Mosquitoes Enlisted to Beat Malaria:

Bugs engineered to avoid transmitting the disease could outcompete bugs that do transmit it:

Malaria still kills more than a million people a year. Even though low-tech measures such as spraying insecticides and distributing treated bed netting to residents can reduce infection rates, poor countries, where most victims live, cannot afford them.
As an alternative strategy, researchers have tried for years to genetically engineer mosquitoes so they will not transmit the disease. Malaria is caused by protozoan parasites that reproduce inside human liver and red blood cells and are passed from person to person by female Anopheles mosquitoes. Although several research teams managed to insert genes into lab-bred mosquitoes that made the bugs less hospitable to the parasites, the altered strains did not reproduce or survive as well as wild strains did.
But last March microbiologist Marcelo Jacobs-Lorena of Johns Hopkins University announced results indicating that engineered insects could outsurvive wild ones. Jacobs-Lorena inserted a gene into Anopheles that directs production of a peptide called SM1, which manifests in the mosquito’s gut and prevents malaria parasites in rodents from reproducing. The Johns Hopkins team put the transgenic and natural mosquitoes in cages with malaria-infect-ed mice, on which the mosquitoes fed. Over time the mosquitoes reproduced. After nine generations, transgenic bugs made up 70 percent of the overall population. The disease-resistant strains not only competed with the wild ones but survived better.
The test did not prove that infection-resistance genes would spread in the wild, but it raised hope that mosquitoes doped with those genes would survive. Hardly a month later, however, biologist Bruce A. Hay of the California Institute of Technology presented evidence that engineered genes can indeed spread throughout a bug population. Working with fruit flies, Hay’s team combined a segment of non-coding RNA, known as a microRNA, with a gene that was critical to the development of fruit fly embryos; the researchers then altered that gene so that it was unaffected by the RNA. Next they released the fruit flies into cages with three times as many normal flies. As generations mixed, wild flies that incorporated the microRNA died because it destroyed their unprotected version of the critical developmental gene, whereas flies that bore the altered version of that gene were able to survive. After nine to 11 generations, all the offspring in the cage carried the human-made gene combination.

Usage clandestin des anabolisants:

Dérivés hormonaux fabriqués par les laboratoires pharmaceutiques à partir des années 50. Les anabolisants commencèrent à être utilisés par les sportifs de haute compétition dans les années 60. Schématiquement, les anabolisants permettent à l'organisme de mieux fixer les protéines consommées. Ils sont de véritables ''engrais des muscles''. Après une ''cure'', l'athlète peut augmenter son poids et sa force tout en réduisant les contraintes de l'entraînement. L'usage des anabolisants devint très vite la règle dans les spécialités requérant de la force, comme l'haltérophilie et les lancers (poids, disque ou marteau). Bientôt, tel ou tel athlète attribua publiquement ses performances à la vertu de cette ''potion magique''.

Mais dans le même temps, des médecins commençaient de s'inquiéter des conséquence de ces fameuses ''cures'' sur la santé des champions: plusieurs études ont mis en doute les ''bienfaits'' des anabolisants, et mis en évidence les dangers qu'ils font courir: rupture des tendons, fragilité des os, fatigue fréquente, malade de la prostate, virilisation des femmes, forte diminution de la fertilité et du désir sexuel chez les hommes, troubles caractériels.

Les statistiques et les enquêtes ont confirmé que l'abus, ou même simplement l'usage des anabolisants, est susceptible d'entraîner des conséquences très graves chez des athlètes en parfaite condition physique. Le désir légitime des athlètes et de leurs entraîneurs de remporter des succès flatteurs pour les uns et les autres (et aussi, il faut bien le dire, pour les pays dont les équipes portent les couleurs) n'a pu faire obstacle à une mesure qu'exigeait le bon sens ; malgré l'opposition de quelques irréductibles prêts à sacrifier la santé des athlètes pour la gloire de remporter une épreuve ou de battre un record, l'usage des anabolisants fut unanimement condamné au début des années 70.

Toutefois, cette condamnation officielle ne pouvait empêcher l'usage clandestin des anabolisants; comment en effet contrôler le régime auquel étaient soumis les champoings? Il fallut attendre 1973 pour qu'une méthode de détection efficace soit mise au point par des chercheurs britanniques. Les instances sportives internationales hésitèrent néanmoins à pratiquer des dépistages systématiques dés cette époque, car le procédé permettait seulement de déceler des emplois récents, mais non une utilisation plus ancienne des produits interdits. Les contrôles n'ont été généralisés que pour les jeux Olympiques de Montréal en 1976, à la suite du perfectionnement des procédés de détection.

Reste que, pendant longtemps, les mailles du contrôle ont été trop lâche pour inquiéter véritablement les tricheurs. Ainsi, après les lancers et l'haltérophilie, ce sont les épreuves combinées, le saut à la perche, la boxe, le judo, le hockey sur glace, le cyclisme,l'aviron, le patinage et la natation qui ont été contaminés. Avec un seul but; gagner, à l'encontre de toute éthique sportive.

Progrès scientifique et bonheur humain:

Comprendre quelque chose, si peu que ce soit, à l'univers, c'est indispensable au plus grand bonheur, ou au moindre malheur des hommes. Les amateurs de paradoxe peuvent prétendre que les Européens étaient plus heureux aux temps des croisades, ou au temps de Louis quatorze ; mais s'ils étaient obligés de se loger, de se nourrir, de se vêtir et de voyager comme au Moyenne Age ou au dix-septième siècle, ces mêmes amateurs gémiraient, s'indigneraient. Si les hommes sont moins malheureux que leurs aïeux, c'est, c'est parce que la science a fait des progrès.

En effet, la science marche avec une rapidité déconcertante, et cependant, elle est bien jeune encore. Thalès et Archimède, malgré tout leur génie, ne savaient rien de ce qu'on enseigne aujourd'hui à l'école primaire. Le plus ignorant des bacheliers sait quantité de choses que Galilée ignorait totalement. De Franklin à Einstein, il n'y a pas tout à fait cent cinquante ans, et en cent cinquante ans, quel pas de géant! Il n'y avait ni plaéonotologie, ni bactériologie, ni photographie, ni aviation, ni voies ferrées, ni analyse spectrale. Ainsi l'époque scientifique de l'humanité n'a guère plus de cent cinquante ans; cent cinquante ans, quatre générations humaines; ce n'est rien.

La course se précipite. Nous allons vers la connaissance des choses en progression géométrique et non arithmétique. Nous pouvons donc admettre que l'homme exerça un jour, grâce à la richesse croissante des acquisitions scientifiques, une domination souveraine sur la matière brute ou vivante, hostile ou favorable, qui l'entoure.

A vrai dire, cependant, la civilisation scientifique ne signifie pas tout à fait le bonheur; en effet, il se trouve qu'au lieu de profiter de leurs connaissances, souvent les hommes ont mal employé les ressources que leur a apportées un labeur scientifique prolongé. Si les avions ne devaient servir qu'à bombarder les villes, l'aviation serait une funeste découverte. Si les progrès de la chimie consistaient à produire des gaz nocifs, après à détruire en quelques minutes un régiment, la chimie serait une science maudite. Donc la civilisation, dans le sens légitime de ce mot, c'est-à-dire une plus grande somme de bonheur pour nos vies humaines, ne consiste pas seulement dans la connaissance des chocs. Il faut quelque chose de plus ; c'est le sens de la discipline morale, la notion de solidarité et de fraternité humaine, le respect du droit.

Ainsi notre proposition; le bonheur des hommes dépend des progrès de la connaissance, est vraie, mais à condition qu'on ajoute ce correctif essentiel que le bonheur des hommes ne dépend pas uniquement des progrès de la connaissance. La science est donc un bonheur humain une condition nécessaire, amis non suffisante

Vous croyez qu’un gisement de pétrole est une sorte de poche souterraine !!

On d’imagine volontiers, sur la foi des images des films américains, qu’il suffit de percer un trou au bon endroit pour que lé pétrole, spontanément jaillisse de terre. Il vari que, dans la plupart des cas, la pression des gaz dissous suffit à propulser l’huile vers la surface. Mais on ne recueille guère ainsi que le dixième de tout la pétrole contenu dans le gisement. C’est pourquoi, très vite, on a commencé à pomper. Ensuite, on a eu l’idée d’injecter de l’eau pour remplacer le pétrole qu’on retirait, afin de maintenir constante la pression au sein du gisement. Mais même la combinaison de ces procédés ne permet pas de récupérer plus de vingt-cinq à trente pour cent, en moyenne, du pétrole disponible, le reste est perdu.

Ces chiffres laissent rêveur. On évalue à trente-cinq milliards de tonnes tout le pétrole consommé depuis les débuts de son exploitation industrielle, der 1860 à 1970. Cela signifie qu’au moins cent milliards de tonnes continuent à dormir sous terre, dans des gisements .or, rien qu’au Canada, ces gisements représentent environ cent cinquante milliards de mètres cubes. Par comparaison, les réserves de pétrole actuellement disponibles au Moyen-Orient, le plus grand réservoir de la planète, sont estimées à soixante milliards de mètres cubes.

S’il doit y avoir pénurie de pétrole aux alentours des années 1990 ,comme nous en menacent les économistes, ce n’est donc pas parce que le monde manque de pétrole. Seuls font défaut les moyens de le récupérer. Et c’est ici que la science intervient.

Il ne faut pas se représenter un gisement de pétrole comme une sorte de poche souterraine dans laquelle il suffirait de puiser le liquide. C’est au contraire une masse rocheuse compacte, qui se comporte comme une éponge. Le pétrole y est dispersé en une infinité de minuscules gouttelettes, dans des pores dont le calibre va du dixième de millimètre au dixième de millionième de millimètre. C’est pourquoi l’eau que l’on injecte ne suffit pas à l’évacuer. Elle se faufile le long des fissures et remonte en surface par les puits d’extraction sans avoir eu le temps de nettoyer la roche en profondeur.

Première solution étudiée ; rendre l’eau visqueuse, aussi visqueuse que l’huile, en dissolvant dedans certaines substances chimiques appelées polymères. On espère ralentir ainsi sa circulation dans la roche et l’obliger à chasser devant elle le pétrole. L’expérience est en cours.

Une deuxième solution consiste à diluer le pétrole, normalement insoluble, dans l’eau. Il existe pour cela des corps dits tensio-actifs. Ce sont ceux qui servent à fabriquer les shampooings de qualité. Quand ils sont convenablement dosés, ils favorisent un mélange intime de l’eau et de l’huile, qui se comporte alors comme un liquide unique. On injecte d’abord des corps tensio-actifs pour ‘’laver’’ la roche, puis un bouchon d’eau visqueuse pour pousser le mélange vers les puits d’extraction. Deux mois après le début de l’injection, la proportion d’huile dans les puits a commencé à augmenter. Au lieu des dix pour cent de pétrole normalement contenus dans l’eau, on est passé progressivement à quarante pour cent.

On a également imaginé d’injecter de la vapeur d’eau, qui fluidifie le pétrole en le réchauffant. Le procédé est utiliser assez couramment en Amérique du Nord, mais seulement dans les couches de sable. On peut aussi obtenir ce réchauffement en faisant brûler une partie de pétrole au sein même du gisement, après injection d’oxygène.

Enfin, il est possible, de dissoudre le pétrole dans des gaz, notamment le gaz carbonique. Pour les huiles lourdes, c’est sans doute la seule solution.

Il n’existe pas de recettes passe-partout, parce qu’il y a pas deux gisements qui se ressemble. Il faut multiplier les expériences. Voir ce qu’il est possible de récupérer cas par cas. Et, surtout, à quel prix. Car, quelle que soit la méthode retenue, elle implique de lourdes dépenses qui pèseront inévitablement sur le prix de revient du pétrole. Ce n’est pas un hasard si personne, dans le monde, n’a encore dépassé le stade des installations pilotes.

Mais les besoins sont tels que, au fur et à mesure que s’épuiseront les réserves classiques. On sera bien content de se rabattre alors sur ce que tout le monde appelle déjà le ‘’nouveau pétrole’’

Les inconvénients de tourisme :

On se rend compte en voyageant de la richesse, précaire il est vrai, que le tourisme apporte à certains pays plus pourvus de soleil que de ressources naturelles, mais on constate aussi qu'il s'accompagne d'une méconnaissance totale de l'originalité culturelle de ces pays, et qu'il peut avoir des effets pernicieux sur l'évolution de la mentalité des populations bénéficiant du pactole touristique.

Pour ce qui concerne le premier de ces inconvénients, il convient de déplorer l'installation, dans le monde entier, de luxueux hôtels construit dans un style uniforme, s'inspirant rarement de l'architecture locale, où l'on sert une cuisine insipide dans les salles à manger dont l'air ne peut être que conditionné, même si la température extérieure ne le justifie pas. Enfermés dans ces ghettos, transportés en car à travers les pays visités, les touristes n'ont aucun contact avec les réalités de la vie quotidienne de la population locale, qui, en retour ne les considère que comme des distributeurs d'argent.

J'en viens ainsi au second inconvénient, lié au fait que, dans les pays pauvres, les habitants qui voient vivre les étrangers dans ces coûteux hôtels dont ils assurent le service n'en ressentent que plus vivement leur propre misère. Certains d'entre eux choisissent de devenir des parasites du tourisme et de soutirer le maximum d'argent à l'Occidental de passage, apparemment si riche. Comment n'en irait-il pas ainsi si l'on songe qu'en Inde, par exemple, le transport de deux ou trois valises sur cent mètres peut faire gagner un pourboire représentant toute une journée de dur travail chez un employeur local? Le risque est grand de fausser ainsi le sens des valeurs traditionnelles dans les populations qui comprennent mal l'énorme décalage entre les sommes qu'elles voient dépenser sous leurs yeux et leurs propres ressources.

Il faudrait que les investisseurs, d'une part, les gouvernements intéressées, d'autre part, optent pour une infrastructure hôtelière conçue en fonction du site et du mode de vie du pays considéré et non pas selon des normes nord-américaines avec tarifs à l'avénant ; il, est insensé de payer une chambre trente ou cinquante dollars par jour dans ces pays où le revenu annuel par habitant est de trois ou quatre cents dollars.

Ce tourisme de luxe tue peu à peu le véritable tourisme, qui est avant tout expérience personnelle du voyage, et qui, par la même, devrait être encouragé et développé.

Et, d'autre part, ce n'est pas en catapultant à l'autre bout du monde dans les charters, des groupes compacts d'Américains, français, d'Allemands et autres Occidentaux, en les installant dans le même petit confort qu'ils viennent de quitter et en leur évitant soigneusement les aléas du dépaysement, que l'on contribuera à faire découvrir et comprendre les multiples aspects de pays et de sociétés totalement différents. A cet égard le tourisme de masse est un leurre, car il n'exige ni effort d'adaptation et de contact, ni initiative de la part de ceux qui le pratiquement; il risque donc d'élargir davantage encore le fossé entre nantis et pauvres.

La réduction des tarifs aériens sur certains parcours et les billets de groupes sont une excellente chose puisqu'ils facilitent les voyages. Mais il faut assurer parallèlement l'éducation du voyageur en puissance, lui apprendre à partir seul à la découverte d'un pays nouveau, étant entendu qu'il doit trouver au bout de la route gîte et couvert dans des conditions agréables, amis non luxueuses, correspondant aux traditions locales, et à la portée de sa bourse.

Fossé entre générations: travail

Autrefois, un homme pouvait passer son existence sans s'apercevoir d'un quelconque changement; il apprenait un métier, et son expérience restait valable sa vie durant. Il pouvait former des jeunes, qui recevaient de lui toute leur éducation professionnelle. Pour la culture de la terre, la tradition jouait un grand rôle, et le caractère clos des sociétés rurales ne permettait pas aux jeunes d'en savoir plus que leurs parents ou leurs proches. Aucunes fenêtre, pas d'écran de télévision pour les éclairer sur d'autres formes de sa vie agricole; s'il en résultait une forme prosaïque de sagesse, la contrepartie en était la stagnation technique, on peut en dire autant de la quasi-totalité des métiers; dans les centres urbaines, dans les agglomérations industrielles, les artisans les techniciens, eux aussi, apprenaient leur profession pour la vie. Quand des changements apparaissaient, ils étaient assez lents pour que l'on pût s'y adapter facilement.

Actuellement, c'est l'opposé. Toute se transforme très vite. Aucun emploi n'est assuré indéfiniment, surtout dans les techniques de pointes, qui regroupent déjà, aux Etats-Unis, plus de la moitié des travailleurs. Certains métiers déclinent progressivement, d'autres apparaissent, passent par une période éclatante, puis à leur tour pâlissent. On a vu en France, ces dernières années, une demande énorme de techniciens dans l'électronique, puis dans l'informatique, avec des salaires exorbitants. Il n'est pas certain que dans dix ans, tous ces techniciens puissent poursuivre la carrière qui leur a rapporté les gros salaires et les satisfactions personnelles du début.

Je connais bien un électronicien qui fut remarquable après la guerre comme réalisateur, ainsi que comme éducateur; il initiait les étudiants aux techniques nouvelles de l'électronique. La voilà, vingt-cinq ou trente ans plus tard, proche de la retraite. Il est encore assez amoureux de son métier pour ne pas songer à l'abandonner, mais dans le centre de recherches où il travaille, il n'est plus écouté par les jeunes techniciens. On ne le consulte plus; son autorité est tombée. Il poursuit dans un local exigu, en solitaire, des travaux qui m'intéressent plus grand monde. C'est que les progrès techniques ont été trop rapides pour qu'il s'y adapte. Cet exemple est très frappant. Il montre à quel point le fossé entre les générations est profond, non seulement sur les plans de la réflexion, du mode de vie et de pensée, mais aussi sur celui de l'existence professionnelle.

Il résulte d'un tel état de fait que l'autorité, en matière de technique, ou dans l'exercice d'un métier, n'est plus fondée sur la seule expérience, et que, au lieu de s'accroître , elle disparaît avec l'âge. C'est grave, car il s'agit d'un véritable changement dans l'échelle des valeurs sociales.

chapter 21

Harry’s irritation fizzled. He was very glad Ron and not one of the
girls had found him on the floor.

“I’m sick of that bed,” he mumbled, hanging his head. His legs were
shaking so badly he could feel his knees knocking together.

“I know you are,” Ron said quietly. They’d reached the wall, but Ron
was now supporting Harry’s full weight. “Are you going to continue
being a pillock about walking, or can I Levitate you back to the bed?”

“You’re not Levitating me,” Harry said, snorting. “I’ve seen your
Levitation Charms, remember?”

Ron grinned. “Better be nice to me, mate. I’m not one of the girls –
I’d really drop you.”

Harry chuckled, hating the exhaustion fighting to claim him.

“Accio Hover Chair,” Ron said.

A floating cushioned-chair appeared in the doorway. Harry thought it
resembled something that belonged in a pool. Ron lifted him up and
plopped him onto the chair. Using his wand to direct it, he turned the
chair around, and they moved into the corridor.

“We’re leaving?” Harry asked, both excited and alarmed. He’d
desperately wanted out of that room, but he knew the reporters had been
hovering. He really didn’t want to deal with any of them yet. In the
quietness of his room, he could deny the reality of everything that had
happened for a little while longer.

“We’re not going far,” Ron said. “There’re only a few patients in this
section, and you have to go through a security check to get here. I
thought you wanted out.”

“I do!” Harry said eagerly, his tiredness rapidly replaced by open
curiosity. Ron pushed him from the lushness of the Minister’s Suite into the cold, antiseptic hallway. Even magic couldn’t erase the
sterile feel of a hospital. “Who else do they have hidden here?”

“Malfoy’s in that room,” Ron said, nodding toward the closed door next
to Harry’s. “I hear he’s been talking loads of rubbish about the
deplorable conditions. You know Malfoy.”

“I want to talk to him,” Harry said.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Harry. Wait until you’re fully recovered,”
Ron said, scowling.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied.

“Sure you are,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. Still, he stopped the Hover
Chair and knocked on the door before pushing it open. “Oi, Malfoy!
Believe it or not, you’ve got visitors.”

Draco was lying in bed in a much smaller and less lavish room than the
one Harry was using. Harry felt heat creeping up his neck, and he was
eternally grateful that Malfoy didn’t know about the difference…or
maybe he did. It was certainly something Ron would enjoy lording over
him.

Draco looked waxy and pale against the crisp white hospital linen. Much
of the usual vigor and venom seemed to have drained from his eyes. He
turned his head to listlessly stare at them.

“Oh, look. It’s Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Can this trip down the
rabbit hole get any worse?” he asked, rolling his eyes but never
raising his head from the pillow.

“Does that make you the Mad Hatter?” Ron asked, sniggering.


“Since when do you two know about Muggle children’s stories?” Harry
asked, feeling nettled at seeing the Slytherin boy looking so weak. It
was unnerving.

Draco scowled, but Ron stared at Harry blankly. “That’s a Wizarding
children’s story about a Muggle girl who accidentally stumbled across
the Wizengamot.”

Harry shook his head. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, I think even your lame power of deductive reasoning can figure
that one out, Potter. I had my insides physically pulled out because I
helped you. How do you think I’m doing?” Draco asked scornfully.

Harry swallowed heavily but fought the piles of guilt Draco was trying
to lay on him. He’d had enough guilt to last a lifetime. “Thanks for
helping with the Occlumency. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Without any of you,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well, it’s over now, and you’re everybody’s hero – again.
Doesn’t do much for the rest of us, does it?” Draco asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked. “Harry and Hermione both
saved your useless arse. You’re alive, you’re no longer being hunted,
and you’re free to go back to your life and do whatever it is you do.”

“Yeah, I’m free,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “My mother’s dead, the
woman I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with is dead, and
it’ll take me months to recover enough to take care of myself properly.
My life is just perfect.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked quietly.

“It’s not like I have a choice. The Ministry still hasn’t released its
hold on Malfoy Manor, and I can’t go there alone in my condition,
anyway. So, I’m forced to rely on the pity of distant relatives,” Draco
said, gritting his teeth. “My mother’s sister, Andromeda, and her
Muggle-born husband have agreed to take me in – under the condition
that they’ll be well-reimbursed for my care.”

Ron’s expression turned gleeful. “D’you mean to tell me that you’re
being looked after by your aunt and uncle – your Muggleborn uncle – who
most likely blame you for the death of their daughter?”

Draco scowled. “What of it?”

“Well…at least they probably won’t make you live in a cupboard,” Ron
said, obviously delighted by the irony.

Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry before his expression darkened. “Get out.
Now. GET OUT!”

“Go, Ron – just go,” Harry said, before Ron could continue antagonizing
Draco. It wasn’t as if Draco wouldn’t have done the same thing to Ron –
wasn’t as if he hadn’t done the same in the past – but he’d still
helped Harry in the end, and Harry couldn’t forget that.

Ron moved the Hover Chair back into the Minister’s Suite while Harry
fought the fatigue that was finally overwhelming him. He barely
remembered how he actually got back into bed before the darkness
claimed him once again.

**--**--

Several days later, Harry’s sleep was broken by a loud clicking sound,
startling him into full alertness. He rolled over quickly and fumbled
on the nightstand for his glasses. He heard a male voice utter a
locking spell and a loud grunt as something was wedged in the door.
Harry’s heart beat frantically as he stuffed his glasses onto his face.
He was dismayed to realize his wand wasn’t on the table. He was
trapped.

Turning slowly to face his attacker, he was blinded by several bright
flashes of light. He squinted, his panicked brain gradually focusing on
the camera and the Quick-Quotes Quill hovering beside the intruder.

“Harry, I’ve got a family to support and a quote from you can feed ‘em
for a year. Just one more photo,” the reporter said, the camera
continuing to click as Harry turned his face away. He tried to pull the blanket up to cover his useless arm. He felt incredibly exposed sitting
there in his pajamas.

“Open this door! Alohomora,” a stern voice shouted from outside the
thick hospital door. Harry noticed the reporter had wedged a chair
behind it.

“They can undo the magic, but the Muggle tricks always slow ‘em down,”
the reporter said, grinning. He was tall and reedy with extremely slick
hair that he wore combed over to the side to try and cover the balding
spot atop his head. “How does it feel to have defeated the Dark Lord,
Harry? How did you do it? Did you have to use Dark Magic to accomplish
it? Everyone is speculating on how You-Know-Who actually fell. Tell me
about it – in your own words.”

“Get out,” Harry said, his teeth clenched.

“One quote, Harry,” he said, ignoring Harry’s anger. The Quill
scribbled madly despite the fact Harry had only said two words. “What’s
wrong with your arm? Why are you still hospitalized? Will there be
permanent damage from the battle?”

“Get out,” Harry repeated, yanking open the drawer on the bedside table
and searching for his wand.

The door behind the reporter suddenly imploded, blasting shards
everywhere. The reporter was knocked to the ground, his camera skidding
across the floor. An enraged Charlie Weasley stood behind it, his arms
bulging, and his wand gripped tightly in his hand. He was covered with
soot, which Harry barely recognized at first because he was so focused
on the murderous expression on Charlie’s face.

Charlie grabbed the reporter around the neck and hoisted him to his
feet. The man scrambled frantically, his face awash with terror. Harry
leaned over and picked up the camera, holding it tightly while Charlie
confiscated the Quick-Quotes Quill.

“How did you get in here?” Charlie demanded.

“The people deserve some answers,” the man gasped, struggling to
breathe. Charlie had him pinned against the wall with his forearm
pressed against his throat.

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley,” an Auror said, entering the room, his
crisp Ministry robes neatly pressed. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Yeah, as if I trust you can do that. Where was the guard?” Charlie
snapped.

Harry could tell the man was blushing deeply, despite his dark skin.

“There will be a full investigation,” he said. “Please release him, Mr.
Weasley. I don’t want to have to Stun you.”

“You could try,” Charlie said through gritted teeth. He pressed his arm
tighter against the reporter’s throat. The reporter’s eyes bulged with
horror, and he desperately grasped at Charlie’s fingers.
“Come on, Charlie,” the Auror said, dropping his formal tone. “Everyone
needs to use the loo. I’ll take it from here and make certain the guard
is firmly reprimanded.”

Charlie let go with a snarl, and the reporter slumped to the floor.
“You do that, and see to it that his camera and Quill are erased before
they’re returned.”

“You can’t do that,” the reporter whined.

“Watch me,” Charlie snapped. Taking the camera from Harry, he raised
his wand and blasted the camera into smithereens.

The Auror roughly dragged the swearing reporter outside as he continued
to threaten to press charges.

Harry was slightly taken aback by Charlie’s intensity. True, it had
been a rude awakening, and Harry really didn’t want to talk to any
reporters, but Charlie’s reaction seemed over the top. Even now, he was
pacing in front of the ruined door like a caged animal.

“All right, Charlie?” Harry asked tentatively. “He was a nuisance, I
know, but he’s just a reporter. I suppose I should just talk to them
and get it over.”

Harry was startled when Ginny appeared in the doorway, looking just as
smudged and rumpled as Charlie. She sprinted in the room and flung
herself at Harry, her eyes raking over him as her hands rapidly
smoothed his hair.

“Are you all right?” she cried.

“Of course I’m all right,” Harry said, growing increasingly baffled.
“He just caught me off guard – I was sleeping. What are you two on
about? One of those reporters was bound to get lucky sooner or later.
They’ve been trying to sneak in here for ages.”

“It makes no difference that it was only a reporter,” Ginny cried. “He
never should have got inside. It could have been a Death Eater. They
promised top-notch security.”

“Death Eater?” Harry asked, feeling as he’d just been punched in the
gut. His heart began beating very fast. “I thought there weren’t any
left.”

Both Ginny and Charlie started and averted their eyes. A wave of
uneasiness overcame Harry, and he suddenly felt very nauseous. No one
was going to make him go back into that kind of fear.

“Some of the few scattered Death Eaters who managed to escape alive
have regrouped,” Charlie said reluctantly. He refused to meet Harry’s
eyes as he spoke. “They’re insisting Voldemort will return like he did
before. They think you know more than you’re telling.”

“The Burrow was attacked this morning,” Ginny said softly, blinking
tears from her eyes. No! It’s over. Harry’s mind raced. It wasn’t supposed to happen this
way. Voldemort was dead – it was over and his life was supposed to
really begin now. It was over!

“Take it easy, Harry,” Ginny whispered, rubbing his back soothingly.
Her hand brushed against his injured arm, causing his fingers to
tingle.

He was so caught up in the news that he barely noticed it. “Is everyone
okay?” he asked.

“Everyone is fine,” Charlie said. “Bill’s working on strengthening the
wards. Ron and Fred are helping him. Ginny and I brought George in to
have his new leg fitted and check on you. It’s a good thing we did.”

“Do you think the reporter’s timing was coincidental?” Harry asked, the
full implication of what could have happened finally penetrating his
foggy brain.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out. I’m going to go Floo Kingsley
directly. I’ll be back,” Charlie said, nodding at Ginny before he left.

“Well, you certainly keep life exciting, don’t you?” Ginny asked,
grinning as she nudged him with her hip. “Budge over.”

Harry’s face brightened as he quickly complied. She sat on the bed and
leaned back so she was lying alongside him, resting her head on his
shoulder. She was on his bad side, so he couldn’t wrap his arm around
her and settled for kissing the top of her head instead.

“When am I getting out of here?” he murmured, delighting in the warmth
of her body pressed against his own.

Ginny sighed, and he felt her stiffen. “I don’t know, Harry.”

He didn’t like the tone in her voice. “What d’you mean? I thought I was
getting the all clear some time this week?”

Physically, he felt much better and was beyond anxious to leave the
hospital. He’d been up several more times since the original journey
with Ron, and could even roam the corridors on his own. The nausea was
virtually gone, and the bruises that had covered his entire body had
faded to a sickly yellow.

The only thing still left uncertain was his arm. Repairing the nerve
damage was a slow and meticulous procedure, and the Healers still
wouldn’t commit to a prognosis. They were encouraged by the fact that
his shoulder felt sore and achy after each healing attempt. Harry
suspected that only Healers would think pain was a good thing.

“That was the plan,” Ginny said. “Mum is dying to get her hands on you
and had your room all ready, but now…”

“Now, no one thinks it’s safe enough for me to go to the Burrow,” Harry
said dully. He knew the routine. He’d been here many times before. Why
had he really believed things were going to change?
“Don’t you dare start brooding on me now, Harry Potter,” Ginny said
fiercely, her eyes blazing as she turned to grasp his shoulders. “If
not the Burrow, then we’ll go somewhere else…together. Do you hear me?
It is different now, and you’re not going back to the Dursleys alone to
recover. Not now – not ever again.”

Harry smiled, although his heart wasn’t really in it. She somehow
always managed to know exactly what was on his mind.

“All right,” he said, “but soon. I’m tired of this place.”

“Tired of this place, are you?” Ginny asked, raising her eyebrow at the
vast splendor of the room. “This luxury isn’t good enough for you,
dear? Your pillow isn’t fluffed just so, and the chocolates aren’t to
your liking?”

“Oh, ho, very funny,” Harry said, pulling a face. “You wouldn’t like
being cooped up in here any better than I do.”

“That’s true,” Ginny said, ruffling his hair. “Although I’m thrilled to
see you with some color back in your face and feeling spunky, I knew it
would mean we couldn’t keep you tucked away any longer.”

“I want to see what’s happening – how everything is being put back
together,” he replied.

“I know. The Ministry is fully up and running. The first Death Eater
trials are supposed to start in September,” Ginny said. “Dad says
everyone is really eager to put all the bad behind them and start
rebuilding.”

“What are they doing about Azkaban?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Some of the Dementors returned
and took up their old posts, but others are still roaming free. I don’t
think anyone really knows what to do with them.”

Harry nodded, silently pondering. “How bad is the Burrow?” he asked.

He knew if there had been any serious injuries they would have told
him, but he dreaded hearing about the damage to the Weasleys’ newly-
renovated home. Mrs. Weasley had proudly told him every minute detail
of the work being done each time she’d visited him.

Ginny shrugged. “None of us were hurt, and that’s the important thing.”

Harry scowled and raised his eyebrows.

“All right, all right. There’s a bit of fire and spell damage. Mum’s
kitchen is a mess, but nothing that can’t be fixed,” she said
hurriedly, trying to calm his building eruption.

Harry swore. “Your mother’s kitchen? Damn it, Ginny. She was so proud
of that.”
“I know it, but she’s prouder of all of us. She can rebuild the kitchen
again. Trust me, she’s much happier knowing you’re coming home, that
George is getting fitted with a new leg, and that Fleur wasn’t in the
house at the time ‘in her condition,’” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Harry smirked, imagining Mrs. Weasley’s fussing over Fleur and how it
would test Ginny’s patience. “Where was Fleur?”

“She and Bill rented a flat here in London. I think Fleur refused to be
anywhere near a chicken,” Ginny said, crossing her arms.

“I thought you and Fleur were getting along?” Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged, waving her hand in the air. “She’s all right, and she
does love my brother. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t get on my nerves
sometimes. She’s such a princess.”

Harry grinned, wisely refraining from commenting. Ginny elbowed him in
the ribs, anyway.

“Shut it, you,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry said, his voice raised an octave higher
than he would have liked.

“You were thinking it,” Ginny replied.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his mind drifting back to the Burrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ginny said, snuggling closer to him. “Bill will
get the wards fixed, and it’ll be perfectly safe. Leticia Warbanks and
the Order are obviously extra concerned about you since the Death
Eaters want to get to you so you’ll tell them where Voldemort is.”

“He’s in hell,” Harry spat.

Ginny gently ran her hand along his chest, soothing him.

Despite the turmoil in his mind, his body had become very aware of how
closely Ginny was pressed against him. He rolled slightly to his side
and ran his hand along the bare flesh on her arm. Ginny moved her head
so their gazes locked intensely for a brief moment. Her eyes briefly
flickered to Harry’s mouth before he leaned over and captured her lips
in a searing kiss.

She opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. She tasted warm and sweet and
exactly how he remembered. His entire body thrummed with need and
longing as he stretched his arm across his body and ran his fingers
through her silky hair.

Perhaps it was only because it had been so bloody long since he’d been
able to do this, but the kiss was somehow more intense than ever – full
of hope, and promise and…possibilities. A thrill of excitement
fluttered in his belly as he realized that she was finally, truly his.
The Death Eaters might not have given up, but the threat that she would
be snatched away from him if he let himself go was past.
Harry thrilled in the knowledge as he wrapped her possessively in his
embrace. She was leaning on his bad arm an, through his impassioned
haze, he once again felt that tingling sensation all the way down to
his fingers. It was the fact that he felt them move that caused him to
startle and pull back from the kiss.

“Harry,” Ginny moaned, seeking his lips again.

“My fingers moved,” he said blankly.

Ginny pulled herself into a seated position. “What?” she asked
breathlessly.

Despite his shock and euphoria over his fingers, her swollen lips and
the way her hair was wildly tousled pleased him, and his chest swelled
with pride. She looked like someone who had been thoroughly, properly
kissed – and he had done that.

“My fingers moved,” he repeated, glancing at his limp hand. He tried
unsuccessfully to move them again. They remained still, but he could
definitely feel that tingling sensation throughout his entire arm and
hand.

“Are you certain?” she asked, the hope radiating from her eyes. “I
mean…that was rather intense.”

Color rushed to her cheeks, and Harry grinned cheekily.

“It was, wasn’t it?” he asked, beaming. “They definitely moved, and I
can feel pins and needles now.”

“I’ll go get the Healer,” Ginny said, standing.

“No,” Harry said, grabbing her hand with his good one. “Come back over
here. All the Healers will do is poke and prod to get the same results.
I like your method better.”

“Prat!” Ginny giggled, sitting back on the edge of his bed and leaning
over to kiss him again.

They had barely resumed their activities when the sound of a throat
clearing in the doorway caused them to spring apart. Harry glanced up
warily to see Charlie looking at the floor and scratching his very red
neck.

He felt heat rushing to his face, wondering why Charlie hadn’t already
hauled him out of the bed and pummeled him. Perhaps he looked weaker
than he thought, stuck in the hospital bed. He never thought he’d be
grateful for anyone thinking him weak, but there you go.

“Nice timing, Charlie,” Ginny said, standing up to straighten her
clothes. She didn’t appear embarrassed or at all concerned about
Charlie’s temper.

“We’re so sorry to interrupt,” Leticia Warbanks said, following Charlie
into the room. Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s nice to see
you’re obviously feeling better, Harry.”
This time, Ginny did blush – thoroughly. Harry could feel the heat
radiating from her body, and knew his coloring must have matched the
Weasley red. They’d just been caught snogging in the Minister’s Suite
at St. Mungo’s by the Minister for Magic herself. No one could ever say
his life wasn’t interesting.

“Are you two going to greet the Minister?” Charlie asked, his voice
dripping with sarcasm.

“Leave them alone. They’re embarrassed enough,” Leticia said, sweeping
into the room and taking a seat by Harry’s bed. “I’m here to discuss
some future arrangements.”

Harry looked up sharply, pushing his awkwardness aside. He wasn’t about
to allow anyone to shunt him away again. It was over. Things were going
to change.

“What kind of arrangements?” he asked warily.

“No need to be so tense, Harry,” Leticia said, smiling knowingly. “I
think you might actually be pleased with these plans.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, still doubtful.

“Andromeda Tonks owns a holiday home off the mainland in Spain in the
Mediterranean Sea. The island is called Formentera, and, although
secluded, it is still a Muggle area so use of magic is frowned upon.
Andromeda has agreed to take in her nephew whilst he recovers, and
she’s also offered to open up her home to you and your three friends
involved in You-Know-Who’s demise until the trials commence.

“There will, of course, be a Hearing, but it’s merely a formality
whilst we have time to gather up the remaining Death Eaters. It will
offer you some privacy whilst you fully recover and allow the proper
wards and protections to be placed on your home, Miss Weasley.”


Leticia spoke as if someone used to making decisions and having them
followed. It was a decent plan, and the idea of a seaside holiday was
appealing. He’d never before had a proper holiday, and he and Ginny had
certainly enjoyed their beach in the Room of Requirement.

“I believe you were familiar with Andromeda’s daughter, and she also
said you were close to one of her cousins. If it’s all right with you,
I’ll have the arrangements made, and you can leave within the next few
days,” Leticia said.

“All right,” Harry said, nodding.

“Very well. I’ll be speaking with you again soon. Good day,” Leticia
said, sweeping from the room.

Harry was still mulling over the offer. It was a chance to be alone
with Ginny at the beach – only having one brother to avoid rather than
five. Where was the down side? Perhaps Ron might even be so distracted
by Hermione that he’d give Harry and Ginny some privacy…
Charlie seemed to know exactly where Harry’s thoughts were leading.
“Don’t even think about it, Potter,” he said, scowling. “Bill might be
too distracted by Fleur and the baby at the moment, but that doesn’t
mean I can’t pop in to check on you – at any undisclosed time.”

“Get over yourself, Charlie,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “You’re
never very good at playing the overprotective role. I know exactly what
you got up to when you were our age. Did Mum ever learn the full story
about Alfreda Dobbins?”

Charlie blanched. “How do you know about…” he asked, trailing off with
widening eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginny said with a wave of her hand. “You used
the treehouse, Charlie! It’s full of holes.”

“Listen to me, Ginny,” Charlie said, his ears as red as Ron’s sometimes
turned.

“I’ve never said anything,” Ginny replied, smiling sweetly. “You keep
my secrets, I keep yours. That’s how it works.”

“That was a long time ago,” Charlie said, his teeth clenched. Harry’s
head was bobbing back and forth between the two as if watching a tennis
match.

“True, but Mum would be mortified to know she stood in front of all
those neighbors swearing you didn’t even know Alfreda, and it was so
far from the truth,” Ginny said, her smile growing threatening. “I
think you’ll do your best to convince Mum that letting Ron and I go
along with Harry is a grand idea.”

Charlie looked as if he was about to hit her before a slow grin spread
across his wide face. “Some Muggle test proved Ritchie Cortland was
that baby’s father, anyway. Well done,” he said. “I don’t think even
Fred and George have managed to hold their own when I’ve been really
angry.”

“That’s because your arm is the size of a tree trunk,” Ginny said,
rolling her eyes. “They’re far from stupid. Come on, Charlie.”

“All right,” Charlie said. “I don’t think Mum will have a problem with
it, anyway. It’s not like you’ll be unsupervised. Ted and Andromeda
Tonks will be there.”

If Andromeda Tonks was anything like her daughter or Sirius, Harry
didn’t think she’d be much of a hindrance.

“Excellent,” Ginny said, her eyes twinkling. If the expression on
Ginny’s face was any indication, she was as eager as he was to get away
from the vast number of Weasleys and share some private time with him.

Harry liked that idea very much.

Chapter Thirty-Three
The Power He Knows Not

The Portkey deposited the five teenagers inside a grand and sweeping
sitting room filled with an eclectic assortment of furniture and lacy
curtains that fluttered in a lazy sea breeze. The cottage – more like a
manor, Harry thought – was Grimmauld Place-like in size, although the
décor couldn’t have been more different.

The walls were a light terra-cotta, housing both brightly cushioned
wicker furniture, and antique treasures passed down from generation to
generation. The lacy, green curtains allowed the afternoon sunshine to
filter in, giving the room a warm and inviting feel.

Harry lay sprawled on a rough, colorfully-embroidered rug, and although
it was clean, he could feel faint traces of sand. He still hadn’t
managed landing on his feet after Portkey travel. He could hear Ron’s
snickering beside him.

“Merlin’s beard! Are you all right?” a witch asked, rushing toward him
and assisting him to his feet. “Why didn’t they put you in an assist-
chair, as well?”

She had vibrant blue eyes and dark hair that she wore tightly pulled
back. Her appearance was so familiar and yet so different that Harry
had to take a step back. He knew without having to be introduced that
this was Andromeda Tonks. She looked nothing like either of her
sisters, but instead resembled a walking female version of Sirius.

She wore bulky robes covered in a loud, flowery print and a wreath of
dried vines adorned her head. Perched on the tip of her nose was a pair
of purple-tinted glasses. Uncle Vernon would have despised her on
sight, whether witch or Muggle. Harry took to her immediately for the
very reason.

“Don’t worry. That landing had nothing to do with his being injured.
Harry’s always been Portkey-challenged,” Ron said, smirking and still
on his feet. “Maybe an assist-chair is the right idea, though.”

Harry straightened his clothing and scowled at Ron. Draco sat beside
them, strapped imperiously in a soft, cushioned chair that St. Mungo’s
used to transport injured patients. Ginny and Hermione stood to the
side of the boys, using their hands to cover their snickers.

“Are you certain that you’re all right, Harry?” Andromeda asked, and
Harry had to turn away from the concern in her eyes.

He’d seen that identical expression on someone else in the past.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks for having us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Andromeda said, although her smile never reached
her eyes. “I wanted to do my part. My daughter was very fond of all of
you.”

“And we were of her,” Ginny said, her eyes bright. “She saved our
lives, of course, but she also was there with a ready smile when we
needed to talk. I miss her very much.”
Andromeda smiled wistfully. “Nymphadora always had a knack for
mischief, and she liked her fun. She would have wanted you all to be
safe, and I’m pleased to offer you accommodations. We’ve expanded a new
wing on the second floor, and there’s a room for each of you. Tuggy
will show you the way.”

A small house-elf wrapped in a tiny beach towel appeared in the
doorway, bowing low and beckoning them to follow. Harry was certain the
elf was female, although she never said a word.

“You’ll notice that the cottage appears no different than any of the
others on the island, although it has obviously been magically expanded
inside. Still, it is completely outfitted with Muggle electricity and
amenities. Tuggy knows how to use everything, so ask if you need
assistance. We try very hard to leave most magical conveniences behind
when we come to stay here,” Andromeda said, her arms fluttering in the
air.

“My husband was raised as a Muggle, and he liked to have a place where
his own parents were comfortable when they were alive. We’ve since
grown accustomed to it,” she added. “It’s become a bit of an adventure
for us.”

“Do you mean to tell me that we’re expected to live here like Muggles?”
Draco asked incredulously, spitting the last word as if he were
swearing.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Andromeda said, scowling at her
nephew and dropping the singsong tone she’d used on Harry. “It’s my
home and my rules. You’ll learn to live with them – it’s not your first
time here.”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco asked warily. He glanced around the room as
if he’d just been sentenced to the gallows.

“You were here once before as a baby, before your mother and I lost
touch completely,” Andromeda said quickly, averting her eyes. “As I
recall, your bottom burned quite badly after you’d removed your nappy.
You’ll want to be certain to apply a full Sunblocking Charm.”

Draco colored as Ron howled with glee. Harry could tell that Andromeda
had already forever won a spot on Ron’s favorite people list.

“Everyone wore nappies at one point,” Andromeda said, waving her hand
in the air. “I’m off to my basket weaving group. You girls are welcome
to join me anytime during your stay here. Tuggy will get you settled.”

Ginny and Hermione nodded politely, but Harry could tell the idea of
basket weaving didn’t appeal to Ginny at all.

“Hello, Tuggy,” Hermione said, kneeling in front of the tiny elf. “How
are you?”

The elf’s eyes widened immensely as if frightened by being directly
addressed. She took several steps backward toward Andromeda.
“Tuggy is rather timid, but she’ll warm up to you all eventually,”
Andromeda said. “My husband, Ted, has gone fishing with some of the
locals, but he’ll be here for dinner this evening. Tuggy, why don’t you
show them all to their room where they can change and go explore the
beach?”

The five teens thanked Andromeda and followed the house-elf up the
stairs. Draco scolded them not to jostle him as his chair hovered
gracefully above the stairs. Tuggy directed them all toward various
rooms in a single hallway. Harry noticed that, although Draco’s room
was the same size as the others, it was furnished more plainly. After
Tuggy left them, Draco shut his own door while the other four
congregated in Harry’s room.

It was spacious and airy yet masculine. The beautiful mahogany
furnishings were covered in navy and gold fabrics with a nautical
theme, a heady arrangement of tropical plants resting on the dresser.
Ginny plopped down on his bed and leaned back with her arms opened
wide.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here. I didn’t think Mum would ever stop
saying goodbye,” she said, running her hands over the rich fabric.

Although Mrs. Weasley had liked the idea of having the four of them
safely tucked away until the Death Eater trials commenced, she’d
worried and fretted much as she did each year on the train platform.

“I know,” Ron said. “And did you catch the envious looks we were
getting from Fred and George? It was killing them that we were getting
a holiday while they had to stay behind for the cleanup. Anyway, we’re
here and on our own now, so let’s make the most of it. Who wants to go
swimming?”

Harry glanced out the window at the wide expanse of white sandy beach.
Deep blue water stretched as far as his eye could see. “I do. It looks
amazing,” he said.

His arm was still in a sling, although the tingling sensation was now
constant, but at least he was able to move his fingers at will. A
Healer was scheduled to travel to the house each week to continue his
treatments. They suspected he’d have full use of his arm by the end of
the summer. They’d given him a list of exercises he was supposed to
practice each night to strengthen it, although Harry had told Ginny he
preferred her therapy better. Ginny had swatted him on the head.

“It is,” Hermione said, ducking her head as she colored brightly.

“Hermione,” Ron said, frowning. “You’ve blushed like that every time
someone mentions Formentera. What gives?”

If possible, Hermione blushed an even deeper shade of red. “Well…it’s
just…I’ve been here before while traveling with my parents. Some of the
beaches are…interesting.”


“Interesting how?” Ron asked, cocking his head to the side.
Harry and Ginny stared at Hermione with puzzled expressions. She was
obviously struggling with something, and they leaned forward, waiting
for her explanation.

“A lot of the Muggle beaches here are clothing optional,” she said very
quickly, needlessly straightening some of the items on the desk.

“You mean they go sun bathing starkers?” Ron asked, horrified.

Ginny threw her head back and laughed uproariously while Ron fidgeted,
and Hermione continued to blush. Harry shifted uncomfortably – certain
body parts just weren’t meant to be sunburned.

“Well, yes,” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “Some of the Muggles
enjoy that.”

Ginny, who was still flopped on her back, rose on her elbows and smiled
mischievously. Harry worried that she was considering going to that
beach. He wouldn’t put it past her, but he wasn’t certain he was that
brave.

“Exactly how do you know about these beaches, Hermione?” Ginny asked,
raising her eyebrow.


Harry’s eyes fly open wide, staring incredulously at Hermione. Ginny
was right! How did Hermione know?

“I told you, I’ve been here before,” Hermione said, her hands
fluttering nervously as she pointed toward the window. “They’re wearing
swimming costumes on that beach, so why don’t we change so we can get
out there? The Healers said Harry needed some rest and relaxation.”

She left the room without a backward glance. Ron stared after her with
an odd mixture of horror and intrigue while Harry smirked. He’d
actually asked one of the Healers to recommend rest and relaxation in
front of Hermione so that she wouldn’t pester him about doing any
seventh-year revising while they were on holiday.

Ginny giggled and bounced out the door after her. “Last one ready has
to carry the beach stuff,” she called merrily.

Ron stared for a moment before muttering, “Bloody hell,” and following
her from the room.

Harry stood and moved to find his own trunks. He paused a moment before
closing his door, staring at Draco’s closed room. He twisted his lips
to the side, debating. The Slytherin would most likely sneer and close
the door in his face, but he supposed it was up to him to make the
first move. Squaring his shoulders, he strode purposefully across the
hall and rapped on the door.

He heard the rustle of parchment before the door swung open wide. Draco
paused, swallowing his snarl but narrowing his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, watching Harry closely.
“Er…we’re going to go down and take a look at the beach,” he said,
stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“And exactly how does this concern me?” Draco asked, raising an
eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t, but if you want to come with us, that’s
where we’ll be,” he said, moving back toward his own room.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. He silently watched as Harry returned
to his room. “I might be down later,” he said, grimacing as if it
pained him to say the words. “I have some correspondence with my
solicitors I need to sift through first.”


Harry nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re trying to sort out
your family affairs?” he asked.

“What’s left of them,” Draco replied, scowling. “I have a letter here
from your cousin, too.”

“Dudley?” Harry asked, stunned.

“Yeah. He might come and stay with me for awhile when I’m able to
return to Malfoy Manor,” Draco replied.

Harry shook his head, at a loss for words. “Er…that’s great,” he said,
running his hand through his hair. His mind had been gradually dealing
with the end of Voldemort, but he still fond the idea of a magical
Dudley Dursley as unfathomable. Never mind a magical Dudley Dursley who
corresponded with Draco Malfoy.

“See you on the beach,” Draco said, shutting the door before Harry
could respond.

“Right,” Harry said, shaking his head. Perhaps hell had frozen over.

**--**--

Harry awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, and his heart thudding
painfully. Scattered, terrifying images of a dream swirled in his head
as he clutched the sheet, gulping for air. It took him a moment to
recognize the room where he slept.

He and his friends had been at the beach for a fortnight, and Harry had
often been plagued by nightmares. He’d used a Dreamless Sleep Potion
each night while in hospital, but he had to leave it behind when he’d
been released. The Healers didn’t recommend using it without the
supervision of medical professionals, and Harry had been so desperate
to leave he hadn’t cared. He’d survived nightmares before, he’d get
through these, as well.

“All right, Harry?” Ginny asked softly, and he felt her soft, warm
presence curled up by his side. He’d often found her beside him when he
woke from a dream, and although he enjoyed finding her with him, he
didn’t like the thought that he’d been loud enough to wake her in her
own room.
If they’d heard him, as well, Ron and Hermione had been kind enough not
to mention it, and although Draco had grumbled a bit about being unable
to get a decent night’s rest, even he hadn’t been obnoxious about it.

Their days at the beach house had been filled with swimming, sunning,
and fun on the beach. The Tonkses owned a pair of jet skis that were
nearly as fun as flying, and they’d all taken turns on them. They’d
played games and gone body surfing, as well as built castles in the
sand while their skin turned brown (although Ron and Ginny just
freckled) under the blazing sun. They took long walks on the beach and
saw a variety of sea life. Harry was thoroughly enjoying his stay.

Draco’s presence among them had been awkward at first. It wasn’t as if
they had ever been friends, but after everything that had happened at
the Department of Mysteries, it wasn’t as if they could be enemies
anymore, either. After sharing something as big as the downfall of a
Dark lord, they were somehow forever bonded. Harry also knew how it
felt to be alone and the outsider, and he didn’t want to make anyone
else feel that way – not even Draco Malfoy.

As the long, lazy days passed, everything had worked itself out,
anyway. Draco kept himself busy planning and plotting his takeover of
his family estate, so he tended to avoid the hot afternoon sun. This
gave the two couples plenty of time to be on their own. Like Ron and
Harry, Draco also enjoyed the jet skis and would join the others in the
evenings for meals and an occasional game of chess. He and Ron were
actually much better matched than Harry and Ron had ever been, although
Harry knew Ron enjoyed playing Harry more.

Andromeda prepared lavish meals each night, and they would all gather
to share tales of their days. Ted Tonks was a friendly, talkative bloke
with a fascination for the sea. According to him, there was no better
place to be, and he insisted it would always be his mistress. Andromeda
wasn’t bothered by this in the least, and continued merrily on her way.
They were like two separate ships passing occasionally, but their
fondness for one another was blatantly apparent.

Andromeda had said that Ted took their daughter’s death very hard, and
he hadn’t quite been the same since. This was readily apparent by Ted’s
refusal to address Draco. He wasn’t rude or unpleasant, simply
indifferent – as if Draco wasn’t there at all.

Other than the group dinners, Harry’s time was his own for the first
time he could ever remember. He and Ginny took long, romantic strolls
along the beach, and he enjoyed waking up each morning knowing that she
would there. They’d formed the habit of meeting for breakfast so they
could plan their day together. Harry couldn’t ever remember being so
carefree. Even his occasional stays at the Burrow had been marred with
the threat of war or depressing thoughts about the Dursleys.

To Harry, this time at the beach was the first time he’d ever truly
been free – and freedom was something he could definitely get used to
having.

One of Ted Tonks’ favorite leisure time activities was fishing. The
village where they stayed was an active fishing community, and Ted usually partook when he visited. Both Ron and Draco had taken to the
sport, as well. They’d all gone out on several occasions, but Harry
found he didn’t have the patience for it. He hated having to sit still
for so long and instead preferred to dive off the side of the boat and
take a swim. Those fishing, of course, frowned on such behavior since
it scared the fish away.

Although Ginny had more patience for it, she didn’t really enjoy it,
either, and Hermione felt horrible for the live bait. She kept trying
to convince the other fishers to switch to non-live bait to no avail.
Finally giving up, she spent her time sunning on the deck while reading
a book.

The odd relationship that had developed between Ron and Draco as a
result of the fishing was amusing to watch. Neither was what could be
considered as friendly, but they both enjoyed competing over who could
catch the larger fish. Their barbs and jabs at one another were harsh
and caused several passersby to stare as if expecting a fight, but the
usual venom behind the words was missing. It was just old habits dying
hard. Harry had seen the flask of Firewhisky that Draco kept stashed in
his pocket and knew that on some days, the only thing Ron and Draco
were catching was a good buzz.

Since they bypassed these outings, Harry and Ginny spent the days
together on the beach. Harry was secretly glad he didn’t like fishing
because it gave him the opportunity to be alone with Ginny.

This was just such a day, and although he’d been awoken by the
nightmare fairly early in the morning, he knew the fishing boat would
have already left for the day.

“Was it a bad one?” Ginny asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a
damp cloth.

Harry shook his head, the terrifying visions rapidly dissolving. “Just
scattered memories,” he said. “What are we doing today?”

“I thought we could pack a picnic lunch and take it to that spot down
the beach where the waves are stronger. Do you think your arm feels up
for that?” Ginny asked.

He stretched it out a few times. “I think I might need a little more
therapy,” he said, grinning.

“Do you, now?” Ginny asked, raising her eyebrow. “Shall I go fetch a
few potions or Floo a Healer?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head and trying to keep a straight face.
He waggled his eyebrows and leered at her. “I think your brand of
therapy will do the trick.”

Ginny giggled and kissed him quickly on the lips. “No. We’re actually
going to get out of here at a decent hour today,” she said, placing her
hands on her hips. “Go have your shower, and I’ll meet you in the
kitchen.”
Harry scowled, pulling himself out of the bed. “I think I might need
help reaching my back,” he said, pouting.

“You’ll manage. Besides, I didn’t say we couldn’t do our snogging down
on the beach,” she said before sprinting from the room, her laughter
brightening the hallway.

After a quick shower and change, Harry met Ginny in the kitchen where
they took the lunch Tuggy had prepared for them and brought it outside.
The section of beach where they wanted to go was further down the road
than their usual spot. Harry tied the picnic basket on the back of a
worn old bicycle that was kept at the house. Ginny perched precariously
on the handlebars while Harry pedaled down the lane. His arm really
wasn’t strong enough to support them, but he quietly cast both a
Balancing Charm and a Motion Spell that allowed him to ride with very
little effort.

Harry had been very wary about using any magic when he’d first arrived.
He liked both Ted and Andromeda very much and wanted to stick to their
rules. After the first few days, Andromeda had pulled him aside and
basically told him not to be an idiot. She said not to do anything
blatant in front of Muggles but to definitely use any spell to ease his
comfort during his recovery. ‘What’s the use in having magic if you
don’t use it when you need it?’ she’d asked. Harry thought it was
rather rich coming from her since she was the one who’d told him not to
use it the first place.

After the spells were cast, he and Ginny began their trek to the beach.
He enjoyed their ride and could have spent the entire day just pedaling
around – and that had nothing to do with the magic eliminating the
work. He liked the way the sun warmed his skin, the carefree laughter
he and Ginny shared, and the complete lack of aim or purpose. They’d
get there when they got there, and it didn’t really matter when. Harry
thrilled at that newfound freedom.

It was later in the day while they were eating the elaborate meal that
Tuggy had packed for them that a stray memory worked its way into his
thoughts. He and Ginny had spread a blanket on the sand, and Ginny was
digging through the basket as if she’d found a pirate’s treasure. As
Harry was well aware, all Weasleys liked to eat.

Ginny was wearing a very small – very sexy – black bikini that he knew
wasn’t on Mrs. Weasley’s list of approved beachwear. His mouth had hung
open, and he’d stood there gaping like a fish when she’d first removed
the shorts and t-shirt she’d worn for their ride. The supremely
satisfied smile on Ginny’s face told him she appreciated his reaction.

He was exceedingly happy that Ginny was sneaky enough to keep the tiny
bikini well hidden from both her mother and Ron, because Harry was
enjoying watching her wear it immensely. When she pulled some chilled
Pumpkin juice out of the basket and proceeded to pour it into gold-
plated mugs, a shiver ran down Harry’s spine. He shifted uncomfortably
as stray thoughts and images flashed in his mind, making him feel dizzy
as he tried to piece them together.

“All right, Harry?” Ginny asked, dropping one of the mugs so its
contents spilled everywhere. Ignoring the spill, she moved to sit next to him, watching him closely. “What’s wrong? You’ve lost all your
color.”

“Those mugs,” he said, still staring at the gold while trying to make
sense of his memories. Images flitted rapidly through his mind, making
his head spin.

“What about them?” Ginny asked, staring intently at the mugs as if
trying to decipher the problem. “They look like the ones at Hogwarts.
What’s wrong?”

“I…I remember,” he said, feeling dazed. The air seemed to still around
him and the crashing of the waves sounded distant and out of place.

Ginny frowned. “Remember?” she asked, holding her palms up in question.
“What do you remember? You’ve lost me.”

Harry swallowed, searching her eyes – for what he wasn’t certain – but
he knew that he needed to tell her. In the past, she’d always helped
him to feel better and set things to rights. Ginny would never laugh at
him, or call him mad, or tell him it was impossible.

“After I kil-” he paused, “After it was over, at the Ministry, I went
into that locked room.”

“What locked room?” she asked, clearly confused. “What are you on
about? You didn’t go anywhere, Harry. I was right with you, and you
didn’t leave that room until we brought you to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I remember seeing you on the floor with me,
and I saw Hermione and Ron, too. It was like I was floating and
watching you all,” Harry said, struggling to get the words out.

Ginny’s eyes flew open wide, her irises expanding so much that the
brown was barely visible. “You were in the in-between?”

“The in-between?” Harry asked warily.

“It’s the place in-between life and death. Bill says that many people
have hovered there after a life-threatening experience. Those who
weren’t killed instantly and managed to recover from their injuries
have told about it,” Ginny said, awestruck.

“I suppose,” Harry said, not wanting to accept any more oddities in his
life. “Anyway, there’s this secret locked room in the Department of
Mysteries. Professor Dumbledore told me about it before he died. I went
in that room that night – and he was there, too,” Harry said, tensing
as he awaited her reaction.

Ginny swallowed. “Who was there?”

“Professor Dumbledore. He was waiting for me, and he said the only way
to get inside the locked room is within your mind,” Harry said,
reaching out and grabbing Ginny’s hand. She turned her palm upward and
clutched fiercely.
“That makes sense. The Unspeakables study all sorts of unanswered
things there,” she said with a tremor.

“He said that we were inside my mind, and I’d called him because he was
the one who usually explained stuff to me that I didn’t understand,”
Harry said, not wanting to delve into the fact that his mind had been
so barren at the time.

“Did he help you?” Ginny asked quietly. Her eyes were so wide – so
caring – that he thought he could fall into their depths. It
strengthened him, somehow.

“I couldn’t understand how I’d managed to do it,” Harry said, his
throat raw and scratchy. “He said the voices behind the Veil helped me.
He said some of them were people who’d loved me.”

Ginny rested her other hand on Harry’s knee, squeezing it gently and
waiting for him to gather his voice to continue.

It took him a few moments before he could. “He wasn’t the only one I
saw,” he said, a small tic working in his jaw.

“Oh?” Ginny asked, keeping the solid pressure on his knee.

Harry blinked rapidly. “Sirius arrived first. He missed the whole final
battle because he was chatting up some witch,” he said, chuckling a
little as he swiped at his nose.

Ginny smiled softly. “That really doesn’t surprise me.

“It…- it was good to see him again. I mean, it was good to see him that
way. It made it easier somehow,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“Who else did you see?” Ginny asked.

“Remus and Tonks,” Harry said, swallowing again. “Remus looked better –
healthier than I’ve ever seen him. Strange since he’s dead, huh?” Harry
asked.

Ginny blinked hard. “No, not strange at all,” she whispered, her voice
strained. “Did you get to see your mum and dad, Harry?”

Harry paused again, running his fingers through the sand. Ginny kept a
firm grip on his hand while she leaned over to kiss the corner of his
eye. He was surprised to feel the moisture there.

“It took me awhile to call them. I know that’s strange since it’s what
I’d always wanted. I don’t know what was wrong with me,” he said
gruffly.

“What was it like?” Ginny whispered, sniffling.

“Amazing,” Harry breathed. “It – it was amazing. They like you. My mum
said to treat you well.”

“I like your mum,” Ginny said, laughing and wiping the tears from her
eyes.
“I got to talk about Quidditch with my dad. He was going to build a
pitch in our garden, like at the Burrow. I really would have liked
that,” Harry said, excited over the mere thought of it.

“We’ll have to have our own pitch one day,” Ginny said before her eyes
flew open wide and bright color suffused her face. She looked as if she
wanted a hole to open up and swallow her right there. She began playing
with the sand, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, swallowing heavily. “I’d like that. Sort of a
Weasley-Potter tradition, you know?” He looked back at the sand,
feeling very exposed. He risked a glance up through his fringe and
noticed she was still blushing, but also wearing a very self-satisfied
smirk.

“They all said they wanted me to return to school for my last year,” he
said. “They wanted me to have one carefree year.”

“Then you should do it,” Ginny said, squeezing his fingers. She raised
her eyes to meet his. “You deserve that chance. It’s what I want, too.
Is it what you want?”

“Yeah,” he said, the answer suddenly very clear. “I do want to go back.
It’ll give me time to get my head on straight, and we’ll get to be
together for our last year with Ron and Hermione.”

He knew he still wanted to be an Auror – that ambition hadn’t changed
since he’d first heard about it as a fourth-year, but they would still
need Aurors in another year. Waiting a year for all the furor over
Voldemort’s demise to die down a bit might be a good thing. If he
completed his NEWTs, at least he could assure himself that he got into
the program on his own merit. Ron kept saying that they’d have to take
him; he’d already proved himself. To him, however, this would feel like
walking in on his own terms.

“I’d like that,” Ginny said, obviously delighted. She wrapped her arms
around his neck and kissed him soundly. “This is going to be the best
year ever.”

They enjoyed the rest of their lunch and spent their day splashing in
the waves. Harry’s thoughts would occasionally drift back to some of
the conversations he’d had with his lost loved ones. It all seemed so
very real – much more solid than a dream. Every once in a while, he’d
catch Ginny wearing a glazed expression and knew she was pondering, as
well.

The sun had lost its heavy mid-afternoon heat, and they decided it was
time to return so they could shower before dinner. As they were packing
to leave, Harry asked, “D’you think I dreamed it?”

Ginny paused for a moment, pursing her lips. When she answered him, he
wasn’t surprised to find that she knew exactly what he’d meant without
needing him to clarify. “No. If anyone deserved that chance, it was
you. After all you’ve lost, and all you’ve given, it seems right that
you’d be allowed the chance to make peace before you really started to
live,” she said slowly, as if carefully choosing each word.
Harry blinked and pulled her into an embrace. “I love you,” he
whispered.

“I love you, too,” she said.

The soft, husky quality in her voice sent shivers down his spine. He
wrapped his arms around her more tightly and lowered his head. Their
kisses were soft and tentative at first, but they gradually grew
stronger and more impassioned. He could taste the faint hint of
chocolate as he kissed her.

Despite the fact they were still standing on the beach and not nearly
as secluded as he would have preferred, he allowed his hands to roam
where they’d wanted to go all day. The skimpy lines of her bathing suit
were driving him mad. She melded into him, pressing herself so close
that he knew she could feel his desire.

He’d always tried to pull back from her when this happened, to maintain
that level of control, but now, his body hummed as her hands traced
feather-light caresses along his chest, and his need seemed
overwhelming. He didn’t want to wait anymore. Voldemort was gone, and
there was no longer any need to allow him to affect Harry’s choices.

He knew Ron had been entering Hermione’s room each night on the pretext
of saying goodnight, and that he would always stay to say good morning,
too, but Harry and Ginny had yet to take that step. He looked into her
deep, brown eyes and saw only love and acceptance there, surrounded by
the heat of desire.

“Ginny,” he said, moving her hair back and tracing his fingers along
her scar. She was driving him mad, and he could barely think straight
here on the beach, never mind back at the house. He wanted to be
certain she felt as ready as he did.

“Why don’t you come in and say goodnight to me when we retire tonight,
Harry?” she whispered, her voice low and throaty.

Harry thought his knees might buckle. “I can do that,” he replied, his
voice cracking like it hadn’t done since he was thirteen.

He ran his hands through her hair, over her shoulders and down her back
as he leaned over to kiss her once again. Her hands continued to
explore as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss.

The fabric of her bikini was soft, but her skin felt softer and the
simple fact there was so much of it exposed aroused him further.

Panting, he finally had to pull back, knowing it would take a while
before he was able to ride the bike home.

“Ginny…” he said.

“Tonight,” she whispered, lightly kissing his nose.

Getting through dinner that evening was nearly unbearable.
**--**--

Harry awoke slowly, leisurely, feeling the gentle ocean breeze drifting
in from the open window. A wispy tickle beneath his nose caused him to
raise his hand to rub it. His hand encountered silky soft tendrils of
hair beneath his nose and continuing downward so they were splayed
across his chest.

His eyes flew open wide to find a sleeping Ginny nestled snugly beneath
his shoulder. Her bare arm was draped casually across his hips, and the
warmth of her skin eagerly awoke other parts of his anatomy. Memories
of the previous evening filled his heart and mind, and a lazy smile
drifted across his face. He lay there for a moment, taking the time to
fully awaken while he twined a piece of her hair between his fingers.

Last night had been the most amazing night of his life. Despite the
fact he hadn’t known the first thing about what he was doing, it had
turned out bloody brilliantly. Well…for him, anyway. He wasn’t certain
it had been the highlight of Ginny’s life, but he delighted in the
knowledge that he now had all the time in the world to practice until
he got it right for her. In fact, his diligence would make Hermione’s
dedication to her studies pale in comparison.

Grinning daftly, he extricated himself from Ginny’s embrace and
searched the floor for his jeans. He dressed quickly, although he had
some difficulty due to certain uncooperative parts of his body. Giving
a cursory glance around Ginny’s room to ensure that he hadn’t left
anything incriminating behind, he realized for the first time how Ginny
had made this room her own. Although far from frilly, it was definitely
bright and, well…girlish.

The candles she had lit were still burning on her dresser, giving off a
sweet, flowery scent that reminded him very much of Ginny. Gardenia,
she had called it, although he’d barely been listening at the time.

Snot sat on the other end of the dresser with his back facing the room.
Harry distinctly remembered turning him around the previous evening.
Somehow, he just couldn’t have his way with Ginny with that stupid bear
that she’d had since she was a little girl watching him. Ginny had
giggled, finding his discomfort extremely amusing.

Shaking his head to clear the memory, he gently kissed Ginny’s forehead
before slipping from the room. Although he had no regrets about the
previous evening, he didn’t want to face an irate Ron first thing after
discovering the wonder he and Ginny had shared.

He knew Ron would most likely still be asleep in Hermione’s room, but
Harry opened Ron’s door very cautiously anyway. Finding it empty, he
slipped inside and opened the bottom drawer of Ron’s dresser, knowing
exactly where Ron would have hidden the item Harry sought. He found the
book hidden inside the only neatly folded pair of jeans in the drawer.
Sitting on the floor, he haphazardly flipped through the pages of What
Every Wizard Needs to Know About Pleasing His Witch.

Fred had given the book to Harry as a joke back in fifth year after
Harry’s failed date with Cho Chang. It had embarrassed Harry
enormously, which of course had been Fred’s intent. Harry and Ron had eventually shared a few laughs over it. In truth, it was really the
only formal education that Harry had ever received on the matter –
other than Ron’s awkward repetition of what his dad had told him.

Harry hadn’t seen the book again until he’d caught Ron reading it after
Ron had started dating Lavender. Other than a few good-natured barbs at
his mate, Harry had again let it slip his mind. Now, he found it
extremely ironic that the ultimate joke was on Fred since Harry would
use the knowledge he gained from the book on Fred’s own sister. Life
was funny sometimes.

He carried the book back to his own room and snuggled down inside his
bedcovers. He read for quite awhile until his eyes grew too heavy to
keep them open anymore. He really hadn’t got much sleep the previous
evening. He hid the book under his mattress and rolled over for a kip.

**--**--

The mid-morning sun was blazing high in the sky when a pounding on his
door startled Harry awake. He sat up straight, clutching the sheet to
his chest and fumbling for his glasses as Ron burst into the room.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron asked. “Are you going to sleep the day
away?”

Unless there was a fishing expedition planned for the day, it was rare
for Ron to be awake before Harry.

“Wha-” Harry asked groggily, wiping his face.

Hermione and Ginny followed Ron into the room, both giggling at Harry’s
dazed expression. Ginny colored brightly when he caught her eye, and
she looked down at the floor. Harry felt that mad grin returning to his
face despite his nervousness. He was tongue-tied and didn’t have the
faintest idea what he should say.

He really wished Ron and Hermione weren’t there. Was there some way
they could tell what happened? Would they know? Ron would pound him,
and he couldn’t bear to see that knowing twinkle in Hermione’s eye. He
really wanted to talk with Ginny alone rather than just sit here
smiling at her…

“You missed breakfast, and it’s nearly lunch. What did you two end up
doing yesterday that’s got you so knackered?” Ron asked, breaking into
Harry’s rambling thoughts.

“Er,” Harry said, faltering and feeling thoroughly trapped.

Ginny’s eyes flew open wide, panicked. She imperceptibly shook her head
– as if he’d needed her warning not to tell Ron what they’d really been
doing.

“Er,” he repeated, his voice cracking humiliatingly.

“We went to the beach. You know - down to that part where the waves are
really big,” Ginny said, speaking very fast. “We rode the bike there.
Harry used some Charms so he didn’t hurt his arm. It’s doing much better. We brought a picnic lunch. Tuggy packed chicken and some lovely
bread, and she gave us this wonderful chocolate tart for pudding.”

Hermione’s eyes sharpened as she glanced back and forth between Harry
and Ginny. That knowing twinkle that Harry had feared lit her face, and
she stared pointedly at Ginny’s impersonation of Colin Creevey. Harry
flushed and had to look away.

Fortunately, Ginny’s talking about food had distracted Ron from her
rambling.

“I’m hungry,” Ron said. “Let’s ask Tuggy to prepare a basket for us,
and we can eat it before we go out on the jet skis. I’m not going
fishing today, so I’d like to have a go.”

“Why don’t we all go and put our swimming costumes on?” Hermione said
sweetly, tugging on Ginny’s arm.

“Right. Meet you in the kitchen,” Ron said, hurrying for his room.

“Ginny, can I have a word?” Harry asked, clearing his throat. He still
refused to meet Hermione’s eyes and could feel the heat radiating from
his skin.

“You’d best let me do your Sunblock Charm today, Harry,” Hermione said,
smirking. “You must’ve done a poor job yesterday; you’re horribly red.”

If possible, Harry knew he flushed even deeper. Hermione giggled as she
pranced down the hallway to her own room.

“Hey,” Ginny said after Hermione had shut her door. Her cheeks were
bright, and she repeatedly scuffed her toe on the floor.

“Hey,” Harry said, not understanding why he felt so wrong-footed. Why
was it suddenly so hard to talk with her? It was as if they’d both been
transported back to his first summer at the Burrow.

“You said you needed to have a word?” Ginny asked, and there was a
distinct clipped tone to her voice.

Harry glanced up quickly to find her arms folded across her chest and a
faint frown on her face. He knew her well enough to know she was upset
about something, and his stomach dropped, realizing that she must have
decided last night was a mistake.

“Er,” he said, feeling lost. What could he say? It wasn’t as if it
could be undone? How was he supposed to fix this?

“You’re very eloquent this morning, Harry,” she said drolly, never
dropping her rigid posture. “Look, if there’s something you want to
say, just say it.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling things slipping further from
his control. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Ginny said tartly.
Harry blinked, completely nettled. “I love you,” he said, blurting the
first thing that came to his mind. He did love her, and he hoped that
she enjoyed hearing him say it as much as he enjoyed hearing it from
her.

Ginny stared at him, and for the first time, he noticed the thin sheen
to her eyes. “I’m glad,” she whispered, resting her back against the
wall. “I was surprised to wake up alone.”

Harry’s eyes widened in comprehension. She thought he’d run away! He
jumped from the bed and quickly crossed the room towards her.

“No! I left because I didn’t want Ron to find me there. I didn’t want
to start off with a row,” he said quickly, brushing a single tear from
the corner of her eye.

“You’re not sorry then?” she asked, barely breathing.

“Never. I’ll never be sorry about what we did. I love what we did. I
want to do it again,” Harry said fervently.

A tremulous smile crossed Ginny’s face. “Good,” she whispered, blushing
furiously.

“Last night was amazing, Ginny. I’ve never been so happy in my entire
life. I know it wasn’t as perfect for you, but I’ll get better, I
swear,” Harry said, speaking very fast.

“You were fine,” Ginny said, giggling and covering his mouth with her
fingers.

“No, really. I’ve learned a few things,” Harry said earnestly. “It’ll
get better, I promise.”

“Learned a few things? In the past few hours? How?” Ginny asked,
furrowing her brow.

“Trust me, okay?” Harry asked, feeling so hot he thought he’d explode.
He really didn’t want to have to admit anything about the book to her
just then. This intimacy between them was new, and it would take him
awhile to get used to it.

“Okay,” Ginny said, giggling, “but you’re really being too hard on
yourself. I was nervous, too. We’re both new at this, so we’ll learn
together.”

“We just need practice,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, chuckling. “It’s going to be a nightmare on the
beach with Ron and Hermione. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop
giggling.”

“And I just want to touch you,” Harry said honestly. “It’ll be hard to
control myself around Ron. Hermione knows.”

“Yeah. I caught that,” Ginny said. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her to leave
you alone. I’m certain she’s waiting for me back in my room.”
“What are you going to say?” Harry asked warily.

“Everything,” Ginny replied brightly.

“Everything?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “The one thing you blokes
never seem to understand about girls is the easiest thing of all. We
talk. You know when blokes get to that sticky, emotional part of a
conversation where they slap each other on the back and pretend it
didn’t happen? That’s where girls start a conversation. We like
details, and we talk. How do you suppose it is that I knew all about
Hermione and Viktor while you and Ron didn’t?”

“I suppose,” Harry said, scratching his neck. He still felt
uncomfortable wondering what Ginny would say to Hermione.

“Just don’t think about it,” Ginny said, laughing. “How do you think I
feel knowing that if you’re going to share anything it’ll be with my
brother?”

Harry snorted. “That’s just the thing, I can’t even tell Ron!”

“It’ll get easier as we all get used to it,” Ginny said sagely. “You’ll
see.”

Harry nodded, hoping she was right. Ginny returned to her own room, and
he put on some trunks to go to the beach.

**--**--

The rest of the summer passed in a haze of sunny days on the beach,
moonlit strolls, and nights filled with wonder and discovery. Both
Harry and Ginny’s birthdays passed and before they knew it, it was time
to return to the real world.


Harry had sent notes with Hedwig to Professor McGonagall and Mrs.
Weasley, informing them of his plans to return to school. The four
friends had arranged to go back to the Burrow three days before the
start of term in order to give them time to collect their books, and
for Ginny to visit the Ministry to take the test to get her License to
Apparate.

After long and heartfelt goodbyes to Andromeda and Ted, the four teens
Flooed back to the Burrow. Draco had been waiting by the fireplace to
see them off and told them that he’d see them at Hogwarts. Although
still moving very slowly, he was recovering as well, and had also
decided to complete his last year of schooling.

It would make for a year full of surprises.

At the Burrow, Harry was the last to emerge from the fireplace,
stepping into the newly-renovated Weasley kitchen. It was both familiar
and not so familiar with all the changes and bright, new additions. The
long wooden table was still in the center of the room, but the wood was new, shiny, and unmarred. The kitchen still smelled fantastic, and the
aroma of all of Harry’s favorite foods assaulted his senses first
thing.

“Harry! You landed on your feet,” Ron said, amazed. The blue of his
eyes shone clearly. Ron might never admit it, but he was happy to be
home.

Harry blinked, staring back at the fireplace for a moment. “So I did,”
he said, grinning. “Maybe I’ve finally grown up.”

“How are you, Harry?” Fred asked, slapping him on the back.

Harry shook his hand, grinning. “I’m good. The beach was fantastic.”

“Just look at how tanned and healthy you all look,” Mrs. Weasley said
tearfully. She let go of Hermione to give Harry one of her bone-
crushing hugs. “Welcome home.”

Harry hugged her back tightly, delighting in the embrace. “It’s good to
be home,” he said, meaning it.

“Ginny, look at all those new freckles! Did you remember to wear your
hat?” Mrs. Weasley fussed, reaching out to touch Ginny’s face.

“I always have freckles, Mum,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“What’s for dinner? I’m starving,” Ron asked.

“How was Andromeda?” Bill asked. “I’ve met her several times through
Gringotts, but I haven’t seen her since we lost Tonks.”

“She’s doing well,” Harry replied. “A bit eccentric, but I suppose I
shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“Ze ‘oliday agreed with you, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, leaning over to kiss
both cheeks. “You look very good.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, blushing. He looked down and noticed the
slight bulge on Fleur’s belly. “How are you feeling?”

“I am as well as I can be. I do not like zees morning sickness zat
lasts all day,” she said, frowning.

“Right,” Harry replied, running a hand through his hair.

As Bill moved away to talk to Ron, Fleur leaned over and whispered in
Harry’s ear, “I think it is ze medicine of love zat has healed you
better zan ze sea, no?” Her eyes twinkled merrily as she shot a pointed
glance toward Ginny.

Ginny stood chatting with her father, but she smiled when she noticed
Harry’s gaze and gave him a wink. Harry smiled back, and Fleur nodded,
pleased.

“Harry!” George said, slapping him on the back. He’d walked over
without the slightest hint of a limp. “How are you, mate?”
“Hi, Harry,” Shannon said.

“Hi!” Harry replied. “How are you?”

“Good as new,” George replied, beaming. “Business is booming. Fred,
Shannon and I have barely managed to get a day off. We closed early
today so we could all be here for dinner.”

Shannon and George’s hands were clasped together, and they appeared
very comfortable with one another. Harry could see Iris in the far end
of the room helping Mrs. Weasley place the food on the table.

Charlie was also home and had brought his Romanian girlfriend,
Ekaterina. Harry remembered her from Bill’s wedding. They were both
sitting at the table and chatting with Hermione.

A warm, pleasant feeling washed over Harry. It felt good to be home and
surrounded by his favorite people. The Weasley kitchen was as hectic
and full of activity as it always been, and it was dizzying to try and
keep up with the scattered conversations.

They were all putting their lives back together and building a future,
but they still took the time to regroup and simply enjoy one another’s
company. Harry was no longer that little boy stuffed, unwanted, inside
a cupboard; instead he was an integral part of a warm and loving
family. Through all the hell and destruction Voldemort had wrought in
his life, in the end Harry had ended up with exactly what he’d always
wanted.

As Mrs. Weasley placed the food on the table and the feeding frenzy
began, Ginny took the chair beside his, clasping his hand beneath the
table. Her eyes sparkled happily, filling his belly with warmth.

He sat back before filling his own plate, quietly observing the others.
Ron and Hermione sat across from him, Ron filling his plate to
overflowing and slopping more onto Hermione’s plate, as well. The scar
on Mr. Weasley’s wrist peeked from the sleeve of his robe as he reached
for some potatoes. He could see Fleur’s scar as she pushed her hair
behind her ear and knew Ginny’s was visible beneath her hairline.

Each and every one of them had been marred by the war in one way or
another. Perhaps the reason he truly felt so at home here was that he
knew the mark on his own forehead was truly just another scar.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Epilogue

The September sun shone brightly over the rolling meadow that lay
behind the Burrow. Harry leisurely walked across a well-used path,
inhaling the crisp autumn scents and pointing out the changing colors
of the leaves to the infant he carried in his arms. It had been a
little over four years since Voldemort’s defeat, and Harry still hadn’t
got over the wonder of being able to go outside alone, unhindered and
without fear of constant attack.
Ginny often teased him about his continued habit of keeping his wand in
his back pocket or within easy reach at all times. Even four years
later, she still had to be careful not to startle him when entering a
room. All in all, though, he was finally becoming comfortable in his
own skin. He could even tolerate the reporters who, after four years,
still asked for his opinion on current events.

He’d gone back to school that first autumn after Voldemort’s demise.
He, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had had their carefree year – well,
carefree for all save Hermione, who fretted continuously over the
upcoming NEWTs. Harry had done well on his exams despite Hermione’s
predictions of doom and gloom as a result of his deplorable revising
habits. He acknowledged that he could have been a better student, but
at the time, he was having too much fun to worry about it. He’d already
had a lifetime of worry.

When they’d finished school, he and Ron had immediately joined the
Ministry and began their Auror training. After everything they’d done
during the war, they were able to complete their education in two years
rather than three, and they’d begun work straightaway.

At first, they’d been assigned separate partners. Their Academy
instructor had insisted that rookies needed to be paired with older,
more experienced veterans. That had lasted for about three months
before their transfer papers arrived, signed by none other than
Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley had insisted that strict adherence to
the Ministry’s old policies was what had got them all into trouble in
the first place. If something worked – don’t fix it. Ron and Harry had
been partnered ever since.

Hermione had gone into training to become a Healer. She’d only recently
finished her schooling and was apprenticing under a fully-qualified
Healer at St. Mungo’s. Ginny had gone to work at the Ministry for the
Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Her training had only taken a year, so
she was actually the first of the four to get out and work, earning her
own wages.

After the war had ended, there had been a mad rush of weddings and
babies. Mrs. Weasley said it had happened after the first war, too.
People just wanted to celebrate the good things in life. The first of
Harry’s friends to get married had been Neville Longbottom, of all
people. He and Susan Bones had both worked in the Apothecary in Diagon
Alley after Hogwarts had closed, and romance blossomed soon after.

Seamus Finnegan and Demelza Robbins were next, followed by Lavender
Brown and Oliver Wood. Oddly enough, it was this spate of weddings and
all of their friends marrying young that turned Hermione off the idea.
Although Ron would have married her right out of school, Hermione
wanted to wait until the furor over the end of the war had died down.
She didn’t want to be accused of having it influence her decision.

Harry’d had no such qualms. He had asked Ginny to marry him on the
Hogwarts grounds during their last day at the castle. She’d accepted,
and they were married only a few months later on the first of
September. That day had always been one that Harry had counted down to
reach, so he wanted something to always mark the significance. He was proud to say that September the first had dramatically changed his life
for the better on two separate occasions.

He’d thought he and Ginny would have a small wedding right at the
Burrow surrounded by the Weasley family and a few close friends. Mrs.
Weasley and the Wizarding world had other ideas. They’d ended up
getting married at Hogwarts in a morning ceremony before the students
had arrived.


Harry had gritted his teeth and borne the fussing and fawning because
he knew he was the one who won in the end. He got to be married to
Ginny, and he’d never regretted that decision. Using the money Sirius
had left him, they’d bought a very private, secluded bit of land not
too far from Ottery St. Catchpole – but not too close, either. They’d
built their own house – one with plenty of land for a Quidditch pitch,
decorated and furnished the house together, and four months ago, their
son, James Harry Potter had been born.

Harry chuckled, remembering how desperately Ginny had wanted a son.
Weasleys always had sons, but her brothers liked to tease her that
since she was the girl, she’d have girls. Of course, that only made
Ginny determined to prove them wrong. Harry had watched her stick her
nose in the air, and her eyes narrowed with that ‘I-can-do-anything-
you-can-do’ attitude that he loved so much about her. He knew that
technically the sex of the baby was determined by him, but he’d never
doubt Ginny’s will. He was certain that their next child would be a
girl simply so Ginny could prove to her brothers that she could also do
what they couldn’t.

Harry didn’t care. He was just happy to see his family growing rather
than shrinking for a change. He’d told Ginny he didn’t care if they had
two children or twenty, he just wanted James to have a sibling so he’d
never be alone. Ginny had stroked his cheek fondly while insisting it
wouldn’t be twenty.

Although Ginny had bought the very best pram – according to Mothering
Witches – Harry still preferred carrying his son when they went for a
stroll. They had plenty of money to live comfortably, but Ginny was
still a rather frugal girl. Frugal about everything – except when it
came to her son, that is. For him, nothing but the best would do – and
Ginny was convinced he needed everything they advertised. Every time
she read one of those endless Wizarding parenting magazines, she’d fret
that she was somehow doing something wrong because James didn’t have
some new-fangled contraption.

Harry really didn’t care what she bought, or whether they ever used it,
as long as it made Ginny happy. She’d given him the best gift in the
world, and each day he was surprised to learn something new about his
little miracle. He might have missed doing all those father and son
things as a child, but he’d be damned certain he got to do them as a
father. He’d dressed the little tyke in gray track suit pants with a
red hooded sweatshirt and brought him outside for a bit of fresh air.
The Burrow felt rather stuffy with all the chattering ladies inside.

The reason for all the chattering ladies was the long-awaited,
approaching nuptials of Ron and Hermione. They were due to marry the following day in a Muggle church near Hermione’s family home. Harry and
Ginny were standing up as witnesses, and it was their job to get the
bride and groom to the church on time.

Harry thought he had the easy end of that deal. Ron had been ready for
this moment for ages – it was Hermione who was the nervous wreck. Poor
Ginny really had her hands full there. Hermione had been throwing
wobblies over inane little details for weeks. She’d always been a bit
mental, and Harry thought weddings made all women go mad.

“See, that’s the shed where your grandmother keeps all your uncles’ old
brooms. Your mum used to nick them when they weren’t looking,” he told
James as they walked past the shed behind the Burrow.

The baby was far more interested in chewing on the collar of Harry’s
shirt, but Harry really didn’t mind. His son had the same bright green
eyes as he did, but his untidy mop of hair was rust-colored rather than
either red or black. Harry liked to say he was the perfect mixture of
both parents.

He ran the pad of his thumb over his son’s soft cheek, marveling at how
someone so small could have him so completely wrapped around such a
tiny little finger. It had been that way from the moment James had
arrived in the world.

“Harry!” Bill called, trotting to catch up to him. Bill carried his
giggling, now three-year-old son, Claude, on his shoulders. Fleur was
due to give birth to their second child any day.

Hermione swore it would be just like Fleur to deliver on Hermione’s
wedding day, but Fleur was still the picture of calm serenity. Harry
fondly remembered Ginny’s pregnancy and how the two of them had been so
overwhelmed by each new development, however small. Perhaps having a
second one was easier since you had experience behind you?

“Mum said you were out here with James. The tension in that kitchen is
unreal,” Bill said, slowing his pace to walk with Harry.

“Hey, Bill. Hey, Claude,” Harry said, reaching up to ruffle his
nephew’s hair.

His nephew.

He had a nephew – two of them, actually. The fact he was part of a big
and loving family still amazed him sometimes.

“Bonjour, Unca Harry,” Claude said, beaming.

“It’s still rough in there, huh?” Harry asked, jerking his head toward
the house.

“Hermione is having a meltdown because George told her he forgot to
arrange coverage for the shop tomorrow, so he has to work. Of course,
everyone knows he’s just taking the mickey out of her, but Hermione had
the screaming abdabs, anyway,” Bill said, shaking his head.

“She’s just nervous,” Harry replied.
“Yeah. You’d know something about that, eh, mate?” Bill asked, gently
knocking Harry’s shoulder with his own.

Harry grinned sheepishly. He’d been a basket case before his own
wedding. He’d been convinced right up until the moment he spoke his
vows that something would happen to snatch it all away.

“Hermione doesn’t like when she can’t control everything. Despite
knowing exactly what’s going to happen tomorrow, it’s never happened to
her, so she’s nervous. She’ll pull it together, she always does,” Harry
said fondly.

“How’s Ron?” Bill asked. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Fred and Charlie took him out to get a pint, hence the reason there
are so many witches in there,” Harry replied.

“And George,” said Bill. “He’s the sole male presence in the kitchen,
and even he is looking rather overwhelmed.”

“George is in charge of Loki, and I’ve got James, so we couldn’t go to
the pub. Charlie said it was only bachelor blokes allowed, anyway,”
Harry said, chuckling. It took a lot to overwhelm either George or
Fred, so Harry was just as happy to be outside with James.

George and Shannon had been married right around the same time as Harry
and Ginny, and their son, Loki was just over a year old. Fred and Iris
were still together, but it was a constant on-again, off-again kind of
relationship. Charlie usually arrived for family functions with a
beautiful witch on his arm – but it was generally a different witch
each time. It drove Mrs. Weasley spare.

“Merlin, I hope they don’t get Ron pissed. That’s all he needs to
completely send Hermione over the edge,” Bill said, shaking his head.
His expression belied his words, however. Harry suspected that he
really did hope Fred and Charlie got Ron pissed.

Harry snorted. “Hopefully they’ve practiced their Sobriety Charms.”

“If not, I’m certain Mum will sort them all out – she certainly had to
take care of you after your stag night,” Bill said, laughing fondly.

Harry scowled at the memory. “You lot left me outside wearing nothing
but my pants!”

“It’s your fault for getting so pissed. The Savior of the Wizarding
World and all – you should be able to handle your Firewhisky better
than that,” Bill said.

“Everyone has their flaws,” Harry said, disgruntled. “It’s not as if
it’s Ron’s real stag night, anyway. We took care of that last weekend.
Fred and Charlie just needed to get away from all those hens.”

He scowled at the ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ comment. He still
hated the vast number of titles that were used when referring to him.
The anniversary of the date when Voldemort had fallen had been proclaimed as Potter’s Day and was celebrated the way Muggles
celebrated Bonfire Night. Harry usually tried to escape the festivities
by taking a seaside holiday during that time each year.

This past Potter’s Day, Fred and George had invented t-shirts depicting
Voldemort’s downfall. They’d been unable to sell it, however, because
Harry’s image refused to remain in the shot.

“Heh, Charlie’s always run when the witches start to cluster, but I
think Fred is closer to wanting George’s lifestyle than he’s ready to
admit,” Bill said sagely.

James shifted his attention from Harry’s collar then reached out and
grabbed his glasses, making cooing noises all the while. It took Harry
a moment to pry them out of the baby’s little fingers and readjust them
on his face. When he did, the world was distorted through a hodgepodge
of smeared fingerprints. Harry quickly cast a spell to clean them.

“Papa, you promised to fly! Take me! Take me!” Claude said, tugging on
Bill’s hair to regain his attention.

“Ah, a promise is a promise,” Bill said, smiling and disengaging his
ponytail from his son’s tight grasp. “Care to join us?”

Harry shook his head ruefully. “I promised Ginny not until his first
birthday,” he said, regretting that vow more and more. “We’re going to
continue our stroll.”

Harry hoisted James more securely on his shoulder and walked along the
fence surrounding the Burrow’s property. The crisp October wind caused
James to shiver and cuddle closer to his dad. His little eyes widened
when the wind gusted in his face, and Harry laughed out loud at the
shocked expression.

James’s first Halloween was approaching, and Harry wanted to make it
special. He knew the baby was really too little to appreciate it, but
Harry was enjoying experiencing all the childhood things he’d missed
through his son.

He’d been so terrified when he’d first learned that he was going to be
a father. What did he know about raising babies? He’d certainly had no
experience to base anything on. If he’d thought Ginny would be a great
source of information, he was sadly mistaken. Ginny was the baby of her
family, and she was nearly as clueless as he was about what to do.

After several long and calming conversations with both Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley, they had relaxed – a little. Harry still worried about how
he’d handle it when it came time to discipline his son. He certainly
didn’t want to do anything to follow Uncle Vernon’s example. He’d begun
paying much more attention to how Mr. Weasley interacted with his sons,
and closely watching Bill and George and how they related to theirs.

Between Ginny and him, they’d figure it all out together. They always
did. Perhaps, if Ron and Hermione were quicker to start their own
family than they had been about getting married, they could all conquer
the battle of parenthood together, as well.
Lost as he was in his own thoughts, he was surprised to stumble across
Hermione outside in the chilly air. She was leaning on the fence far
from the house, her face turned toward the wind so it whipped her hair
about wildly.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, taking several tentative steps toward her.

One never knew how Hermione would take an interruption these days. She
was the epitome of a frantic bride. He was surprised, therefore, when
she turned toward him with a tear-streaked face.

“Hermione! What’s wrong?” he asked.

James must have sensed his distress for he shifted in Harry’s arms and
began to fuss.

“Oh, Harry! Everything’s changing,” Hermione said, sniffling.

“What’s changing, Hermione?” Harry asked, grinning while bouncing James
slightly on his shoulder to settle him.

“It’ll all be so different, and things are so nice the way they are. I
don’t want that to be ruined,” she said, sniffling.

Harry blinked, baffled. He knew it was mostly nerves – combined with
Hermione’s utter dislike of feeling out of control, but he was afraid
that whatever he said would be wrong. He also knew he had to try.

“Hermione, it’s going to be all right,” Harry said, wrapping his free
arm around her and hugging her close.

“Oh! That’s easy for you to say!” Hermione said, crossing her arms
across her chest.

“It is easy for me to say,” Harry replied, chuckling, “because I’ve
been where you are. And who was the one who talked me down? Who was the
only one who calmed me on my wedding day?”

“I was,” Hermione said, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “Well, Ginny
did, too, once the ceremony started.”

“Right – as Ron will for you once you’re standing with each other.
Before that, though, I was panic-stricken. You were the one who made me
see that I was getting exactly what I’d always wanted. And you were
right. Now, today, it’s your turn. You and Ron have waited a long time
for this day, Hermione,” Harry said smiling.

Hermione sniffled again and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
James began cooing again while sucking on his fist.

“My mum and I used to talk about my wedding when I was a little girl.
The reason I agreed to do this the Muggle way was to make some of her
dreams come true, as well. We’ve drifted so far since I went away to
Hogwarts,” Hermione said.

“Hagrid told me after seven years at Hogwarts, I wouldn’t recognize
myself,” Harry said. “That was certainly true.”
“Oh, Harry! For me, too. I sometimes feel like a complete stranger when
I do normal, Muggle things with my parents. I belong to this world,
now,” Hermione said.

“You belong to both, because your upbringing there helped to shape you
into the person you are today. It’s all connected – it took me a long
time to figure that out. If things didn’t happen the way they did, I
might never have befriended or even met all of you. Everything happens
for a reason, and change can be good,” Harry said, shrugging.

“When did you get so wise?” Hermione asked, giggling as she gently
nudged his shoulder with her own.

“I had a friend who was a great influence on me when I was younger,”
Harry replied, nudging her back. “Big, bushy hair, kind of a know-it-
all. You might have known her.”

“Oh, ho. Very funny,” Hermione said, swatting him gently and gaining
James’ attention.

“She grew into quite a beauty,” Harry said, smiling.

Hermione’s eyes flew open wide and for a moment Harry feared she was
going to start crying again, but James saved him by reaching out and
grabbing a fistful of Hermione’s hair. He tugged, trying to bring it
into his mouth.

“Uh, oh,” Harry said, “hang on. He does this to Ginny all the time.”

“Ouch!” Hermione said, although she was laughing.

“Little bugger has a knack for tangling his fingers in there,” Harry
said, desperately trying to free Hermione from his son’s tight grasp.
The baby squealed with pleasure.

“Harry!” Hermione chided. “You can’t use that kind of language in front
of your son! What’s the matter with you?”

“He can’t talk yet, Hermione,” Harry said, laughing. “He knew the tone
of my voice was friendly.”

“Oh? And what will you tell Ginny when she has to write in his baby
book that his first word was ‘bugger?’” Hermione asked.

Harry chuckled. “I’ll tell her it was Ron’s fault.”


Hermione shook her head, laughing. “You two will never change.”

“See! That’s a good thing. When I came out here you didn’t like
change,” Harry said, beaming.

“I love you, Harry,” she said, throwing her arms around him and hugging
both him and James.

James squawked in protest, causing Hermione to release them.
“I love you, too, James,” she said.

“There you all are,” Ginny said, smiling as she strode across the
meadow to greet them. The fading sunlight shone off her hair, making it
glow with an ethereal beauty. Harry had never got over his fascination
with her hair – and he didn’t think he ever would.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, wrapping a hand-knit
baby blanket around James and taking him from Harry’s arms.

Harry frowned slightly. The one thing that always disappointed him
about visiting the Burrow was that there was always a pair of hands
eager to take the baby away.

“Fleur and Shannon are talking with Mum about Auntie Muriel’s tiara,
Hermione. You’d best get up there if you don’t want to find it
incorporated into that pretty veil of yours,” Ginny said, one corner of
her mouth quirking wryly.

“Oh, no. I’d better hurry back in there. Thanks, Harry,” Hermione said,
hurrying back toward the house.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Harry said, leaning over and kissing his wife on the
cheek.

Ginny frowned slightly looking down at her faded jeans and bulky
jumper. “I might not be gorgeous today, but I will be tomorrow,” she
said. “I can’t believe that dress finally fits me. I was so worried I
wouldn’t be able to get into it in time.”

“You look gorgeous now. You always look gorgeous,” Harry said, leaning
over and kissing her again. He knew from experience that he was talking
to deaf ears, but as far as he was concerned, she was the most gorgeous
creature on her earth – along with their son, of course.

“Where have you been?” Ginny asked holding James in the air. She
giggled when he grabbed for her nose. “You’ve been gone for ages.”

“I showed James the Quidditch pitch,” Harry said.

“You didn’t take him up on a broom, did you, Harry?” she asked,
narrowing her eyes.

“I didn’t! You can ask Bill. We took a long walk around the woods and
examined all the colors. James threw my glasses on the ground three
times,” Harry said, listing their adventures.

“Why don’t you just Charm them to stay on?” Ginny asked, laughing.

“That would ruin his game,” Harry said, shocked she would suggest such
a thing.

Ginny smiled fondly, leaning over to kiss him properly. James again
voiced his disapproval of being caught in the middle.
“We should head inside. Mum is just about to serve dinner, and it’s
getting chilly out here. Mum’s arranged for the three kids to stay in
the nursery tonight, so they’ll all be here in the morning for
Gabrielle.”

Mrs. Weasley had converted Percy’s old room into a nursery for her
visiting grandchildren. She’d said it was a way to remind herself that
life went on.

“Gabrielle is really going to be okay watching all three of them?”
Harry asked, feeling slightly panicked. Fleur’s sister had offered to
mind the Weasley grandchildren while they attended the wedding, but it
would be the first time Harry and Ginny had left James with anyone
besides family.

“She won’t be alone,” Ginny said bracingly. “She’s bringing a friend,
and the two of them will be fine.”

“Is Ron back yet?” Harry asked.

“Oh, no. I don’t expect to see him for hours. Hermione is spending the
night at her parents’ house, and Fleur looked ready to go to bed when I
was inside. Hermione will kill her if she goes into labor tonight,”
Ginny said, laughing.

“So, a quiet evening at home, then?” Harry asked, waggling his
eyebrows.

“Hmm,” Ginny replied, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m certain
we’ll come up with something to do.”

Harry grinned, wrapping his arm around his wife. “Come on, Mrs. Potter.
I’m suddenly exhausted. I think we’ll have to retire early.”

“Right! As if my parents won’t see right through that, Harry. They’ll
know you want to have your wicked way with me,” Ginny said, scoffing.

“Er, Ginny. I think they’ve figured that out already. After all, you’re
holding the evidence in your arms,” Harry said, tickling James under
his chin. The baby squealed with delight before beginning to fuss at
Ginny’s sweater.

“Sorry, love, but it looks like your son wants to have his way with me
first,” Ginny said, laughing. “Let me feed him, then we’ll have our own
dinner before putting him down for the night.”

“All right,” Harry said, pouting.

Ginny laughed, nudging him gently. “Then we can go home and engage in
those other activities.”

The monster in Harry’s chest perked up its head and roared.

**--**--

The morning of the wedding dawned cloudy and gray with a very light
sheen of moisture in the air. Although it was typical English weather, Luna had informed Hermione that it meant the Fertility Goddess was
smiling upon her. Added to the stress Hermione was already feeling,
plus the fact she was marrying a Weasley, and Hermione was in a right
panic.

Ginny had Apparated over to the Grangers’ in order to calm Hermione,
while Harry went to the Burrow to make certain Ron was straightened
out. He’d found the groom hunched over a toilet with a full-blown
hangover. Fred and Charlie had succeeded in their mission.

Harry begged a clucking Mrs. Weasley for a remedy – she never could
resist when he used his ‘puppy-dog eyes,’ as Ginny called them. After
Ron had showered, dressed and eaten a massive breakfast, the two
Apparated to the secure location that Hermione had arranged for magical
guests. They still had plenty of time, so they took a stroll along the
street, peering in various Muggle windows as they did.

“So, are you feeling better?” Harry asked, smirking. Ron had lost the
green tinge to his skin, but now, only an hour before the ceremony, he
was finally beginning to look nervous. Leave it to Ron to wait until
the last minute.

“What if she decides not to do this, Harry?” he asked.

“She won’t,” Harry replied, smiling.

“How do you know?” Ron asked, sounding both irritated and hopeful at
the same time.

“How long have you known Hermione, Ron? You – of all people – should
know how hard it is to change her mind once she has it set on
something,” Harry replied easily.

Ron snorted. “Too right.” After a few minutes walking in amiable
silence, he added, “We’re really going to do this.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Harry said.

“Hey! After Hermione marries me, we’ll all be family – for real,” Ron
said, appearing startled by the thought.

“You’re just now working that out?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut it,” Ron said, elbowing Harry in the gut. “Who would have ever
thought when we all met on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago
that we’d one day end up as One Big Happy Weasley Family?”

“Not me,” Harry said, grinning. “I was just happy to find someone who
would sit with me.”

Ron snorted. “It’ll be good to see everyone – even Malfoy said he was
coming.”

After school, Draco had finally managed to get his family funds
restored to him. Although they never Owled each other to arrange a get
together, when they ran into one another at a pub, they’d always share
a pint. Draco had gone abroad the previous year after becoming frustrated with the amount of distrust the Malfoy name still instilled
in Wizarding Britain.

“You invited him then?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, it was Hermione’s idea,” Ron grumbled.

Harry grinned. They’d formed a grudging respect, but Ron would never
call Draco a mate. Harry supposed he wouldn’t, either.

“I heard he’s been going out with Daphne Greengrass,” Harry said.

“Yeah. He’s bringing her as his date,” Ron replied. “She was never as
bad as some of the others, but I never trusted her.”

“What Slytherin did you trust?” Harry asked.


“Same could be asked of you! I sent Snape a wedding invitation, too,”
Ron said, barely controlling his grin. “He didn’t respond.”

Harry chuckled. Ron had spent the past four years cheerfully sending
any news related to Harry or their lives to their old Potions’ master
in Azkaban. He even made annual visits on Potter’s Day to ensure the
surly man would get all the details of the celebratory events.

Snape had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, though Ron said his
disposition was really no different than it had been at Hogwarts. The
only thing that did seem to crack Snape’s surly indifference was news
of Harry’s success. Ron’d said he’d nearly had kittens when he’d
learned Harry had been awarded the Order of Merlin.

“Maybe you should stop and pay him a visit before you leave on your
honeymoon,” Harry said, grinning. “Ask him for a Potency-Increasing
Potion or something. You and Hermione have some catching up to do.”

Ron shoved Harry’s shoulder, causing him to stumble. Harry turned and
sucker punched Ron in the gut as the two friends laughed, continuously
strolling down the street. Perhaps it was grayness of the day causing
them to hurry or just the excitement of the pending nuptials, but they
passed a Muggle newsstand without casting a second glance at the
headline…

Mysterious Deaths in Surry

Late last evening on a quiet street in Surry, a gruesome discovery was
made. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were found dead in their home. Both
victims were found seated at their kitchen table, but a source close to
the investigation tells us no cause of death is readily apparent. Both
victims had been in relatively good health, although Mr. Dursley
suffered from high blood pressure and a dangerous cholesterol level.
Still, this wouldn’t explain how both victims died at the same time
with no obvious sign of foul play.

The doors to their house on Privet Drive remained locked, and there was
no sign of forced entry. The Dursleys are survived by one son, Dudley,
who was unavailable for comment, although one neighbor claimed to have seen him in the area on the day of his parents’ mysterious deaths. The
source tells this reporter that the strangest thing about the case is
the expression of terror on both victims’ faces. The source claimed it
was as if they’d been frightened to death…

***THE END***

chapter 20

“Harry will call them when he’s ready, Padfoot,” Remus said, his eyes
peering knowingly at Harry. Remus had always been able to read Harry
very well.

“What’s to be ready? He called us; he can just do the same for them,”
Sirius said, warming to the idea. “They’ll be furious if they find out
we’ve been here all this time without them.”

Harry looked away, his heart beginning to pound erratically. He was
about to meet his parents for the first time, and he’d already done
something to anger them. Great. He wondered if his mum could shout like
Mrs. Weasley, and how it would feel if she shouted at him. And could he
just call them here? He’d done it subconsciously with Dumbledore, and
he’d used memories to bring forth Sirius, Remus and Tonks. He didn’t
have any memories of his parents – not real memories, anyway, and he
didn’t want to use the one he had of his mother’s death.

Remus laid a steady hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “They
won’t be furious,” he said quietly, halting Harry’s frantic musings.

“Perhaps you don’t need a specific memory, but merely the feelings they
inspire within you will do,” Dumbledore said, laying a restraining hand
on Sirius’s shoulder.

Harry nodded, feeling trapped. He shut his eyes and thought of Godric’s
Hollow – not how he’d seen it, but how he imagined it should have been, with lilies growing outside, and a large oak tree with a swing on a
low-lying branch, and a tree house hidden behind the leaves. His father
would be cutting the grass while his mother prepared a lunch for him
and his younger siblings.

“James!” Sirius shouted, startling Harry from the vision.

His eyes flew open wide in time to see the little cottage just as he’d
imagined it with his parents standing on the stoop. They were both very
young, only a few years older than Harry at best, and he vaguely
wondered if they remained stuck at the age of their death in the
afterworld or were merely called forth the way Harry envisioned them.

“There you are, Padfoot, you old dog. Who is she this time? You
haven’t been ‘round for weeks,” James Potter said, clapping Sirius on
the back. Even his voice sounded very much like Harry’s.

“Where are we, Sirius?” Lily asked, tilting her head to the side. She
was taller than Harry had expected, although perhaps that assumption
was influenced by Ginny’s diminutive height.

“Sweet Merlin,” James said, whistling through his teeth when he caught
sight of Harry.

Harry felt his knees give out, and he sank to the couch with
Dumbledore’s gentle assistance.

“What is it, James?” Lily asked, peering over his shoulder. She swayed
when she saw Harry, and James grabbed her to steady her.

“Harry, is that you?” James croaked.

“My baby,” Lily said, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at both his parents and Professor Dumbledore,
uncertain what he should do. He felt frozen in place, unable to make
either his mind or his body work properly.

Lily broke his trance. She rushed toward him, flung her arms around
him, and hugged him fiercely, sobbing into his chest. Harry gaped at
Professor Dumbledore, who only smiled benignly.

Harry had never done well with crying girls, and this was somehow much
worse. This was his mother! His head knew that, but sitting there with
this young, attractive woman, barely older that himself, crying all
over him was disconcerting.

One thing he was definitely aware of - she hugged even tighter than
Mrs. Weasley.

He raised panicked eyes to his father, who gently came toward them and
pulled Lily back.


“Come on, Lily. Let him breathe. You’re embarrassing the poor bloke,”
he said, grinning. His hazel eyes sparkled as they raked over his son,
and he stood in front of Harry, grinning widely.
“I am not embarrassing him,” Lily said, indignantly slapping James on
the arm.

“Oh, you so are,” Sirius said, grinning. “Our Harry here embarrasses
quite easily, actually. I used to like to make sport of him and see how
red he would turn.”

Harry scowled at Sirius, who only laughed harder. Lily reached out and
gently brushed the hair back from Harry’s scar. He let her stare at it
for a moment before shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ve enjoyed watching you play Quidditch,” James said brightly. They
all appeared to be searching for the right thing to say. As far as
Harry was concerned, Quidditch always worked, and he instantly warmed
to James.

“Yeah? I’ve played since my first year,” he said.

“I know! I was so proud when that happened, wasn’t I, Lily? When you
were born, I bought you this little toddler starter broom. Your mother
was furious and insisted that I couldn’t put you on it for at least
five years, but I knew you’d be a natural,” James said, beaming.

Lily shook her head, but she kept smiling as she reached out to
straighten the sleeve on Harry’s shirt, and brush the hair from his
collar.

“I had plans to build our own pitch in the woods behind the house at
Godric’s Hollow. Did you notice it? There was plenty of room for a
secluded clearing, and I thought it would be great to play with the
smell of the ocean on the breeze,” James said, bouncing on the balls of
his feet.

“Oh! I did see the wood there. That would have been a great place for
a pitch,” Harry replied, happily contemplating the idea of a pitch at
his own home. He could have had friends over for pick-up matches during
the summer.

The Quidditch talk continued for some time while Lily kept reaching out
to stroke Harry’s hair. Although disconcerted at first, Harry
eventually relaxed and stopped flinching at her touch. She was very
much like Mrs. Weasley in that way.

“You never could have built that pitch,” Sirius said, snorting while
shaking his head. “The Ministry denied that request because you were
foolish enough to give them your lighting specifications.”

“Well, what’s the use in having an ocean view if you can’t see it at
night?” James asked, sounding insulted. “I could have cast the Muggle-
Repelling Charms myself. It wouldn’t have caused them any trouble.”

“We know, dear,” Lily said, placating him.

James sulkily folded his arms across his chest.
“I think it would have been brilliant,” Harry said, feeling bad for his
dad. He could see how much that pitch meant to him and knew how it felt
to be disappointed. There was something about the idea that his dad had
these huge plans for him and his future siblings that filled Harry’s
heart. His dad had wanted to play Quidditch with him! His own dad.

“It would have been, wouldn’t it?” James asked, the boyishness
returning to his face. “I wish I could have finished it before…well, I
wish I could have left it for you. Your friend Ron and you would have
had a grand time.”

“You like Ron, then?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual. Somehow, he
desperately wanted James to approve of all his friends.

“Of course I like Ron,” James said, nonplussed. “You’ve got the best
set of friends I could have ever wanted for you, and I thank Merlin for
them everyday.”

Harry beamed.

“We were both happy with the friends you made that first year at
Hogwarts,” Lily said. She’d taken the seat next to Harry and clutched
his hand as she spoke.

“Ron will be okay, won’t he?” Harry asked, remembering the curse that
had struck Ron during the battle.

Lily smiled sadly. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?” Harry asked, fear rising like a bubble in his
throat. “You said you’ve been watching everything.”

“The future is never concrete, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “It is
ever moving and changing. It shifts according to how events unfold. We
are mere observers.”

“It’s probably time for me to go back,” Harry whispered thickly, his
throat very tight. James, Sirius and Remus had gone back to their
argument over the Quidditch pitch, but Lily was still listening to
their conversation, and he found it hard to meet her gaze.

“And it is time for me to move forward,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Do
you want to say your farewells?”

“I think it would be easier if I left first,” Harry said, knowing he
couldn’t stand watching them all disappear one by one again.

Dumbledore’s eyes dimmed sadly, but he nodded his understanding. “Go
forward knowing that your departed loved ones are all watching over
you.”

Lily sniffed, leaning over and grabbing Harry’s hands. Her green eyes
filled with tears, but she blinked them back resolutely. She tugged at
a lock of his hair, smiling sadly.

“Your hair has always been so soft. I used to play with it when you
were a baby. I thought it was just baby hair, but it’s still just as soft as it was then. I missed so much – we missed so much,” she said
sadly, biting the corner of her lip.

Harry swallowed. What could he say? There was no denying her words, and
he was at a loss how to make either of them feel better. The past had
happened and couldn’t be changed. Perhaps that was the reason for his
visit here in the first place. Maybe this locked room inside the
Ministry – the one used to study the great mystery of love – was meant
to show him that even though he’d come through a tragic past, it was
the love of the people who’d touched him that was pushing him toward
his bright future. Perhaps that was love’s greatest gift.

Knowing what he had to do, he tried to smile and pulled her into his
arms, hugging her tightly. “Take care of the Marauders. I want to leave
remembering them this way,” he said, his vision blurred. James, Remus
and Sirius were laughing and good-naturedly shoving each other in the
shoulder on occasion. It seemed the way it was supposed to be.

“I will,” Lily said quietly, sniffing back her own tears. “Always
remember that we love you, and that we’re all so proud of you. You’ve
grown into a fantastic young man, and I can’t imagine a better son. I’m
very pleased with the girl you’ve chosen. Be a gentleman and let her
inside your head as well as your heart. Take care of each other.”

Harry nodded, sniffling.

“I’m not going to make a horrid scene,” Lily said, laughing through her
tears. “I’ll let you play macho. I love you, Harry.”

Harry blinked, stunned. He’d never thought he’d hear his mother say
that. He could feel his eyes filling and panicked that he was about to
lose control.

“Oh, now I’ve done it,” Lily said, swiping Harry’s eyes and pulling him
into a hug. “I’m going to stand with Tonks so you can return to the
life you’ve made. It’s a good life, son. Let yourself really live it.”


Before Harry could reply, she hugged him once more and walked over to
Tonks. Tonks wrapped her arm around the other woman and guided Lily’s
head to her shoulder.

“Live well, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said, dragging Harry’s
attention back to the matter at hand.

Harry nodded and got to his feet, looking anywhere but right at
Dumbledore’s eyes. He allowed the Headmaster to lead him quietly from
the common room, stealing one glance back at the laughing Marauders and
noticing his mother still watching him.

When they reached the entrance where the portrait hole should have
been, Professor Dumbledore stopped. Before he could think about it
enough to stop himself from doing it, Harry flung his arms around the
headmaster and held on fiercely. Dumbledore wrapped his arms around
Harry’s shoulders and enveloped him in a warm embrace.
“You can always find me here, Harry,” he said, resting his hand over
Harry’s heart, “even if we can no longer have our little chats.”

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

“Simply imagine yourself going back, and your mind will do the rest,”
Dumbledore said.

Harry blinked and looked ahead of him, vaguely noticing that the great
expanse of gray had brightened slightly. He could see most of Hogwarts
and the Burrow dimly lit in the distance. He could even hear the
crashing of waves and knew his and Ginny’s private beach was not far.

As he began looking around and taking notice of places, shapes, and
events in his life, he’d started forward, again floating above it all
as his body moved toward the locked door. Craning his neck around, he
realized he could still clearly see the common room, but it was vacant
– a few empty mugs were the only indication that it had recently been
used.

Harry shut his eyes to block the tears. It was time to go back.

Chapter Thirty-One

Survivors

Ginny stared out the window of the double room in St. Mungo’s Hospital
for Magical Maladies and Injuries, watching the sun rise gloriously
over the just-awakening city streets. There wasn’t a single cloud
marring the sky. She could see birds fluttering around the trees in a
park at the corner, and even the smog from the morning rush of Muggle
traffic appeared absent this day. It was as if nature itself was
rejoicing over Voldemort’s fall the previous evening.

The bright sunlight and vibrant colors contrasted starkly with the
somber mood inside the room where Ginny sat. Throughout the rest of the
hospital, Healers had been rushing to and fro nearly non-stop since she
had arrived. Even with the vast number of injuries they were treating,
the Healers could barely contain their jubilance. Those injured who
were still conscious waited for hours, celebrating in the corridors and
chatting with strangers and acquaintances alike over the defeat of the
Dark Lord. From her hidden spot, Ginny overheard the story of
Voldemort’s defeat growing taller each time it was retold.

The only exception to this euphoria was inside the sterile, antiseptic
room where Harry lay, still unconscious. A serious, nearly awed
reverence fell upon anyone entering the room, and the Healers checked
his vital signs with wide-eyed astonishment. If Harry were awake, Ginny
was certain he’d hate every minute of it. She tried to assuage her
increasing worry by telling herself that he was only staying asleep to
avoid the hero-worship.

When his eyes had rolled back and he’d lost consciousness at the
Ministry, Ginny had felt a brief, heart-stopping moment of panic. She’d
truly thought she’d lost him. His body had gone limp, and his presence
– that same powerful aura around him that had always attracted her –
seemed to just fade away.
Hermione had insisted that his heart was still beating, but Ginny
hadn’t been convinced. When Ministry workers, led by a witch called
Leticia Warbanks had stormed into the Department of Mysteries and taken
control, they’d assured Ginny of the same thing. Harry’s heart was,
indeed, still beating. It had been Leticia Warbanks, a stern-looking
witch with black hair streaked with gray and smile crinkles around her
eyes, who had immediately decided to transport Harry to St. Mungo’s.

Hermione and Ginny had protested, fearing the Death Eaters still in
charge at the hospital might further harm him in retaliation for
killing their Dark Lord. Leticia insisted that there were people at the
hospital who could be trusted. She said that once the news of
Voldemort’s defeat began to spread, there would be a bunch of
volunteers lining up to protect Harry from any wayward Death Eaters.

She’d been right, too. As the news of Voldemort’s fall traveled from
the bowels of the Ministry up through the building and onto the
streets, the Wizarding world that had long been held oppressed began to
turn on their tormenters. A mob mentality overcame them, and many of
the Death Eaters who hadn’t been involved in the attack on Hogwarts
were hunted down and slain in the streets.

They had been executed within the Ministry, in their homes, even in the
corridors of St. Mungo’s by the Healers sworn to preserve life. The
general consensus appeared to be that they would never allow this to
happen again.

There were parties and fireworks and loud celebrations in the streets
all across Britain. Harry’s name was toasted in pubs and on the streets
to anyone who would listen. Ginny couldn’t even imagine what the
Muggles must be thinking about it all.

Leticia Warbanks had been the only Ministry worker who hadn’t
completely panicked over the sight of Voldemort’s dead body, and she
simply radiated authority. She and a small handful of Ministry
employees had tried to maintain order and speak reason with the
rampaging mobs of celebrating people to no avail. Instead, they’d
focused their energy on restoring the hospital in order to treat the
wounded and to assist in the battle at Hogwarts.

As in other places, the Death Eaters who had been attacking the school
had turned on one another. Some tried to bargain and give up the names
of their cohorts to save themselves, but most of them simply battled
their own confusion, refusing to believe that Voldemort could really be
gone.

Several of the captured Death Eaters had claimed to be under the
Imperius curse, but their claims were met with deaf ears, and they were
either slain or packed off to holding facilities before they could be
sent to Azkaban.

Ginny had yet to see anyone from her family, and she waited on
tenterhooks for any news. She and her group had all been treated when
they’d first arrived, but only Ron and Harry had been admitted. The
curse that had struck Ron had done a large amount of internal damage.
The Healers had patched him up and repaired his broken wrist, but they’d insisted he needed to stay in bed for a couple days. Everyone
had agreed that it would be best to keep the boys in one room. This
way, the Ministry could monitor their visitors, and Hermione and Ginny
could keep an eye on both of them. Hermione had curled up in a chair by
Ron’s bed, and they’d both been sleeping peacefully for hours.

Ginny wished she could do the same. She’d managed to drift off at one
point during the night, but her uneasy sleep had been plagued by
strange dreams. Professor Dumbledore had appeared and told her it was
down to her to save Harry. She supposed it was simply her anxiety
playing havoc on her mind, but she still couldn’t shake the dream.

She wrung her hands, staring at Harry’s pale and bruised face. The
Healers insisted that it wasn’t the injuries that he’d received during
the battle that kept him unconscious – although they were many and vast
– it was the Draught of Living Death that he’d ingested that was
keeping him from regaining consciousness. His vital signs all showed
that he was alive, but none of their scans had picked up any brainwave
activity.

They said it was a unique case, and they weren’t entirely certain how
long it would take him to wake up. Ginny suspected that unique case
meant they just didn’t know. The side effects of the antidote they’d
given him were nausea and fever. The potion forced his body to fight in
order to expel the poisons, so even after he’d regained consciousness,
Harry was in for a rough recovery. Ginny couldn’t even bring herself to
think about what the lack of brain activity could mean. It was simply
more than she could bear at the moment.

The Healers still didn’t know anything about the Horcrux that had
resided within Harry’s soul. Ginny had nearly blurted everything when
they’d begun examining him, but Hermione held her back, insisting it
was better not to reveal anything about the Horcruxes lest any other
Dark Lord wanna-be’s got any ideas. Ginny knew she had a point but
would only agree to remain silent unless it looked as if they couldn’t
treat Harry. Hermione readily accepted this condition.

Although she’d known what was supposed to happen when Harry caught that
Snitch and uttered the Killing Curse, Ginny had been completely
unprepared for the sheer agony that Harry underwent. His scar, which
had been extremely red and hot to the touch, literally burst as the
dark piece of Tom’s soul was expelled. It had bled profusely, but he
hadn’t even appeared to notice. And then Snape…

Ginny scowled as she remembered how her former Potions master had
attempted to curse Harry when he was too weak to defend himself.
Leticia had promised that Snape would be transported directly to
Azkaban, but without the Dementors there, Ginny thought that was too
good for him.

Her face softened as she glanced over the bed and watched Harry sleep.
She was still having a hard time believing it was really over. She
picked up his limp hand and brushed her lips across his bruised
knuckles. His long, slender fingers seemed almost delicate despite his
calloused skin. They suited Harry – something soft and vulnerable
beneath a tough outer shell.
She sank into the chair beside his bed once again, resting her head in
her hands. A soft voice sounding from the doorway startled her.

“Am I intruding?”

Ginny looked up quickly to see a tired and drawn Leticia Warbanks.
Stray wisps of peppered hair had pulled loose from the bun she wore at
the nape of her neck. Something told Ginny that it was very rare for
anyone to see Leticia in this disheveled state.

“No, Mrs. Warbanks. Come in,” Ginny said, smiling tiredly. She sat up
straight, suddenly feeling very awkward.

“My dear, I told you to call me Leticia,” the elder woman said, smiling
kindly as she tiptoed past Hermione and took the chair on the other
side of Harry’s bed.

Ginny smiled uncomfortably, causing Leticia to laugh outright.

“In all fairness, I should be the one offering you the salutation of
respect,” she said, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. “After all, it
was you young people who freed us all from this tyranny.”

“It was Harry,” Ginny replied, her gaze flicking back to the sleeping
figure on the bed.

“Has there been any change?” Leticia asked quietly, careful not to wake
Ron or Hermione.

“No,” Ginny whispered, blinking the moisture from her eyes.

Leticia nodded, pursing her lips. “I’ve placed a guard outside this
room and given him the list of names you approved for entrance.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in alarm. “Has there been an attempt already?”

“No, not at all. I suspect it will take some time for the scattered
remains of the Death Eaters to regroup, if they ever do,” Leticia
replied. “I’m more worried about the press. They’ve reorganized and are
growing desperate for a statement.”

Ginny let out an exasperated breath, blowing her fringe in the air. “He
couldn’t give a statement even if that’s what he wanted to do!”

“No. And as soon as they realize that, it will be you, your brother,
and Miss Granger whom they’ll be seeking,” Leticia said.

“Better us than him,” Ginny mumbled.

A gentle smile lit Leticia’s stern face, softening it. “You’re very
protective of him. I hope he appreciates it.”

Ginny shrugged. “He’s been through a lot.”

The smile slipped from Leticia’s face, and she nodded gravely. “I’ll
handle the reporters as best I can until he’s stronger. He will have to
give a statement eventually if he ever hopes to have any peace.”
“Is there any news from Hogwarts?” Ginny asked, not particularly caring
what the reporters wanted at the moment.

“The Death Eaters have been contained, and some of the wounded are
beginning to arrive. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more specific for
you,” Leticia replied.

Ginny’s shoulders slumped. She desperately wanted some news about her
family and had to blink repeatedly to keep her eyes from filling. For
the first time, she understood her mother’s obsessive need for that
family clock. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door burst
open again. She grasped her wand and waved in frantically at the
intruder.

“Mum!” she said, flabbergasted.

“Ginny,” her mother cried, stopping short when she saw Leticia sitting
in the chair opposite Ginny. Hermione shifted in her sleep, but she
didn’t wake.

“Hello, Molly,” Leticia said softly. “Ginny was just filling me in on
some of the details.”

“Oh, Ginny! You’re all right,” her mother said, collecting her wits and
rushing into the room to gather Ginny into her arms.

Ginny buried her face into her mum’s shoulder and breathed deeply. Even
after a battle, her mother still managed to smell of warm bread. Ginny
suddenly missed the Burrow more than she had at anytime during the
entire war. She wanted to go home.

“What happened?” she and her mother both asked simultaneously.

Laughing and crying at the same time, her mum swiped at Ginny’s tears
and led her back to her chair between the two beds. “Are you hurt?” she
asked, touching the red skin on Ginny’s shoulder that was revealed when
her shirt pulled back as they hugged.

“It’s just a cut. The Healers already mended it,” Ginny said. “What
happened at Hogwarts?”

“What about Ron?” her mother asked, still not answering Ginny’s
question. Her gaze swept the sleeping figure of her son, looking for
signs of damage.

“Here, take my chair,” Leticia said, rising. “I’ve got other things to
check on, and you have catching up to do.”

“Thank you, Leticia,” her mother said as the other woman bid them
farewell.

“Ron’s all right,” Ginny replied. “He had some injuries, but nothing
they couldn’t fix. He has this scar on his chest right underneath his
armpit, and he told the Healers he wanted to keep it.”
“He what?” her mother shrieked, causing Hermione to shift and turn her
head to the other side before she resettled once again.

Her mum had visibly paled when Ginny had mentioned Ron’s injuries, but
her temper was getting the better of her. “What is he thinking? Why
would he want to keep such a thing?” she asked huffily.

“Since Harry and I already have scars, he wasn’t going to be left out,”
Ginny said, chuckling at the memory. “He said his isn’t as fancy as a
lightening bolt, but Weasleys are used to being frugal.”

Her mother frowned and folded her arms. “You and Hermione are all
right, though?” she asked, her head turning as she inspected the two
girls.

“The Healers took care of us, Mum. Don’t worry,” Ginny replied, knowing
it was the same as asking the other woman not to breathe.

“What about Harry?” her mother asked, flinching when she looked at his
unnaturally still form.

“They don’t know yet,” Ginny whispered, her eyes filling again. “He
hasn’t regained consciousness since it all happened.”

Her mother jumped up and once again gathered Ginny in her arms. “There,
there. It’s all right. Not to worry – he’ll be fine,” she said
soothingly.

Ginny shifted in her chair, allowing her mother to sit beside her. The
chair really wasn’t made for two people, but at the moment, Ginny
really didn’t mind the close quarters.

“He ripped Harry apart, Mum,” she said, shuddering as she remembered
the battle at the Ministry.

“They said…I mean…the rumor is,” her mother said, faltering.

“Harry killed Tom,” Ginny said flatly, a single tear slowly dripping
from her cheek. She’d frozen in place when Voldemort’s body had
transformed back into the face she’d once known. She’d only managed to
shake off the trance when Harry collapsed. Even now, thinking about Tom
Riddle caused her to want to run and hide.

“I was told they dueled right in the Atrium at the Ministry,” her
mother said.

Ginny forcibly shook off the memories trying to claim her. “Not
exactly. It was in the Department of Mysteries. Tom followed Harry
there, and they…I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s dead and good
riddance, only he did his damn utmost to take Harry with him.”

“But it’s over now, and we’ll all be certain to help Harry recover. He
can really live now, Ginny. We all can,” her mother said, bristling.

They fell silent as a Healer entered the room. She was a middle-aged
witch with light brown hair and a pear-shaped figure. She hovered by
Ron’s side momentarily, waving her wand over his sleeping form. She appeared pleased with the results, for she nodded in a self-satisfied
way before moving toward Harry.

She waved her wand over him the same way she had done to Ron, only this
time the results made her frown.

“Is everything all right?” her mother asked, voicing Ginny’s concern.

“Your son is mending nicely, Mrs. Weasley,” the Healer replied.
“There’s still no change in Mr. Potter, although it is time for another
Restorative Potion.”

She slid her sturdy arm beneath Harry’s shoulders and lifted him
slightly. His head lolled to the side, but with a practiced hand, the
Healer took a phial from her tray and poured it down his throat. He
made choking sounds and some of the thick purple fluid dribbled down
his chin, but she quickly uttered an Anti-Gagging Spell, and the rest
of the potion slid down Harry’s throat.

Ginny waited for the Healer to leave, keeping a close watch on Harry
and barely daring to breathe. She’d give anything to see his bright
green eyes looking back at her at the moment, but he remained still.

“What happened at Hogwarts, Mum?” she asked, sighing. “Why won’t you
tell me?”

“I’m not hiding anything from you, Ginny,” her mother said, pulling her
tight. “I simply don’t know much myself, and I’m trying not to think
about it.”

Breathing very hard, her mother ran her hand on Ginny’s hair, patting
her with a shaky hand. “Hermione’s message reached us in the common
room at about the same time we heard the wards come down. Most everyone
went outside, but I went up to the hospital wing with Poppy to prepare
to treat the injuries.”

Ginny sniffled, searching her mother’s face.

“After it was all over, I left Poppy back at Hogwarts and came here
with George,” her mother said, her lower lip trembling.

“George?” Ginny asked, rasping, a leaden feeling consuming her stomach.

Her mother swiped a tear from her eye. “Both he and Shannon were badly
Cursed. George was the worst, so Poppy sent him ahead while she tried
to tend Shannon,” she said.

“Why didn’t she just send both of them?” Ginny asked, finding it hard
to take a breath.

“The hospital still isn’t running at full strength, Ginny, and there
are a lot of injuries. I know a large number of the Aurors were also
hurt, not to mention the townspeople in Hogsmeade,” her mother said,
sighing.

“What about Dad?” Ginny asked, biting her lip.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t find him, so I know he never came up to the
hospital wing, but-” her mum broke off with a sniffle, burying her face
in her hands.

“He’s all right, Mum,” Ginny said, wrapping her arm around her mother’s
back and patting it gently. She felt slightly disconcerted by this
sudden role reversal.

“What’s wrong with George?” she asked, trying to distract both herself
and her mother from dark thoughts about her dad.

“The Healers are working on him now. They said they’d come and get me
here when I could see him,” her mum said, wiping her nose. Her eyes
were very red, and Ginny could see the effort it took to pull herself
together. “Anastasia Parkinson saved both George and Shannon.”

“Mrs. Parkinson?” Ginny asked, nonplussed.

“She was frantic when Dudley told us that Harry and Pansy were missing.
Do you know what happened to Pansy?” her mum asked.

“She’s dead,” Ginny replied flatly.

“Oh!” her mother gasped, putting her hand on her chest. “Poor
Anastasia.”

“Pansy betrayed Harry and gave him to Voldemort,” Ginny said, gritting
her teeth. No matter the circumstances, she could find no compassion
for Pansy Parkinson at the moment.

“She what?” her mother asked, stunned. Two high points of color rose on
her cheeks.

“She was trying to save Draco, but Voldemort, of course, reneged on
their deal. I don’t know the whole story. There wasn’t enough time for
Harry to tell us,” Ginny said.

“How did Harry get away?” her mother asked.

“It’s a long story, and it doesn’t really matter now. You said Mrs.
Parkinson saved George?” Ginny asked, sagging back against the chair.
She could feel her exhaustion catching up with her as she rested her
head on her mother’s shoulder.

“Anastasia ran outside with everyone else, determined to find Pansy.
When she saw the Death Eater attacking the children, she turned her own
wand on him – and she knew who he was, but she killed him, anyway. She
said she wouldn’t allow another mother to feel what she was feeling,”
her mother said with watery eyes. “Oh, she’ll be devastated.”

Ginny couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of her mouth as
her mother referred to her of-age brothers as ‘children’. Some things
would never change, and she found she was glad for it.

“What about Iris? Is she okay?” Ginny asked.
“I don’t know. She was told to stay inside, but she doesn’t listen any
better than my children do,” her mother said, frowning.

Ginny snorted, unabashed.

“I can’t believe it’s finally over,” her mum whispered.

“I know,” Ginny replied. “I’ve been thinking the same thing all night.”

“When it ended the last time – during the first war, I’d already lost
my brothers by the end, and you kids were all babies. We celebrated
when we heard the news like everyone else, but it wasn’t quite the same
sort of…anxious relief,” her mother said, smiling wistfully. Her gaze
roamed to Harry’s heavily bruised face sleeping on the pillow next to
their chair. “Harry was just a larger-than-life storybook hero. After
it was over, I never really considered the true implications for him.
Now that I’m sitting here worrying about the rest of my family, I can
see the other side of the story.”

Ginny sniffled. “The other side?”

“That while we all celebrated and praised his victory over evil, he was
a little boy who was left all alone. That’s happening now. People are
out cavorting in the streets, while there are many families just like
ours holding their breath and waiting for news,” her mother said
softly, dabbing her eye with a handkerchief.

She and her mother sat together in that lumpy chair, their heads each
resting on the other until they’d nearly drifted to sleep. When the
door to Harry’s room opened, they both turned with a start and were
relieved to see her dad and Charlie stroll inside. Charlie was limping,
and the clothes he wore were singed, while her dad had a bandage above
his left eye and his arm was in a sling.

“Arthur!” her mother shouted, her voice cracking. She jumped from the
chair and rushed into his arms.

He grabbed her and kissed her hard, causing both Ginny and Charlie to
look away, grimacing. Charlie scooped up Ginny, nearly squeezing the
life out of her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, noticing him wince as he put her down.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I’ve just left one wound unhealed, and you
managed to touch it.”

“Why is it unhealed?” her mother asked, finally releasing their father
and turning her owl-sharp gaze upon them.

“So he could keep the scar,” her father said excitedly, pulling up his
own sleeve. “Look!”

He showed them a long, thin, jagged scar running from his hand all the
way up to his elbow.

“The Healers downstairs told us about Ron keeping his, and we couldn’t
let him nick all the glory,” Charlie said, conjuring several more chairs. Ginny knew that had it been a normal situation, this many
visitors would never have been allowed in the hospital room. Today was
anything but normal, however.

Charlie glanced over at a sleeping Ron proudly, beaming at his
unconscious younger brother.

“Honestly, Arthur,” her mother scolded in a hushed voice. “I was
planning to have a talk with Ron about this ridiculous idea. He doesn’t
need you encouraging him.”

“It’s not ridiculous, Mum,” Ginny whispered, smiling brightly at her
father. “I think it’s brilliant, and I know Harry will be touched.”

Her mother’s eyes drifted warily to Harry’s sleeping face, and she
visibly deflated. How could anyone deny him anything right now?

“All right, Ginny?” her dad asked, pulling her into a hug. His fingers
lightly traced the scar on Ginny’s hairline.

“I’m fine, just tired,” she replied.

“George is still with the Healers,” her mother said. “Do you know
anything about Fred, Bill or Fleur?”

“I haven’t seen them,” her dad said, his face sobering. “We arrived
with Shannon and Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?” Ginny asked, gasping. “Is he okay?”

“He’s really in bad shape. Those Death Eaters gave him a thrashing
before we realized what was happening. It was Grawp who saved him,”
Charlie said.

“You know about Grawp?” Ginny asked blankly.

“Contrary to popular belief,” her mother said, rolling her eyes, “some
of the adults are aware of what goes on at that school, young lady.
Yes, Hagrid kept the Order well informed about Grawp.”

“When Grawp saw them hurting Hagrid, he went wild,” her father said,
shuddering. “He’d decimated half the Death Eaters before the rest of us
even got out there.”

“Even then we didn’t have to do much. They had already begun turning on
each other,” Charlie said.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked.

“It started with Narcissa Malfoy,” Charlie replied. “She threw a wobbly
when she heard Draco had gone after Pansy with you lot. She tore out of
the castle and fled toward the Death Eaters.”

“Toward them?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“Yeah. It was as if she thought Draco and Pansy would be with them,”
Charlie said, scratching his head.
“I wonder if she knew,” Ginny muttered, speaking more to herself.

“Knew what?” her father asked.

“Pansy sold Harry out and delivered him to Voldemort,” Ginny replied.

“What?” both Charlie and her dad shouted, glancing at Harry as if to
confirm he was really there.

“D’you think Mrs. Malfoy knew?” Ginny asked. “Because Draco didn’t.”

“I don’t know, and it’s likely we never will,” her dad said, sighing.
“She and that mad sister of hers started talking – shouting at each
other, really – and then Fenrir Greyback appeared out of nowhere and
killed Narcissa without a word.”

“What?” Ginny asked, shocked.

“Bellatrix Lestrange went ballistic. She turned and started hurling
Unforgiveables at Greyback. I couldn’t believe it! I thought they were
going to take each other out before we even had to get involved,”
Charlie said.

“Certainly none of us rushed to either of their defense,” her dad said,
slightly amused. “Of course, no one from their own side did, either.”

“So, what happened?” Ginny asked.

“Greyback won. He killed her and then the fighting really began in
earnest. I lost sight of Greyback in the crowd after that,” Charlie
said grimly.

“Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange are both dead,” Ginny said,
trying to wrap her mind around it. It certainly wasn’t the way she’d
expected them to go. “Someone will have to tell Neville. He’ll want to
know.”

“I’ll take care of it,” her father said, nodding. “Neville was there
today.”

“What?” Ginny asked, stunned.

“After news about the siege at Hogwarts spread, witches and wizards
began Apparating to Hogsmeade from all over the country. They all said
the same thing – that they’d attended Hogwarts and didn’t want to see
it fall,” her dad replied. “Neville arrived with a group of your DA
members.”

“Is he okay?” Ginny asked, feeling extraordinarily proud of her friend.

“Yeah, he was fine. I saw him with a blonde girl. I think she might
have been hurt, though. She looked very confused,” Charlie said.

“No, that’s Luna,” Ginny said, giggling. “She always looks that way.”

“All the DA really performed splendidly,” her dad said.
“Someone will have to tell Draco about his mother,” Ginny said, feeling
uncomfortable. She was surprised to find she actually felt bad for
Draco. “If he survives, that is. He was hurt really badly.”

Hermione’s compassion and quick-thinking had saved Draco’s life. By
Petrifying him, she’d kept his entrails from being entirely expelled,
and the Healers were able to patch him back together. Vaguely, Ginny
wondered how the Slytherin would feel about owing his life to Hermione.

“Since when do you care what happens to Draco Malfoy?” Charlie asked
incredulously.

“Since he helped Harry beat Voldemort,” Ginny replied, shrugging.

“He helped, you say?” her father asked, his eyes opening so wide that
his glasses slipped down his nose.

“Yeah, he did. He was upset that Voldemort killed Pansy, so he offered
to help. It was a good thing too, because Harry couldn’t have done it
alone, particularly not in the condition he was in at the time,” Ginny
said.

“He killed Pansy?” her father asked, wincing. Although her dad had
grown accustomed to all of them actually saying Voldemort’s name, and
he no longer winced when he heard it, he still couldn’t bring himself
to actually say it.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked. “What happened, anyway? I heard
Harry killed him with his bare hands.”

“He killed him with a wand,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

She met her father’s eyes over Harry’s bed and knew he understood what
that meant and which curse Harry used. She hadn’t really thought about
it at the time, but she couldn’t imagine Harry would get in trouble for
it since everyone knew Voldemort had to be stopped. Besides, it wasn’t
as if there even was a Ministry to enforce the rules at the moment. Her
dad blinked and waited for her to continue. He obviously wasn’t going
to make a fuss about it.

“Pansy tricked him into disarming her, and her wand was a Portkey.
Voldemort was waiting at the other end,” Ginny said, wondering if she
should just wait for all her family to be together so she wouldn’t have
to keep repeating this story. Then she thought that if it meant that
the rest of her family could all survive, she’d gladly repeat it every
time. “Harry got away, but not before Snape poured a phial of the
Draught of Living Death down his throat.”

“What?” her family shouted together, causing Hermione to sit up
straight, blinking groggily. She stared in confusion at the mass of
Weasleys who had infiltrated the hospital room while she slept.

“There was no time to get the full story. Harry said he spit it out,
but he was obviously unwell. He couldn’t sit still or the effects
became worse,” Ginny said, shuddering as she remembered how pale and
sickly Harry had looked when he first appeared in the Death Room. “That’s why he’s still covered in bruises. The Healers said they won’t
disappear until the potion is completely out of his system.”

“Sweet Merlin,” her mother said, raising her hand to her throat. She
jumped from her chair and proceeded to unnecessarily straighten the
blankets covering Harry.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said, finally awake. “You’re all
right! Ron will be so happy to see you all here and safe. He was so
worried.”

The door swung open again, and Bill poked his head inside. Relief
washed over his face as he counted the number of redheads in the room.
Fleur kicked the door open the rest of the way with her foot and helped
Bill inside. Although he was covered in new cuts and obviously in pain,
Ginny noticed that he seemed far more concerned with Fleur’s well-
being. She didn’t appear injured and instead tried to steer Bill to an
empty chair.

“Bill! Fleur!” her mother shouted, causing Ron to stir. He sat up
quickly, blinking and turning his head from side to side. Hermione got
up and took his hand, reassuring him.

“I’m all right, Mum,” Bill said, grunting and dragging his leg behind
him. “No. You take it, Fleur.” He nodded toward the chair where Fleur
was trying to get him to sit.

Rolling her eyes and tossing her head in the air, Fleur sat down,
muttering, “Zo stubborn.”

It was only once she was seated that Ginny realized how pale and tired
Fleur looked. A lot of her vitality appeared to be missing, and Ginny
became uneasy with the odd glances that kept passing between Bill and
his wife.

“All right, son?” Mr. Weasley asked, his eyes flickering to Fleur
speculatively.

“I’m brilliant, Dad,” Bill replied, his appearance denying his words.

“Where’s Fred?” Ron asked, rubbing his eyes. He and Hermione had been
whispering, and Ginny surmised that Hermione had been filling him in
about everyone else.

“Haven’t seen him,” Bill said uneasily.

“What happened to you?” Charlie asked.

“Ran into an old foe,” Bill replied, clenching his jaw. “Fenrir
Greyback.”

Her mother gasped, her hand reaching out to touch the fresh wounds on
Bill’s face.

“It’s all right, Mum. Again, it wasn’t a full moon, and he didn’t get
nearly the chance to do as much damage as he did the last time,” Bill
replied.
“You killed him?” Charlie asked.

“Non,” Fleur said, raising her chin. “I did.”

Everyone in the room save Bill gaped at her. He beamed proudly at his
defiant bride. “She was amazing. If she only has a quarter Veela blood,
I never want to cross a real one.”

Fleur blushed and kissed Bill’s hand.

“What happened?” Ginny asked, glancing back and forth between them.

“I don’t know exactly. Fleur came over the hill and saw us fighting and
she….she sort of transformed. She looked like some kind of bird of
prey, and she just attacked him. She ripped him apart, and then she
said the most amazing thing,” Bill said, staring with adoration at his
wife, who murmured something softly.

“What was that?” her dad asked, his eyes twinkling oddly.

“I said zat no one is going to take away ze fazer of my bebe,” Fleur
replied, her nose in the air.

It was as if her mother knew what Fleur was going to say. She leaped
from her chair and wrapped both Bill and Fleur in a crushing embrace
before Ginny had even comprehended what Fleur’s words meant. Her father
and Charlie slapped a beaming Bill on the back, while her mother
hovered over Fleur.

“Congratulations,” Hermione said, smiling softly.

Ginny found she suddenly had to blink her eyes to dispel the moisture.
She was going to be an aunt. Something good and beautiful was already
emerging from all the darkness that had plagued their lives for so
long. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Fleur’s news filled Ginny’s
heart with hope for the future.

“I’m so happy for you,” she choked, throwing her arms around her eldest
brother. Despite his injuries, Bill lifted her in the air and squeezed
her tightly. “Thanks, Squirt,” he said, gruffly.

“Wait…you mean…you’re having his baby?” Ron asked, staring blankly at
Fleur. It was as if his groggy mind simply couldn’t wrap itself around
the fact.

Bill and Charlie laughed heartily.

“Dad did give you the talk about the birds and bees, didn’t he, Ron?
Or in Dad’s case, the one about plugs and batteries?” Charlie asked,
laughing.

Ron’s ears colored brilliantly. “Shut it, you,” he said, frowning.

Ginny eased herself towards Fleur and threw her arms around her sister-
in-law. She may have taken awhile to warm up to this woman who had pushed her way into Ginny’s family, but as far as Ginny was concerned,
Fleur had irrevocably won her place in all of their hearts.

“Congratulations, Fleur,” she said, her eyes dropping to examine
Fleur’s flat stomach.

“Zank you, Ginny. My zon weel need zome cousins to keep him company, zo
you all have zome catching up to do,” Fleur replied.

Both Hermione and Ginny colored brightly, and her mother cleared her
throat. “There’s plenty of time for more weddings now that the war is
over. Let’s just take the time to enjoy this first grandbaby,” she said
firmly.

Ginny saw her father start coughing, turning an alarming shade of red.

“So, what’s this I hear about Harry?” Bill asked, his eyes glancing at
Harry’s still figure. “One of the attendants said he battled Voldemort
atop one of the dragons from Gringotts.”

“Oh, he did not!” Ginny exclaimed, exasperated.

Before she had time to clarify, the hospital door swung open, and a
male Healer entered. He stopped short, surprised by the number of
people inside the room. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but
the protective stance all of the Weasleys took around Ron’s and Harry’s
beds must have dissuaded him.

“I’m just going to see how you’re doing,” he said, clearing his throat
and waving his wand over Ron. “Everything looks good, but you’ll still
have to stay in that bed.”

Ron scowled, and Ginny suspected the Healer was merely trying to
reassert his control rather than any real need for Ron to stay in bed.
When the Healer checked Harry, he frowned in the same way the other
Healers had done. As he picked a phial off his tray, Ginny hurried over
and gently slipped her arm beneath Harry’s shoulders, raising him
slightly.

The Healer’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded, accepting Ginny’s
help. She felt her family’s eyes upon her as she gently supported
Harry’s head as the Healer administered his potion and cast the Anti-
Gagging Charm.

She lowered Harry back onto his pillow, gently swiping some of the
potion from the corner of his mouth. Harry didn’t show any response.

Her father cleared his throat and gently squeezed Ginny’s shoulder. She
turned and leaned against him, letting his strength fill her once more.

“Hey, Ron,” Bill said, pulling up a trouser leg and pointing at a large
and ugly arrow-shaped gash. “Check out my scar.”

Charlie laughed. “Here’s mine,” he said, raising his shirt to show a
round wound on his chest.

“Mine’s on my arm,” her dad said, pulling up his sleeve again.
“Honestly!” her mother huffed.


Ron stared at them all, perplexed.

“We couldn’t let you and Ginny be the only ones,” Charlie replied,
grinning.

“All ze Weasleys have them,” Fleur said, pulling back her hair to show
a jagged wound beneath her ear. Ginny was doubly impressed that she’d
left it on her face – the same face that she’d always taken such pride
in.

“You all kept scars?” Hermione asked, staring at them blankly.

“This is getting ridiculous,” her mother huffed.

“No, it’s not,” Ron said, beaming. “It’s a way to remember. Everyone is
saying that we’ll never let anything like this happen again, but time
will pass, and it will fade. This is a way to keep the memory alive.
You can’t push it aside if there is a reminder staring you in the face
everyday.”

Hermione stared at Ron with tears shining in her eyes. “I don’t have
one,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, Hermione. When Ronnie here finally gets his act together
and asks you to marry him, we’ll just have to take you out and Curse
you,” Charlie said, grinning.

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm before Ginny burst into giggles.

“Charlie!” her mum said, slapping his arm although her eyes were
twinkling.

“And you do have your own sort of scar, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Your
hair is different.”

Hermione pulled at her less-bushy curls. “That is true,” she said,
smiling happily.

Her dad patted her mum on the hand, smiling fondly. “Now, if Fred would
just walk through that door, and George and Harry would hurry and wake,
we’ll truly have something to celebrate,” he said.

“Does anyone know where Fred was during all the fighting?” Hermione
asked.

“George would’ve,” Charlie said quietly, and a somber mood fell across
the inhabitants of the room.

“Maybe he finally worked up the balls to kiss Iris, and she Hexed him,”
Bill said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Bill!” her mum said, scowling.
“Iris wouldn’t Hex him,” Fleur said, smiling knowingly. “Eets more
likely she was ze one to jump him. You Weasley boys take too much time
to take action in matters of ze heart.”

All the Weasleys in the room stared pointedly at Ron, even her mum.

“What?” Ron said indignantly, his ears burning.

Her mother sniffled, rose from her chair and threw her arms around Ron.
“Oh, my baby boy,” she cried.

Ron shifted uncomfortably but patted her back nonetheless. “I’m fine,
Mum,” he said.

The door swung open and the final missing Weasley appeared, looking
pale and grave and far too serious for Ginny’s liking. It wasn’t right
to see Fred without a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Fred!” her dad said, rising quickly but freezing on the spot as he
caught a good look at Fred’s face. “What is it, son?”

“Katie Bell is working here; I saw her when I arrived. She said to tell
you that you could see George now. They’re just waiting for him to wake
up,” Fred said, his voice deadened. He had a long gash on the side of
his face, and his arm was also in a sling.

“What aren’t you saying, Fred?” her mother asked, holding her breath.

“They couldn’t save his leg,” Fred replied. “They had to remove it
below the knee.”

A chorus of gasps and startled exclamations sounded across the hospital
room. Her father’s loud clear voice rang out, silencing them all.

“But he’s alive. We all are, which is far more than we expected earlier
this morning. George is going to survive, and he has all of us around
him to help him cope. Molly, let’s go see our son.”

Her mother nodded and grasped her father’s hand. The two of them left
the room in silence, their heads held high. Ginny took a deep breath.
Her dad was right. The remainder of her family had survived the war,
and that was reason for celebration. George could be fitted with an
artificial leg that Muggles would be hard pressed to identify as a
replacement.

She shook her head. She’d grown too accustomed to Mad-Eye’s wooden peg
leg. Her dad had told her that he only used that because he liked the
effect. No, George would survive this, and they’d all help him adapt.
Just like Harry would survive it. He had to – it wouldn’t be right
otherwise.

Staring across the room at the faces of all her siblings plus Hermione
and Fleur, Ginny met their dazed stares with one of her own. It was
over. It was truly over.

**--**--
Ginny released an exasperated breath, blowing her hair out of her face.
She glanced through the large, heavily-draped window at the approaching
storm clouds. It wouldn’t be long before the rain began to fall. She
thought the dismal gray skies better suited her mood than the bright
sunshine of the past few days.

It had been nearly a week since Voldemort’s defeat, and the Wizarding
world was still celebrating, although its savior remained unconscious.
The hospital staff and administrators had regained organizational
control and had moved Harry to the Minister’s suite. Apparently, when
Cornelius Fudge had been in office, he’d had regular treatments for a
recurring boil on his foot, and he’d arranged for the elaborate room
during his stays.

Ginny knew it was something Harry would hate when he realized it, but
she had to agree with everyone else that it was safer to keep him away
from the public. The reporters had been relentless, and even the staff
and general public had tired to sneak in to steal glances at him.

While she waited, Ginny was sitting for her end-of-term exams. Hagrid
was acting as her sponsor, although he was currently asleep and snoring
loudly on the red velvet couch in front of Harry’s bed. He’d had nearly
every bone in his body broken, but he insisted he was too tough to be
kept down for long. He was being released from the hospital in one more
day, and Ginny knew she’d miss his optimistic presence terribly.

Her eyes roamed the elaborate room, finally resting on the Soul Balance
that Hermione had brought from Hogwarts. The strange silver instrument
rested on the table beside Harry’s bed. Hermione insisted it would make
Harry feel better to see the proof that Voldemort was really gone from
his soul. Professor Dumbledore’s portrait had explained how to use it,
but Hermione hadn’t got any readings when she’d used it on Harry. It
was as if there was no soul inside him at all. Hermione planned on
trying it again after he awoke.

Ginny shuddered and looked away, blocking the thought from her mind.
She just wanted him to open his eyes and smile that magnificent smile,
but she was beginning to fear it wouldn’t happen.

She finished the last of her exams and pushed the parchment away from
her with a sigh. Her mum would be happy, anyway. Hagrid, Draco, and
Harry were the last of their party still in hospital. George had gone
back to the Burrow two days ago. Ginny had never been so happy as the
day she’d moved home with her family. The wards at the Burrow had been
reset, checked, and double-checked and since there had been no sign of
any renegade Death Eater activity, her parents had decided it was time
to go home.

She’d been Flooing to St. Mungo’s each day to sit with Harry. Ron and
Hermione had been there, too, although they had more freedom to come
and go since they could Apparate. Hermione had moved back home with her
parents for the first time since before her sixth year.

George was adjusting remarkably well to the loss of his leg. He had an
appointment scheduled to be fitted with an artificial replacement, but
he had to wait until the tissue healed completely. He kept joking that it was much better than if he’d lost a hand. This way, he could still
keep working and other people had to bring his stuff to him.

It was the rest of the family that was having a harder time with it.
Ginny had noticed how they all – herself included – walked on eggshells
around him, uncertain what to do or say. It was Fred who had adapted
the quickest. At first, he’d made a great show of bending to George’s
every whim and demand, but soon had given up on that and told George to
do for himself.

Her mum had been scandalized, shouting at Fred for his insensitivity.
Somehow, however, Ginny suspected that it was exactly what George had
been waiting for. He still enjoyed taking the mickey out of them on
occasion and seeing how far he could push their patience, but for the
most part, he was already becoming self-sufficient even without the
artificial limb.

Everyone knew how remarkably similar Fred and George were, but Ginny
knew there were also some distinct differences. She supposed that if
one of them had to lose his leg, it was better that it was George.

She flushed, feeling horrible for the thought, even if it were true.
Fred was always, by far, the more exuberant of the pair. He simply
couldn’t sit still. Fred was the idea man, while George could make
things happen. Fred would think up a product or some silly new
invention, and George was the one who could make it work. They were
quite a team, her brothers.

Although Shannon had moved home, she was a frequent visitor at the
Burrow and still worked at the twins’ shop. Diagon Alley was getting
ready for a grand re-opening in another week, and the shop needed to be
restocked. In fact, Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if George was the next
one to announce his engagement.

Ginny hadn’t seen as much of Iris. Mrs. Parkinson had taken Pansy’s
death very badly, and Iris was trying to help her cope. The two of them
had returned to their own family home, but Fred told Ginny that Mrs.
Parkinson was planning on selling it and starting over somewhere else.
That, at least, let Ginny know that Fred was still in contact with
Iris.

Draco Malfoy was also still hospitalized. Although the Healers had
managed to save him, they said it would take some time for his insides
to function properly again. After he’d regained consciousness, he’d
become extremely sullen and bitter over the loss of his mother. Ginny
had visited him once, but he made it clear that she wasn’t welcome, and
she hadn’t tried to go back.

She’d seen Dudley visiting his room several times. The Dursleys had
returned to Surry, but Dudley was obviously keeping his ties with the
Wizarding world. Dudley had even stopped by to check on Harry once, but
his outright fascination with the spells used during the battle and how
Harry had gained the power to defeat Tom unnerved her. There was
something about pudgy Dudley Dursley that made her very uncomfortable.

Ginny glanced up as the first drops of rain spattered against the
window. She watched as tiny rivulets began to trickle down the pane, lulled by the calming sound. Allowing some of her tension to ease, she
wasn’t quite aware when Harry began to move. A slight moan finally
caught her attention, causing her eyes to widen as she became fully
alert.

She watched his eyelids began to flutter – something that hadn’t
happened at all over the past week.

Barely able to breathe, she reached out to run her fingers through his
hair. “Harry,” she whispered.

His head moved slightly. “Mum,” he moaned.

Ginny pulled back, her heart racing. Mum? Harry didn’t even know his
mum, poor thing. It seemed odd that he would be calling for her. Her
heart began to race, the fear of what damage might have been caused to
his brain bubbling to the surface. She prayed he was only dreaming. Her
heart lurched, and she wanted to choke on her grief over the idea that
Harry was dreaming of his dead mum. Her helplessness was overpowering.

“Harry, can you hear me?” she gasped, sinking to the floor beside his
bed because her legs refused to support her. “Open your eyes, love.”

His eyes fluttered once again before slowly blinking open. He squinted
and shut them against the brightness of the room.

“Nox,” Ginny whispered tearfully, and the voice-activated overhead
lights dimmed.

Harry slowly opened his eyes once again. The usually vivid green orbs
were dull and clouded with pain. He furrowed his brow as he fought the
confusion that was overwhelming him.

“It’s all right, Harry. We’re at St. Mungo’s,” she whispered.

He was still covered in a mass of deep purple bruises. The Healers said
that the Draught of Living Death had simply slowed down all his
internal organs, hindering his ability to heal. Now that he was awake,
things would finally improve.

His eyes rolled back slightly, but he blinked and tried to focus. A
thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip as he
struggled to gain his bearings.

“Relax, Harry. Everything’s going to be okay,” Ginny said soothingly.

His breathing became increasingly labored, and his eyes grew wide with
panic. She could feel his body trembling slightly, although he was
still too weak to put up much of a struggle. His lips looked dry and
cracked, and he tried repeatedly to wet them.

“Hagrid!” she hissed, waking the sleeping half-giant.

“What? Wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Hagrid, Harry’s awake,” Ginny said, trying to convey her urgency to
him without alarming Harry. “Go get one of the Healers, please. Hurry.”
“’Arry?” Hagrid boomed, jumping from the couch and lumbering toward
them. “Blimey, ‘arry! It’s good ter see ya again.”

Hagrid’s appearance seemed to alarm Harry more than comfort him, and he
began gasping for breath.

“Go now, Hagrid,” Ginny said, taking both Harry’s hands in her own.
“It’s all right, Harry. Everything is okay. You’re here with me, and
you’re going to be fine. Ron and Hermione are fine, too,” she said,
hoping that would calm him.

He gripped her hand tightly with his right hand, but his left remained
slack and unmoving in her hand. His left arm had been the one to
receive the deep Slicing Hex, and the Healers had been worried about
nerve damage.

“Just look at me, Harry. Look into my eyes and breathe with me,” she
said, locking her eyes on his panicked green ones. “I’m not going to
leave you. I’m right here.”

She wasn’t even certain if he could hear her, but his body relaxed
slightly, never breaking eye contact with her. She could see her own
face reflected in his wide, trusting eyes.

A team of Healers burst into the room, pushing her out of the way and
converging around his bed. As soon as she was pushed back, she could
hear his breathing grow labored again.

The lead Healer waved her wand over him while two others tried to calm
him.

“No,” he gasped, weakly attempting to push the wand away.

A fourth Healer gathered several potions and began trying to pour them
down Harry’s throat. He spit out the first one, his head thrashing from
side to side. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, and she couldn’t
understand his words.

“You’re frightening him!” Ginny snarled, pushing her way between them
and re-claiming her place by Harry’s side. Taking his good hand in
hers, she clutched it to her face.

“Please move aside, Miss. We need to tend to his injuries,” a young
Healer said arrogantly.

“Yeah, you’re doing a really good job of that,” she said sarcastically.
“The last thing he remembers is fighting Voldemort for his life. Before
that, he was being held prisoner and had a potion that would relatively
render him a zombie poured down his throat. Of course he’s fighting
you! He’ll calm down if you let him know you don’t mean him any harm.”

All four of the Healers gasped when she said ‘Voldemort’. One of them
even took a step back, raising her hands protectively in front of her
face. Ginny was livid.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, he’s dead!” she snapped. She furiously spun
away from the Healers, instead turning her attention back to Harry.
“Listen to me, Harry. It’s okay. They’re here to help you.”

His eyes moved around the room wildly. She kept a grip on his good
hand, while using her other to stroke the side of his face. She
whispered calm, soothing words, and he began to regain control of his
breathing.

He looked up at her – desperate and bewildered – and her throat
tightened, wanting this to end for him. She knew her presence was
calming him, but he still hadn’t shown any sign that he actually
recognized her. She desperately wanted to ask him if he knew her, but
understood that would sound shallow and vain in front of all the other
possible health concerns he was facing. She couldn’t help the feeling,
however.

She wanted him back – and she wanted him with her.

Harry calmed enough to allow the Healers to administer their potions.
He took them meekly, although never letting go of Ginny’s hand. The
Healers cleared out of the room, several of them lingering
unnecessarily. They said that the Healing potions would finally begin
to work now that he was conscious, but he was obviously exhausted.

His eyes began to droop heavily. She watched, amused, as he attempted
to fight the sleep that was trying to claim him.

“Shut your eyes and rest, Harry,” she whispered, brushing her lips
across his damp forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

She’d brought her bear, Snot, from home. Originally, she’d hoped it
might bring Harry some comfort, but she’d found herself using it while
she waited for him to wake. She rested the bear on the pillow beside
him, pleading with her old faithful friend to watch over him.

Harry turned his head toward her and quickly drifted off to sleep with
his face resting on Snot. Ginny continued to stroke his hair, feeling
lighter than she had in days. She still had the nagging worry about his
mind, but there was one thing that brightened her thoughts. Every other
year of Harry’s schooling, they’d sent him home battered to recover
under the questionable care of the Dursleys. This year – this time – it
would be different. Harry would come home to the Burrow, and all of
them would see to it that he finally got all the positive attention he
so deserved.


Chapter Thirty-Two

A New Beginning

A low, distant rumbling intruded upon the quiet, dragging Harry back to
consciousness. The noise sounded far away, but it was persistent,
piercing the warmth and darkness that surrounded him. His mind
struggled to hold onto the last vestiges of sleep, but a giant boom
cracked overhead, causing his eyes to fly open with a start, his
breathing fast and irregular.
The room where he lay was dim, lit only by a single candle hanging on
the wall in a far corner. Without his glasses, all he could see was a
fuzzy blur of light, anyway. The heavy curtains next to his bed hid the
night sky, although he could hear a heavy downpour of rain splattering
against the window.

He blinked, feeling very disoriented. He could tell he was in hospital
and had a vague memory of Ginny being with him, but he couldn’t grasp
the details. Distorted memories of his parents and others that he’d
lost filled his mind, confusing him. He couldn’t focus his thoughts,
however, because his body’s various aches and pains began demanding his
attention.

An invisible weight pressed down on his chest, and his limbs felt
leaden. Although no Petrifying Spells or ropes were holding him, he was
completely immobilized. He was incredibly sore, and he desperately
needed a drink to quench his intense thirst. Above all the other aches
and pains – even his thirst – his head hurt the worst. He was grateful
for the dim lights, because he didn’t think he could handle any
brightness just then.

He briefly considered closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep, but
he needed to know what had happened to everyone else. His confused mind
refused to give him any details, but he knew the others were in
trouble. He groaned, attempting to rise on his pillows and was dismayed
to realize that he couldn’t do it. His right arm was weak and shook
when he tried to move it, while his left was completely unresponsive.

Panicking, he tried to reach for his glasses on the bedside table.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he strained to reach them, but his
arm felt like lead. He finally had to give up, and, panting, he laid
his spinning head back on the pillow. His breathing hitched, and he
groaned again. What’s wrong with me?

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, opening the door to find him so agitated.
“Merlin! How typical of you to stay asleep the entire time I’m sitting
here and only wake up when I take a moment to use the loo.”

She walked across the room, reached for his glasses, and gently placed
them on his nose. Her concerned face came into focus as he struggled to
control his rapid breathing. He gazed at his surroundings, not
recognizing the room but knowing he wasn’t in the hospital wing at
Hogwarts.

“Wh-” he croaked, his voice scratchy and dry from lack of use.

“Shh. Take it easy,” Hermione whispered, wordlessly conjuring a glass
of water.

She slipped her arm beneath his shoulders and gently hoisted him so he
could swallow it. It felt wonderfully cold and refreshing sliding down
his throat, relieving the burning pain.

“You’re in St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said, adjusting the pillows behind
Harry’s back. “Do me a favor and pretend you slept through the night.
Ginny is going to be so livid. Mrs. Weasley insisted that she needed to go home and get some sleep, and the Healers didn’t think you’d wake up
again before morning. We’ve all been taking shifts sitting with you,
but Ginny was adamant that she’d promised you she’d be here. She didn’t
want to leave.”

Another loud crack of thunder rumbled outside the window as if in
support of Hermione’s words.

“Volde-” Harry asked, losing his breath.

“He’s gone, Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes suspiciously bright. “It’s
really over. How much of it do you remember?”

Harry scrunched his forehead, trying to piece his scattered thoughts
together. Everything was jumbled, but he could picture Tom’s flat,
distorted face staring at him with an intense hunger. He remembered a
nauseating flash of bright white light but couldn’t say what had
happened.

“It’s all right,” Hermione said, taking his hand and gently squeezing
his fingers. “The Healers said that you’d experience some confusion at
first. It’ll come back to you.”

“Arm,” Harry mumbled, again trying to move his left one. The covers
were pulled tightly around him, and he’d begun to fear it was gone. It
certainly didn’t feel as if there was anything there.

“Does it hurt?” Hermione asked, plucking needlessly at his blankets
while not looking directly at him.

Harry’s alarm grew. “Can’t…feel,” he gasped.

Hermione looked up quickly, resting her hand on his shoulder and
squeezing it. “It’s okay. Don’t get upset. The Healers said that the
calmer we could keep you, the quicker all the Restorative Potions would
work.”

“Arm,” Harry repeated, still trying to move it. His exhaustion grew
with each attempt, but he continued to struggle. His vision swam and
foggy spots encroached upon the edges. The thunder cracked loudly,
sounding as if it were right above the hospital. Rolling echoes
continued long after the initial crack had passed.

“Listen to me, Harry,” Hermione said, forcefully grabbing his shoulders
in order to keep him still. “You’re not helping. You have to stay calm.
One of the Curses that struck your arm was deep, and it caused some
nerve damage. The Draught of Living Death slowed down your bloodstream
and all your internal organs, so it’s going to take some time to heal.
Now, I know patience isn’t your strong suit, but you really don’t have
a choice.”

Something about her no-nonsense tone reminded him of Madam Pomfrey, and
it alarmed him. Ron had always said she could be scary, sometimes. His
anxiety must have shown, because her eyes softened.
“Will…heal?” he asked, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He fought the
exhaustion, determined to get some answers. Thunder cracked again,
weaker this time.

Hermione blinked rapidly. “We think so.”

That didn’t sound as confident as he wanted. His heart rate increased
again, and he had to take short, shallow breaths. He suddenly wanted
very badly for Ginny to be the one there with him.

“Ginny?” he asked, cringing inwardly at the pathetic tone in his voice.

“She’ll be here in the morning,” Hermione said, her lower lip starting
to tremble. “We were so afraid we’d lost you.”

Harry took several deep breaths, forcing the air out through his nose
in an attempt to calm down.

“Ron?” he asked as scattered memories began to return to him. Ron had
been hit and knocked out by some random curse.

“He’s all right. He was in a double room with you for a few days, but
you know Ron. They couldn’t keep him still for long, and they finally
kicked him out so he’d stop pestering them,” she replied, sniffling.
She began running her hand up and down his good arm, trying to soothe
him.

His chest felt heavy, and a large lump grew in his throat. He cast his
eyes around the room, desperately seeking a distraction before he
really embarrassed himself. He tried to listen to the torrents of rain
pelting against the window, waiting for the next boom of thunder.

“Draco?” he asked when the vision of the horrible curse that had struck
the Slytherin filled his mind.

“He’s in another room,” Hermione said vaguely. “The Healers put him
back together, but he’s got a long road ahead of him.”

Harry knew there was more that she wasn’t telling him, but he couldn’t
get the words to form. He was so very tired, and he struggled to keep
his eyes from closing.

“You did it, Harry. It’s really over,” Hermione whispered. “We’re all
so proud of you. Now we can focus on what we want to do with our
lives.”

“Dumbledore told me,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“Dumbledore?” Hermione asked sharply.

Harry’s eyes flew open. Why did he have the distinct impression of
Dumbledore telling him it was time to live? Hermione was staring at him
as if she thought he’d gone mad. Perhaps he had.

He blinked, looking away from her concerned stare. He tried to focus on
the shiny silver instrument resting on the bedside table where his
glasses had been. Hermione, of course, noticed.
“Oh! I brought that from Hogwarts, but we couldn’t get it to work while
you were unconscious. Do you want to try it now? It should only take a
minute, and I’m certain you’ll see that he’s really gone,” Hermione
said, her eyes shining with excitement.

Harry’s breath hitched again. He really didn’t know what was wrong with
him, or why he wanted Ginny there so badly. He was being a baby, and he
knew it, but he couldn’t admit that to Hermione.

Again, she must have noticed his distress and was kind enough not to
mention it.

“Why don’t we wait for Ron and Ginny? I’m certain they’d like to be
here, as well,” she said.

Harry’s eyes felt very heavy, and his willpower to keep them open was
waning.

“Go to sleep. Everything is okay. I promise,” Hermione whispered,
gently kissing him on the forehead.

Harry sank into the comfort of the pillows, listening as the thunder
rolled and letting the darkness consume him once more.

**--**--

The next time Harry opened his eyes, his room was brighter, although he
could still hear the patter of rain against the window. His body ached,
but the pounding in his head was slightly better – he could tolerate
the light, anyway. Everything was blurry, but he still didn’t have
enough strength to raise his arm and reach his glasses. He blinked
several times, trying to decipher the various blurs.

His glasses were slipped on his nose, and Ginny’s smiling face came
into focus. She was pale, and her freckles stood out distinctly.

“Hi, bright eyes,” she said, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “I
can’t tell you how good it is to see you awake.”

Harry closed his eyes again, enjoying the warmth of her kiss. His heart
felt lighter simply because she was there. He was about to tell her how
glad he was to see her when Ron’s voice alerted him to the fact they
weren’t alone.

“All right, enough of that. Let me get a good look at him. You’ve left
me alone with crying girls for a week, mate.”

Harry glanced over Ginny’s shoulder to see Ron and Hermione standing
behind her. Hermione looked drained, but she was beaming at him.

“Hi,” he mumbled hoarsely, his throat burning.

“How are you feeling this morning, Harry?” Hermione asked, while Ginny
helped him take a sip of water.

“’M fine,” he mumbled, letting water sooth his throat.
“You’re still dreadfully pale,” Hermione said.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. He just defeated the most powerful Dark Lord
ever and saved the world – again. He’s allowed to look a little
peaked,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“Language, Ron,” Hermione scolded, but her eyes shone brightly. “I was
just about to head home and catch some sleep, but since you’re awake,
why don’t we use the Soul Balance? Professor Dumbledore told me exactly
how it works. It’s fascinating, really, and I’ve been so eager to try
it.”

Harry’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. He was feeling slightly
nauseous, anyway and vaguely wondered how long it had been since he’d
eaten. The idea of getting a confirmation from the Soul Balance –
regardless of which result it would give – filled him with dread.

“Maybe it’s too soon, Hermione. He just woke up,” Ginny said, eyeing
Harry carefully.

He leaned into her hand as she gently stroked his hair.

“Why? What do you mean, it’s too soon? We’re all here, and he must be
dying to know. I know I would be. I mean, it’s not like we don’t know
what the results will show. Voldemort wouldn’t have died if all the
Horcruxes hadn’t been destroyed, but I know if I were him, I’d want to
see it for myself,” Hermione said, pushing the bedside table so the
Soul Balance came clearly into Harry’s view.

He swallowed heavily. He didn’t see a way out of this without appearing
weak but talking about Horcruxes was forcing him to think about things
he didn’t want to think about right now. His nausea increased, and a
thin sweat covered his body.

“Ginny’s right. I think we should wait,” Ron said, being far more
astute than usual.

Harry refused to meet Ron’s eyes, feeling very ashamed that his
weakness was showing. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He
glanced up at Hermione’s bright, eager expression. She obviously wanted
to know. She must have spent as much time agonizing over the Horcrux
inside Harry as he had. They all had in their own ways. He couldn’t
deny them the answer since they were the ones who had worked out the
riddle in the first place, no matter how much it made his insides
squirm.

“S’alright,” he said shakily. “Do it.”

Now that he’d committed, he just wanted them to get it over with.

“Professor Dumbledore said that they are usually attuned to the owner,
but he adjusted this one to pick up your aura. It should only take a
moment,” Hermione said, poking at the silver instrument.
“Just relax,” Ginny whispered. “You don’t have to do anything.” The
gentle pressure of her fingers stroking his hair was comforting, and he
tried to sink back into the pillows and simply not think.

Hermione tapped her wand against the silver instrument and mumbled a
string of enchantments under her breath. It sounded as if it was
another language, but Harry was too focused on watching the small puffs
of smoke beginning to rise from the shiny silver tube to ask. A thrill
of apprehension ran down his spine, and he really feared he might be
sick.

“All right, Harry?” Ron asked, and Harry suspected he’d turned an ugly
shade of green.

Hermione glanced over at him, her eagerness suddenly replaced by
concern. “Should I get a Healer?”

“No,” he said, clenching his eyes tightly and willing the nausea to
pass.

“That’s the antidote they gave you,” Ginny said, placing a damp cloth
on his forehead. “They said it would make you nauseous.”

Harry didn’t respond but instead opened his eyes to peer at the green
smoke now rising steadily from the Soul Balance. It twisted and turned
and looked as if it was forming a shape.

He distinctly remembered that he’d seen two snakes the previous time he
saw this thing working, but this shape looked more like a round mass.
He watched as it elongated but his jaw dropped in amazement as tail
feathers appeared on the smoky object, and it suddenly unfurled its
wings. The smoke hadn’t formed into the shape of a snake at all, but
instead, it was the image of a glorious bird He felt tears form in the
corner of his eyes as the sound of phoenix song filled the room.

“Harry!” Hermione breathed, her eyes wide.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered.

“It’s beautiful,” Ginny whispered, watching until the last of the smoke
had dissipated.

“Does that answer any lingering doubts?” Hermione asked, beaming.

“You never do anything just halfway, do you, mate?” Ron asked, grinning
madly.

Harry smiled, feeling enormous relief – even his nausea had abated. It
was true. He was really free for the first time since he was a baby. He
felt dazed and out of sorts.

It was really over.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,” Hermione said. “I’m
going to go home and catch some sleep. I’ll return later, Harry.”

She stood up and kissed him on the forehead.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ron said, standing to accompany her.

Harry silently watched them go while Ginny hovered over him, adjusting
his pillow and needlessly straightening the bed linens. He enjoyed the
attention, and a small smile flitted across his face while he watched
her do it.

“All right, Harry?” she finally asked, raising her eyes. A light pink
blush stained her cheeks. She knew he’d been watching her.

“Better now,” he whispered. “Glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too. You really scared me,” she said, her eyes
filling. She resolutely blinked back the tears.

“Sorry,” Harry said, alarmed.

Ginny shook her head, straightening her shoulders and adopting a fierce
expression. “I’ll let you get away with it this time, but I’m warning
you – you’ve had your last free pass. From now on, I never want to sit
by another hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. I mean it. Not so
much as a sprained toe.”

Harry felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yes, ma’am.”

“No more Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Dementors, dragons, Horcruxes,
potions, prophecies…” Ginny said, running out of words.

“All right, all right,” Harry replied, chuckling. “I’ll do nothing but
listen to Quidditch on the wireless and drink butterbeer until my belly
grows big.”

Ginny scowled, crinkling her nose. “Well, I wouldn’t like that,
either.”

Harry grinned, feeling winded from his long speech. “I love you,” he
blurted.

Ginny’s eyes softened. “I love you, too.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “It feels good to be able to say
that without worrying.”

Ginny brushed the hair off his forehead. “You feel warm,” she said,
sniffling.

“Did I make you cry again?” he asked, groaning.

“Who’s crying?” Ron asked, re-entering the room. “Did you make my
sister cry, Potter?”

“Seems I’ve made it a bad habit,” Harry replied, his eyes beginning to
droop.
“That’s something that’s going to have to change then, isn’t it?” Ron
asked, grinning to soften his words. “Now that Voldemort’s no longer
around to make your life hell, you’ll only have to deal with me.”

“Seems like a bargain,” Harry said, smiling weakly. “It’s hard to
believe it’s really over.”

“Dad said you might need some time to adjust to it all,” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” added Ron. “Just think, next year at this time, no one should
try to kill you.”

Harry snorted, his eyes drifting shut. Ron and Ginny stayed and chatted
with him for a while, filling him in on all the details he’d missed. He
felt very guilty about worrying so much about his arm after hearing
about George’s leg and how well he was handling it. He hoped that he’d
have the same courage as George to face it if he never regained the use
of his arm.

He drifted off to sleep at some point, secure in the knowledge that
Ginny, Ron, Hermione, or somebody, would be there when he awoke.

**--**--

Over the next several days, Harry was able to stay awake for longer and
longer stretches, enabling him to get a better grasp on what was
happening in the Wizarding world. He also became aware of the media’s
increasingly desperate attempts to gain access to his room. The
Healers, medi-witches, and various visitors continued to keep a close
eye on him as he suffered from the nausea and fevers caused by the
antidote they had given him. In short, between his injuries, the side
effects, and everyone’s fretting – Harry was feeling extremely
confined.

Leticia Warbanks had been appointed as the Reconstruction Minister. The
Wizengamot had decided that after she’d had the chance to get things up
and running smoothly, there would be a general vote to decide if she
would become Minister for Magic. Harry was pleased to see the sweeping
changes she was attempting to put in place already.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken the position of Head of the Department
of Magical Law Enforcement, Alastor Moody had come out of retirement to
take the position as Head of the Department for Magical Accidents and
Catastrophes, and Arthur Weasley had been promoted to Head of the
Department of International Magical Cooperation.

Ron said his dad was working very closely with the Muggle Prime
Minister to recreate the harmonious co-existence the two worlds had
enjoyed for so many years. He said he thought his dad simply liked
going to visit the man to try out all his Muggle gadgets.

The Daily Prophet was up and running again, regaling readers with
stories of Harry’s life. Ron told him that a hefty reward was being
offered to anyone who could get a direct quote from Harry. He then
tried to bribe Harry into admitting that the Chudley Cannons were the
best in the League by threatening him with a list of “direct quotes.”
Harry had used his good arm to reply with a very rude hand gesture.

Professor McGonagall had dropped by and informed him that Hogwarts
would be opening in the autumn. She invited him back to complete his
seventh year if he wished. He’d told her he’d think about it. Kingsley
Shacklebolt had also told him there was a spot for him on the Auror
training squad whenever he wanted it.

Vague thoughts and memories flitted in and out of his consciousness,
hinting to him that his parents would want him to finish his schooling.
Perhaps it was only because Mrs. Weasley was insisting that Ron should
do so, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

He thought perhaps he’d dreamt about his parents while unconscious.

It seemed to him that everyone was getting up and moving on with
putting their lives together except him. He was tired of feeling weak
and uncertain and wanted to get out of this bed.

The problem was that the Healers insisted his body wasn’t ready for it
yet, and his friends were adamant about listening to them. He’d waited
very impatiently for a moment like this to arrive.

His friends tended to stay with him all day until he fell asleep at
night, but sometimes, in the early morning, he had a few minutes on his
own before anyone arrived. He awoke one morning to just such a moment
and was determined to make the most of it.

He’d waited for the medi-witch to come in and do her morning check and
give him his potions. Then he sat up and shakily swung his legs over
the side of the bed. He’d grown proficient at sitting up with the use
of only one arm but hadn’t fully anticipated how weak his legs would
be. After lying prone for nearly two weeks, they simply didn’t want to
support him. He was determined not to give them the choice.

His head swam as he sat fully upright for the first time. He had to
take a minute, blinking, for the fuzziness to leave and to regain his
equilibrium.

Setting his jaw, he pushed himself to a standing position, his left arm
dangling uselessly at his side. The room spun again, and his legs
burned and shook as they supported his weight. Breathing through his
nose, he slid one leg across the floor rather than lifting and placing
it.

Sloppy, but it was a start.

He could feel a trickle of sweat running down his back, and his legs
were actually shaking with fatigue. The wall on the other side of his
room suddenly appeared much further away than it had when he’d been
sitting in his bed. He had to prove to himself that he could do this.
He’d never be able to work crutches with one arm, anyway. There was
nothing wrong with his legs, and he’d convinced himself that if he
couldn’t make it over to that wall, it would somehow prove Snape right
about Harry’s weakness.
He dragged his other leg forward to meet the first, holding his hand
out in front of him for balance. His knees buckled, however, and he
crashed to the floor with a grunt.

“Bugger it all, Harry!” Ron shouted, entering the room just as Harry
hit the floor. “What are you trying to do to yourself, and why are you
doing it on my watch? Hermione and Ginny are going to kill me.”

He bent down and wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso, hoisting him
back to his feet. Harry’s entire body was shaking madly, and he had to
lean heavily on Ron, which only increased his irritation.

“I just wanted to walk across the floor,” he snapped, panting, “and I
don’t want any help to do it.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to swallow that Short-Snout-sized
pride and suck it up because you do need help,” Ron said grumbling. He
slung Harry’s good arm over his shoulder but instead of turning back
for the bed, he proceeded slowly toward the wall.

chapter 19

think you’re going?”

“Attackin’ the school! I ne’er thought I’d see the day,” Hagrid said,
shaking his head sadly.

“Just stay there,” Hermione said, waving her arm to indicate they
should stay down. “I’ll be right back.”

“What is she going to do?” Ron asked.

“Who cares?” Draco said, tugging on Ron’s arm. “What about Pansy? I
thought you were in a hurry to stop Potter.”

“I’m not about to let my entire family be slaughtered, Malfoy,” Ron
said hotly. “Your mother is in there, too, you know.”
Malfoy paled. “I’m well aware of that, Weasel…thank you very much.
That’s why I think we should hurry.”

“We don’t even know if Pansy is with Harry, Draco,” Ginny snapped. “For
all we know, she could have been the one to lead those Death Eaters
here.”

“She never would have done that knowing I was still here – or her
family, either,” Malfoy snarled.

Scowling, Ginny turned away and folded her arms across her chest,
knowing he had a point. No matter how much of a cow Pansy was, she did
care for the prat. Still, Ginny couldn’t help the nagging feeling that
there was something odd about both Harry and Pansy being missing.

“Perhaps they’re attacking because they’ve already caught Potter,”
Draco said coldly. “Maybe they were waiting outside the gates and
grabbed both him and Pansy when they tried to leave.”

Ginny whipped her head around, her throat closing as her heart
attempted to leap out of her chest. “They don’t have Harry,” she said,
her voice strained.

Still, Malfoy’s words rang in her head. Could it be true? No. Harry
wouldn’t have brought Pansy with him if he was going to the Ministry.
Perhaps he and Voldemort were already engaged in battle, and that’s why
the Death Eaters were here. She still didn’t know where Pansy fit into
it.

“Ron,” she said, clutching his arm so her nails dug into his skin.

“That’s enough, Malfoy,” Ron snapped, stepping in between Draco and
her. Ginny could see the worry in his face, however. She wasn’t the
only one alarmed by Malfoy’s words.

She saw the bright, gleaming shape of Hermione’s Patronus as it burst
from the trees further down the road toward Hogsmeade. It soared over
the heads of the surprised Death Eaters, zoomed through the gates, and
continued traveling towards Hogwarts. Just as the otter appeared,
Hermione emerged from the trees behind them.

“Good girl, Hermione,” Hagrid said.

“You sent them a warning,” Ron said, smiling.

Hermione nodded. “I’ve seen Harry do it. It was amazing. I told it to
wait until I got away before sending the message, and it did,” she
said, speaking very fast.

The gathered Death Eaters began firing into the woods where the
Patronus had appeared. Angry voices shouted into the night air, and the
group split into two, one running down the road to search the trees for
whoever had cast the spell, while the other continued the assault on
the gates.
“I sent it to Professor McGonagall. She’ll get everyone moving here.
We’ve got to Apparate to the Ministry,” Hermione said.

“Yeh go on ahead,” Hagrid said. “I’m going ter keep a watch here and
help ter defend the school.”

“Hagrid, you can’t go up against all of them alone,” Hermione said,
grabbing Hagrid’s hand as if to pull him away.

Acrid smoke filled the air, and the visibility was dimming due to the
vast number of spells being fired. The haze in front of the gates
appeared to shimmer slightly, flickering bright flashes of light every
few seconds.

“Don’t you go worrying ‘bout me, Hermione. My skin’s too strong fer
them to hurt. The wards around Hogwarts have weakened since
Dumbledore…well, since…” Hagrid said, nodding and clearing his throat.

Hermione swallowed and nodded to show she understood what Hagrid meant.

“I don’t think they’ll hold fer long,” Hagrid said. “If they fall
before the Aurors arrive from the castle, I’m going ter try and stall
‘em.”

“Hagrid,” Hermione pleaded, still tugging on his arm. “Even your skin
isn’t tough enough to last against all of them.”

Excited shouts could be heard in the distance. Ginny couldn’t decipher
the words, but she could feel their excitement. They were getting
close. She clenched her eyes tightly, saying a silent prayer that her
family would be all right.

Hagrid put his massive hands on Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her
into a fierce embrace. “I appreciate yer worry, Hermione, but I’m going
ter do what I have ter do. We all have a part ter play. Yeh go help
Harry. He needs yeh more than me.”

Ron swallowed heavily, pulling Hermione away. “Take care, Hagrid,” he
said, nodding.

Hagrid returned the nod, firmly shaking Ron’s hand while holding his
solemn gaze.

Ginny couldn’t contain the sob that broke from her chest. Flinging her
arms around Hagrid, she hugged him tightly. “Stay safe, Hagrid.”

“Yeh, too, Ginny,” he said, patting her on the back and nearly knocking
her to her knees. “He’ll need yeh most of all when this is all said and
done.”

Ginny nodded, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Let’s get on with this,” Draco said, and Ginny thought even he sounded
a little choked.

A low rumbling sound suddenly filled the air, quickly gaining volume
until the roar was so loud that Ginny had to block her ears. A great gust of smoke billowed into the air, and the gathered Death Eaters
began to cheer. A volley of spells hit the iron gates in tandem,
causing the massive structure to shudder before finally tilting and
falling backwards with a massive clang.

When the dust settled, the gate was on the ground, and Hogwarts was
wide open to attack.

Hermione grabbed Ginny by the elbow, and Ron did the same to Draco.
Nodding at one another, they all Disapparated with a loud crack as
Hagrid bellowed a roar of combined grief and rage before charging into
the fray.

**--**--

The only sounds in the dimly-lit chamber where Harry was being held
were the steady, almost-annoying drip of water against the stone, and
the insidious pant of Voldemort’s breathing. He was excited and
obviously enjoying Harry’s predicament. The sweet taste of victory
shone in his unnaturally red eyes, and his tongue flicked out to lick
his lips in anticipation.

He stood in the doorway, arms folded, his wand held casually in his
fingertips, as if unconcerned that anything could possibly go wrong. He
watched eagerly as Snape moved closer to Harry’s immobilized form.

Harry struggled in vain as the thick black liquid filled his mouth.
Snape’s spell had his head pulled back and his mouth pried open,
paralyzing him. Try as he may, he was unable to clamp his jaw shut. His
only method of delaying the inevitable was refusing to swallow, but
even that grew more difficult as Snape continued to pour the syrup-like
potion.

It tasted bitter, and the foul stench made him gag. Tears leaked from
the corners of his stinging eyes as he fought to keep his throat
closed, feeling his panic rising inside him like a crescendo. Dark
hopelessness clawed at his consciousness, whispering that it would be
so much easier to simply give in and swallow. He wouldn’t have to
struggle anymore…

Harry shook himself mentally, refusing to travel down that dark path.
Instead, he thought of his mission, and the people he sought to
protect. They were a fierce group of fighters, and none of them would
ever give up and simply allow Voldemort to win.

With a hollow pang, he remembered the look of determination on Remus’s
face before he had stood against Voldemort. Remus had sacrificed
himself so the rest of them might live – Harry had to live for the same
reason. He couldn’t allow Remus’s loss to have been in vain. He
couldn’t allow the rest of them to suffer the same fate, because
Voldemort was certain to go after those who had been most loyal to
Harry.

With renewed determination, Harry once again tried to overcome the
spell. His entire body began to shake with the effort, but slowly,
imperceptibly at first, he began to feel sensation returning to his
limbs. It started as a tingling that gradually grew into a burning sensation covering his entire body. Without understanding exactly how
it had happened, he suddenly realized that he could move. Snape’s brow
furrowed in confusion as he became aware of the fact that Harry had
broken the Binding Spell.

“What is it, Severus?” Voldemort asked, sounding uncertain for the
first time since his arrival. He took several steps closer to try and
see over Snape’s shoulder. “What is happening?”

Before Snape had time to answer, the entire chamber began to shake with
the raw power of Harry’s unleashed magic. The phial in Snape’s hand
shattered, sending small splinters of glass flying and cutting into
Snape’s hand. The remainder of the potion spilled onto Harry’s shirt.

Using Snape’s moment of confusion to his full advantage, Harry pulled
himself into a seated position and spat the entire contents of his
mouth into his former professor’s face.

“I may be ready to go – ready to die to end this – but not yet,” he
snarled, slamming his head forward to bash against Snape’s. The impact
was so quick and so hard that Harry saw stars. The roaring in his ears
increased, and he had to blink hard against the darkness threatening to
consume him.

Not expecting the blow, Snape flailed backwards and stumbled into
Voldemort with the force of his momentum. Harry’s surge of power again
shook the room, causing bits of stone to crumble and fall around the
chamber. Voldemort was knocked backwards through the cavernous door,
just before the archway collapsed with a thunderous roar. Snape fell to
the ground inside the chamber, his head striking the cold stone floor
and leaving him momentarily stunned.

As quickly as he could, Harry tossed his legs over the side of his
makeshift coffin and rose unsteadily to his feet. The room spun
alarmingly, and he had to grab the edge of the box for balance. It was
all he could do to keep his stomach’s contents from spilling. His
leaden limbs felt weak and unresponsive, and his vision was blurred.
The stone inside his rope bracelet was burning hot against the tender
skin on the underside of his wrist, but he welcomed the pain, using it
to help him clear his mind.

He had to get his wand and get out of here. He reached out with his
senses, and his heart plummeted when he detected that familiar hum of
anti-Apparation wards. He should have known that Voldemort’s fortress
wouldn’t be without them.

How else was he to escape? He wouldn’t last long in his present
physical condition. He hadn’t swallowed any of the Draught of Living
Death, but some of it must have been absorbed into his digestive track
because he felt thoroughly awful. He was worried about how long he
could manage to keep his tenuous grip on consciousness. Even now the
black spots in his vision appeared to be growing and filling in the
gaps.

Still, he had to do something. He couldn’t simply stand here and wait
to fall over. Taking a shaky step forward, he reached for Snape, who
was still sprawled on the floor. The Potions master must have sensed Harry’s plan because he kicked out, knocking an already-shaky Harry
backwards.

Snape crawled backwards, reaching for his wand, barely leaving Harry
any time to grab for his own in order to escape. As Harry’s adrenaline
began to pump, it seemed to clear his head and brought some strength
back to his weakened muscles.

Snarling, he lunged for Snape, determined to get his wand.

**--**--

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Draco arrived at the Visitor’s Entrance to the
Ministry a moment after they’d left Hogwarts.

“The wards went down. They’ve got Hogwarts,” Hermione said, sounding
panicked.

“I know,” Ron replied, putting his hands on her shoulders. “We have to
trust that the Order and the Aurors can handle things there, Hermione.
We have to help Harry.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise at watching Ron take charge, and
Hermione easily listen to him. When had her brother become such a
strong man?

“You’re right,” Hermione said, pulling herself together. “Come on, it’s
this way.”

Hermione led them toward the battered telephone box and hurried inside.
Ron and Ginny quickly followed, but Malfoy stopped outside.

“You must be joking,” he said, staring incredulously at the other three
crammed inside the box.

“Either come with us or don’t, Malfoy,” Ron said irritably. “It makes
no difference to me, and I don’t mind the big old target on your back
out here in the open.”

Malfoy blanched, and he quickly crammed inside with the others. Ron
didn’t appear to mind the close quarters as he had Hermione pushed
against one side of the box, but Ginny was crushed between Ron and
Draco and couldn’t move lest she’d have to touch either of them
further.

“Hurry up and dial, will you?” she snapped.

“Hang on, I can’t quite reach it,” Ron said, elongating his words as he
reached for the receiver.

“Ow!” Hermione yelped, rubbing the top of her head.

“Sorry!” Ron said, gasping. “Got it.”

He dialed the number, and a cool female voice filled the telephone box.
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and
business.”

“Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy,” Ron
said, his lip curling slightly on Draco’s name. “We’re here to stop
Harry from doing anything stupid.”

“And to rescue Pansy from Potter’s mad ideas,” Draco said, glaring at
Ron.

Four badges slid out. Hermione grabbed them and distributed them as the
telephone box began to descended.

“Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and
present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is
located at the far end of the Atrium,” the female voice said.

Ignoring the voice, Ginny glanced at her badge. It read: Ginny Weasley,
Rescue Mission. She shuddered as an eerie foreboding washed over her.
At the same moment, the stone she wore around her neck flared
painfully, causing her to wince and pull it away from her skin. Harry
had to be okay. They couldn’t be too late.

Ginny struggled to hold her emotions in check. Harry wouldn’t like to
see her falling apart when they found him. Tears always panicked him.
She’d never had much patience for girls who cried, either. Perhaps it
was because she had six brothers and had always been determined to
prove she was an equal. She gritted her teeth, struggling not to shout
in fury over the slowness of the lift.

“Why are we at the Ministry, of all places?” Draco hissed, sounding
very nervous. “The Dark Lord is in control here, now. It’s undoubtedly
crawling with Death Eaters.”

“Bit late to think of that now,” Ron replied.

Ginny knew he was trying to act unconcerned for Draco’s benefit, but
she could see the tenseness in his shoulders and the way he was using
his body to keep both Hermione and her behind him.

When they reached the Atrium and the door opened, they were stunned to
find it empty even the security desk was unmanned. Once again, Ginny
was eerily reminded of her previous nighttime visit to the Ministry.

“There’s no one here,” Ron said blankly.

“Of course,” Hermione said.

“Of course what?” Draco snapped.

“He sent his forces to Hogwarts,” Hermione said, sprinting towards the
golden gates of the lifts that would take them into the bowels of the
Ministry.

“Where are we going?” Draco demanded.

“Department of Mysteries,” Ron said, and the lift began to lower.
“How do you know Potter is here?” he asked.

“I’m hoping he’s not,” Ron said grimly.

“And if he isn’t? What do we do then?” Draco asked, his voice rising.
“We can’t go back to Hogwarts, and they’ll all come back here when the
battle is finished.”

“You seem ruddy certain that they’ll win,” Ron said, scowling.

“We’re here,” Hermione said, putting a halt to the brewing row. “I need
to go to the room with the Veil.”

Ginny watched as the doors in the circular room spun. When it stopped,
the door in front of them sprang open. She remembered being shown how
to work the doors as they left the Ministry that night with Professor
Dumbledore.

Holding her breath, she tried to sprint into the room but Ron held her
arm firmly, not letting her rush ahead. When they tiptoed inside the
room with the Veil, they found it silent and empty.

“Where is he?” Ginny asked, perplexed.

“I dunno,” Ron replied, wildly turning his head from side to side. He
held his wand at the ready, but it was for naught. They were the only
ones in the room.

“So now what?” Draco asked, staring at the Veil curiously. “Do you have
any other ideas where Potter might have taken her?”

“He didn’t take her anywhere,” Ginny said hotly, rounding on him. Her
temper was ready to snap, and she had the perfect target.

“Draco, exactly what did Pansy say when she locked you and Dudley in
that classroom?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

“She said that she had something important to do and that she’d be
back,” he replied, shifting his eyes.

“What else?” Ginny demanded, drawing her wand.

“Put that away,” Draco said, taking a step backward.

“She’s very worried about Harry, Draco,” Hermione said, sounding bored.
“I wouldn’t push her. You’d better tell us everything.”

Draco stared warily at Ginny, keeping a close eye on her wand. “I did
tell you,” he insisted. “She didn’t say anything else about locking us
in there.”

“But she did say something else?” Hermione asked. “What are you hiding,
Draco? We all have to work together if we want to get out of here and
help Harry and Pansy.”
Ginny was surprised to see color suffuse Draco’s cheeks. “It really
wasn’t anything. Just something about a private celebration when she
returned.”

“A celebration?” Ron asked sharply. “What does she want to celebrate?”

“She just meant some time alone,” Draco said, raising his eyebrows.
“Don’t you and Granger ever spend any time without Potter in the room?”

“She had something she wanted to celebrate?” Hermione asked, ignoring
Draco’s comment completely while Ron’s ears grew dangerously red.

“Mind your mouth, ferret,” Ron said, glaring.

Hermione brushed him aside with a wave of her hand, her eyes wide.
“Draco…have you noticed any other strange behavior from Pansy
recently?” she asked urgently.

“I heard you two arguing over the fact that she’s been disappearing a
lot,” Ginny said.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, moaning.

“What is it, Hermione?” Ginny asked, fear clawing at her throat.

“What if we’re on the wrong track altogether?” Hermione wailed. “What
if Harry wasn’t the one who decided to go after Voldemort at all? What
if Pansy was the one to take Harry?”

“What are you on about, Granger?” Malfoy demanded, his voice wavering
slightly. “Pansy wouldn’t have taken Potter anywhere. She had nowhere
else to go.”

“I think Pansy might have been in contact with Voldemort,” Hermione
said, clutching Ron’s arm tightly. To Ron’s credit, he never even
winced as her nails dug into his skin.

“You’re mad,” Draco said, shaking his head.

“Harry mentioned something about finding her in the Owlery,” Ron said,
paling.

“And Voldemort has wanted to take Harry prisoner for months, now,”
Ginny said, gasping. Her tenuous grasp on her emotions slipped, and she
had to blink the tears from her eyes.

Ron’s comforting hand grasped her shoulder, and she clung to it as if
it were the only thing keeping her afloat.

“That would explain what Pansy wanted to celebrate,” Hermione said,
breathing heavily. Ginny could see that she was trying to work it out
logically, but her fear was beginning to overwhelm her, as well.

“She wouldn’t have done,” Draco said, but his face had paled
considerably.
“She’s trying to save you,” Ginny whispered, as two fat teardrops
leaked from her eyes and dripped slowly down her cheeks.

“He’ll kill her,” Draco said, shaking his head. “He’ll never let me go
– that’s not how his operation works.”

“If Voldemort has him-” Ginny said before her aquamarine stone flared
with burning heat once again. Hissing, Ginny grasped it tightly in her
hand, feeling a wave of intense pain, fear and desperation wash over
her. The overwhelming sensations dropped her to her knees.

Ginny! Help, me!

She could hear his voice as clearly as if he was standing next to her.

“Ginny! What’s wrong?” Hermione gasped, kneeling next to her.

“Harry!” Ginny whimpered.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked, bewildered.

“My necklace,” Ginny gasped, trying to control the nausea sweeping over
her. “It burns.”

“The one Harry gave you for Christmas?” Ron asked. “Why does it burn?”

Harry’s words about the Merpeople legend that the Aquamarine stones
helping lost lovers to find one another suddenly played in her mind.
Her eyes met Hermione’s, and she knew the older girl was thinking the
same thing.

Trying to manage the panic growing inside her that she was now certain
wasn’t entirely her own, Ginny clasped the warm stone in her hand, shut
her eyes and called to Harry in her mind.

**--**--

The gaping wound on Harry’s arm left a trail of blood across the floor
as he lunged for Snape. He could hear a low growling behind the fallen
stones and knew he only had a moment to spare before an enraged
Voldemort would burst into the chamber. He had to get his wand before
that happened if he hoped to have any chance at all.

As if knowing what Harry wanted, Snape rolled to the side, reaching for
the pocket where Harry’s wand was hidden. Harry grabbed Snape’s arm and
slammed it into the ground before he could grab it. Scrambling, he
crawled over Snape’s legs, pinning him to the stone floor.

Snape grunted in pain, raising his own wand with his other hand.
“Diffindo,” he snarled.

A deep slash appeared across Harry’s outstretched palm. He ignored it,
and finally grasped his wand with his bloody hand. The stone inside his
rope bracelet once again seared painfully and before he knew what was
happening, brilliant color exploded before his eyes.
Voldemort’s howl of rage echoed in his ears as his world began to spin.
He had to shut his eyes against the fury of color, and he barely had
time to register what had happened before it all faded, and he once
again was locked in battle with Snape.

He was dimly aware of the difference in the floor and the absence of
the dank, musty smell, but he remained focused on only Snape. They each
had a tight grip on Harry’s wand and rolled on the floor in a vicious
tug-of-war.

“Reducto,” Ginny’s voice snarled, shocking Harry.

“Expelliarmus,” Hermione said.

Harry’s wand flew from Snape’s startled grip as the force of Ginny’s
spell hurled the startled Potions master away from Harry, depositing
him in a heap near the Veil.

The Veil.

Harry’s jaw dropped as his senses reeled. He was back in the Department
of Mysteries. He was here – in the same spot where he last saw Sirius.
His breath caught painfully in his throat as he became aware of the
distant whispering behind the gently fluttering curtain.

“Harry!” Ginny cried, throwing herself at him and nearly knocking him
over. His body was weakened, and he had to clutch her for support. He
felt as if she was somehow suffusing her strength into him through her
embrace.

By the horrified expression on her face, he knew he must look a right
mess. Hating the tear tracks he could see on her cheeks, he grabbed her
head and tangled his fingers in her hair. Leaning over, he kissed her
fiercely. If this was to be the end, he preferred his last memory to be
of her sweet kiss rather than Snape’s ugly face.

Harry held up his bloody hand, and Hermione silently tossed him his
wand. By this time, Snape had rolled to his feet, brandishing his own
wand.

“Very clever, Potter,” Snape said, sneering. “Although I’m certain it
wasn’t any of your doing, else you would have escaped much sooner. The
Dark Lord will not be pleased, but you won’t get away for long. He’s
determined, and your little friends won’t be able to resist him
forever.”

“Stupefy,” Ron bellowed, but Snape easily moved to the side and the
spell harmlessly flashed against the wall.

“You’ll have to improve your technique if you ever expect to battle me,
Weasley,” Snape said.

“Incarcerous,” Harry bellowed, and thin, snakelike ropes flew from his
wand, attempting to bind Snape’s hands.

“Serpensortia,” Snape hissed, Transfiguring the ropes into snakes,
which harmlessly slithered around his feet.
Harry watched as several of them slunk through the Veil, its ratty
curtain billowing in the still air. He had to shake himself of the
memories threatening to overwhelm him. He could hear that faint
murmuring of voices behind it and knew he couldn’t be distracted by it.

“You hear the voices?” Snape asked, cocking his head to the side.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes, I know about the voices,” Snape said, rolling his eyes
contemptuously. “I’m surprised you can hear them, however. It’s usually
only those with superior magical talent – of which you obviously have
none. Then again, it’s been suggested that those with questionable
mental stability are also able to hear them.”

Harry blasted several more Curses at Snape, all of which were easily
deflected.

“Sectumsempra,” Snape said vindictively.

Harry managed to dodge the curse but felt the rush of air as it zoomed
past his ear. Snape jumped off the dais and moved to the steps that
rose in a ring around the room. Harry climbed after him, trying to keep
his own body between Snape and the others. Ron, Hermione and Ginny kept
their wands pointed at the pair, waiting to see what would happen.
Draco had taken cover, but Harry could see his blonde hair peering at
them from behind the dais.

“Supposedly, the voices are the trapped souls who’ve gone through to
their death. Your dearly departed godfather should be one of them,
rotting just out of reach,” Snape said, his eyes glittering
malevolently.

“Diffindo. Silencio. Impedimenta,” Harry shouted, rapidly firing at
Snape, who kept backing away.

Harry was growing winded, and the climb up the stairs made his muscles
groan in agony. Snape’s cruel words incited the fury of Harry’s
friends, and they quickly joined the fray. Ron and Ginny both fired a
barrage of Hexes and Jinxes towards their former teacher, but he was
able to shield himself.

“Incendio,” Hermione hissed, setting the bottom of Snape’s robes on
fire. She was the first one to actually hit him with something, and
Snape was obviously surprised. He quickly doused the flames but began
to struggle against the combined attack.

“Four against one, Potter?” he asked, sneering as he panted. “How like
your father you truly are.”

“You didn’t seem to care much about a fair fight when we were back in
Voldemort’s lair, and it was about sixteen against one,” Harry said,
gritting his teeth.

“Sectumsempra,” Snape snarled again, and Ginny gasped, slapping a hand
to her shoulder to stop the sudden rush of blood.
Harry’s vision went black with rage, and he fired a powerful Blasting
Curse that hit Snape full on, sending him flying through the air. He
landed in a heap on the stairs, gasping.

“Stupefy,” Harry said.

Snape’s head lolled to the side, his wand rolling uselessly out of his
slackened hand, clattering on the floor beside him.

Harry’s knees gave out, and he slumped on the stairs, panting heavily.
His vision blurred, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. He kept
shaking his head, trying to dislodge the cobwebs that were surrounding
his brain.

Ron rushed toward him, pulling him to his feet and helping him to
descend the stairs while Hermione moved to check on Ginny. Ron sat
Harry down on the bottom step beside the girls, and Harry leaned on him
heavily.

“You got him, mate,” Ron said shakily, never removing his arm from
around Harry’s shoulders. “Kind of ironic that the impulsiveness that
he always gave you a hard time about was what did him in at the end.”
Ron tried to laugh, but it was forced, and his eyes traveled worriedly
over Harry’s wounds.

“I’m all right,” Ginny snapped as Hermione quickly healed the bleeding
gash on her shoulder.

“You’ll need dittany on that, or it will scar, despite Snape’s skill
with that Curse,” Draco said, finally joining the group.

“Thanks for all your help,” Ron spat, still supporting Harry’s weight.

“Snape would have killed me on the Dark Lord’s orders. I wasn’t about
to take that risk for you,” Draco said, sneering. “Where’s Pansy?”

“Ginny,” Harry said, gasping and ignoring Draco completely.

“I’m all right,” Ginny said, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand. “I’m
better than you, that’s for certain. What happened?”

“Where have you been, Potter? Do you know what happened to Pansy?”
Draco demanded again.

Harry nodded wearily. His legs were growing heavy, and he was finding
it difficult to breathe properly. Even though he wanted nothing more
than to lie down and rest for a bit, he suspected his inactivity was
causing his system to further absorb the small amount of the Draught of
Living Death that he’d ingested.

Pushing off Ron and leaving a bloody handprint on his shirt, Harry
forced himself to his feet and began to shakily pace.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Sit down and let me heal
that cut on your arm.”
Harry looked down and noticed that his left sleeve was drenched in
blood. Despite the fact that his fingers still tingled numbly, he’d
forgotten about the wound.

“You can heal it,” he said, wheezing, “but I can’t stay still. It gets
worse when I’m still.”

“What gets worse?” Hermione asked, following him as she tended his arm.

“Ran into Pansy just outside the forest,” Harry said, blinking rapidly.
“She said she was looking for Draco.”

“She knew where I was,” Draco replied tightly. “She locked me and
Dudley in a Charms classroom.”

Harry nodded. “She pulled a wand on me. When I disarmed her, I
discovered that her wand was a Portkey.”

“A Portkey?” Draco asked, sounding both alarmed and impressed. “So,
she’s still in the forest then?”

“Where did it take you?” Ginny asked, grabbing the hand of his
uninjured arm and pacing with him. When she felt the blood on his hand
from Snape’s Hex, she mutely held it towards Hermione to be healed.

“To Voldemort,” he replied. “Pansy followed us there. She’d made a
bargain with Snape and Voldemort to spare you in return for handing me
over to them.”

Draco blanched. “The Dark Lord would never agree to that.”

“No,” Harry said simply, stopping and staring at Draco intently.

“He killed her then?” the Slytherin asked in a strained whisper.

“He reneged on his deal, then offered her a place in his ranks. She
said not without you, so he killed her,” Harry said, squaring his jaw.
He knew he was hurting the other boy, but he felt he had to show him
the callous truth. It was Voldemort’s way or no way. There was no in
between.

Draco dropped his head, clenching his eyes tightly.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Hermione said, her eyes bright. She gently reached
out and placed her hand on his arm.

Draco nodded, firmly setting his jaw. His voice shook as he spoke, “She
wanted us to have a chance for a future.”

“By sacrificing Harry,” Ron snapped, apparently unable to accept any
grief over Pansy.

“She did the wrong thing, and I’ll never forgive her for putting Harry
through this, but I can understand her desperation,” Ginny admitted
grudgingly, her eyes sweeping over Harry.
“Voldemort wanted to keep me safe but out of the way,” Harry said.
“Snape brewed the Draught of Living Death, and they forced it down my
throat.”

“What?” Hermione shrieked.

“I spat it out without swallowing, but I think some of it was absorbed
anyway. I don’t feel so good,” Harry said, listing to the side.

Ginny caught him and propped him back up.

Draco’s head snapped up. He seemed stunned by the fact Harry was given
the Draught and remained consciousness. “That’s not good,” he said.
“You’ll probably not recover from that. The antidote is supposed to be
given instantaneously and all in one dose.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry replied dryly.

“How did you and Snape get here, then?” Hermione asked. “Did your stone
somehow tell you where we were? Ginny’s has been burning all evening.”
Her curiosity about the stones was visibly battling with her concern
over Harry’s condition.

“I don’t know how that happened,” Harry said truthfully. “My stone was
burning, too. I panicked after Snape had given me the Draught, and I
somehow broke the bonds that were holding me and got away. Snape and I
were fighting over my wand on the floor of the cavern one minute, and
the next minute we were here still fighting. The stone must have
transported us like a Portkey.”

“That’s not possible,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “It’s just a
legend, and it’s only supposed to help you find one another. You must
have Disapparated.”

“No. It definitely had something to do with the stones,” Harry said,
shaking his head. “Voldemort was furious. I heard him bellowing when we
disappeared. There were Anti-Apparation wards all over the place.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you haven’t done things that were supposedly
impossible in the past,” Ron said, shrugging.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “We don’t have time to figure it out.
Voldemort sent his troops to Hogwarts. He probably went there looking
for me after I disappeared. What are we doing here, anyway?”

“We thought you might have slipped away from us to take on Voldemort
alone,” Ron said sheepishly.

Harry looked away from them all, unable to deny he’d thought about
doing just that.

“I thought so,” Ginny said, scowling.

“The Death Eaters were already at Hogwarts when we left,” Ron said.
“Hermione sent a message to warn them.”
Harry sighed heavily, his eyes roaming around the silent room and
stopping to rest on the Veil. He could still hear those odd, distorted
whispers behind it. He was here. This was it. The time to act and end
it all was now.

“Harry, you’re not in any condition to do this,” Hermione said as if
reading his thoughts.

“I have to, Hermione. We won’t get a better chance,” he replied.

Hermione looked around the room helplessly before returning her gaze to
him. Her lower lip trembling, she nodded. “I’ve stopped the bleeding on
your arm, but the wound is really deep. Madam Pomfrey will have to set
it properly.”

“Right,” Harry replied, his throat raw.

He knew he should take a moment to tell them how much they’d always
meant to him, but he couldn’t manage to get his mouth to form the
words. Instead, he just stood there – feeling stupid – and swallowing
repeatedly.

Before he had long to contemplate it, however, his scar felt as if it
had been ripped open with blinding pain. Bright shards of light pierced
his field of vision, and he had to wrap his hands around his head to
hold it together. He dropped to his knees, convulsing yet still trying
to maintain control.

“Harry!” Ginny yelped, and he felt her cool hands on his forehead.

“Voldemort,” he gasped. “He knows I’m not at Hogwarts. He’s looking for
me. We have to do this now. I need to show him where I am.”

“I can help you do that,” Draco said suddenly, surprising them all.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, moving to stand protectively in front of
Harry.

“You obviously still can’t shield your mind against Legilimency,” Draco
said, rolling his eyes. “Snape proved that.”

“But he got Snape, didn’t he?” Ron asked belligerently.

“Eventually, I suppose. If you think you can manage to stall the Dark
Lord until you get angry enough to do something, go right ahead.
Perhaps if he just kills one of the Potterettes,” Malfoy said, jerking
his head towards Harry’s friends, “that would do it.”

“No!” Harry said, suddenly sitting up straighter and blinking through
the pain in his head. “Okay, Draco. We’ll try this together. What do we
have to do?”

“Let me into your mind. I’ll direct your thoughts in order to project
where we are to Voldemort, and I’ll try to help you shield them once he
arrives,” Draco said, swallowing heavily.

“Why are you so willing to help now?” Ginny demanded.
“He killed Pansy, and I’m ready to be free. If this works, I can get on
with my life while I still have it,” Draco snapped.

Harry groaned again as he felt Voldemort’s cold tendrils attempting to
coil around his brain. “Now. We have to do it now,” he said, gasping.
“Ron, Ginny, Hermione, conjure some heavy stones to use as shields.
They can absorb the Killing Curse when he starts using it. Conjure
several in the room and practice doing it quickly. Each will only
shield you from one Curse, so you’ll either have to find or conjure
another after yours is destroyed.”

“Create a large one for me, too,” Draco said. “If the Dark Lord
realizes what we’re doing, he’ll go after me. He’ll be puzzled over the
fact that Harry is suddenly able to shield his thoughts, but it won’t
occur to him right away that Harry would willingly let someone else in
his mind since he would never do so.”

“Do it,” Harry said, grabbing his head again.

Draco nodded. “You’ll have to look in my eyes and just relax. Think
about this room, and I’ll help project the image to the forefront of
your mind.”

“When he gets here, Harry, everything will happen fast,” Hermione said.
“I’ve spoken with Professor Dumbledore about something, and you’ll just
have to trust us.”

“Trust you with what?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“That we love you, and we know that you love us, too. Keep
concentrating on that when you’re dueling,” Ginny said, kissing him
softly on the lips.

“I love you, too, Ginny,” he whispered.

Ron silently squeezed Harry’s shoulder, his solemn expression saying
more than words ever could.

“Focus on the love you feel for us,” Hermione said urgently. “Trust
us.”

“This is all sickeningly sweet, but we’re running out of time,” Draco
said.

Ginny gave Harry’s hand a final squeeze before joining Ron and Hermione
to help create obstacles.

Harry stared into the gray eyes of his school rival. In the end, it
came down to trust. Harry didn’t trust Draco, but he didn’t think the
Slytherin fully trusted him, either. They did understand each other
enough to know that they both wanted the same thing. Maybe being able
to set aside their differences and work together was part of the final
test.

“Let’s do it,” Harry said, taking a deep breath and looking directly at
Draco. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“I’ve been in your mind before, Harry. Nothing has changed about that,”
Draco said, surprisingly gentle.

Harry groaned as his head seared painfully. “There’s more in there this
time,” he said vaguely.

Draco frowned, puzzled. “Just push the thought you want to the
forefront of your mind. Legilimens.”

Harry felt the familiar invasion, and he tried to will his body to
relax, despite his tension. His forced prone position allowed the
poison in his system to further absorb, causing his legs to feel stiff
and heavy. Memories flashed fast and furious, and he struggled to keep
the image of the Department of Mysteries in the forefront. He felt
Draco’s presence pushing it and knew instantly when Voldemort had
successfully invaded.

Voldemort grasped onto the image, and Harry began to laugh maniacally
as he felt Voldemort’s triumphant glee. A wave of nausea rolled over
him as the foreign presence pulled out of his mind. When Voldemort
finally released him, Harry leaned over and promptly retched, spilling
the meager contents of his stomach all over Draco.

“Bugger!” Draco shouted, leaping back. “Damn it, Potter. Scourgify.”

“All right, Harry?” Ron asked from where he was still conjuring large
boulders.

“He’s coming,” Harry said, shaking his head and forcing his protesting
legs to stand. “You’d better all get behind cover. You too, Draco.”

Draco remained standing, staring at Harry with the most peculiar
expression on his pale face.

“What?” Harry asked, exasperated and in no mood for games. He swiped
his sleeve across his mouth.

“You’re going to have to die to pull this off,” the Slytherin
whispered, his eyes wide.

“You’re just figuring that out now, Draco?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“I… He’s… It… Horcruxes,” Draco finally managed, bewildered.

Harry nodded curtly. He knew there had been a risk of Draco learning
about the Horcruxes when he allowed him access to his mind, but
supposed it didn’t matter now, anyway.

“You’d better take cover,” Harry said softly.

Draco swallowed audibly. For the first time in Harry’s memory, the
blonde boy appeared at a loss for words.

“Good luck,” he finally whispered, before turning and quickly ducking
behind one of the stones.
It was odd, but Harry thought he actually sincerely meant it. There was
no time to contemplate Draco’s motives, however, as a piercing stab of
pain erupted along Harry’s scar.

“He’s here,” Harry said, limping away from the dais. His previous fear,
exhaustion, and trepidation over what was about to come melted away. He
was ready. He felt as if he’d been battling his whole life for this
moment, and he was ready for it – come what may. Voldemort was no
longer a man, but a monster, and he needed to be terminated before he
killed anyone else.

Harry’s heart pumped fiercely in his chest, causing the effects of the
Draught to recede. He quickly scanned the room, noting with
satisfaction that Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Draco were all covered –
even Snape’s prone form was well hidden by the stairs surrounding the
dais.

His scar seared, and the temperature plummeted as Lord Voldemort strode
confidently into the room, his grotesque face twisted with rage.

“I must admit, Harry, it has been a long time since anyone was able to
impress me,” he hissed, slithering into the center of the room, his
crimson eyes flashing.

“You’ll find that you’re no longer dealing with a child that you
snatched from a school yard,” Harry replied, calmly moving to face his
foe.

“Point taken. I should have killed you straightaway in that graveyard,”
Voldemort said, perusing Harry appraisingly. His red eyes were glowing
with an intense hunger, and his tongue darted out, snakelike, wetting
his lips.

“You tried,” Harry said.

“I wanted your death to become my showpiece. My grand welcome back into
the Wizarding world. I should have simply eliminated the obstacle. I
won’t make that mistake again,” Voldemort replied, baring his teeth.
“Crucio!”

Harry was ready, and he quickly dove out of the way. “So, you’re ready
to kill me now? I thought you wanted to stow me away somewhere safe,”
he said. “Reducto.”

The corner of the stairs exploded, hurling debris towards Voldemort,
who quickly raised a shield.

“That was my original plan before you incapacitated my Potions master.
No, Harry. I’m going to make you bleed like the worthless human you
are, and then I’m going to dispose of you. I am Lord Voldemort, and I
will find another way to survive. You thwarted my attempt to get the
Philosopher’s Stone, and now you’ve destroyed my precious Horcruxes.
You will pay for that, and I will devise another way.”

Voldemort blasted a quick string of curses at Harry, each of which he
managed to avoid. Harry returned fire, but nothing appeared capable of breaching Voldemort’s shield. Some of the boulders placed around the
room were beginning to crumble under the fury.

“Your feeble attempts at Occlumency appear to have finally yielded some
results,” Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes.

“So…you know I’ve got all the Horcruxes, then?” Harry asked, desperate
for a distraction. He was sweating profusely from the exertion but knew
Draco was still managing to keep the shield in his mind.

“Lord Voldemort knows everything,” Voldemort said smugly. “Right down
to the fact you are trying to distract me from knowing there are others
in the room with us. There,” he said, blasting the rock hiding Ron.

“And there,” he said, destroying the one shielding Hermione.

Hermione quickly created another to duck behind, but Ron delayed in
order to be certain Hermione was covered.

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort shouted, aiming the deadly green light at
Ron.

Ron froze, his eyes widening. Without thinking, Harry leaped at his
friend. His body sailed through the air, impacting with Ron, and
bringing them both to the ground with a crash. The sickening snap of a
bone was clearly heard in Ron’s wrist as they landed. They ducked and
quickly rolled to their feet, a groaning Ron noticeably helping Harry.

Voldemort blasted the two of them with a barrage of curses as each boy
tried to shield the other. Finally, Ron grunted in pain when a curse
hit its mark. Harry shoved him toward another boulder.

“You already knew about the diary,” Harry said, panting as Ron slumped,
unconscious behind the rock. “That was the first one.” He fired a
powerful Stunner that Voldemort blocked, but for the first time, his
shield flickered.

Voldemort’s eyes widened, and he paused before taking a step back.

What had Hermione said? Concentrate on the love he felt for them?
Professor Dumbledore said it was his unknown power, and it did appear
to strengthen his Curses.

“The diary, yes. My sources tell me that you destroyed it in order to
save your little girlfriend. I believe she’s over there,” Voldemort
said, blasting away the rock hiding Ginny.

Ginny shrieked and scrambled out of the way. Voldemort followed her
with his wand, repeatedly firing spell after spell. Ginny kept dodging
and firing back uselessly, and Harry could see she was growing weary.
His own spells did nothing to deflect Voldemort’s wrath. He appeared to
grow stronger, as if feeding off Ginny’s fear and Harry’s desperation.

“Not her,” Harry growled, a great rage blooming within his heart. He
fired a Cutting Curse that tore into Voldemort’s side, drawing first
blood. The voices behind the Veil grew louder, and the room brightened
slightly.
Voldemort stopped, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at the blood
seeping through his robes. Drawing his lips back and baring his teeth,
he quickly fired a rapid series of spells toward Harry – like a wire
short-circuiting on the ground.

Harry hissed in pain as a Curse sliced into his arm, reopening the
wound Hermione had treated for him. Blood gushed from the deep cut and
flowed down his arm, slackening his hand. Glancing down briefly, he was
certain he could see a white hint of bone showing.

“I also know exactly how you’re managing to shield your pathetic mind
from me,” Voldemort snarled, aiming his wand and destroying the boulder
shielding Draco. The boy froze, his eyes round before he leaped to his
feet and tried to run. “Extispex.”

Draco collapsed, shrieking in horror as blood rapidly spread across his
abdomen and his insides began being expelled through a gaping wound.
Draco’s horrible screams filled the cavernous room until Hermione,
apparently unable to take it any more, cast a spell of her own.

“Petrificus Totalis,” she shouted.

Draco’s body stopped writhing and remained motionless on the floor, his
entrails piled in front of him. Harry felt the last link between his
mind and Draco’s snap.

Voldemort turned his attention to Hermione. “Crucio,” he shouted, and
Hermione dropped to the ground, screaming in agony.

Gritting his teeth, Harry fired a Reductor Curse that blasted Voldemort
off his feet, ending his attack on Hermione. Harry continued his rapid
volley with Voldemort and the room was alight with spells hitting the
walls. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny pull Hermione behind a
large boulder.

“That’s for my parents,” Harry snarled, hitting Voldemort with a
Cutting Curse, “and that one’s for Sirius.”

Each time he aimed a spell, Harry put the name of a victim to it. The
room in which they were standing brightened each time, and with a shock
Harry realized the light was coming from the Veil. The voices were loud
and overlapping, and he didn’t understand how the others couldn’t hear
them.

Voldemort appeared slightly alarmed by the light and sound, and
distressed by Harry’s success in hitting his mark. Harry thought it
must have been a long time since Tom Riddle had endured the pain of
being Cursed. Harry lost his train of thought as a painful Stinging Hex
struck his thigh.

“So…your plan is to tug me through the Veil with you, is it?” Voldemort
asked, regaining some of his bluster. “That’s not going to happen
today. I can accommodate you, however,” he said, lifting Harry’s body
in the air and flinging it toward the Veil.
Harry managed to land and right himself before he reached it, his
fierce desire to protect his friends ringing in his head. He fired a
Bone Breaking Curse at Voldemort and was shocked to see his enemy
stumble and fall.

In fury, Voldemort fired the same curse back at Harry, who felt the
bones in his injured arm and the attached hand shatter. He was weakened
and bloody, but it heartened him to see Voldemort in the same
condition. This was it; it had to be done.

Focusing with all this might on the love he felt for his friends and
his desire that they should have a peaceful life, he fired a Reductor
Curse that catapulted Voldemort onto the dais where the Veil stood.
“That was for Remus; and that one’s for Bertha Jorkins. D’you remember
Bertha? You left her body to rot in the woods. She’s been avenged,”
Harry spat, moving down the steps and closer to the dais. The unearthly
light filled the room and began to glow even brighter.

He felt Voldemort’s insidious presence inside his mind – searching –
seeking to know which Curse Harry was about to use. As Harry filled his
mind with the love and great emotion that he had for his friends, he
felt Voldemort recoil, his grip on Harry’s mind weakening until it
finally snapped altogether.

The light and voices from the Veil were obviously frightening Voldemort
and throwing him off his mark. This was Harry’s chance.

Limping, Harry stepped onto the dais, preparing to charge and ram both
Voldemort and himself through the Veil. Before he could do it, however,
shouting from the girls stopped him.

“Harry!” Hermione cried. “Use the Curse. The one Moody says you can do,
but you didn’t think you could.”

Harry’s brow furrowed with confusion, irritated by the interruption. He
barely managed to raise his shield as Voldemort hurled another Cutting
Curse at him.

“Do you trust me, Harry?” Hermione asked softly, although he could hear
her clearly despite the noise in the room.

There was no question – of course he did. He’d promised to listen to
her during the battle, understanding that there were things she
couldn’t forewarn him about lest Voldemort see it in his mind.

Ginny moved out from behind the rock beside Hermione, and with Chaser
precision tossed something directly to him.

“Use the Curse,” Hermione repeated as the object flew through the air.

Although his broken arm hung uselessly at his side, Harry instinctually
raised his wand hand in the air and caught the tiny golden object
before turning his wand on a still-shaken Voldemort and hissing, “Avada
Kedavra.”

Immediately as he uttered the hateful curse, his head was ripped open
with agonizing pain. A crushing sensation overwhelmed him, dizzying and disorienting him. He felt as if a part of him was being torn asunder.
Memories, feelings and emotions swirled, making him feel sick and
dropping him to his knees. An unbearable cold consumed him as a
sickening, squelching sound filled his ears. His eyes rolled in his
head. He was being torn apart. He wasn’t even certain who he was. The
wind howled, and his vision began to dim.

As Harry slumped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been
cut, his hand uncurled around the object Ginny had tossed to him. The
golden Snitch that had rested in McGonagall’s office – the one Ginny
had caught to win the Quidditch cup in the last match before Hogwarts
had closed – flew from Harry’s hand. It rose in the air gracefully,
fluttering momentarily, before turning and hurling itself through the
Veil, as if it had been Charmed to do so. The Veil fluttered briefly
and the voices rose in crescendo before finally falling silent. The
light around the Veil slowly began to dim.

At the same moment that Harry realized he’d created his own Horcrux, he
saw Voldemort’s snakelike eyes widen as he was struck in the abdomen by
the spell hurled from Harry’s wand. The madman’s red eyes dimmed as he
crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The many transformations that he’d
undergone melted away, leaving the ravaged but unmistakably once-
handsome face of Tom Riddle – a dead man, and no longer a monster.

The room was utterly silent and still.

Suddenly, Harry saw Snape’s bruised and battered face rise from the
steps. His eyes weren’t quite focused but still held a vindictive
gleam. His gaze wandered dispassionately over Voldemort’s still form
before he warily raised his hands when Harry pointed his wand. Harry
could barely make sense of anything, but he was certain that Snape
expected to die by his former pupil’s hand.

But Harry lowered his wand, gasping in pain.

“There’s going to be celebrating and victory speeches, and they’ll
probably even name a holiday after me,” he gasped, slurring his words.
“I’m certain I’ll hate all of it, but there’s one thing that it’ll make
it all worthwhile – and that’s knowing that you’re going to hate it
more.”

Snape scowled, shakily pulling himself to his feet and raising his
wand. Harry simply stared, unable to muster the strength to be alarmed.

“While you are most likely right that the deluded fools will heap more
unearned glory upon you, it’s a pity that you won’t be around to hear
any of it. How pathetic to survive the great battle, only to be struck
down afterwards because you were too weak to raise your wand,” he
sneered.

Harry expected to see a burning green light hurtle towards him, but
instead a rushing mane of bright red hair blocked his vision. He heard
the swoosh of a curse before a mass of mucus-covered bats exploded from
Snape’s nose.

“Expelliarmus,” Ginny snarled, and Snape’s wand flew into her
outstretched hand before she cast a Binding Spell on him. “Silencio,” she hissed, cutting off his sneer before it could start. Using her
wand, she tightened Snape’s bonds until he was gasping with pain.

She then dropped to her knees beside Harry, cradling his bloody head in
her lap.

“Oh, Harry, look what he did to you,” she said, sniffling and wrapping
herself around him like a bandage.

Harry wearily shut his eyes, sinking into the warmth of her embrace. It
was over. He’d done it. He could rest at long last.

“Stay with me, Harry,” Ginny pleaded.

Harry’s eyes fluttered, but his limbs and eyelids felt like lead. He
tried to smile but failed. His vision slowly began to dim and finally
faded to black, blocking out the voices as the curtain finally stilled.

Chapter Thirty

The Locked Room

Harry’s world spun momentarily before a sense of cool serenity washed
over him. He felt as if he was floating – drifting slowly into the air
inside a bubble, swaying haphazardly, yet rising upward. He felt calm
and almost disassociated from everyone else in the room. He could see
Ginny cradling his broken body, crying and begging him to awake, but he
felt no desire to do so. He wasn’t entirely certain that he could.

He could see the dead body of Tom Riddle lying nearby, his lifeless
eyes still open and staring vacantly ahead. The eyes were no longer
red, but brownish in coloring. Harry dispassionately noted that
Riddle’s hair had gone gray since the last time he’d seen him. He half-
expected the prone figure to jump or blink or for his eyes to turn back
to red. His stomach churning unpleasantly, Harry turned away.

He watched as Hermione tended an unconscious Ron, but she glanced up at
Ginny’s shrill cry. He could see Hermione’s lips moving and knew she
was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear her words. None of this
concerned him as he continued to drift aimlessly through the air. Not
even the sight of the ancient Veil high on its dais, the same Veil that
had filled so many of his nightmares, elicited any emotion from him.

He floated past Draco, lying on the floor – still petrified – with the
ghastly mess of innards piled obscenely beside him. Detached, Harry
noticed that Draco’s eyes were closed, almost as if he couldn’t bear to
look at what had happened to him and settled instead for
unconsciousness. Harry thought it vaguely odd that the one who had
actually died was the one with his eyes open, yet both Draco’s and the
eyes on Harry’s own body were closed.

At least, he assumed he was still alive, although he really couldn’t be
certain. He couldn’t bring himself to care very much either way. Even
the idea that it was over didn’t quite register in his muddled brain.
The only thing on Harry’s mind at the moment was this pleasant floating sensation. It left him drowsy, and he thought he might like to go to
sleep.

Nearly as soon as the thought occurred to him, his eyes opened wide,
and his heart began to race. Falling asleep was definitely a bad idea.
He somehow knew he was supposed to stay awake. As he became more alert
and began to look around in earnest, the pounding of his heart
lessened, and the panicky adrenaline-rush subsided. Calmer, he noticed
that his bubble had begun traveling further away from the chaos
surrounding the Veil.

He drifted over Ron and Hermione’s heads, watching as Hermione’s wand
traveled shakily over Ron’s chest. His bubble floated out the door and
into the circular room with all the doors. It moved anti-clockwise
until it stopped in front of one of the doors. The door was no
different than any of the others, it had no distinctive marking or
shape, but Harry instinctively knew that it was the locked door. The
one where he’d ruined the knife Sirius had given him while trying to
open it.

What had Professor Dumbledore told him? That the room was kept locked
at all times and contained the force that Harry possessed in such great
quantity – love. Riddles…more riddles. Dumbledore had always liked to
speak in riddles. How could a room contain love? It wasn’t a tangible
thing.

Harry watched, feeling disconnected as his bubble approached the door
and floated right through it. He blinked and took a good look around.
At first, he saw nothing but murky emptiness and darkly wondered if
he’d used up all the love he’d felt in his heart destroying Voldemort.
Now, there wasn’t anything left but this dark, gray nothingness. It was
a sobering thought, but he still couldn’t bring himself to feel any
emotion over it. It was as if he was an outsider, merely observing
rather than living any of it anymore.


As he continued to float, he gradually became aware of a flickering
light in the distance. Without his usual curiosity or burning drive to
know, he merely took note of it rather than moving towards it.
Gradually, however, the flickering of shadow became interesting as it
was the only thing to see, and he began to drift nearer and nearer the
light.

When he was finally close enough to see properly, he realized it was a
simple fireplace holding a blazing fire that hissed and crackled.
Although it was in the midst of great nothingness, Harry imagined it
was the kind of fire he’d seen in the Gryffindor common room on many a
cold night.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, the Gryffindor common room with
its large, squishy armchairs and red and gold coloring appeared before
him. His bubble landed on one of the chairs in front of the fire, and
he stretched his long legs, feeling the heat on his suddenly uncovered
toes. He rubbed them into the rich, red carpeting, resting his head on
the back of the chair.
He wondered if the locked room somehow worked by thought, and he tested
it by imagining a steaming cup of chocolate. It appeared on the end
table next to him in a Hogwarts golden mug. Harry settled back into the
cushions, gazing at the fire and wondering what it was he was supposed
to do here. It seemed a funny place to be after…well, after everything
that had happened tonight. Dispassionately, he realized that he was
uninjured. He had full use of his arms, and there wasn’t even a trace
of blood on his clothing.

“I am glad to see that you have made yourself at home, Harry,”
Professor Dumbledore said, strolling into the room. His long white
beard was knotted at the end, and he held it as he took the chair next
to Harry, conjuring his own cup of hot chocolate and stretching his
bare toes to the fire.

“Sir!” Harry gasped, shocked. Some of his hot chocolate dribbled down
his chin, scalding him.

He wiped it quickly, blinking with astonishment and unable to voice a
coherent thought. Dumbledore merely sipped his own beverage, his blue
eyes twinkling, until Harry blurted, “Am I dead?”

“No, my boy, you most certainly are not dead, thank the Heavens. Your
body has a long recovery ahead, but I am more concerned with your
mind,” Dumbledore said, the sparkle in his eyes dimming as he looked at
Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

“My mind?” Harry asked blankly, feeling that he was several steps
behind. He sat back and tried to relax. Dumbledore was obviously in
charge of the conversation. Some things never changed.

Dumbledore raised his arms and gestured at the vast expanse of
nothingness. “This room…this place…is a representation of your mind,
Harry. Am I right in surmising that you are presently feeling rather
desolate?”

Harry shrugged helplessly, uncertain what to say or even what to make
of all the emptiness. Feeling slight embarrassed, he instead focused on
their immediate surroundings. “It looks like the Gryffindor common room
to me,” he mumbled.

“Yes. I conjured the fire to try and light your way to me. You created
the image in your mind of a place you felt warmth, some security,
perhaps,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “I am, of course, pleased that
Hogwarts has always felt like a home to you.”

“So…this place is inside my mind?” Harry asked, still feeling as if he
were grasping at straws. If that were the case, it looked as if his
mind was rather empty – a fact he was certain Ron would find highly
amusing.

“Precisely,” Dumbledore said, smiling approvingly. “The only way to
enter that locked door at the Ministry is within your mind. I imagine
that you are feeling lost and rather hopeless right now, and you felt
the need for explanations hence, you called for me. I suppose I have
traditionally been the one to offer you my advice after you have been
through a trauma.”
“So…you’re not real, then? I’m only imagining you?” Harry asked, aware
that the first real emotion beginning to swell in his chest was that of
great disappointment.

“Oh, I am very real, Harry. More importantly, not everyone could simply
have called me back such as you have done. Your need must be very
great,” Dumbledore said solemnly.

“I’m confused, sir,” Harry said, shaking his head. He didn’t even know
how he’d got here, never mind how he’d called Dumbledore. There had to
be some kind of mistake.

“I am aware of that,” Dumbledore said, smiling gently. “Let me offer as
much in the way of an explanation as I can. Miss Granger may have more
of the answers you seek. I have been watching over you for nearly a
year now, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of your
accomplishments.”

“I killed him,” Harry said flatly. Should he be proud of that fact?
Harry really wasn’t certain. It had only taken two words – Avada
Kedavra – the very same two words that had once vastly altered the
course of Harry’s life. He’d never thought the day would come that he
would be the one to say those words. It seemed fate loved to toy with
him that way.

He swallowed, willing the numb feeling to return. Truth be told, he
didn’t feel like celebrating, or crying over his losses, or anything
except indifference. He was hollow inside.

“Yes. You did what you had to do, and the Wizarding world and all of
your friends will be the better for it,” Dumbledore said gently,
watching Harry with those all-knowing eyes.

“You’ve been watching me?” Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have. I have waited and delayed fully passing over, while I tried to
guide you this past year. Now, it is finally my time to cross into the
afterworld,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes shining eagerly.

“You’re leaving again?” Harry asked in a dull, flat tone. That cold
dispassion had resettled, and Harry was glad for it if it meant that he
didn’t have to feel another loss.

Dumbledore gently rested his hand on Harry’s forearm, squeezing it
gently. “I departed your world a year ago, Harry. That hasn’t changed.
Most likely, I could have survived that potion. I may have even been
able to thwart Professor Snape despite my surprise, but I would have
been a frail, useless liability to you. It was better this way, and I
have been able to be of greater service.”

“Greater service?” Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of
him.

“Am I right in surmising that you knew after Miss Weasley tossed you
the Snitch in the Death Room, and you had uttered the Killing Curse that you had created your own Horcrux?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes
piercing into Harry’s.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, shrugging. “I worked that part out myself.”

“Miss Granger came to me several weeks ago with her idea, and I thought
it quite splendid that she had worked out so much of the detail. I
merely did a bit of tweaking, as I understood some of the Romanian text
better than she. The Snitch, however, was my idea for the item to be
used as your Horcrux. I told Miss Granger how to charm it to make it
fly directly into the Veil. Rather brilliant, if I do say so myself,”
Dumbledore said, smiling.

“So, I’ve lost part of my soul? Is that why I feel so empty?” Harry
asked, his throat feeling very tight.


“No,” Dumbledore said quickly. “You’ve lost none of your own soul,
Harry. When Miss Granger told you to focus on the love that you felt
for others, it is because that great abundance of love that you hold
within your heart shielded your soul from splitting. The piece of
Voldemort’s soul that was attached to your own like a malignant growth
could not understand that great love. It was that piece that was split
off while your own soul remained whole.”

“So…the soul is split by murder, but love can shield the soul?” Harry
asked, feeling very off-kilter.

“Precisely,” Dumbledore replied. “I think you will find that the
Dementors are less likely to be as drawn to you now that there is only
one soul within you. The other – the evil presence forced upon you – is
gone.”

Harry shook his head, feeling very confused. His brain was still having
trouble keeping up with the evening’s events, and one great piece of
the puzzle still baffled him. “How did I manage to get the Killing
Curse to work against Voldemort?” he asked. “He was definitely off his
game tonight. I shouldn’t have been able to do that. He was much more
powerful than me.”

“You are again underestimating your greatest strength, Harry, and Tom’s
utter lack of that same quality,” Dumbledore replied quietly.

“Love again?” Harry asked, almost wearily.

“When you were dueling Tom earlier, each time you struck, you uttered
the name of one of Tom’s former victims. Why did you do such a thing?”
Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged, remembered the great fury he’d felt at the way
Voldemort killed so casually. “He thought there was no consequence –
that they didn’t matter. Did you know that I found Bertha Jorkins’
bones scattered in the woods as if she was nothing?”

“Which is, most likely, exactly as Voldemort saw her. But you buried
her, and then struck back for her to let him know that she wasn’t
forgotten – that she did matter. You did the same for Cedric and Frank Bryce and every other person you named. Their spirits understood this
and sang your praises for it,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

“The voices, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Did you not hear the voices
rising behind the Veil?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed several times before he could form the
words. “I did…but I didn’t think anyone else could. Snape said those
voices come from trapped souls behind it,” he said, squeezing his eyes
shut lest they betray him.

“They are not trapped,” Dumbledore said firmly, a faint trace of anger
in his voice. “The Veil is merely a gateway to the Afterworld. Not
everyone can hear the voices, however. It has nothing to do with
magical talent – only those in the mortal world who are pure of heart
are able to hear them.”

“But Voldemort heard them. You just said he did,” Harry insisted.

“As in most magical equations, the opposite also holds true,”
Dumbledore said, smiling apologetically. “Those with a heart lacking of
all compassion can also hear the voices, only they are frightened and
alarmed by them, as you saw with Tom. He could hear the voices rising
and detected the light growing, and he knew death was nearby. Death
frightened Tom more than anything else, and in the end, it was your
dead loved ones who enabled you to defeat him.”

“So, what happens now?” Harry asked softly, uncertain of the answer he
wanted.

“The battle is still raging at Hogwarts, although the Death Eaters have
begun to notice the Dark Marks on their arms disappearing, and that
Voldemort is gone from their minds. They are frightened and confused
which has made them rather rabid. A dangerous situation, but I suspect
the Order will have it contained shortly,” Dumbledore replied, closing
his eyes and creasing his forehead, as if he was looking somewhere
else.

“And the losses?” Harry asked, his stomach clenching.

“That remains to be seen and is something you will have to learn when
your body awakens,” Dumbledore said sadly. “Which brings me to my next
point…you need to give your spirit time to heal, Harry.”

Harry blinked uncomprehendingly, staring at the Headmaster with a
puzzled expression. His spirit? Certainly his body was injured, but
Madam Pomfrey had never had any difficulty patching him up in the past.

Dumbledore sighed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Your body
is broken, and your recovery will be slow. I suggest you use the forced
confinement to allow your emotional recovery.”

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, shifting away from Professor Dumbledore.
Dumbledore’s eyes rose to his hairline, and he said quietly, “Harry,
the barrenness of our surrounding says differently. I suggest you allow
Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger and particularly your Miss Weasley to assist
you. They are your greatest strength. You do them a disservice to shut
them out.”

Harry couldn’t bear to look into those sad blue eyes, so he looked at
the fire instead, holding his tongue. He tried to hide the flicker of
irritation that rose within him. He’d done what was expected of him.
What more did Dumbledore want?

“It is not meant as a criticism, merely an observation,” Dumbledore
said gently, and Harry felt his annoyance fade. “You have been forced
from one life-threatening situation to another since your arrival at
Hogwarts. You have spent the better part of a year preparing for this
battle and what you fully expected to be your own demise. I expect it
will take some time for your mind to adjust before you are able to
relax and live life to its fullest.”

“It’s over now,” Harry mumbled.

“Killing not only takes the life of the victim, but it takes a part of
the killer, as well,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “For you, I hope the
only part it takes is the part that ought never to have been there in
the first place. You’ve fulfilled your destiny in regards to Tom,
Harry, but not your destiny in regards to you. You are a young man with
a bright and glorious future ahead of you, if you allow yourself the
happiness to experience it.”

Harry sat his jaw firmly and continued to stare at the fire, willing
the lump in his throat to go away.

“You deserve that. Miss Weasley deserves it; and your friends deserve
it. This one last burden rests on your shoulders because they won’t
fully allow themselves to heal until you do,” Dumbledore said, smiling
gently.

“I’ll try, sir,” Harry whispered.

“That is all I can ask of you,” Dumbledore said, the sparkle finally
returning to his eyes. “And with Miss Weasley’s determination, Mr.
Weasley’s stubbornness, and Miss Granger’s cleverness, I am certain it
will be enough.”

Harry felt a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He
certainly did have the best of friends.

“What about Draco?” he asked suddenly. “What will happen to him? He
actually came through in the end.”

“Mr. Malfoy also has a long and difficult road ahead of him, and like
yours, his future is unclear,” Dumbledore replied. “As with you, the
support of loved ones is a key factor. I suppose an olive branch of
friendship would go a long way.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll try, sir. He’s not the easiest
person to be friendly toward.”
“That he is not,” Dumbledore replied, chuckling. “I think it will be
beyond your capabilities to do so, at first, anyway. As I said, your
recovery will be longer than you expect. I was thinking perhaps your
cousin, Dudley, and Mr. Malfoy should be encouraged to continue their
friendship once they return to their lives. They each need a friend and
confidante.”

“Dudley?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise. “Oh, they make a pair, all
right.”

“Yes, they certainly do,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “Put the bug in
Miss Weasley’s ear. If she knows it’s something you desire, she’ll move
heaven and earth to make it happen. There are those in residence within
my realm that fear that girl’s temper.”

Harry chuckled fondly, imagining the heaven’s quailing under Ginny’s
Bat-Bogey Hex.

“Where is your realm, sir?” he asked curiously, his stomach clenching
painfully once again.

“The Afterlife, Harry. Since I’ve been here, I’ve had the opportunity
to speak with your parents and Sirius. They’ve all been watching over
you. They are so proud of how far you’ve come, and the life you’ve made
for yourself,” Dumbledore said, watching Harry closely. Taking a deep
breath, he added, “Although they did give me an earful regarding some
of my choices towards you.”

Harry had to blink quickly to remain in control of the emotions that
suddenly washed over him. His mum, dad, and Sirius had been watching
him. That simultaneously filled him with both pride and a great sense
of loss, and he wasn’t certain what to say.

“Your mother, in particular beams with pride when she speaks of you,
and the man you’ve become. Your father is pleased with your choice in
friends, and Sirius’s comment had something to do with the phrase
‘smokin’ redheaded birds’,” Dumbledore said, smiling fondly.

Harry chuckled, swiping absently at the corner of his eye.

“I also had the chance to speak with Remus, Tonks and Percy as they
arrived. None of them regretted their decision. You haven’t let their
sacrifices be for naught. All of them were among the voices you heard
beyond that Veil, and all of them have been avenged,” Dumbledore said
quietly.

“So…what happens now?” Harry asked, swallowing the painful lump in his
throat.

“You shall return to your body, and the door will close once again. I
shall travel beyond and continue my grand adventure,” Dumbledore said,
smiling benignly.

“Do you have to go now?” Harry asked, alarmed. His heart began to thud
painfully once again. He didn’t want Professor Dumbledore to leave so soon after he’d found him again. He wasn’t certain he could bear the
loss a second time, but couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

It appeared he didn’t have to, because Dumbledore gazed at him with
those kind, understanding eyes. “Eventually, but I can stay until you
feel ready to return alone,” he said softly.

“What if I never feel ready?” Harry asked, looking away.

“Then I shall have to give you a slight push. After all, Miss Weasley
would come after me if I kept you from her for long,” Dumbledore said,
chuckling.

“That she would,” Harry replied, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips.

“She loves you, Harry. Allow yourself to love her in return. I would
like to see you return to school, not only to finish your education,
but to have one year to live as a normal adolescent before real life
commences. Although, I daresay you have enough detentions under your
belt, I would like to see you earn a few for doing things that will
give Minerva some additional gray hairs,” Dumbledore said, his eyes
twinkling merrily.

“I suppose there are a few broom cupboards that Ginny and I haven’t
discovered yet,” Harry conceded cheekily.

“Excellent,” Professor Dumbledore replied before raising his head and
tilting it to the side as if listening to something at a great distance
away.

“Sir?” Harry asked curiously.

“Miss Granger and Miss Weasley are perplexed over where to take you,
and what to do with Tom’s remains,” Dumbledore replied.

Harry looked away. “Hogwarts is still under attack, and both the
Ministry and St. Mungo’s are under Death Eater control.”

“That is how it appears,” Dumbledore said mysteriously, waving his hand
in the air.

“What did you do?” Harry asked.

“While it is true that Tom’s legion has been withholding care at St.
Mungo’s, a large number of the Healers have banded together and have
been running a renegade hospital, of sorts. The same is true at the
Ministry. As Kingsley and Alastor have rounded up the Aurors and formed
their own resistance, there are a number of Ministry workers who have
done the same.”

Harry sat up straighter, feeling the first ray of hope for the
Wizarding population.

“Sometimes, it takes a great tragedy for the bravery within some people
to show,” Dumbledore said softly. “I have planted a thought within
Leticia Warbanks’ mind to inspect the Department of Mysteries.”
“Leticia Warbanks?” Harry asked.

“She is a Ministry worker from the Department of Magical Accidents and
Catastrophes. She has been the focal point for the small resistance at
the Ministry. She will know which Healers can be trusted at St.
Mungo’s,” Professor Dumbledore replied.

“The Wizarding world will have to go through a long, and – I hope –
thorough period of reconstruction. I hope people like Leticia, Alastor,
Kingsley and Arthur are heavily involved for the betterment of all,”
Professor Dumbledore said. “Unfortunately for you, I do not see the
public’s interest in you fading any time soon.”

“We all have our part to play, I suppose,” Harry said, shrugging.

“A very mature attitude,” Dumbledore said, beaming.

Harry really wasn’t listening very closely to what Professor Dumbledore
was saying. A new thought had occurred to him.

“Sir…if I imagined you here, could I imagine anyone else that I wanted
to see?” he asked, barely daring to breathe.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose, and his piercing blue eyes peered over his
half-moon spectacles. “I cannot answer that query. Nothing has ever
gone exactly according to the rules when it comes to you. Perhaps you
should take a chance.”

Harry swallowed heavily. His first thought was to try and talk with his
parents, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He’d had plenty
of conversations with them as a child when he was locked alone in his
cupboard, but he’d never actually expected them to answer. He wasn’t
certain if he could stand the disappointment if it failed.

He moved his lips but was unable to utter a sound. He looked at
Professor Dumbledore helplessly.

“I wish it was something I could do for you, Harry, but it is not. This
is your mind, and only your thoughts will be heard,” Dumbledore said
sadly.

Harry swallowed again, forcing his racing heart to calm. His nostrils
flared slightly before he shut his eyes tightly and let his mind
conjure an image of his godfather. For so long, he’d banished from his
thoughts the image of Sirius’s face and the sound of his bark-like
laugh, unwilling to feel the pain of loss. Now, however, he called
forth scattered memories of the closest thing to a parent he’d ever
known.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and his breath caught in his throat as he
saw a familiar swagger emerging from the gray fog. As the figure
walked, his shaggy, shoulder-length hair fluttered as the area around
him formed into a Quidditch pitch.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Sirius demanded, sounding very
irritated. “One minute I was chatting up a delectable blonde bird with very little between her ears aside from peroxide, and the next minute
I’m in the middle of nowhere - alone.”

“Sirius,” Harry choked.

Sirius stopped, frozen to the spot, squinting. He put his hand to his
forehead, shielding his eyes. “Harry?” he whispered, astonished.

Unable to stop, Harry leaped from the chair and barreled onto the
pitch, flinging himself into Sirius’s arms and clutching him fiercely.

“Harry,” Sirius said, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders and
pulling him tight, pounding him exuberantly on the back. “What the…
Where are we? Did you- oh, no,” Sirius said, pulling away and staring
at Harry, horrorstruck.

“No, Sirius. Harry is still among the living, and his body remains back
in the Ministry,” Dumbledore said, placing a steadying hand on Sirius’s
shoulder.

Sirius visibly relaxed, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment before
he threw back his head and released a pent-up bark of laughter.

Harry kept his face buried in Sirius’s shoulder, unable to make his
fingers release their grip. He stood there, shaking, as he clung to his
godfather and wondered how he could possibly pull out of this with his
pride somewhat intact.

“Why don’t you pull up a chair, Sirius?” Dumbledore offered, giving
Harry a moment to collect himself before he had to speak.

Never releasing his grip on Harry, Sirius maneuvered them both over to
a couch, where he pulled Harry down beside him. Another cup of hot
chocolate had appeared on the table, and Sirius took a shaky sip.

“Bugger, Harry, couldn’t you have at least laced it with some
Firewhisky? This has been quite a shock for an old man,” Sirius said,
grinning. “So, tell me – what’s happened to make this visit possible?
I’ve never heard of anything like it done before. Have you got yourself
knocked out again, Squirt?”

Harry suddenly found his voice, and he turned accusing eyes on
Professor Dumbledore. “I thought you said they’d been watching me,” he
said, his voice croaky.

“I have been keeping an eye on you, but not twenty-four seven,” Sirius
said, rolling his eyes. His gaze flickered back and forth between Harry
and Dumbledore. “Does this have anything to do with Voldemort?”

“He’s in your realm now,” Harry said softly, digging his nails into his
palm.

Sirius blanched. “You did it?” he asked, holding his breath.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, shifting uncomfortably.

Sirius leaped up, pumping his fists in the air and whooping with glee.
“Sirius, I think that Harry is not quite ready to celebrate yet,”
Dumbledore said, gently resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry kept his eyes firmly on the ground, staring at the dragon-hide
boots Sirius wore and trying not to think about anything.

“What? Why not?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded. He used his finger to raise
Harry’s chin. “You’re finally free. You’ll no longer be hunted. No more
Dursleys, or guards, or any of it.”

Harry forced himself to meet Sirius’s earnest gaze, his stomach
churning unpleasantly. “I know. It just… It’s not real yet,” he said
lamely.

An incredulous expression crossed Sirius’s face. “Harry, think of all
the parties. Every bloke in Britain will want to buy you a drink, and
every witch will want to-”

“I am certain Harry is fully aware of that, Sirius. He is merely asking
for some time to adjust,” Dumbledore said, interrupting Sirius before
he could voice the possibilities that were blatantly on his mind.

“Right,” Sirius said, clearing his throat. “Besides, you already seem
to have your hands full with the one witch you’ve got. She’s a looker,
that one.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked. “I’ll be certain to pass that on,”
he said dryly.

“So, how long have we got?” Sirius asked.

“I would surmise not very long,” Dumbledore said. “Once the Healers get
hold of Harry’s physical body, they will most likely ply him with
potions that will break this connection. Besides, Harry has friends and
family waiting for him in the land of the living.”

“He’s got friends and family right here!” Sirius said hotly.

“Would you choose to keep him here, then, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked,
tilting his head to the side.

“What? No. I want him to live…I just want some time with him. I was
robbed of that time twice already,” Sirius said, clearing his throat.

“What if I want to stay?” Harry asked, leaning into Sirius. He’d only
just got him back; he didn’t want to think about having to leave. He
didn’t know if his heart could stand it again.

“Your future is in the present, not the past,” Dumbledore insisted, the
twinkle in his eyes dimming.

Sirius shook him roughly, looking as if he wanted to hit something.
“He’s right, Harry. Merlin, it’s good to see you, but everything I did
– I did it for you – because I wanted you to live. I may be childish,
but I won’t take that chance from you now that you finally have it.”
Harry swelled, ready to argue his point. He was no longer a child and
could make his own decisions. He was beginning to resent both Sirius
and Dumbledore trying to tell him what was best for him.

Sirius diffused his anger when he laid a gentle hand on the side of
Harry’s face. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good. I see your father and
Remus every day, and when your mother lets us, we relive our glory
days.”


“Perhaps there are others you’d like to see before your time here is
through,” Dumbledore said gently.

Keeping a firm hand on Sirius, unwilling to let him go lest he
disappear, Harry again shut his eyes and this time, thought of Remus.
He still didn’t feel quite ready to see his parents. He remembered how
Remus had taught him to conjure his first Patronus, and the determined,
unwavering looks he and Tonks had shared before they had died.

Harry opened his eyes in time to see a classroom taking shape not far
from the common room. It was one of the Defense rooms, and held a wide
variety of Dark creatures. Before Harry could call to the two figures
he saw seated in the classroom, Sirius did it for him.

“Remus, you old dog! Harry’s here,” Sirius said, shaking Remus’s hand
and pointing at Harry. “Hiya, Tonks.”

“Harry,” Remus said, inhaling deeply. He looked much as Harry
remembered him, perhaps a little less gray. Tonks’s hair was its
traditional bubblegum pink, and she wore a red Weird Sisters T-shirt
that clashed horribly with the color.

Harry shut his eyes, breathing through his nose as images of Remus’s
sacrifice filled his mind. “What did you have to go and do that for?”
Harry asked, his voice choked. He shook Remus’s hand before pulling him
firmly into an embrace. He then turned and also hugged Tonks.

“Hiya, kid,” Tonks said brightly. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shell-shocked,” Harry admitted, shrugging.

“I bet,” Tonks replied, grinning as she leaned over to ruffle his hair.
“You did it.”

“We saw what happened earlier with Voldemort, Harry,” Remus said
gently. “You were magnificent.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Harry said, again staring
at his feet. “Professor Dumbledore told me it was you and some of
Voldemort’s other victims that distracted him, and Dumbledore and
Hermione came up with the idea to create my own Horcrux.”

Remus didn’t reply until Harry was finally forced to raise his eyes to
meet Remus’s steady gaze. “I don’t care whose idea it was – you were
magnificent,” he said. “Not only did you get Voldemort, but Severus is
now on his way to Azkaban.”
“You got Snivellus? You didn’t tell me that part,” Sirius said, almost
accusingly. “How could I have missed that?”

“You missed everything. Where have you been?” Tonks scolded him.
“Lily’s beside herself.”

“He got him good, Padfoot,” Remus said, beaming. “You should have seen
it. Actually, young Ginny even gave him a whopper of a Bat-Bogey Hex
when he tried to attack Harry after it was all over.”


“You saw my mum?” Harry asked, stunned.

“He attacked him after?” Sirius yelped, tossing his head from side-to-
side as if deranged.

“We were with her and your dad during the battle. They’re both so proud
of you,” Remus replied, ignoring Sirius completely.

Harry nodded, feeling worried and somewhat apprehensive of this
overload of information.

“Hey! Why don’t you bring them here?” Sirius asked, still frowning.
“It’ll be like the party we always should have had.”

Harry felt as if his heart had stopped beating, and he looked away.
Something about the idea of seeing his parents terrified him, despite
the fact that it was what he’d always wanted. Everyone kept saying how
proud they were of him. What if the real thing didn’t measure up to all
the hype?

chapter 18

isn’t she?”

“She’s certain I won’t be kept here one moment longer,” Ginny growled,
crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve had enough.”

“That’s my girl,” Mr. Weasley said, beaming as he and Mrs. Weasley
entered the hospital wing. The area around Ginny’s bed was growing very
crowded. Harry began to move aside to allow Ginny’s parents to get
closer, but Ginny firmly grabbed his hand, insisting he stay where he
was. She squeezed it reassuringly.

“Oh, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said, elbowing her way past Ron and Hermione.
“I was so afraid this day would never come.” She wrapped Ginny in a
bone-crushing hug and began sniffling.
“There, there, Mum,” Ginny said, patting her mother’s back while trying
to extricate herself. “I’m fine and ready to get out of here.”

Mrs. Weasley pulled her camera out of her pocket. “We need to take a
photo to mark the occasion,” she said, suddenly in take-charge mode.
“Bill and Fleur, move around behind them. Ginny, don’t slouch. Harry
move closer, dear. You won’t be in the picture if you stand way back
there.”

A blinding flash went off, causing all of them to blink.

“I told Fred and George to be here on time. Those two can’t follow the
simplest of directions,” Mrs. Weasley said, scowling.

“Oh, Mum. Don’t be cross with Fred and George. It’s really not a big
deal. I’d rather just go,” Ginny said, her tone both hopeful and
resigned. Somehow, they all knew Mrs. Weasley was determined to make a
production out of this and no amount of excuses would change her mind.

Mr. Weasley smiled indulgently. “Why don’t you get in the shot, Molly?
I’ll take the next picture,” he said, holding out his hand for the
camera.

“Pictures? Did I hear pictures?” Fred asked, loudly banging the
hospital door open.

“You’ve started family pictures without us?” George asked, feigning
horror. “I always knew we were the black sheep, Fred.”

“Black sheep?” Fred gasped, his eyes wide with mock indignation. “I
don’t think we even count as sheep – more like a distant goat.”

“I’ll give you a goat,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly. “If you’d been here
on time like I’d asked you, you wouldn’t have missed the picture and
marred Ginny’s special day.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and muttered, “Good grief.”

“We’re here now, Mum. We wouldn’t think of mucking up Ginny’s special
day,” George said, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he caught his
sister’s expression.

“Leave your sister alone,” Shannon said, wagging a finger at George.
Her chestnut-brown hair was swept back into a ponytail that swayed as
she moved her finger. “Sorry we’re late, Mrs. Weasley.”

Mrs. Weasley deflated at the apologetic tone. “It’s all right, dear. I
know it wasn’t your fault,” she said, glaring at the twins.

“Why don’t you all stand around Ginny again, and I’ll take a family
picture?” Iris suggested, still standing in the doorway.

Harry hadn’t even realized that she’d arrived with Shannon and the
twins because she was standing so far back. She appeared rather
hesitant to enter, and from the looks on the assorted Weasley faces,
Harry couldn’t say he blamed her.
There had been a brief moment of shocked silence as everyone stared at
her, apparently lost for words. Fred finally broke the tenseness by
grabbing Iris’s arm and tugging her into the room. “Don’t be silly.
Everyone can be in the picture. You can charm it, Dad, can’t you?”

Mr. Weasley shook himself from his daze. “Er…of course. All right,
everyone, gather ‘round again,” he said, positioning the camera.

Mrs. Weasley, too, smiled widely at Iris and once again began issuing
orders. “George and Shannon, you stand on that side of Bill and Fleur,
behind Harry. Fred and Iris, you two go on their other side, behind Ron
and Hermione. Arthur, hurry with that thing and sit with me in front of
them all,” she said, sitting in the chair Harry had occupied.

“Where’s Charlie? How come he gets out of this?” Ron asked, grumbling.

“He’s back at the dragon reservation. He should return tomorrow,” Mrs.
Weasley said. “Arthur, is that ready yet?”

“Just let me get the focus right,” Mr. Weasley said, tinkering with the
camera.

“Just take the picture, Dad,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

Harry began shifting his feet.

“Da-ad. I want to leave this place some time today,” Ginny moaned.

“All right, that should do it,” Mr. Weasley said, sprinting back toward
Mrs. Weasley and just managing to sit down before the camera flashed
several times.

Harry again blinked the spots from his eyes.

“There. Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” Mrs. Weasley asked, smiling.

“Let’s go,” Ginny said, picking up her small bag of toiletries.

“Ginny, can you walk all the way?” Mrs. Weasley asked fretfully.

“Mum, we’re only going up to Gryffindor Tower,” Ginny said, clearly
becoming annoyed.

Knowing the feeling of being stalled when he wanted nothing more than
to get out of the hospital wing, Harry took pity on her. Taking her bag
and slinging it over his shoulder, he offered her his arm.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Ginny beamed, linking her arm with his. “Let’s go.”

Sticking to Harry’s side and limping slightly, she strode purposefully
toward the door. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley
move to assist Ginny, but Mr. Weasley grabbed her arm and held her
back, nodding at Harry.
Mrs. Weasley’s gaze wavered slightly before she nodded, taking Mr.
Weasley’s arm and following behind them.

The large group climbed toward Gryffindor Tower, chatting merrily along
the way. By the time they reached the portrait hole, Ginny was slightly
out of breath and definitely leaning more heavily on Harry than she had
at the beginning of their trek.

“Well, it’s nice to see you back, young lady,” the Fat Lady said,
glancing down at Ginny.

“It’s nice to be back,” she said.

“Hungarian Horntail,” Harry mumbled, ducking his head as the portrait
swung open. The common room had been prepared for a “Welcome Back”
feast in Ginny’s honor. The fire blazed invitingly, and there was food
and drinks spread out on several tables.

Ginny could barely contain her grin. “Hungarian Horntail?” she asked,
her eyes shining brightly.

“I didn’t make the password,” Harry said under his breath, feeling his
face heat.

“No, he didn’t, but you should see the disgust on Malfoy’s face every
time he has to say it,” Ron said gleefully.

“And we all enjoyed tormenting Harry’s aunt with tales of his glory,”
George replied, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Mum even offered to bring her
out to the pitch to show her where you beat that dragon.”

Harry pulled his head away, scowling.

“And Dudley’s eyes were about ready to bug out of his head,” Fred said,
grinning. “He’s not nearly as fun since he doesn’t spook so easily over
anything magical anymore.”

“Yeah. Testing our stuff out on him isn’t half the laugh it used to
be,” said George sadly. “Making your aunt faint is only funny for so
long.”

“Oh, I still enjoy it,” Fred said happily.

“Have you been testing stuff on Dudley?” Harry asked curiously,
disappointed that he’d missed it. “You’re still producing stuff while
we’ve been here, then?”

“Of course we are,” Fred said. “The mail order business is the only
thing that’s thriving since no one with an ounce of sense would be seen
in Diagon Alley these days. That’s severely limited our pool of
potential test subjects. George and I have had to revert to testing
things on ourselves again.”

“Oh, there’s a sacrifice,” Iris said, rolling her eyes.

“It is,” Fred replied. “You don’t know how much George and I have put
ourselves through testing this on our own.”
“Yes. Placing a hat atop your head to make your own head disappear is
so dangerous…and hysterically funny, I might add,” Iris replied in a
bored voice, although her eyes were sparkling brightly.

“Loads of people think those Headless Hats are funny. We’ve made
bucket-loads of Galleons off them,” Fred said hotly.

Harry couldn’t remember ever having seen Fred so off his game. Iris was
really winding him up. Harry suddenly developed a new appreciation for
the Slytherin girl. He, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all watched the
sparring between the two as if it were a tennis match while George and
Shannon had slunk off into a darkened corner.

“Well, loads of people thought Dolores Umbridge would lead them out of
the grip of the Dark Lord, too,” Iris countered.

Fred’s face became mutinous. “The Headless Hats and all Weasley
products never belong in the same category as Dolores Umbridge – may
she rest in Centaur heaven.”

Iris actually sniggered at that, and Harry had to bite the inside of
his cheek to keep his snort of laughter inside. He didn’t want either
of them turning their attention on him.

“I’ll concede you that point – they’re a step above Umbridge. But only
just,” she said primly.

“What do you have against the Hats?” Fred asked indignantly.

“Oh, nothing against them. I suppose plenty of people find it amusing
to see a hat floating around on its own. I simply prefer subtly in my
humor,” Iris said, casually pushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “If
you had, say…made the hats turn the wearer’s face into a celebrity.
That would be amusing. You could have a friend wear the hat to a party,
and you could impress the other guests with whom you know. See and be
seen, sort of thing. Create jealousy with a rival or potential love
interest if you show up with a professional Quidditch star, an
entertainer…or even Harry Potter.”

Harry had been grinning at the calculating look on both Iris and Fred’s
faces, but it turned into a scowl at mention of his own name. Ginny
elbowed him in the ribs.

“A Quidditch player, hmmm? Someone like Oliver Wood?” Fred asked,
raising an eyebrow triumphantly.

Iris dropped her eyes for a moment before shrugging. “Oliver’s old
news. I’d suggest someone more…current,” she said, her eye twinkling.

“That could work,” Fred mumbled, forgetting about his fight with Iris
and rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Of course it would,” Iris replied, waving her hand in the air. “A more
Slytherin kind of practical joke.”
“You’re a devious woman, Iris Parkinson,” Fred said, smiling widely. “I
can work with that. Come on, we need to talk to George. He’s the brain
of the operation – I’m the gag man.”

“I can see that,” Iris smiled, smirking. She allowed Fred to take her
hand and drag her over to the corner where George and Shannon were
seated. George didn’t appear pleased with the interruption at all.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Ron turned to look at
them, his eyes wide, aghast. “They were flirting! Making eyes at each
other out in the open for all to see.”

“Oh, well spotted,” Ginny said, giggling.

Hermione smiled, patting Ron on the arm. “At least you did notice this
time, Ron. You’re making progress.”

“But…but… she’s a Slytherin,” Ron said, his eyes darting back and forth
between the girls.

“Well, The Sorting Hat did always say that the Houses needed to unite,”
Hermione said, barely able to control her laughter.

“It didn’t mean that physically,” Ron said hotly.

“You mean figuratively,” Hermione said automatically.

“That, too!” Ron shouted, sending both Hermione and Ginny into gales of
laughter. They collapsed on the couch, propping each other up as they
giggled.

“Barking mad,” Ron said, shaking his head and moving toward the
Butterbeer.

Harry let his eyes roam around the room. He noticed Draco and Dudley
sitting in a corner, each watching the others in the room with a
similar expression that Harry couldn’t quite name.

When Draco noticed Harry’s attention, he sat up straighter, that
familiar, cocky expression returning to his features. “What are you
looking at, Scarhead?” he asked.


Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe.

“Don’t call him that,” Ginny snapped, moving to stand beside him. Her
eyes flashed fiercely, apparently taking more exception to the name
than he did.

“Would you rather keep the title for yourself?” Malfoy asked, smirking.
“Matching scars. Aren’t the two of you pathetically cute?”

Ginny’s hand instinctively went to the top of her forehead where the
red mark was visible, angering Harry.

“That’s enough, Malfoy,” he said, seeing red as he took a step closer
to the blonde. “This is her party, and you’re not to spoil to it.”
“Keep your knickers on, Potter. I’m not going to ruin your girlfriend’s
little homecoming,” Draco said, taking a sip of his Butterbeer and
keeping a wary eye on Harry’s wand.

“Hey, Ginny. Glad to see they finally sprung you,” Dudley said, peering
around Draco to smile at Ginny.

Harry had previously been amused by Dudley’s obvious crush on Ginny,
doubly so since his slow-witted cousin hadn’t yet caught on to Ginny’s
distinct coldness towards him. But he wasn’t in the mood now. He ground
his teeth together as he clenched his jaw.

“Dudley,” Ginny replied, coolly.

“Are you feeling better?” Dudley asked.

“If it makes you so miserable to be with all of us, Malfoy, why don’t
you just leave? Permanently.” Ron said, elbowing his way past Harry and
Ginny to stand in front of Draco with his arms folded across his chest.
“I mean, no one is going to fight to keep you here.”

Something intangible again flickered in Draco’s eyes before a sneer
crossed his lips. “I’d like nothing better than to stroll out that
door, Weasel, but once again I’m waiting for Potter to quit his
stalling and get this over and done.”

“So, you’re basically waiting for Harry to save your arse – again – and
feeling frustrated that he’s not doing it according to your timetable?”
Ron asked, rolling his eyes.

Malfoy’s face colored. “I’m biding my time to see what happens,” he
replied, scowling.

“No,” Ron said, shaking his head, a slow grin spreading across his
face. “I think you do believe Harry will win, you just don’t want to
admit it. It’s just like out at Azkaban – when the Dementors came after
you. For all your grandstanding, you turned to Harry to get you out of
it.”

“Dementors?” Dudley asked, his head swinging from side to side. “I’ve
seen those Dementors. They came after me, too – when I was with him.
Maybe he brings them out.”

He jabbed his finger toward Harry’s chest, looking to Draco for
approval. Harry watched them both stoically.

Harry was shocked to his core by Draco’s response.

“Lay off the Dementors,” the blonde said, scowling at Dudley. He didn’t
meet Harry’s eyes, but sneered at Ron. “I don’t want to talk about
Azkaban.”

“Why? Did I hit a nerve?” Ron asked belligerently.

“Ease up, Ron,” Harry said, knowing Draco’s memories of that expedition
couldn’t be any better than his own. “Let’s not spoil Ginny’s party.”
Draco’s eyes briefly registered surprise before he turned and stalked
away, joining Pansy as she walked down the stairs, scowling at the
gathered Weasleys.

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Ron muttered, moving toward the
food table.

“Are you coming?” Ginny asked, tugging on his hand.

“I’ll be right there,” Harry said, staring at Dudley who suddenly
appeared lost without Draco’s company. “Give me a moment.”

Ginny glanced warily at Dudley before nodding and joining Ron and
Hermione at the food table.

“Dudley,” Harry said, nodding. He wasn’t certain why he was even
bothering with his cousin. It was more than likely that Dudley would
start a row, but curiosity as to how Dudley was coping with his classes
was overwhelming him.

“I hear the professors have been giving you some magical tutoring,”
Harry said stiffly, nearly stumbling over the word ‘magical’. On Privet
Drive, it would have been considered foul language.

“Yeah,” Dudley replied, watching Harry warily. “They’ve been showing me
some stuff.”

“Good,” Harry said, feeling at a loss for words. In all his years on
Privet Drive, he’d never had a civil conversation with Dudley.

“They’ve told me some stuff about you,” Dudley said, his brow
furrowing. “None of them will hear a word against you. It drives Draco
barmy, mind,” Dudley said, his eyes roaming across the room to where
Draco stood with Pansy.

Harry’s heart warmed on hearing that his professors had sided with him.
That certainly had never happened in primary school.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear,” he replied, shrugging.

“What happened with you and Draco and the Dementors?” Dudley asked.

“A couple of them attacked us – same way they did you and me,” Harry
replied, shifting uncomfortably. “Dementors are horrible creatures.”

“Yeah,” Dudley replied, shuddering.

“What did you see?” Harry asked. He’d always wondered about that – what
Dudley Dursley would possibly see when the Dementors came too close.

Dudley looked at the floor, shifting his feet. “Your cupboard,” he
said, barely audible.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, stunned.
“I saw your cupboard,” Dudley said, slightly louder. He shifted his
gaze away. “Only it was me inside…and my parents were saying stuff.
What difference does it make anyway? What do you see?”

Harry stepped back, surprised. Dudley feared his parents turning on him
and treating him the way they’d always treated Harry. He suddenly felt
a wave of unexpected sympathy for his cousin. “I hear my parents, too,”
Harry said softly, unwilling to say anymore.

“Does everyone hear their parents?” Dudley asked, confused.

Harry shook his head. “Not if you’re lucky,” he whispered. “I bet Draco
does, though.”

“Professor McGonagall told me your parents didn’t die in a car crash,”
Dudley said, staring openly.

“No,” Harry replied shortly. Hagrid had said the same thing when he’d
first collected Harry from the Dursleys, but he supposed Dudley had
been more concerned with the pig’s tail Hagrid had given him than to
pay attention to what was actually said.

“She said they were murdered by the same psychopath who’s trying to
kill you now, and that he tried to kill you when he murdered them,
too,” Dudley said, staring at Harry appraisingly. His eyes narrowed in
on Harry’s scar, as if just realizing its significance.

Harry didn’t know what Dudley was expecting, so he merely nodded.

“You make big enemies,” Dudley said, apparently impressed.

Harry couldn’t contain himself. He threw back his head and laughed.
Maybe it was the massive understatement, or simply because he was
actually having a conversation with Dudley about magical things.
Perhaps it was Dudley’s obvious respect over the fact that someone
could actually hate Harry that much, but it suddenly struck Harry as
absurdly funny.

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as Dudley began glancing at him
the way he always used to do – as if Harry were some unstable time bomb
ready to explode. This struck Harry as even funnier, and he had to grip
the table for support. Dudley nodded warily and scurried away.

“Are you all right?” Ginny asked, appearing at his side.

Harry’s laughter finally faded into small chuckles. “Never better,” he
replied, kissing the crown of her head. “Come on. Let’s get something
to eat.”

**--**--

Harry trudged wearily down the corridor, hoping to stop by the kitchens
for a bite to eat before seeking the warm comfort of his bed. He was
bone tired and felt as if he could fall asleep on his feet. He kept
being jarred back into alertness after his eyes would droop, and his
shoulder occasionally would brush against the wall as he walked. The day’s training had been intense. Kingsley Shacklebolt had run drills,
and Harry’s muscles were complaining of mistreatment.

Now that Ginny had recovered from her injuries, Harry felt ready to
confront Voldemort. He knew with the passing of each day that he was
stalling, but he just wasn’t ready to really say goodbye. He knew Ron,
Hermione, and Ginny wanted to be there at the end, but he was hesitant
to let them. What if Voldemort delivered a fatal blow before Harry
could manage to drag them both through the Veil? Voldemort would then
turn and immediately kill Harry’s friends. Harry wanted to at least
give them a chance to go deeper into hiding if his plan failed.

But what if Voldemort didn’t arrive by himself at the Ministry after
Harry formed the mind-link? His plan was to let Voldemort see him
alone in the Department of Mysteries, but that didn’t guarantee he
would react as Harry wanted. If he brought other Death Eaters with him,
Harry would need the help of his friends to keep the Death Eaters back
while he fought their leader. Harry was uncomfortably aware that
Voldemort’s plans involved capturing Harry rather than killing him.
Voldemort wanted to keep him a prisoner, safely tucked away. He
shuddered at considering that fate – death would be far kinder.

There was also the simple truth that he couldn’t quite admit out loud –
that he was afraid to die alone.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed tiredly. Whether or not he
felt ready, it was time. He had to end this. The people trapped within
the castle needed to get back to their lives. Everyone needed this
shroud of darkness lifted. He was pleased that he and Dudley had
actually managed to get on in these final days. Knowing that Dudley
feared his parents treating him the way they’d treated Harry, he’d
avoided talking to Dudley where Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could
witness it. Outside of their sight, however, they’d actually exchanged
a few pleasantries here and there.

Even he and Draco had managed a handful of civil words to one another.
Maybe that was the first sign of hell freezing over. Still, it felt
good to have all his affairs in order before doing what he had to do.
He’d given his letters to Hedwig and instructed her to deliver them
after he was gone. Knowing how unreliable Errol had become in his old
age, he’d told Hedwig to go stay with Mrs. Weasley after the end. She’d
always taken care of him, he was certain she’d take care of Hedwig,
too.

“Hey! Knut for your thoughts,” Ginny said, walking around the corner
and joining him.

Harry started, blindly reaching for his wand.

“You look as if you’re in another world. I hope it’s a nice one,” she
said, slipping her hand into his own. Her limp seemed more pronounced
this evening, so he immediately slowed his pace.

“Sorry,” he said. “Long day. I was just heading down to the kitchen to
nick a bite. Care to join me?”
“No! You can’t go to the kitchen,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “I
have a better idea, anyway.”

“Why can’t I go to the kitchen?” Harry asked, slightly irritated as his
stomach growled. “What do you mean a better idea?”

Ginny tugged on his hand until he let her change their direction. “Ron
and Hermione are there on a date,” she said primly.

“On a date?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Hermione and I decided that it had been too long since we had a
chance to simply spend some quality time with our boyfriends. So, we
each picked a location and planned our evenings,” she replied. “Of
course, I hadn’t planned on those Aurors keeping you so long that you
nearly missed ours.”

Suddenly, Harry didn’t feel quite as tired or annoyed. “And Hermione
chose the kitchen for their date?” he asked.

“Can you think of a spot Ron would find more romantic?” Ginny asked
wryly.

“Point taken,” he said, laughing. “So, where are we going for our
date?”

“Upstairs,” Ginny replied as they climbed.

“I’d worked that part out for myself, Ginny,” Harry said.

“Then stop talking and keep walking,” she replied firmly.

Feeling eager, he allowed himself to be led all the way up to the
seventh floor. Ginny didn’t stop until they’d reached the Room of
Requirement. After she’d paced back and forth three times, she opened
the door to reveal the sprawling white, sandy beach of Harry’s dream.
It stretched on and on as if they were entering another place entirely.

“Ginny!” he gasped.

“D’you like it?” Ginny asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I love it,” he said, trying to take it all in. “It’s perfect.”

“Take off your shoes,” Ginny said, slipping off her own and leaving
them by the entrance.

Harry complied and let the sand sift through his toes. It was soft and
warm, and Harry thought it felt glorious. He smiled happily as Ginny
took his hand and led him toward a small campfire on the darkening
beach. Remembering his dream, he glanced back over his shoulder and was
delighted to see two tracks of footprints – his larger than hers –
trailing across the sand.

The sun was still setting on this hidden Hogwarts beach, and Harry
enjoyed the way the colors splayed across the water. Ginny speared two
sausages on some wooden sticks and handed one to Harry.
He sat down and began grilling his dinner on the open fire. He and
Ginny dined on sausages, toasted marshmallows and an abundance of
chilled Butterbeer, laughing at each other whenever they managed to
catch their food on fire. After they’d eaten their fill, they rolled
their jeans up to their knees and waded in the surf, splashing each
other as they walked along.

It didn’t take long before Ginny began to get short of breath.
Concerned, Harry slowed down and waited for her breathing to regulate.

“I suppose there won’t be any professional Quidditch in my future,”
Ginny said, twisting her lips. “With this limp and the heavy breathing,
I doubt I’ll be high on any scouting lists.”

“It won’t be forever,” Harry said, thunderstruck. “Your breathing has
been much better recently. It’s just because we were running.”

Ginny giggled. “I’m only teasing, Harry. It’s not like I ever
considered professional Quidditch, anyway. I just like to play. You’re
the natural – maybe you ought to consider it.”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “And have to suffer through all those
interviews all the time? No, thanks.”

Ginny snorted. “I think you’ll always have that, anyway, Harry. Might
as well do something you enjoy for it.”

Harry smiled, realizing he’d been talking as if Ginny’s plans for a
future might actually be possible. He loved that she could make him
feel that way.

“What do you want to do after the war – after you finish school?” Harry
asked curiously.

“You mean besides making babies with you?” she asked, her eyes
sparkling.

Harry felt his own face color as if he’d spent the entire day in the
blazing sun. “Er…”

Ginny laughed out loud, shoving him toward the water again. “I don’t
know. Definitely not something that involves sitting behind a desk,”
she replied.

“How about becoming an Auror? Or maybe a Curse-Breaker, like Bill?”
Harry asked.

“Curse-Breaking sounds fun, but it’s dirty work with a lot of Goblin
rules. I don’t think I’d like that. An Auror might work, or a medi-
wizard for the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad,” she said
thoughtfully.

“What do they do?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow.
“Mostly clean up Apparation accidents, but basically rescue witches and
wizards who get themselves into trouble and undo whatever havoc they
managed to cause,” she said.

“I could see you doing something like that,” Harry said.

“I could rescue them, and Hermione could patch them up – we’d be quite
a team,” Ginny said, laughing.

“You think Hermione wants to be a Healer?” Harry asked.

“I think she’d be a good one, and she’s certainly developed an interest
since she got hurt,” Ginny replied. “And you and Ron would be the
Aurors.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, feeling doubtful again that he’d be part of
their dream.

After the sun had set and the moon shone brightly across the water,
they returned to their campfire and sat on a blanket, listening to the
crashing waves.

“Enjoying our date, Mr. Potter?” Ginny asked, snuggling closer against
Harry’s side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Best one yet,” Harry replied, pulling her closer.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. As I recall, my birthday was quite
charming. You even danced with me,” she said, chuckling.

“That’s why this one is the best one yet,” Harry replied, pressing his
fingers into her side and tickling her until she begged him to stop.

“I love you, Ginny,” he said happily, rolling over onto his back and
spreading his arms out wide.

Looking slightly disgruntled over losing their tickling match, Ginny
gazed at him for a moment before her features softened. She curled back
against him, nuzzling the side of his face. “Love you, too, Harry,” she
whispered.

No longer tired, Harry was keenly aware of each spot where her body was
touching his. His skin tingled as his blood began pumping in his veins.
He rolled to his side, lightly tracing his fingers along her jaw.

Ginny gasped slightly, and tilted her face toward his. He leaned over
and captured her lips with his own, running his tongue slowly over her
bottom lip, seeking permission. Her mouth opened beneath his, welcoming
him to deepen the kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, drawing
his head closer.

Her fingers felt like feathers and they lightly trailed down his face
and over his shoulders. Their passion built quickly, and Harry knew he
was close to losing his tight control. His hormonal teenage side was
tempted to throw caution to the wind and give in to his body’s demands,
but the one small piece of sanity that managed to keep even his raging hormones in check was the thought that Voldemort wouldn’t get to take
control of this moment, too.

He’d influenced and tarnished every other part of Harry’s life. When
Harry finally took that final step with Ginny, he was determined that
it would be on their terms and no one else’s – despite the fact his
body was ardently protesting the restraint. Hell, the anticipation
alone was enough to make him determined to return to her, somehow….
some way.

The moon shone brightly above, the gentle breeze ruffled their hair and
sand stuck to their skin and wet clothing, but neither of them noticed
any of it. Their complete focus was on each other as they kissed in the
surf until they had to return to their dormitories.

**--**--

Over the rest of that week, Harry and Ginny returned to their beach
several times. They had even brought Ron and Hermione along a few times
so that they could enjoy the holiday-feel. Harry had decided he would
set his plans in motion the following weekend, but he was going to have
one fun-filled week with his friends beforehand. If nothing else, he
hoped it would leave them with good memories of him after he was gone.

After dinner one evening, Ginny insisted she had to get caught up on
some of the schoolwork she’d let slide while they’d been frolicking on
the beach. Ron and Hermione had disappeared together, so Harry decided
to walk down to Hagrid’s hut and pay a visit to his old friend. Hagrid
had never quite been the same after Professor Dumbledore’s death, and
Harry hoped that once the war was over, he’d regain some of his former
exuberance.

As he was walking along the path admiring all the new spring growth, he
noticed a brief flash of silver near the edge of the forest. His
curiosity piqued, he drew his wand and cautiously turned toward the
forest. He’d only just entered the brush when he saw the flash again,
and he realized who it was.

“What are you doing out here, Pansy?” he called, stopping in his tracks
and gripping his wand. He wasn’t about to allow the Slytherin girl to
lead him into the forest.

Pansy whipped around quickly, the hood of her silver cloak falling back
off her head. Harry was startled to realize she was crying. She had
thick black smudges beneath her eyes, and she didn’t bother to wipe
them when she saw Harry. Crying girls had always made him
uncomfortable, and he suddenly felt very wrong-footed.

“Pansy,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Er… Are you all
right?”

“No,” she said, sniffling. “Have you seen Draco?”

“Draco?” Harry asked, perplexed. Thinking back, he realized that the
blonde hadn’t been in the Great Hall that evening. Now that he thought
about it, he hadn’t seen Dudley, either.
“He was supposed to meet me for supper, and he wasn’t there,” Pansy
said, turning around to stare at the trees. She began walking toward
them again, but Harry remained rooted to where he stood.

“Dudley wasn’t there, either. Maybe they just got involved in a card
game or something,” Harry said. “Why do you think he’d be in the
forest?”

Pansy froze, keeping her back turned from him. “You might be right,”
she said hastily. “He’s been spending a lot of time with that Mudblood
buffoon lately.”

Harry knew that Pansy didn’t share Draco’s affinity for Dudley. She
frequently appeared put-out whenever she found the two blondes
together. Of course, she also appeared to detest her sister’s new
attachment to Fred. Pansy hadn’t given the impression she cared for any
of them very much.

As if realizing she’d just insulted Harry’s cousin, she turned around,
glancing at him warily.

“Er… I mean,” she said, faltering.

Harry scowled, feeling certain she was trying to hide something. “You
didn’t answer my question. Why do you think he’d be in the forest if he
didn’t meet you for supper?”

Pansy bit her lip, apparently struggling with something. “Why should I
tell you?” she demanded, as if finally deciding that being obstinate
was her best bet. Her eyes kept drifting toward the trees, as if she
was debating making a run for it.

“Because I’m the only one here who might possibly help you,” Harry
replied, knowing that none of the Weasleys had warmed up to Draco.

Pansy’s face faltered, and she began wringing her hands. Harry thought
she was carrying the melodrama a bit far but kept that to himself.

“Draco’s been feeling a bit desperate lately,” she wailed, burying her
face in her hands and sniffling. “I’m afraid he’s done something
reckless.”

“What do you mean ‘reckless’?” Harry asked, his stomach lurching.

Pansy swiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He’s been strange
since that stupid Welcome Back party for the Weaslette. He keeps
talking about his father and his choices. I have to find him,” she
moaned.

“What about his choices?” Harry asked.

“For Merlin’s sake, will you quit with the questions and help me look
for him? He can’t be far,” Pansy said. “Come on. I haven’t looked over
here yet,” she said, pointing deeper into the forest.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Pansy, until you tell me exactly
what’s going on,” Harry said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Pansy harrumphed indignantly. “Oh, some hero you are! You’d better hope
nothing has happened to him since it’s your fault if he’s in trouble,”
she said.

“How do you figure it’s my fault this time?” Harry asked, exasperated.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to end this, right? Draco is trapped
until you get around to doing it, and he’s too proud to sit back and do
nothing for long,” Pansy said, scowling.

“Not my fault if he’s an idiot,” Harry muttered, glancing at the
darkening sky. If Malfoy really had wandered into the forest, it would
be dark soon. Harry didn’t fancy wandering through the forest alone at
night, never mind with Malfoy or whomever he might be meeting hidden
there.

“He’s not an idiot,” Pansy said, seething. “He’s got more brains in his
pinky finger than you can ever hope to have.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Pansy, it’s getting dark. If he really is out
here, we’re going to need some help. Let’s go back inside and see if
he’s there before panicking.”

“It might be too late by then,” she said shrilly.

“I know where there’s something back in the tower that will tell us if
he’s in the castle or not. It’s better than searching blind,” Harry
said, turning around. He only hoped that she’d follow him. He really
didn’t want to leave her out here alone.

“Don’t move, Potter,” she said, snarling.

Something in the tone of her voice made him stop and glance back over
his shoulder. She’d drawn her wand and had it pointed at his back. He
knew she was rubbish at dueling and hadn’t even managed to score high
enough on her O.W.L.s to participate in Defense the previous year.
Still, he didn’t want to take any chances. Turning around slowly, he
watched her closely as she moved forward.

“Don’t try anything, Potter. I’m not afraid to use this,” she said,
waving her wand in the air dramatically.

Harry kept his eyes on the moving wand, struggling not to snicker at
her overconfidence.

“Everyone thinks I can’t hold my own in a duel,” Pansy said, tossing
her hair. “But I got you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you got me all right, Pansy,” Harry said, slowly sliding his
feet forward. “What are you planning?”

“You’re going to come with me,” she said, aiming her wand at him again.

Harry noticed it was shaking slightly in her gloved hands. He vaguely
wondered why she was dressed so warmly. The night air really wasn’t all
that chilly. “Where are we going?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Pansy’s gaze moved to the trees, seeking a place to enter. In that
moment of distraction, Harry drew his own wand in a flash.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted. Pansy’s wand flew through the air in a
graceful arc, landing perfectly in his outstretched hand.

Shocked, the last thing Harry saw was Pansy’s smirking, triumphant face
before he felt the familiar jerk behind his navel. His stomach dropped
with dread as the portkey sped him away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mortal Peril

Ginny suddenly slammed her book shut, shuddering. Glancing out the
common room window at the darkening sky, she rubbed her hands up and
down her arms, feeling chilled. She’d been intent on her revising when
a feeling of unease had overcome her. Something was wrong.

Shaking her head and chiding herself for her paranoia, she took a deep
breath and attempted to calm her racing heart. Opening her book again,
she took a deep breath and tried to re-read the paragraph on Human
Transfiguration that had been giving her trouble all evening. Her
nerves were frayed from all her revising – not to mention everything
else going on – and she was certain she was overreacting.

In addition to the huge amount of makeup work she’d had to do after her
lengthy illness, she was terrified for Harry and his coming fight.
Grasping her necklace and rubbing the stone in her fingers, Ginny
forced her eyes back to the book. After reading the same paragraph
three times yet retaining none of it, she conceded it was useless.
Nightmarish images of Harry’s imminent battle preyed upon her mind.

They all knew it was approaching like a thick mass of menacing storm
clouds shrouding the horizon. The mood felt much as it did before a
storm – everything was still and oppressed, and all living things had
hunkered down for cover. Ginny knew it was on Harry’s mind more than
he’d admit, and she could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he
tried to discern the best way to keep the rest of them safe.

Stupid, noble, wonderful prat.

She’d never realized it was possible to love another person the way she
loved him. She only wished that he’d put half as much effort into
saving himself as he did trying to save everyone else. Tracing her
fingers along her lips, she remembered the passionate kisses they had
shared the previous evening…nearly every evening this week, as a matter
of fact.

Ginny frowned and sat up straight, her heart hammering in her chest.
Her mind raced as she pieced together the events of the past few days.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It was so like him to spend all
this extra time – all these stolen moments – with her just before he
ditched her to go do what he felt he had to do.
If he’d left her behind to go and battle Voldemort alone…Tom wouldn’t
get the chance to do anything to him, because she was going to kill him
first. He’d promised not to do anything rash. He’d promised!

Pushing back her chair, she left her books scattered across the table
as she sprinted to the window. After she’d begged off from going back
to their beach this evening, Harry said he was going to say hello to
Hagrid. Actually, at first he got that disappointed little boy
expression on his face that nearly changed her mind. Merlin help her if
he ever realized the full extent of his charm. In the end, however,
she’d stood firm and told him she had to revise.

Why her mum was insisting that Ginny prepare for the end-of-term exams
was beyond her. Usually the Ministry administered the exams to all
home-schooled students, but it wasn’t as if the Ministry was exactly
functioning normally these days.

Try telling that to her mum, however. Truly, Ginny had ulterior motives
for wanting to complete her sixth year studies. If she successfully
finished them, she’d be in the same position as the trio and perhaps
they could all return for their final year together – after Voldemort
was finished. Ginny clung to that dream like a talisman. The
alternative was too heart-wrenching to consider.

Shaking her head to dispel the dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm
her, she peered out the window. She could see a dim light burning in
Hagrid’s hut. Perhaps Harry was still there chatting with his friend…or
perhaps he was secretly saying goodbye. Abandoning all hope of
continuing with her revising, Ginny decided to find Ron and Hermione
and drag them both to see Hagrid. Perhaps they could all try and
convince Harry that they needed to confront Voldemort together – that
he couldn’t do this alone.

Leaving the empty common room, she hurried down the main stairs, her
feet barely touching the steps. Stopping on the third floor, she
maneuvered through the empty corridors until she’d reached a broom
cupboard hidden behind an armored knight.

Panting slightly, she wrapped her arm around her stomach, trying to
catch her breath. She had no time for her body’s weaknesses. Jerking
the door open and shutting her eyes tightly, she stuck her head inside
and hissed, “Come on out of there, you two. I need your help.”

“Ginny!” Ron bellowed, his voice echoing in the empty corridor.

Ginny pulled her head out of the cupboard, shutting the door and
crossing her arms around her chest.

“I kept my eyes shut, and I really don’t care if you have your knickers
on or not right now,” she said crossly. “We need to talk to Harry.”

If worry for Harry weren’t clawing at her insides, Ginny might have
found the situation funny. She ignored her momentary stab of guilt over
interrupting them. Ron certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to drag her
and Harry out of that cupboard if they had been the ones engaged
inside. He probably would have tried to knock Harry’s head off for
less.
The cupboard knocked and banged for several moments before the door
swung open and Ron climbed out, his shirt un-tucked and ears blazing
red. Hermione followed him, hiding behind her boyfriend while she
clutched her robes tightly. She refused to meet Ginny’s eyes.

“What are you on about, Ginny?” Ron demanded, towering over her and
advancing menacingly.

Un-intimidated, Ginny poked him in the chest, hard. “Don’t get shirty
with me. This is important.”

“And it couldn’t wait?” Ron asked, scowling.

“I think Harry is planning on confronting Voldemort alone,” Ginny said,
watching Ron deflate before her eyes.

“What?” he asked blankly.

“What did he say, Ginny?” Hermione asked, finally moving out from
behind Ron, concern replacing her embarrassment.

Ginny gestured impatiently for them to follow her, explaining as they
walked. “It’s more the way he’s been acting all week. It suddenly
occurred to me that he’s been trying to say goodbye,” she said, feeling
a painful lump form in her throat. She wasn’t going to go act like a
girl and cry. She wasn’t! She had to pull it together.

“He’s going to ruin everything if he slips off without us,” Hermione
said, hurrying her pace. Ron’s longer legs had him several steps in
front of the girls.

“Well, since he has no idea what we’re planning, he’s kind of a wild
card, isn’t he?” Ron asked. “Since when has Harry ever done what he’s
supposed to do?”

“He’s gone to Hagrid’s – we can still catch him there,” Ginny said,
grabbing Hermione’s elbow and stopping her progress.

Hermione impatiently turned toward Ginny with questioning eyes.

“Your blouse is on inside out,” Ginny whispered with a smirk before
hurrying to catch up to Ron. She heard Hermione yelp before a quick
rush of air let her know Hermione had cast a spell to set her clothing
to rights.

They slipped outside and hurried down the worn path to Hagrid’s hut.
Ron banged on the door, which was opened surprisingly quickly by a
disgruntled-looking Hagrid.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said, turning his back and retreating inside.

Ron, Ginny and Hermione followed him. He sat at his massively large
wooden table in front of a bowl of squirmy black things that he was in
the process of shredding. The smell inside the hut was intolerable and
nearly forced the three teens back outside.
“Bloody hell, Hagrid!” Ron shouted, scrunching up his face. “What is
that?”

“Eh? Ah, it’s nothin’. Jus’ sommat I’m makin’ for the vegetable
garden. Helps the plants ter grow nice an’ big,” Hagrid said. “What can
I do for yeh?”

“Is Harry here?” Ginny asked, glancing around the small hut at the
sparse furnishings. It appeared empty.

“Nah. I saw ‘im talkin’ ter Pansy by the forest earlier. Thought he
might stop by fer a visit, but he didn’t,” Hagrid said sadly. Ginny
noticed two unused teacups by the sink, along with an uneaten plate of
Hagrid’s rock cakes.

“Pansy?” Ron asked. “What was he doing with Pansy?”

“Dunno. Like I said, he never came ter call,” Hagrid replied, staring
at all of them with confusion.

“Where could he be?” Ginny asked, alarmed. Her heart had started that
painful pounding again, and her palms began to sweat. She just knew
something was wrong. She held tightly to the aquamarine stone on her
necklace. It felt warm and comforting.

“What does Pansy have to do with Harry going after Voldemort?” Ron
asked.

“What?” Hagrid asked, alarmed. “He wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think the two are necessarily connected, Ron,” Hermione said,
biting her lip. “Let’s go back up to the castle and get the Map. That
will tell us where both Harry and Pansy are.”

“Was Malfoy with them?” Ron asked, his face reddening. “If he’s done
something to Harry-”

“Ron! Let’s not jump to conclusions. Come on,” Hermione said, tugging
on his arm.

“I’m goin’ with yeh. If summat’s happened ter Harry, I want ter help,”
Hagrid said, following them out the door.

As they raced back to the castle, they found Aberforth Dumbledore
pacing in the entrance hall.

“There you are,” he said crossly. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He was staring at Hermione as if she’d been purposely hiding from him.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Dumbledore?” she asked politely.

“Here,” Aberforth said, handing Hermione the Romanian book that Harry
had been trying to transcribe.

“Where did you get that?” Ginny asked suspiciously.
“Harry gave it to him when you were ill. I’d forgotten you had it,”
Hermione said, staring at Aberforth.

“I showed it to Albus’s portrait. He can read Romanian, you know,”
Aberforth said. “There’s one section that really interested him. He
wants to see you.”

“Of course!” Hermione said, gasping. “Why didn’t I think of it?
Dumbledore can speak loads of languages – even Mermish.”

“Hermione – the Map,” Ron said, impatiently. He was already on the
bottom stair.

“You and Ginny go get the Map. I’ll go see what Professor Dumbledore’s
portrait has to say,” Hermione said breathlessly. “I’ll meet you
outside Professor McGonagall’s office.”

“What about me?” Hagrid asked. “What can I do?”

“Can you check the forest where you saw Harry and Pansy, Hagrid? See
if there’s any sign of a struggle,” Hermione said.

Hearing Hermione say it out loud – knowing there was a chance that
Harry was in real trouble – caused Ginny to race up the stairs past
Ron. She’d get the Map and find his name somewhere. There had to be a
reasonable explanation for why he never went to see Hagrid, and what he
was doing with Pansy in the forest. There had to be.

**--**--

When the Portkey released him, Harry crumpled with a thump onto a cold
stone floor. Sparing no time to orient himself, he scrambled to his
feet, dropping Pansy’s wand and brandishing his own. Hoping to reverse
the Portkey, he quickly reached for Pansy’s wand once again, but
nothing happened. He had a moment to notice that he was in a small,
stone cavern with a dank, moldy odor, causing him to suspect that he
was underground.

Then all hell broke loose.

Half a dozen Death Eaters surrounded him, all firing spells
instantaneously. Harry quickly created a shield to block the first
barrage, and three of the Death Eaters fell to his Stunners before more
of them entered the room. His shield began to weaken under the heavy
fire, and several of the curses broke through. He felt a Slicing Hex
slash deeply into his upper arm, causing his fingers to tingle. Before
he had a chance to raise another shield, his legs were slammed with a
Bludgeoning Curse, dropping him the ground.

Gritting his teeth, he managed to hang onto his wand, but one of the
Death Eaters cast a Petrificus Spell, immobilizing him. He lay on the
floor, battered and bruised, staring at the menacing faces surrounding
him. Some of them were unmasked, their hard faces showing a mixture of
anticipation and excitement at having captured him. Others simply
glared, leering as if they were finally given the opportunity to settle
an old grudge.
Harry swallowed heavily. He didn’t see a way out of this one. He had to
control his fear and keep his head. Lying on the floor, useless and
discarded, was what was left of Pansy’s wand. It had transformed into
one of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes rubber chickens.

Damn! Pansy had thoroughly deceived him.

“How nice of you to join us, Potter,” a sly, oily voice murmured from
the corner of the room.

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. He could only move
his eyes, but he could clearly see Snape standing above a cauldron,
slowly stirring its contents with extreme care.

“We’ve been expecting you,” he said silkily.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. Expecting him? But he’d only come
across Pansy by chance…hadn’t he? Harry’s mind worked furiously, trying
to piece together the events of the evening.

Squinting his eyes against the dimness of the room, he looked around
the chamber again. Beneath a perch near the open doorway lay Errol, the
Weasley family owl. Harry didn’t know if he was dead since Errol
usually fell unconscious after a long journey.

“It’s the most unreliable creature I’ve ever had the displeasure to
meet,” Snape said, noticing Harry’s observance of the owl. “It passes
out after each simple delivery. What more can be expected from those
lowly Weasleys of whom you appear so fond?”

Harry wanted to spit at Snape, but Petrified as he was, he could only
glare at his former professor. His eyes flashed with suppressed fury as
he desperately tried to release the spell. So, Errol’s frequent
absences weren’t merely the result of old age. Pansy must have been
using him to communicate since the time they were all back at Grimmauld
Place.

Snape glided across the room, leaned over, and plucked Harry’s wand
from his slackened hand. He tucked it into the pocket of his robes,
patting it condescendingly.

“You won’t have need of that,” he said. He aimed his own wand, causing
Harry to flinch inwardly. “Finite Incantatem.”

Harry felt the spell being removed, and he sat up quickly, crab-walking
away from Snape toward the wall. He only stopped when his back hit the
stone.

“There’s nowhere for you to go, Potter,” Snape said, returning to his
cauldron, unconcerned. “Alecto, inform our lord that his guest has
arrived.”

The blonde sneered menacingly at Harry before leaving the room. Another
Death Eater grabbed Harry by the collar, roughly dragging him to his
feet. When Harry tried to pull away, the man slammed his meaty fist
into the side of his face, knocking Harry’s head against the wall and
causing him to see stars.
“You’ll find your fame and unearned glory mean nothing here. I’d
suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. There is
nothing these fine witches and wizards would like more than to give you
a lesson in manners,” Snape said, caressing his measuring stick as he
stirred his potion.

Harry tried to blink the black spots from his eyes, refusing to be
goaded by Snape. He could feel blood trickling down his chin from a cut
on his lip, and he tried to concentrate on that to block out the
pounding in his skull. His left hand was still tingling, and he was
having trouble making a fist. His legs felt bruised, but they were
holding his weight. He wasn’t in the best shape to face Voldemort, but
it could be worse. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

“What’s this? Nothing to say, Potter? No glib comment or sarcastic
words to bolster your false bravado?” Snape asked, sneering.

Harry smiled humorlessly. “I’m just saving my lines for the big show.
No need to waste them on the warm-up act.”

Snape flushed, and Harry was backhanded again by one of the Death
Eaters, knocking his glasses askew.

“You were warned to watch your tongue,” Snape said silkily. “Fernando,
show him how insolence is treated here.”

A masked Death Eater turned toward Harry, raised his wand, and hissed,
“Crucio.”

Harry was struck square in the chest, intense pain spreading from
impact out to all his nerve endings. He dropped to the ground, writhing
and trying to contain his scream. He bit down on his already torn lip,
the salty taste of blood filling his mouth. The pain built, overloading
his senses and turning all his bones to liquid fire. The scream that
was finally ripped from him felt as if it were tearing out his throat.

When the curse was eventually lifted – after what felt like an eternity
to Harry – he lay on the ground, panting and feeling blood trickle from
the corners of his mouth. Spitting it out, he raised himself up on
shaky arms, staring defiantly at Snape and the Death Eater who had just
cursed him so painfully. The man grabbed his arms, pinning them behind
his back. The stone he wore tucked inside the rope bracelet that Ginny
had given him for Christmas dug painfully into the underside of his
wrist.

“I can see that lesson did little to control your arrogance,” Snape
said, sneering. His eyebrows raised thoughtfully as his head turned
imperceptibly toward the door. “Perhaps the Dark Lord will prove a
better teacher. He’ll at least enjoy breaking your spirit.”

Before Harry had the chance to reply, the other Death Eaters got down
on their knees, bowing their heads. The temperature in the room
plummeted as Voldemort swept into the room, his red eyes instantly
zeroing in on Harry. His misshapen white head gleamed, and his eyes
glowed hungrily. He slithered rather than walked into the room, and
Harry’s scar exploded with pain.
His hands were still held tightly behind his back, so he was unable to
cradle his head. Instead, he tossed it from side to side as he
attempted to shake off the pain. Harry did his best not to let his
terror show, but his heart was pounding so fiercely that he thought the
others were certain to hear it.

“Welcome, Harry. How nice of you to join us,” Voldemort said, his eyes
raking over Harry’s wounds dispassionately. He slowly raised a finger
to adjust Harry’s glasses back onto his face. Harry jerked away from
his touch.

“Yeah, it’s been a real pleasure,” he spat. “If you don’t mind, I think
I’ll be going now.”

Voldemort smiled lazily. “I think not,” he said, fixing him with a
stare that caused Harry’s blood to chill. “Is the potion ready,
Severus?”

“Almost, my Lord,” Snape answered, bowing his head.

“Excellent,” Voldemort hissed, and then he actually smiled. His skin
was too tight to smile properly, so the expression caused his teeth to
protrude from his mouth. The smile was so hideous and out of place on
Voldemort’s snakelike face that Harry thought if evil could be
captured, his face was exactly what it would look like.

Harry glanced uneasily at Snape, wondering for the first time exactly
what it was that the Potions master was brewing.

“You’ve been destroying some of my precious possessions,” Voldemort
said, raising a long, sinewy finger toward the gaping cut on Harry’s
arm. His fingernails were long and perfectly trimmed, yet they looked
rotted and decayed.

“I can’t allow that to go unpunished,” he said, his voice soft and
menacing.

Harry swallowed, warily watching the finger as it moved closer and
closer to the open wound. He let out a hiss of pain, groaning slightly
when it first made contact, brushing lightly against the edge of the
cut.

“I thought they were the possessions of the Founding Fathers’ of
Hogwarts,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

Voldemort paused briefly before jabbing his finger deep into the cut,
causing Harry’s blood to coat his hand. Harry screamed, twisting his
head and trying unsuccessfully to pull away. Voldemort kept up the
pressure until Harry began to see black spots on the edge of his
vision.

“You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since your birth,”
Voldemort hissed in Harry’s ear, his breath warm and much too close.
“You’re like salt in an open wound. Do you know how that feels, Harry?”
Harry shook his head, gasping and unable to fully concentrate on
Voldemort’s words. His stomach began to roil, and he thought he might
be sick.

At last removing his finger from Harry’s cut, Voldemort flicked his
wand, and Harry felt a stinging sensation inside the wound. Soon his
entire arm burned with painful intensity. Tears sprung to Harry’s eyes
as he gasped, fighting the pain.

“It’s a raw burning, is it not? It distracts you and leaves you unable
to focus on anything else…anything more important, perhaps. That is
what your existence has become to me,” Voldemort said, still whispering
in Harry’s ear.

Harry bit down on the inside of his cheeks, feeling sweat drip into his
eyes. His back was drenched, and his legs began to shake. He had to
find a way to get his wand and end this now.

“You’ll have no need of your wand,” Voldemort said, running his finger
along his chin, smearing Harry’s blood on his own face. “I think it’s
time I put a stop to your interference…permanently.”

“What are you waiting on then? Go on and do it, if you can,” Harry
said, snarling. “You haven’t had much luck yet.”

Voldemort’s flat nostrils flared, his eyes glowing. Harry felt
reckless. If he could enrage Voldemort enough for him to lose control
and simply kill Harry now, at least he’d be mortal. Perhaps someone
else would then be able to kill him. He’d run out of other options.

“There you are, Potter,” a familiar nasal voice rang from the doorway,
distracting them all. “I bet you’re sorry you underestimated me, now.”

“What are you doing here, Miss Parkinson?” Snape asked, taking a step
toward the door and placing himself between Pansy and Voldemort.

With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort pulled Harry from the Death
Eater’s grip and bodily slammed him against the wall where he left him,
hovering above the ground, spread-eagled, as if caught in a giant
spider’s web. Harry could move his head, but nothing else.

“Miss Parkinson, thank you for joining us,” Voldemort said smoothly,
his attention shifting to the newcomer.

Pansy visibly cringed, shrinking away from the malformed creature now
stalking toward her. Her dark eyes were wide, panicked, and Harry was
certain she’d never actually seen Voldemort before now.

“I…I d-did what you asked. I g-got Potter here, just like we planned,”
Pansy said, desperately looking at Snape. “I did everything you told me
to do.”
“You used the fake wand as a Portkey. I saw it here when Potter
arrived,” Snape said, casually flicking his hand toward the discarded
wand. “You did well, Miss Parkinson, but why did you follow him here?
That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“After the Portkey took Potter, I was still in the forest, and I had to
walk all the way to the gate,” Pansy said, pouting. “I wanted to see
what happened to Potter.”

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. “This one has the heart of a
true pureblood,” he said, circling her appraisingly as he paced.

Harry’s heart pounded as he desperately sought a way to release the
spell holding him. His back scraped against the stone as he fought to
get free.

“We did what you asked of us, so now Draco is free, right? You’ll grant
him your pardon?” Pansy asked, visibly trembling.

Harry froze, his eyes widening into saucers. Draco? Draco was in on
this? Had he really decided his chances were better with Voldemort
after all? Bile rose in Harry’s throat over his own stupidity. He’d
actually believed the Slytherin git.

“Young Mr. Malfoy didn’t complete the task I’d set for him and him
alone. He’ll have to be punished for his failure,” Voldemort said,
tilting his head to the side. “Certainly you can understand that he
cannot be allowed to get away with insubordination. It would set a bad
precedent,” Voldemort said, watching Pansy closely.

“I understand that he’ll need to be punished, and he’ll gladly accept
that fate,” Pansy said, obviously feeling more confident. “I simply
want the promise that you’ll allow him to live in order to make up for
his mistake.”

“Indeed? And does Mr. Malfoy agree to his punishment as cavalierly as
you seem to do?” Voldemort asked, amused. The tension in the room was
thick – none of the Death Eaters had moved or barely even breathed.

Harry gritted his teeth. He certainly felt no kindness or empathy for
Pansy – it was her fault he was in this mess in the first place – but
he hated seeing anyone being toyed with this way. He knew Voldemort had
no intention of keeping his end of the bargain, why couldn’t Pansy see
that?

“Draco will do anything to get back in your good graces, my Lord,”
Pansy said, bowing low to the ground.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy’s deeds are far too great to allow his life
to be spared,” Voldemort said easily, as if growing bored with the
conversation.

It took a moment for his words to register with Pansy. When they
finally did, her face dropped. “What? B-but…that’s not what we agreed,”
she wailed, desperately looking at Snape.

“I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart on the matter,” Voldemort said
in a falsely conciliatory tone.

“Miss Parkinson, remember your station,” Snape said, grabbing Pansy by
the shoulders and trying to lead her from the cavern.
“You promised!” Pansy moaned, turning on Snape. “I did everything I was
supposed to do so Draco would be free. You promised!”

“Get control of yourself,” Snape hissed.

“Severus, leave her alone,” Voldemort commanded. “Your compassion for
the young ones will yet be your undoing.”

Snape bowed stiffly and reluctantly moved a few steps away from Pansy.

“I do apologize that we cannot grant your first request, Miss
Parkinson. You have, however, performed admirably, and I would like to
offer you a place amongst my ranks,” Voldemort said, inclining his head
slightly, his delight in tormenting the girl obvious.

“I don’t want to live without Draco,” Pansy said, burying her face in
her hands and sobbing. “I can’t. It’s all been for him.”


“So be it,” Voldemort said coldly, casually flicking his wand. “Avada
Kedavra.”

“No,” Harry gasped, watching the sickly green light as it whooshed
towards Pansy.

Quickly lifting her face, her eyes widened in horror as she watched the
curse speed toward her with a terrible rushing sound, apparently
realizing she was about to die for her misplaced trust. The curse
struck her in the stomach, and she crumpled to the ground.

Snape’s head fell to his chest, his shoulders drooping.

“You are no longer their teacher, Severus,” Voldemort hissed. “Stop
trying to spare them life lessons. You spent too long in the company of
that dithering old fool, Dumbledore. He’s corrupted you - made you
soft.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape replied, returning to his potion.

Harry could barely contain his snort of disgust. There was nothing soft
about Snape and even insinuating that Dumbledore had made an impression
on the greasy git was insulting to the Headmaster’s memory.

“Now that Harry is about to become my permanent guest, I’m ready to
move on to the next phase in my rise to ultimate power,” Voldemort
said.

Harry raised his head, eyeing Voldemort warily.

“I imagine you are curious about my plans for your stay, Harry,” he
said, grinning evilly.

“Not particularly,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “I really don’t
plan on staying long.”
Voldemort tossed his head back and laughed mirthlessly. “Always the
comedian. Unfortunately, your fate has no use for your delightful sense
of humor.”

“My fate?” Harry asked, certain he didn’t want to know the answer.

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort summoned a long wooden packing crate
– a crate large enough to hold the body of a not-quite-fully-grown man.

Oh, no! No, no, no!

“Is the potion ready, Severus?” Voldemort asked.

“Almost, my Lord,” Snape answered, his eyes glinting when he caught
Harry’s panicked expression.

“Why don’t you have the honor of explaining the future to young Harry,”
Voldemort said, clearly pleased with the proceedings.

“If you’d paid any attention at all during your time in my class, you
would have already realized which potion I’m brewing,” Snape said,
using that same silky voice that he’d always used in class. “Since I’m
well aware of your dismal potion-making abilities, allow me to explain
it to you. The Draught of Living Death is a NEWT-level potion, and its
antidote needs to be administered immediately upon completion of
brewing. That means it would have to be brewed right here in this room
in order to awaken you before attempting an escape. A highly unlikely
probability, is it not, Potter?”

The Draught of Living Death! Of course. Voldemort couldn’t kill him
outright or he’d destroy his own Horcrux. This potion would essentially
keep Harry alive but still incapacitated and out of the way. It was a
win-win situation.

Voldemort smiled at Harry’s horrified dismay. Using his wand, he
released Harry from the wall and levitated him across the room to the
crate. Harry’s struggles were for naught; he couldn’t break the spell.
The crate’s lid lifted like a coffin, and Harry was roughly dropped
inside. His breathing became labored as he tried to control his panic.
This couldn’t be happening.

“While Severus continues to brew the potion, listen closely to my
orders, Harry. Listen to my plans to destroy the last of your
strongholds – the last of your protectors,” Voldemort said, his voice
thick with anticipation.

Harry shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to rise.

Voldemort turned to face the gathered Death Eaters. “Bellatrix,” he
hissed.

“Yes, Master,” the hateful voice replied.

“You and Fenrir take our forces and claim Hogwarts as ours. Now that I
have the Potter boy, it’s time for Albus Dumbledore’s last stronghold
of power to fall, thus completely marking his failure and my rise to
glory. I believe the Aurors who abandoned their posts at the Ministry are there. Kill them all. Kill the Order members who are there, as
well, but bring Mr. Malfoy to me. Do what you will with his mother and
the remaining Parkinson women.”


“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix replied, cackling with glee.

Harry struggled vainly against the invisible bonds holding him.

“I’ll join you as soon as I see Mr. Potter’s eyes close for the final
time,” Voldemort said, smiling.

Harry watched helplessly as Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters filed
out of the room. Once it was empty, Snape turned toward Voldemort.

“It is ready, my Lord.”

**--**--

Ron raced into his dormitory and dropped to the floor by Harry’s bed.
He grabbed the rucksack from underneath and quickly began rummaging
through Harry’s belongings. Finding the familiar piece of worn
parchment, he bolted back down the stairs.

Ginny was waiting for him in the common room, her face taut with
concern. When he found Harry, Ron was going to give him hell for
worrying his sister so badly. Ginny wasn’t prone to overreacting – he
was more likely to do that – although he’d never admit that to her.
Seeing her so obviously distraught caused the hairs on the back of
Ron’s neck to stand on end. If Ginny felt Harry was in trouble, he more
than likely was.

Ron hated not knowing what was happening – he never could stand feeling
out of control. How was he supposed to watch out for his friends if the
plan kept changing? He’d promised himself that he would see Harry
through this to the end, and he’d be extremely disappointed in his
friend if he’d cut Ron out at the last minute. It would be so like
Harry, however. He’d want to slip away quietly so he could avoid saying
goodbye.

The common room was full and loud. Charlie had returned from Romania,
and he was regaling Fleur, Shannon and Iris with tales of his dragon
exploits – embellishing as only Charlie could. The girls appeared
enraptured with his story, while Bill and the twins stood back with
their arms folded across their chests. Ron could tell by the
disgruntled expressions on Fred and George’s faces that Charlie was due
for a severe pranking.

His parents sat by the fire. His mum had her knitting needles, but he
could see that they were both quietly listening and chuckling over
Charlie’s tales.

“Oi! Ron! Where’s the fire?” Charlie called across the common room as
Ron hurried toward Ginny. “Aren’t you going to come and say hello?
You’ll love this one.”
“He’ll listen to your tall dragon tales later, Charlie,” Ginny
answered, dragging Ron by the arm. “I’ve got a story of my own I need
to share with him right now.”

She didn’t give Charlie or any of her brothers a chance to respond
before she pulled Ron out the portrait hole. They quickly walked down
the corridor until the came to a secluded archway. Ginny pulled Ron
inside.

“Open it. D’you see him?” she demanded.

“Hang on, give me the chance to get it opened,” Ron said, feeling
stressed. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

They watched as the Map revealed itself, and Ron was struck by how few
dots there were compared to when Hogwarts had been in session. Most of
the dots were converged in the Great Hall where the Aurors must be
having some sort of meeting.

He traced his fingers along the outline, methodically searching for
Harry’s name.

“There!” Ginny said pointing.

“You found him?” Ron asked, relief washing over him.

“Not Harry – Malfoy. He’s in one of the classrooms in the Charms
corridor with Dudley. I don’t see Harry anywhere,” she said, her voice
rising. She was clutching his arm so tightly, he suspected her nails
were drawing blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to let
go.

“I don’t see Pansy, either,” he said grimly. “Let’s go talk to the
ferret.”

Taking Ginny’s hand, Ron sprinted ahead, tugging her along as he ran.
Ginny was panting by the time they stopped at the closed Charms door,
and she had to lean against the wall to catch her breath.

Ron turned the handle on the door; it was locked.

“Hey! Let us out!” Dudley whined from inside the classroom.

“Pansy, if that’s you, I demand you open the door and release us at
once,” Malfoy said, sounding extremely angry.

“Alohomora,” Ron said, but the door didn’t unlock.

“Is that you, Weasel?” Malfoy asked. “Don’t you think we tried that
already? Unlocking spells aren’t working. I can’t imagine how Pansy
learned to do that.”

“Move back, Ron,” Ginny said, pushing him aside, her eyes blazing

“What are you going to do?” Ron asked, warily doing as she’d asked.
“Move away from the door, you two,” Ginny said. “I’m going to try a
Blasting Hex.”

“It won’t work!” Malfoy shouted, sounding as if he was moving away
anyway. Obviously he’d learned from experience not to trust Ginny’s
temper. “I’ve already tried it.”

Ron turned his head from side-to-side, desperately evaluating his
options.

“Dobby!” he shouted, remembering how the house-elf had helped them re-
enter the castle after their trip to Little Hangleton.

“Yes, Harry Potter’s Wheezy,” the little elf said, appearing by their
side. He was wearing the mismatched socks Harry had given him for
Christmas the previous year.

“Dobby, Harry’s cousin is locked inside. D’you think you could let him
out?” Ron asked.

Dobby stared at the door suspiciously. “Dobby thinks the great Harry
Potter would like it if his nasty cousin was locked inside,” he said,
crossing his arms. “Dobby likes him locked inside, too.”

Ron groaned, unwilling to mention that one of Dobby’s former abusive
owners was also locked inside the classroom. “Dobby, any other time I’d
agree with you and would probably ask that you help me lock Harry’s
cousin in there, but I think Harry’s in trouble. I need your help.
Harry needs your help.”

“Dobby will do anything to help Harry Potter,” Dobby said, his eyes
wide. He reached out and easily pulled the door open as if it had never
been locked. “How can Dobby help Harry Potter?”

Draco Malfoy and Dudley Dursley charged into the hallway, looking both
ways and appearing agitated. Both were rumpled, and Dudley was sweating
profusely.

“You!” Dobby shrieked, pointing a bony finger at Malfoy.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. “Didn’t you used to work for my
father?” he asked, frowning.

Dobby turned his wide, mistrustful eyes on Ron. “Draco Malfoy is a bad
boy. What does he have to do with Harry Potter?” he asked.

“I think he might have some information, Dobby. Information that could
help us help Harry,” Ron replied, enjoying the disgruntled expression
on Malfoy’s face despite the dire situation.

“What is he doing here, and what do you mean, help Potter? What’s
going on, Weasel, and what does this have to do with me?” Malfoy asked,
clearly annoyed.

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny demanded, moving to stand in front of Malfoy.
Her hair was wild, and her eyes blazed fiercely. Ron noticed Malfoy
taking an almost imperceptible step away from her.
“How should I know? I’ve been stuck in that bloody classroom since
well before dinner. I have no idea where Potter is. It’s Pansy I need
to find,” Malfoy said, regaining his composure and moving to pass Ron
and Ginny.

Dudley remained against the wall, his face puzzled as he tried to
follow the conversation. He kept fingering his wand, caressing it as
they spoke.

Ron grabbed Malfoy by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere until you
tell me what I need to know.”

“Take your filthy hands off me,” Malfoy said, sneering.

“We can’t find either Harry or Pansy, Draco,” Ginny said, taking a deep
breath. Ron knew from years of experience that she was desperately
trying to control her temper. He also knew Malfoy was in big trouble if
Ginny lost the battle. His mum got the same expression on her face
before she exploded.

“Hagrid saw them speaking with each other by the forest, but now both
are missing,” Ginny replied in a stiff, measured tone.

“Missing?” Draco repeated blankly. “Pansy locked us in that room. She
said she had something she had to do and wouldn’t say anything more.”

“What does Pansy have to do with Harry going off to face Voldemort
alone?” Ron asked Ginny, perplexed.

“What? Facing him? If Pansy gets hurt because of Potter’s stupidity,
I’m going to- Ouch!” Malfoy yelped, grasping his lower leg and hopping
around on one foot.

Dobby, who had remained silent during the entire exchange stood in
front of Malfoy scowling, his arms folded across his chest.

“He kicked me!” Draco said incredulously.

“And Dobby will kick the bad Malfoy boy again if he keeps speaking
about Harry Potter that way,” Dobby said.

“Great. Another one,” Malfoy mumbled, rubbing his leg and rolling his
eyes.

“What if Pansy caught Harry trying to leave?” Ginny said, addressing
Ron and ignoring Malfoy completely.

“Why would she lock them in the classroom, though?” Ron asked, jerking
his thumb toward Malfoy and Dudley. “What was it she had to do?
Something doesn’t follow.”

“Potter better not have taken her with him just to keep her quiet,”
Malfoy said. His words were cold, although his concern was obvious.
“I’m going to ask Iris if Pansy said anything to her.”
No one moved to stop him as he hurried away. Dudley stood looking
between Ron and Ginny for a moment before following Malfoy back to the
common room.

“What do you think, Ron?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

Ron thought she looked very young and vulnerable, and he suddenly
wanted very much to tell her everything was okay, but he couldn’t form
the words. This was bad.

“Let’s go find Hermione and tell her Harry’s not here,” Ron said,
gulping. He knew there was nothing Hermione could do to find Harry, but
if anyone had a good idea what to do next, Hermione would.

“He’s gone to the Ministry,” Ginny whispered, her eyes filling.

“We don’t know that,” Ron said firmly, trying to control his own
frantic heart rate. “We need to talk to Hermione.”

**--**--

Harry’s labored breathing filled the nearly silent chamber. The only
other sound he could hear was the steady drip of water somewhere in the
distance. He remained stuck inside the packing crate, unable to break
the Immobilization Spell that Voldemort had cast upon him. He’d hoped
it would have weakened and given him the opportunity to escape, but it
remained as strong as when it was first cast.

“It’s finished, my Lord,” Snape’s silky voice echoed against the stone
walls.

Reeling, Harry’s heart raced, and he felt sweat break out on his
forehead. Visions of Muggle horror films about people being buried
alive flitted through his mind until he felt his panic would overwhelm
him. How was he going to get out of here?

His eyes frantically scanned the room, quickly moving past Pansy’s
body, which remained sprawled on the floor. The only way out that he
could see was through the opening behind Voldemort, but his wand
remained stuck in Snape’s pocket.

They were going to permanently incapacitate him and leave him in that
box.

“Excellent,” Voldmort said, his crimson eyes flashing. “The potion is
very quick-acting. Would you like to hear what’s going to happen to
you?”

“Go to hell,” Harry snarled, feeling bile rise in his throat.

Voldemort’s grin widened. “In order to go to hell, one must actually
die – a fate which is not going to happen to either of us. After
Severus administers the potion, your limbs will grow stiff and heavy.
It will feel as if giant weights have been attached to them. You’ll try
to fight the exhaustion, of course, but you’ll be powerless to do so.
Your internal organs will shut down one by one until finally your heart rate will begin to slow. You should fall unconscious at just about the
time the first wave of my attack begins on Hogwarts.”

Harry swallowed, clenching his teeth. “You appear extremely confident
in your Death Eaters. Funny that, since they haven’t been at all that
successful against the Order in the past,” he said.

Voldemort’s grin faded. “Give him the potion, Severus.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape said, filling a phial with the thick black
liquid.

**--**--

Hermione climbed down the moving staircase from Professor McGonagall’s
office, her head spinning with all the information her former
headmaster had given her. She found Ron and Ginny waiting at the
bottom. Both were pacing like caged animals.

From the looks on their faces and the fact they were here alone,
Hermione knew they hadn’t found Harry. It was just what she’d feared.
Ginny looked as if she was about to cry, and Ron wrung his hands
nervously.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Hermione stated, choking on the words. Oh,
Harry!

“He’s not anywhere on the Map, Hermione,” Ginny said, her eyes filling.
“Neither is Pansy. We found Draco and Dudley locked in a classroom.
They said Pansy left them in there.” Her lower lip began to tremble,
and Ron wrapped his arm around her protectively.

“Pansy is missing, too?” Hermione asked, her curiosity overriding her
panic.

“She’s not on the Map,” Ron replied, his eyes pleading with her for an
answer.

Hermione wished she had one.

“He wouldn’t have taken her with him,” she said, chewing on her lip.

“What did Professor Dumbledore’s portrait say?” Ginny asked, sniffling
and obviously making a tremendous effort to pull herself back together.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “My suspicions were correct. The act of
murder always splits the soul, but it doesn’t always create a Horcrux.
Usually the murderer’s soul is fractured within his own body. Professor
Dumbledore said it changes a person, and perhaps that’s the reason it
appears to get easier for someone to murder again after the first time.

“He said creating a Horcrux is different. There needs to be intent, and
the object must be held in your hand at the time of the murder.”

“So how did Harry become one then? Was Voldemort actually holding
him?” Ginny asked, aghast.
Hermione shook her head. “I suspect simply having his hand on him would
have sufficed, and I can imagine Voldemort doing something like that
just to torture Harry’s mother,” Hermione said, shuddering. She didn’t
like to think how awful it must have been for Lily Potter to see this
madman laying his hand on the child she would die to protect.

“The way to create a Horcrux is to focus your intensity on the hatred,
and the act of murder splits the soul. In contrast, I think an act of
love should shield an object and hold it together,” Hermione said, her
excitement bubbling in her chest. “I think it can work.”

“Not if we’re already too late,” Ginny said frantically.

“We have to get to the Ministry,” Ron said, and Hermione could see that
he was just as panicked as his sister.

Hermione suspected there was something she was missing, but the
situation felt too urgent to dwell on it. They needed to get to the
Ministry and stop Harry from doing anything foolish if he had charged
ahead without them.

“All right, let’s go,” she said, clutching the small round object in
her pocket. It had been Professor Dumbledore’s idea, and Hermione
thought it would work perfectly with Harry – if only they weren’t too
late.

As they barreled down the stairs into the entrance hall, they found
Draco Malfoy standing alone by the front door looking frantic.

“She’s not here. I can’t find her anywhere,” he said. “Iris said she
hasn’t seen her since dinner.”

“Get out of the way, Malfoy,” Ron said, bodily pushing the Slytherin
aside.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowing. “You’re going
after them, aren’t you? I’m going with you.”

“Not a chance,” Ron said hotly.

“You?” Ginny asked, surprised. “It’ll be dangerous, Malfoy.”

“I can handle myself,” Draco spat. “While you three go after Potter,
who’s going to rescue Pansy? I’m going with you until I can get her
out of there, then you’re on your own.”

Hermione was surprised by the depth of the feelings Malfoy obviously
had for Parkinson. She hadn’t expected that. He’d never been one to
willing put himself in any kind of danger. He usually let others do
that. Perhaps Draco had grown up more than she’d given him credit for
doing.

“You’re not going anywhere with us. There’s no way you’re messing this
up,” Ron snarled, hot-headed as ever.”
“Oh, stop it. You can decide who plays the role of the alpha-male
later. We have to hurry before we’re too late,” Ginny said, pushing
past both of them to exit the building.

The others followed in her wake, sprinting for the Hogwarts gates. A
large, looming figure emerged from the side of the road as they reached
it. Hermione gasped as Ron drew his wand.

“Oi! It’s me,” Hagrid boomed, his face showing in the moonlight as he
came closer. “There’s no sign of a struggle in the forest.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Hermione said, relaxing. “We’re going after Harry.”

“I’m goin’ with yer, then,” Hagrid said, nodding resolutely. He pushed
open the gate, and they left the safety of Hogwarts grounds.

They hadn’t gone very far when the unmistakable “popping” sounds of
Apparition filled the night air. Dozens of masked Death Eaters appeared
outside the gates, all of them with their wands pointed toward the
school.

Hogwarts was under attack.

**--**--

“Just relax, Potter,” Snape said, his eyes glinting. “Aside from some
thirst as the potion dries up your bodily fluids, you shouldn’t feel a
thing. I do hope I brewed it correctly or else the results could be
quite…painful.”

Harry clamped his mouth shut, struggling with the invisible bonds. It
couldn’t end this way. Dumbledore, Sirius…Remus…all of them would have
died for nothing. The Weasleys and his friends were being attacked
unawares. He couldn’t let this happen!

A bone-chilling cold born of sheer terror overwhelmed him. He was
suddenly struck by the realization that that the first time they’d
found a Horcrux, Hermione had been hurt, then it had been Ron, and
finally Ginny. It had been as if Voldemort had been trying to separate
them because they were stronger together. But this time he had
succeeded. This time, Harry was alone.

Snape lifted the phial, swishing the ugly, thick, black liquid inside
the glass.

“Bottoms up, Mr. Potter,” he said, roughly grabbing Harry by the neck
and forcing his head back.

Harry refused to open his mouth, and Snape hit him twice. Dizzy, Harry
managed to keep his mouth closed.

“You have a penchant for Muggle dueling,” Snape said, obviously still
feeling bitter over their last encounter. “How does it feel to be on
the other end? I could easily knock out some of your teeth. You won’t
be needing them.”
Harry’s mind raced. He had to stop this somehow. Ron and Hermione must
be wondering where he was by now, but how would they know where to find
him? What if they’d already been attacked and killed? Harry couldn’t
bear the thought. They had to be all right. Ginny! She had to survive.

Snape cast a spell, and Harry felt his jaw being forced open. He fought
it until his entire body shook, but it was no use. His mouth opened,
and Snape moved the phial toward his open lips.

No! No, no, no! Ginny, help me!

Smiling vindictively, Snape tipped the contents of the phial into
Harry’s mouth, allowing the thick substance to ooze slowly inside.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Voices Beyond the Veil

Ginny watched in horror as dozens of masked and cloaked Death Eaters
appeared outside the gates of Hogwarts. She stood frozen, mouth gaping
as more and more of them appeared, cackling and shouting rude comments
about the destruction of the school. Hagrid grabbed Hermione and her
and roughly pulled them both into the trees alongside the Hogsmeade
path. Ron and Draco quickly followed, both wide-eyed, as well.

The gentle spring breeze fluttered her hair as Ginny tried to calm her
racing heart. The stone she wore around her neck had been oddly warm
all evening, and it now felt as if it was burning her skin. She didn’t
have time to ponder it, however. Brushing the distraction from her
mind, she turned helplessly to Hermione.

“We have to warn everyone at the school,” Hermione said, her voice a
strained whisper. “They have no idea what’s about to happen.”

“We’ll never get through that group undetected, Hermione,” Ron said
grimly, watching as the Death Eaters began firing spells at the gate.
All the color had completely drained from his face.

“Unless… Yes, I think I can do it,” Hermione said, mumbling as she
moved away from them.

“I hate when she does that,” Ron said under his breath. “Where do you
think you’re going?”

chapter 17

it was his subconscious wishing for things that were never meant to be.
Perhaps it was the hope that Hermione’s words had flared within him.
He’d begun to hope that maybe he could survive this fight — and he knew
he couldn’t afford the luxury of such thoughts — not if he was going to
remain strong enough to do what had to be done.

It wouldn’t do to dwell on dreams — no matter how pleasant the dreams
might be.

He still had one more Horcrux to find before he could even think about
the final battle.
Hermione had said he’d have to trust them.

Trust them? Didn’t he? Dumbledore had said that this great power of his
was love. Could that love mean learning to trust in his friends
implicitly? …To know that someone else would actually be there to catch
him if he fell?

Harry lifted his head from the desk and ran a shaking hand through his
unruly hair. He just didn’t know, and he was too tired to think about
it anymore.

He felt angry and had nowhere to direct that anger at present. With
everything else Voldemort had done to him, did he have to leave a piece
of himself behind, too? Was it just to gloat?

And how could Harry have been so stupid to have never seen it? Did
other people see through the eyes of people who’d Cursed them? Did they
feel their attackers’ emotions? How could he have missed it? Dumbledore
had practically laid it out for him in his second year when he said
that the reason Harry could speak Parseltongue was because Voldemort
had transferred some of his own powers to Harry when he’d tried to kill
him as a baby — he’d transferred some of himself.

Damn!

Picking up Marvolo Gaunt’s ring from out of his backpack, he rolled it
in his hands, studying the lightning bolt crack in the stone. The crack
looked remarkably similar to Harry’s scar.

He lightly traced it with his finger.

He’d assumed the stone had become cracked when Dumbledore had destroyed
the Horcrux within the ring, but what if that wasn’t the case at all?
What if the scar had been there from the moment Tom Riddle had placed a
piece of his soul inside it. What if the shape marked the item as a
Horcrux?

Harry scrounged through his trunk, not caring how much noise he made in
the silent room. Finally locating Helga Hufflepuffs cup, he pulled it
out and examined it. It was blackened and scorched, so he used one of
his socks to try and clean it up. After some time, his diligence paid
off. It was difficult to see, but there, on the inside rim was the same
lightning bolt mark.

If he still had the locket, he’d bet he’d find it there, too.

So…the item he was seeking was inside the castle, had most likely once
belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and bore a lightning-shaped mark.

It certainly helped, although the task was still mind-boggling.
Hogwarts was a big place, and there were rooms that even the Map didn’t
know about — like the Room of Requirement.

They’d spent the past several weeks searching and had barely made a
dent in the vast number of rooms within the castle. Hell, there was no
guarantee it was even in a room. It could be one of the hundreds of things in the hallways for all he knew. After six-and-a-half years
living here, he was still finding corridors he hadn’t known existed.

They’d started in the most likely place — the Ravenclaw common room,
but they’d finally conceded there was nothing there. They searched the
Slytherin common room next, both Harry and Ron feeling an odd
familiarity upon entering the dungeon dormitory.

Harry had watched and re-watched the memory of Tom Riddle returning to
Hogwarts to apply for a teaching position and being turned away. He was
convinced that Riddle had used that trip to hide his Horcrux inside the
castle. He’d known Dumbledore would never give him the job — there had
to have been another reason for his visit. Harry had even made an
unsuccessful return visit to Dumbledore’s portrait to ask his former
Headmaster if he remembered anything else.

February had progressed into March, and all of them were feeling
discouraged. They’d come so far…but this last hurdle was wearing them
all down worse than the rest of the hunt.

They’d taken time out to celebrate Ron’s birthday by having a feast in
the Great Hall reminiscent of the feasts they’d grown accustomed to
during the school year. According to Ron, he couldn’t have had a better
birthday if he’d picked it himself. The Aurors staying at the castle
joined in the celebration, as did the Slytherins, although the latter
group sat at a table secluded from the others.

Perhaps the highlight of the night was the arrival of a small group of
Aurors bringing a thin and haggard-looking Kingsley Shacklebolt. Madam
Pomfrey had ushered him off to the hospital wing before he’d even
managed to say hello. Still, it was a small victory for the Light side.

The time since had been spent searching the castle to no avail.

Another chorus of loud snoring shook the room, causing Harry to fling
his belongings back inside his backpack with disgust. There was no use
trying to sleep here tonight. Pulling his woolen blanket around his
shoulders to combat the night’s chill, Harry padded down the stairs
toward the common room.

As he passed the room that Draco and Dudley were sharing, he could hear
them arguing in harsh whispers. Staying hidden in the shadows, Harry
cautiously peered into the room.

The two boys were sitting cross-legged on one bed, a deck of Muggle
cards splayed out between them.

"So, this Imprus Curse can make anyone do anything you want?" Dudley
asked, leaning forward.

"Imperius," Draco said, sneering, "and yes, that’s the idea. The
Ministry deemed it an Unforgivable after the last war, but I’m certain
the Dark Lord has changed that."

"Im-per-i-us," Dudley said slowly.
"How can three of one card possibly beat two separate matches?" Draco
asked, scoffing. "Are you making these rules up as we go along?"

"No. I’m not making it up," Dudley replied, exasperated. "It’s Poker.
Three of a kind beats two pairs. Everyone knows that. It makes more
sense than that game you showed me that explodes in your face no matter
what card you use."

Draco chuckled, obviously relishing the memory of Dudley’s introduction
to Exploding Snap. "Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to play," he
said, rolling his eyes and aiming his wand at his cards.

Dudley flinched and shut his eyes.

"There," Draco said, laying his cards between them.

"That’s not fair," Dudley shouted. "That’s cheating. You can’t use
magic in Poker!"

"I think I just did," Draco replied, folding his arms behind his head.

"It’s not possible to have two sets of three of a kind," Dudley
shouted, his face turning alarmingly red.

Harry pulled his head out of the door and continued toward the common
room. He had to shake his head several times to process what he’d just
seen. Who would’ve ever imagined that Draco Malfoy and Dudley Dursley
would become mates? Harry was certain it was only due to circumstances,
but still…

Dudley had adapted much better to life at Hogwarts than Harry would
have imagined, although his fascination with the Dark Arts, while
expected, was alarming. The teachers who had remained behind had all
taken him under their wing, and he was receiving a private magical
education while he was in hiding. The rift between Dudley and his
parents appeared to widen everyday. Harry wondered what would happen
when this war was finally over and everyone went back to their own
lives. What would happen to Dudley?

Scratching his head, Harry stopped in front of the one and only empty
room left in the boys’ dormitory. What would it hurt if he just slept
in there instead of using the couch again? He slipped inside the dorm
and plopped down on one of the empty beds, pushing the thoughts of
Dudley from his mind. He neither cared nor felt responsible anymore. He
didn’t want the Dursleys to be killed in all his mess, but he didn’t
feel any desire to know their future plans, either.

Curling into a ball, he tossed and turned before finding a comfortable
spot and once again fell into an uneasy sleep.

**--**--

On a mid-March evening, Harry once again sat in the library with Ron,
Hermione and Ginny, reviewing their notes about which parts of the
castle had been searched. Harry had brought his backpack with the
Pensieve stored inside, and they’d viewed the memory of Tom Riddle’s
visit to Hogwarts.
Yet again, they’d come up with nothing. When Harry moved to put the
Pensieve back in his backpack, Ginny assisted him by moving several
items out of the way. As he lowered the heavy basin into the magically-
enlarged backpack, he heard Ginny gasp.

"What is it?" he asked, turning to face her.

She was staring at the small portrait of the Founders that he’d found
in the attic at Grimmauld Place.

"I don’t believe it," Ginny said, her eyes widening.

"What?" Hermione asked, peering over her shoulder to look at the
portrait.

"We’ve been searching through book after book to see if Rowena
Ravenclaw was pictured more than once with a particular item, and it’s
been right under our noses the whole time," Ginny said, her face
reddening.

"What has?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"Look! On her head — it’s Auntie Muriel’s tiara — or rather, the
original," Ginny said, pointing.

"You think the Horcrux is in Auntie Muriel’s tiara?" Ron asked. "But
it’s not even real. It’s worthless, really."

"Not Auntie Muriel’s, you dolt," Ginny replied, smacking him on the
back of the head. "The original. Why couldn’t it be the tiara that he
used if it was significant enough that a copy was made of it?"

"Oww," Ron said, rubbing the back of his head. "Mental, you are. So
what if it is the tiara, we still don’t know where to find it, do we?
Have you seen a tiara lying loose around the castle anywhere?"

"Yes!" Harry said, sitting bolt upright, his heart hammering in his
chest as his excitement mounted.

"What?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"You have?" Hermione asked.

"Where?" asked Ginny.

"In the Room of Requirement, when I hid the Half-Blood Prince’s Potions
book from Snape. I hid it in there and put the tiara on top of a statue
so I could find it again," Harry said, recalling the panic he’d felt
that day so long ago.

"You touched it?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, pushing back his chair so quickly it toppled over.
He began taking long strides toward the library door.
"Wait, Harry. How do you know it was one if you touched it and nothing
happened?" Hermione asked, running after him.

"I don’t," Harry replied. "But I’m going to find out."

"Maybe that’s why you picked it in the first place," Ron said, the only
one not panting in order to keep pace with his stride. "Maybe you were
doing that sensing thing you do even then without realizing it."

"Maybe," Harry said curtly. "I wasn’t thinking much about it at the
time. I was more worried about what I’d just done to Malfoy, and what
Snape was going to do to me for doing it."

"Or maybe it’s like the wardrobe in the Hufflepuff museum," Ginny said.
"Maybe it only reacts negatively if the magic senses you intend it
harm."

By the time they’d reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement,
they were all panting slightly — excitement and adrenaline reflected in
their expressions. This might be it.

Harry paced back and forth in front of the tapestry three times.

I need to go where my Potions book is hidden.

Harry recited the phrase three times but nothing happened — the door
did not appear.

"What’s wrong?" Ron asked.

"I don’t know," Harry said, his frustration building.

"Do you remember what you asked for when you hid it?" Hermione asked,
frowning. "Try using the same phrase."

Harry searched his mind to remember what he might have said. He’d
wanted to get rid of his Potion book.

I need a place to hide my book.

Harry repeated the phrase three times. He knew from the gasps of the
others that the door had appeared. Opening his eyes and wrenching it
open, he led the way inside.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, pulling up short as the sight of the massive
city-sized room full of hidden stuff. "Look! There’s tons of Fred and
George’s stuff here."

Harry turned to see a pile of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products
haphazardly thrown in a corner, as if the owner had been in an extreme
hurry and simply dumped the stuff inside. Harry could picture someone
being chased by Filch and trying to get rid of the evidence.

"Harry, how do you possibly expect to find it in here?" Ginny asked
incredulously. "This is massive."
"I know," Harry replied, lurching down the center alley. "I used some
landmarks."

He could hear Hermione in full prefect-mode tut-tutting about all the
forbidden objects.

"Some of these things are dangerous," she said, appalled.

Harry turned right at the stuffed troll but came to a sudden stop when
he reached the Vanishing Cabinet that Draco Malfoy had used to lead the
Death Eaters inside Hogwarts on the night Professor Dumbledore was
killed. Its door hung open obscenely, and it was moved slightly into
the aisle, evidence that it had been used in the not-so-distant past.
Professor McGonagall had said she’d had Professor Flitwick cast a Charm
to seal it so that it could never be used again.

Harry clenched his jaw and continued moving, the others right on his
heels. The silence amongst them hung heavy in the air. They’d all
recognized the significance of that cabinet. He didn’t stop until he’d
reached the cupboard with the bust of an ugly old warlock perched on
top. A wig and a tarnished tiara crowned the bust.

Before taking the bust down, he opened the cupboard and reached behind
a cage with some unidentifiable remains left inside.

"Eww. What is that?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Dunno," Harry replied, pulling his beat-up old Potions book from
inside and flipping through the pages.

"What do you want with that?" Hermione asked, raising her nose in the
air and scowling her disapproval.

Harry shrugged, stuffing the book in his pocket. "It might be useful.
Now that we know it was Snape’s," Harry said, spitting the word like a
swear, "it might give us a clue how to find him."

"That’s highly unlikely, Harry. Even if it did have an address
somewhere, it would be his childhood home, not his current address,"
Hermione said.

Ignoring her, Harry reached up and took the bust off the top of the
cupboard, placing it on a rickety old table with uneven legs. He
started to lift the tiara off its head, but Ginny grabbed his arm,
stopping him.

"Don’t touch it!" she cried.

He shrugged. "I touched it to put it on there and nothing happened."

"Even so…it can’t be you who touches it now. Just in case something
goes wrong," she said, wincing slightly.

"She’s right, mate. You have to be the one go on," Ron said.

Harry balked. "Don’t be ridiculous. We have to look at it," he snapped.
"Let me do it," Ron said.

"No!" Harry said, reaching out and grabbing the tiara in his hands.
Nothing happened, the metal was cool and extremely dirty.

"Har-ry," Hermione said, stamping her foot. "What have I said about
trusting us to do our part and not acting impulsively? Have you been
listening to me?"

Harry scowled, knowing she was right yet unable to stop himself. It
would only make them angry to know he had no intention of letting any
of them get hurt in his place. Closing his eyes, he let his magic flow,
feeling the weight of the heavy metal in his hands. His ears were
ringing and chills ran up his spine.


"This is it," he said, feeling both nervous and excited.

Ron pulled the Spell Detector from his pocket and placed it on his
nose. "Blimey," he muttered. "It’s loaded with Dark Magic."

"Let me see," Hermione said, ripping the Detector off Ron’s face and
examining the tiara herself.

"It looks just like Auntie Muriel’s," Ron said, grimacing. "See how
those patterns look like spiders?"

Harry used his sleeve to try and polish it, looking for the lightening
bolt shape. It was pointless, however, it was too badly tarnished and
would need a good cleaning.

"So…if we can hold it without a problem…how do you suppose we’re going
to destroy it?" Ron asked, still frowning at the jewel-encrusted piece.

"I wonder…" Hermione said, drumming her fingers on the table.

"What?" the others chorused.

"Well, it’s meant as decorative headwear…perhaps it needs to be placed
on your head," she said, cringing.

Harry shrugged, lifting the tiara towards his head. This time, Ron
stopped him.

"No, Harry. You have to be the one to battle Voldemort — everything
depends on it. You can’t risk an injury. I’ll do this one," he said
grimly. "Fred and George used to make me wear Auntie Muriel’s all the
time."

"Ron," Hermione said, grabbing his arm.

Harry felt panicked. He didn’t want to let Ron do this, but he didn’t
know what else to do. He locked eyes with his friend and solemnly
nodded.
With shaking hands, Ron raised the tiara and placed it atop his head,
wincing as he did. Although they all held their breath, nothing
happened.

"I thought for certain that would work," Ron said shakily.

Hermione grinned, leaning against him. "You do look frightfully cute
with that on your head though," she said. "Do you have any other pieces
I might want to borrow?"

Scowling, Ron ripped the tiara off his head while Harry and Ginny
chuckled.

"What now?" Harry asked, staring at the tiara in Ron’s hands.

Hermione took it from Ron, staring at it in silence for several
moments. "I suppose…" she said slowly.

"What?" Harry asked, desperate for an idea.

"Maybe it has to be worn by a woman," she replied.

"What?" Ron asked sharply. "Why would you think that?"

"Well…it did belong to Rowena Ravenclaw and despite your stunning
appearance, tiaras are traditionally worn by women. I think Voldemort
is sadistic enough to force anyone finding the Horcrux to sacrifice his
mate," Hermione said, frowning.

Both Ron and Harry stared at her, gaping.

"Well, do you have any other ideas?" she snapped. "I’ll just put it on,
and we’ll see what happens," she said, swallowing heavily.

"No, Hermione," Ginny said, grasping Hermione’s arm. "If something goes
wrong, you’re better at figuring out how to fix it. We need you for
that. You know it. My magic didn’t register before, so maybe it won’t
trigger this — or at least not as strongly as intended."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. This was getting out of hand.

Ginny scowled at him. "You’ve both tried, and it hasn’t worked. Do you
have any other suggestions?"

Harry gaped, wishing inspiration would strike, but he somehow knew they
wouldn’t be able to remove the tiara from this room.

"It’s either me or Hermione, and I think she’s the bigger risk on this
one," Ginny said firmly. She stuck out her chin, but Harry could see it
tremble slightly. For all her bravado, Ginny was as frightened as the
rest of them.

Taking a deep breath and flashing an unsteady grin at Harry, she placed
it on her head. For a moment it did nothing, and Harry thought they
were back at square one, but then it began to shimmer, growing brighter
and brighter until the glare was so blinding that he had to shield his
eyes.
He gasped, feeling his chest constrict as if he was being crushed. He
had the unmistakable impression he was traveling, although it felt
nothing like a Portkey or Apparation. He tried to hold out his arms for
balance, but found he was completely immobilized.

The room shifted around them, and he felt as if he were spinning out of
control. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, it stopped.
His head still spun, but his vision cleared, and a bone-chilling cold
swept over him.

Harry blinked several times and noticed that they’d been transported to
some kind of ice palace. The cathedral windows with the heavy draperies
that had been in the Room of Requirement were still in place, but the
walls and furnishings were completely made of ice. The thick shrubbery
he could see outside the ice caused him to think they were somewhere in
the Forbidden Forest, but he’d never seen anything like it.

Goose bumps arose on his flesh as his eyes frantically sought out Ginny
and the others. Ron and Hermione each stood looking around with the
same gobsmacked expression he was certain covered his own face, but
Ginny remained perfectly still, her mouth frozen in a silent scream.

"Ginny," Harry said, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t respond, but the tiara she still wore shimmered again before
transforming into a hissing serpent, coiled around her head. It was
black with an obscenely large head and deadened opaque eyes.

Harry froze, while Ron shouted and took a step toward her.

"Don’t move," Hermione hissed, grabbing Ron by the arm.

The snake raised its head, swaying from side to side as if ready to
strike.

Ginny’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the floor, her body
stiff and shaking violently.

"She’s seizing," Harry said, panic overwhelming him. Sprinting towards
her, his Seeker-reflexes allowed him to dart his hand out and seize the
snake around its neck before it could bite. Try as he might, however,
he couldn’t pry it from her head. He wrapped both hands around the
smooth, soft skin, but the snake wouldn’t budge, instead wrapping
itself tighter around Ginny’s head and causing her to groan. Harry
could see small trickles of blood leaking out from beneath the snake’s
body.

Ginny finally stopped seizing and her head lolled lifelessly to the
side. Ron grabbed her hand and tried to wake her, but she remained
unresponsive.

"Where the hell are we?" Ron asked, panic stricken. "We have to get her
out of here."
"I know. I think we’re in the Forbidden Forest, but I can’t get this
snake to let her go. I’m afraid to try Cursing it in case I hit her,"
Harry said, his teeth chattering from the cold.

"You can’t cast any spell at it, anyway," Hermione said. "That…snake is
still the Horcrux, however it’s enchanted. There’s no telling what you
might do to Ginny if you try a Spell."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked, his eyes wild. He tugged again at the
snake.

"Harry, you have to calm down. We won’t do her any good if we panic,"
Hermione said, her own voice sounding rather hysterical.

Before Harry could even take a deep breath, Ron was tossed into the air
and flung several meters across the room. He crashed onto the icy floor
and slid into a table made of ice.

Hermione screeched, and Ron barely had time to rise to his hands and
knees before the invisible attacker again hurled him into the air. He
landed with a crash, shattering an ice pedestal that contained some
kind of sculpture. His head began to bleed, and he blinked in
confusion, obviously dazed.

"Ron," Hermione said, her breath visible in the icy air. She sprinted
towards him, cradling his head in her lap and wiping away the blood as
her body began to visibly shake.

"Hermione, don’t move," Harry said, but it was already too late.

His glanced around wildly but knew he was trapped. If he released the
snake, it would strike either him or Ginny, if he didn’t, they were
both sitting targets for whatever else was in the palace with them.

Hermione’s scream caused him to look