shoulders, exploding in a blur of motion. Harry caught the stone so close to the ground that the untrimmed grass tickled the back of his hand as the faux Snitch fell into his palm. He tucked and rolled, tumbling a few yards before rising smoothly to his knees, his prize held high.
Luna clapped with more enthusiasm than Harry expected. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation, he bowed.
"Does this mean that you're going to be playing Quidditch this year?" Luna asked as she walked over to Harry.
Standing up now, Harry said, "Hermione thinks it's a good idea. She says it'll keep me from becoming too serious over the school year if I have something to divert my attention from time to time."
"She's right," Luna said. "I've always believed that life shouldn't be taken too seriously. My mother told me that we only have a short time in this world, so we should enjoy every moment while we can."
Harry could not help staring at Luna with a sense of wonder. She looked every bit the essence of "Loony Lovegood," with her ever-surprised expression and her wand tucked absurdly behind her left ear. But she was wiser than anyone might have guessed from her outward appearance alone. The Sorting Hat had done a good job putting her in Ravenclaw.
"I guess I should be getting back," Harry said. The sun was now a red glow struggling to penetrate the thick branches, and stars were appearing in the Eastern sky. "Lots to do over the next few days."
"You mean Bill and Fleur's wedding," Luna said.
"You know about that?" Harry said.
"Oh, everyone knows," Luna said. "It'll be in all the papers and magazines. Daddy plans on making it the cover story in The Quibbler the week after next - unless something spectacular should come up at the last minute."
Like a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks chasing the Queen Mum through Buckingham Palace, Harry thought with a carefully concealed smile. Aloud, he asked, "Where will he be getting the details to write about if he's not there to see it?" This was a fair question, since Harry knew that only close friends were invited to the wedding. The Lovegoods might be neighbors, but Harry had never heard the Weasleys speak of them even in passing. Amos Diggory had mentioned the Lovegoods atop Stoat's Head Hill when Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys were preparing to portkey to the Quidditch World Cup three years ago. Had Ginny not introduced him to Luna more than a year later on the Hogwarts Express, Harry would never have known she existed at all.
"Oh, I expect he'll call the Weasleys by fire and ask them for the highlights," Luna shrugged. "And some of the guests, too, to add some varying perspectives. Daddy conducts most of his interviews that way. He's not too keen on going out. People make him nervous."
A sudden inspiration hit Harry. "Luna," he said, "how would you like to attend the wedding as my guest?"
"Your guest?" Luna repeated vaguely.
"Ginny said everyone's allowed to bring one guest if they want," Harry explained. "Everyone I would have asked will already be there. So - would you like to come? You can give your personal account of the ceremony. Your dad might even let you write the article, with your own by-line."
Luna regarded Harry closely for a long moment. Smiling warmly, she said, "That's very nice of you, Harry. Yes, I think I'd like that very much."
"Good," Harry said. "I'll let everyone know you're coming. The ceremony will be at 1:00 on Sunday, August 3rd, but you'll want to arrive early to get a good seat. Shall I come and get you?"
Harry realized even as he spoke that he had no idea where the Lovegoods lived. Ottery St. Catchpole was a small village, even by Muggle standards, but it didn't require much space to conceal the only three wizarding households in the vicinity. However, Harry judged that Luna must live close by; she carried no broomstick, and she was, like Ginny (and Harry himself), not yet of age to Apparate. She must therefore have walked from her house to the Weasleys' paddock, implying that the distance separating the two wizarding homes could not be excessive.
"That's okay," Luna said. "I'll meet you there." She paused before adding, "Thank you for asking me."
Waving his goodbye, Harry tucked his Firebolt under his arm and turned to walk back to the Burrow. He stood atop the rise, and looking back the way he had come, he saw Luna following him with her eyes (which were so large, he could see them clearly even in the gathering darkness). He waved again, and Luna waved back. Then he turned and descended the hill, leaving the paddock - and Luna - behind.