Today the Tempest by SSHENRY



Summary: WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF SSPOTTER! - - - Voldemort's powers are increasing, but so are Harry's. The final confrontation draws ever closer in this seventh year fiction featuring all your favorite characters. TODAY THE TEMPEST is a sequel to TOWARDS TOMORROW (also posted on this site). It is highly reccomended that you have read TOWARDS TOMORROW before reading this fic.
Rating: R starstarstarstarstar
Categories: Post-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: SSPotter
Published: 2005.02.14
Updated: 2005.04.22


Index

Chapter 1: Summer Romance
Chapter 2: DIAGON ALLEY REVISITED
Chapter 3: YOU WERE WILD HERE ONCE
Chapter 4: THE END OF THE SORTING
Chapter 5: THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE
Chapter 6: THE BOY WHO LIVED
Chapter 7: NICK STEPS BEYOND
Chapter 8: THE TOURNAMENT
Chapter 9: MISSING IN ACTION
Chapter 10: FRED TIES THE KNOT
Chapter 11: AN ABOMINABLE TALE
Chapter 12: A HOGSMEADE VALENTINE
Chapter 13: THE UNOFFICIAL INQUIRY
Chapter 14: THE LONGBOTTOMS
Chapter 15: OFFICIAL INTERROGATION
Chapter 16: THE ORDER ALERTED
Chapter 17: TWO MINDS IN ONE BODY
Chapter 18: THE SORTING
Chapter 19: FIANCE OF THE DECEASED
Chapter 20: FAWKES' GIFT
Chapter 21: PROMETHEUS
Chapter 22: THE QUIDDITCH FINAL
Chapter 23: AND THEY ALL COME TUMBLING DOWN
Chapter 24: THE LAST DEFENSE
Chapter 25: THE LIGHT FANTASTIC
Chapter 26: THE DARK SOUL
Chapter 27: SOUL'S SALVATION
Chapter 28: FACING FUTURE
Chapter 29: MIND, BODY AND SOUL
Chapter 30: EPILOGUE


Chapter 1: Summer Romance

CHAPTER ONE

SUMMER ROMANCE

 

 

 

On the morning of his seventeenth birthday, Harry Potter awoke to the sound of someone in the kitchen below him, singing. Harry grinned and opened his eyes to find the early morning sunlight creeping slowly across his bedclothes as if hesitant to wake him.

 

“Too late!” he told the advancing beam.  “Aunt Petunia’s already beat you to it!”

 

It had been a most interesting summer. Not nearly as bad as he would have expected, not with Remus Lupin dropping in nearly every day to check up on him, helping him prepare for his upcoming apparition test, and keeping him updated as to what was going on in the magical world. In fact, Remus was due in sometime this morning. Harry’s grin widened. That probably explained the singing.

 

More than once he’d come downstairs to find Lupin sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee or sipping orange juice while Aunt Petunia washed up the breakfast dishes; both of them laughing or chatting unconcernedly about one thing or another.  Although always, Harry noted, after Uncle Vernon had left for the day.

 

The change in Aunt Petunia in just one year was astonishing.  She seemed years younger; more like the girl in the photos Harry had lined up on the low shelf over his bed, then the sour, image-conscious Aunt he had known all of his life.  Her hair, which she had always worn short and close to her head, was longer now (she’d been letting it grow all this last year), and curled softly around her face, softening her sharp, rather horsy features.  She was smiling more, too, even when Lupin wasn’t around.  She seemed much more relaxed than Harry had ever seen her, smiling and humming to herself as she went about her daily chores and she was talking to him now, actual conversations.

 

While they never touched on any personal issues, on more than one occasion they had gotten into involved and complex discussions regarding the physics involved (or in Aunt Petunia’s opinion bypassed) by magic, local political issues, and the ethics involved in telling white lies.  Harry was impressed. From some of her comments and observations, it was obvious that Aunt Petunia was more widely read and better informed on all sorts of issues than she usually let on around Uncle Vernon.

 

Her sense of humor was beginning to peek out at times too (though she kept it under tight control whenever his Uncle was around).  In fact, when Uncle Vernon was home, Harry would have been hard pressed (aside from the changes in her appearance) to recognize the Aunt who just yesterday had gotten into a hose fight with himself and Dudley while they were watering the garden. This dual personality seemed to confuse Dudley to no end (much to Harry’s amusement). 

 

All in all, Harry was beginning to understand now what Remus Lupin had been trying to say when he had talked last Christmas about his Aunt Petunia sparkling when he’d first met her. 

 

Harry was rather wary of the ‘new and improved’ Petunia Dursley, however.  How could one run in with someone she had once been engaged to make such an extreme difference in her attitude?  And if this was the real Petunia, why had she been so nasty to him for the last sixteen years?  He wasn’t about to bring up the subject and risk ruining the mood.  He rather enjoyed having someone to talk to at Privet Drive for a change.

 

Harry sat up in bed, slipping on his glasses as he did so.  The bedroom came into focus, including a framed picture of a laughing, waving Ginny on the bedside table.

 

Good morning, Ginny,” said Harry, reaching out to the real thing with his mind.

 

Morning, Harry.  You’re up early!”

 

“Yeah, well, Aunt Petunia’s downstairs singing again.”

 

Ginny giggled.  “You should see Lupin, Harry!  He looks better than I’ve seen him look in ages!  He’s eating better too, three helpings of bacon, Harry, three!”

 

Must be the company he’s keeping,” said Harry, smiling.

 

He just told me to let you know that he’ll be there in about 45 minutes, as soon as he’s taken care of a few things.”

 

How’d he know you were talking to me, Ginny, were you talking out loud again?” asked Harry bemusedly.

 

Last summer, Harry had discovered what Ginny Weasley had known for three years at that point, that his having saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets during Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, had created a bond between him and Ginny, which manifested itself by their being able to know what the other was doing, feeling or even thinking at any given time.  This ability had progressed, by mutual consent, to their being able to carry on conversations in their heads, conversations that no one else could hear. 

 

Other than Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna and a select few members of the order of the Phoenix, no one else knew about this ability.  They had been particularly careful about not letting her mother in on the secret, as they were pretty certain as to what Mrs. Weasley’s reaction would be.  Ginny had nearly given herself away several times this summer by responding to conversations she was having with Harry in her head, out loud around her mother.

 

I think I gave myself away when I laughed.  I slopped some orange juice onto the tablecloth.”

 

“So much for a dancer’s grace!” said Harry teasingly.  “What are you up to today?” he asked her as he crossed the room and opened the wardrobe to get his bathrobe.

 

The rooftop garden.  The planting boxes are all ready.  Dad and Bill brought in the soil yesterday so now I get to do some actual gardening!”

 

“You miss your garden, don’t you, Ginny?” asked Harry, remembering the garden she had had at the Burrow. 

 

The Burrow, home to the Weasley family, had been completely destroyed when Voldemort had made an attempt on Harry’s life last Christmas.  While Ginny’s garden was still intact, she hadn’t been back to see it since the attack. But Ginny didn’t answer.

 

Ginny?”

 

She was there, he could feel her, and it felt as though she were, blushing?

 

Ginny, what?  Oh!” he said, out loud as he realized that where he stood he could see himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door, and if she was seeing what he was seeing (which was something else they could do if they were concentrating on each other), she was seeing more than a tall, broad-shouldered boy of seventeen with untidy black hair, green eyes and a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Harry shut the door of the wardrobe quickly, fighting a blush of his own and slipping on his bathrobe as he did so.

 

Spoilsport!” came Ginny’s bemused voice, as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom.

 

That wasn’t very ladylike, Ginny!” said Harry, grinning in spite of himself.

 

I’ll show you ladylike!” she said in a smooth, silky voice that made his mouth go dry.

 

Suddenly she was there, in his head, projecting to him exactly what she wanted to be doing to him at that moment.  Harry’s shower ended up being longer, and colder than he’d planned on.

 

Lupin arrived while Harry was still eating breakfast.

 

“Hungry?” asked Harry as he brought Lupin back to the kitchen where Dudley was working on his second cheese Danish.

 

It was a testament to Aunt Petunia’s preoccupation that Dudley had managed to secure a Danish at all, let alone two.  Aunt Petunia usually kept him strictly on his low-fat, high protein diet, which he was allowed to supplement with protein shakes and energy bars.

 

“No, I ate already, didn’t Ginny tell you?”

 

“Well yeah, but with Apparition being such hard work, I thought you might be hungry after the trip,” said Harry with a sarcastic shrug.

 

Please, Harry,” said Lupin sarcastically, taking the cup of coffee Aunt Petunia was handing him.  “I’ve never seen anyone take as easily to Apparition as you!”

 

Harry noted with some interest that Remus had let his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary on Petunia’s when taking the cup from her hand.  Aunt Petunia had noticed too, as was obvious from her quick intake of breath at his touch. Harry averted his eyes, suppressing a grin.

 

“Thank you, Petunia,” said Lupin, smiling into her eyes as he sat down next to Dudley at the kitchen table.

 

Dudley scooted as far away from Remus Lupin as it was possible for him to do at the small, square table, before rebelliously helping himself to a third Danish, glaring at Lupin all the while.

 

“Taking Harry for his apparition test today, Remus?” asked Aunt Petunia, turning away to pour herself a cup of coffee.

 

“Yes, well, sort of, I’ll be taking him to Headquarters.  Alastor Moody will actually be escorting Harry to The Ministry of Magic where the tests are held.  It’s this damned licensure thing,” said Lupin with a grimace.  “I won’t submit to it, and I can’t show my face in public without it.”

 

“That’s horrible, Remus, that they would make you submit to licensure, just because of your condition!  As if you were an animal!”

 

“Well, when the moon changes, I am an animal, technically speaking of course,” said Lupin humorlessly.

 

Aunt Petunia snorted.

 

Dudley cast Lupin an oddly furtive look, as if he might break out in fur at any moment and go galloping about the kitchen.

 

“I’m used to being treated like an outcast, Petunia,” said Lupin resignedly. 

 

“Well you shouldn’t have to put up with that!” said Harry’s aunt indignantly.

 

Lupin smiled into her eyes. “You don’t know how much it means to me to have you defend me like that again,” said Lupin softly.  He glanced quickly at Dudley, but Dudley was now absorbed in Boxing Weekly and didn’t seem to have heard a thing.

 

“Oh, by the way, Harry, I almost forgot,” He rummaged for a moment in his knapsack and pulled out a small pile of cards and presents.  “Happy Birthday!  Everyone wanted to send their gifts along now, even though I told them I’d be bringing you back with me tomorrow.”

 

Tomorrow, Remus?” said Aunt Petunia quickly, looking as if someone had just thrown a glass of cold water in her face.

 

“Tomorrow is the first of August, Petunia,” said Lupin gently.

 

“I think I’ll just be running these upstairs, then,” said Harry, scooping up his presents.  “Come on, Dud.” He nudged his cousin hard in the ribs.

 

“I’m eating!” said Dudley thickly; only halfway through Danish number three.  He flipped a page in his magazine.

 

“You left your computer running,” Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth, (actually, he hadn’t, but Harry had just had it turn on with a discreet flick of his wand under the kitchen table, complete with a looped glitch that would keep Dudley busy for the next half hour).

 

“Did you touch it?” asked Dudley in an accusatory tone. He stood up suddenly, his Danish and article forgotten.

 

“Nah, but it’s a way cool screen saver you’ve got.”

 

Dudley galumphed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to shut down his computer before his mother could get a glimpse of his questionable screen saver.

 

This particular screen saver had been downloaded at the beginning of the summer thanks to Piers Polkis, and showed a famous actress being divested of her clothing piece by piece, leaving her completely nude after five minutes. 

 

Harry paused on the steps, his hands full of presents and cards, listening intently to the conversation that had resumed in the kitchen.

 

“But once you’ve taken Harry back, Remus, when will I see you again?” asked his Aunt.

 

“Surely you have plenty of things to keep you occupied, Petunia.”

 

“Nothing that matters to me,” said Petunia sadly.

 

“You’ve got a beautiful home . . .”

 

“For what its worth.”

 

“You have your son . . .”

 

“Who pretty much takes care of himself now.  Besides, he’s gone all school year.”

 

“And your husband,” Remus reminded her.

 

Aunt Petunia was silent.

 

“Do you love him, Petunia?” asked Remus quietly.

 

For the briefest of moments Harry thought that his Aunt wasn’t going to reply, then he heard her say, very quietly, “He, he’s good to me, Remus.”

 

“But do you love him?”  Lupin paused, “Petunia?”

 

“You know I don’t,” said Aunt Petunia, very low.

 

“Then why, Petunia?  Why did you marry him?”

 

“It, it was the only way, Remus.”

 

“The only way?”

 

“The only way to keep you safe!”  There were tears in his aunt’s voice.  Harry could hear them.  “After what happened to mum and dad, I couldn’t bear to loose you too!”

 

Harry knew that when his Aunt Petunia had been only nineteen years old, she had come home from the University she attended to find that her mother and her father, (who had had been killed by Lord Voldemort’s supporters.  Voldemort’s supporters had not been able to bear seeing a happily paired witch and Muggle. It went against everything they believed in. She had broken off her engagement to Remus Lupin shortly afterwards, marrying Vernon Dursley so quickly that Lupin never had a chance to try and talk her out of it.

 

“But to marry someone you didn’t love, Petunia?”

 

“Anything less than that and you would have come after me, Remus, don’t you see?  This was the only way I could keep you in your world, away from me, where you’d be safe.  Do you think it was easy for me, Remus?” said his Aunt, sounding suddenly furious.  “Do you think it was easy for me to pretend that I loved him, to, to let him. . .” she was suddenly sobbing, “When the only man I’ve ever loved is, is you?”

 

There was the sound of a chair being shoved back and quick footsteps across the kitchen floor.

 

“Petunia, I-”

 

There was a sudden silence and Harry, by leaning his head over the railing just a fraction, was able to look into the kitchen far enough to see Remus Lupin and Petunia Dursley, standing in front of Uncle Vernon’s brand new side-by-side refrigerator, locked in a passionate embrace.  Even if Harry hadn’t known about their having been engaged-to-be-married so many years ago, the possessiveness with which Remus was holding his Aunt would have told Harry all he needed to know.  They’d been down this path before. Grinning, Harry tiptoed upstairs to ensure that Dudley’s computer didn’t suddenly start running properly.

 

Half an hour later, Harry entered the kitchen to find his Aunt humming happily as she unloaded the dishwasher and Remus, sitting at the table with his mug of now stone-cold-coffee, looking like the cat who had just eaten the canary.

 

“Ready, Harry?” asked Remus brightly.

 

Harry tucked his wand into the waistband of his jeans.

 

“Yep.  How are we getting there?”

 

“Arabella’s fire,” said Lupin, “so we’d better get going.”

 

“See you this afternoon, Petunia,” said Lupin, smiling at her affectionately.

 

“Good luck, Harry,” said Aunt Petunia, though her eyes never left Lupin’s face.

 

“Thanks,” said Harry, and turned to go.

 

“You know,” Harry said, glancing sideways at Lupin as they walked down the garden path.  “The range would have been a much better choice.”

 

“Come again, Harry?”

 

“You know, a better choice -a better backdrop for a kiss like that.  It would have made a real, uh, statement.”

 

Lupin opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, and chuckled appreciatively, while at the same time blushing to the roots of his thick, gray hair.

 

“My guess,” said Harry bemusedly, “is that Arabella will be seeing a lot more of you than usual from now on, eh, Remus?”

 

Harry!” said Lupin, sounding shocked.

 

“Well?”

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, Harry,” confessed Lupin after some minutes of silence.  He was still quite pink in the face.

 

“What, escorting your charge to his apparition test?”

 

“No, falling for a married woman.”

 

“You fell in love with Petunia Evans long before she ever became Petunia Dursley,” Harry reminded him.  “I have the picture to prove it!  And if my guess is correct, knowing what I do of you both, and seeing you together now, you and she underwent a marriage of souls long before Voldemort ever entered the picture, before she broke off your engagement or married Vernon Dursley.”

 

Lupin swallowed hard. “Is it that obvious, Harry?”

 

“It’s pretty obvious that you two belong together, Remus.  You can’t argue with your heart!” Harry said, tapping the medallion around Lupin’s neck.  “Remember what Sirius said, if you follow your heart, it will bring you more happiness that you ever dreamed possible.”

 

Lupin smiled shakily. “Point taken,” he said as they approached Mrs. Figg’s house.  “But Harry, please don’t say anything to anyone else.  Not yet.”

 

“Ginny will know already.”

 

“Well of course, I meant anyone else.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Harry couldn’t keep from grinning as they approached the door.  Yes indeed, it had been a most interesting summer.

 

*     *     *

 

That evening Harry sat Indian style on his bed, his back against the wall, looking around his bedroom. When he had come home from school a month ago, he had found that his room had undergone a not so subtle transformation while he’d been gone.

 

While he’d been at school it had received not only a fresh coat of white paint, but new sea-green curtains and matching bedclothes.  The overall affect was astonishing: light, bright and airy.  As an added bonus, all vestiges of it ever having been Dudley’s second bedroom were gone.  Harry later found all the broken toys and unused books (which he had long ago relegated to a far corner of the bedroom) in a large carton in the basement.  And, as a final touch, in a bell jar on top of his dresser was the ever-blooming rose he’d given Aunt Petunia for Christmas last year.

 

Even if it hadn’t been for the rose, he would have known that it was Aunt Petunia’s doing, because Uncle Vernon had kept going on about what a waste was to “fix up that boy’s room” when he’d probably do something to it that “a simple coat of paint won’t be able to fix.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vernon,” Aunt Petunia had snapped the last time Uncle Vernon had started muttering about the cost of the paint and linens.  “That room has needed smartening up for years.  If we had left it the way it was it would have detracted from the house’s equity, and you said yourself that it wouldn’t hurt to think of upgrading soon.”

 

Uncle Vernon had subsided after that, but Harry knew better than to think that she had done it to keep up the house’s value.  The rose on the dresser said it all.  She’d done it for him.  She did care, even if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t say it out loud.

 

It was truly Harry’s room now.  His clothes and only his clothes were in the closet.  The photos he’d found in his mum’s box last summer were arranged on the low shelf over his bed.  His books were on the desk, (most of them reading Dumbledore had assigned him in preparation for his apprenticeship work).  The music box was on his bedside table where he could listen to it at night.  His broomstick was propped in a corner and Hedwig hooted softly from her perch on the top of his wardrobe. It was all very comfortable and relaxing.  There was only one problem.  It wasn’t where he wanted to be.

 

Harry focused on the photo of Ginny on his bedside table. What an amazing person she was!  He’d been enduring taunts from Dudley about his “girlfriend” all summer since he saw them saying goodbye at King’s Cross station in June.  It had been all Harry could manage to not correct Dudley once and for all.  Ginny was far more than his girlfriend.  She was his wife.  While they had yet to consummate it (though not from a lack of desire), and though only a handful of people knew about it (not including her mother), they had exchanged vows last April, quite unexpectedly, on the afternoon of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. 

 

What he wouldn’t give to be with her right now; to be able to look into her clear, amber-brown eyes, to touch her silkily smooth red hair and trace the light sprinkling of freckles on her rose-petal soft skin.  Just being near her was enough to calm him.  Just thinking about her was enough to make his pulse quicken.

 

Really, Harry, that is quite the idealized picture you have of me!” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  She sounded highly amused.

 

Its not idealized, Ginny.  I have a photo of you right here on my bedside table!  I’m not visualizing anything I don’t see there!”

 

Really?” said Ginny skeptically.

 

Yes, really, want to see?”  Harry looked directly at the photograph so that Ginny could see.  The photographic Ginny waved enthusiastically.”

 

You know what it is, Harry?”

 

What?”

 

You’re thinking in color and the photo is in black and white.”

 

Well excuse me,” Harry retorted sarcastically, “but in reality, Ginny, you’re in color too!”

 

It’s the adjectives, then,” said Ginny dismissively.  “Rose-petal soft?  Silkily-smooth? You can’t tell that from a picture, Harry!”

 

“No,” he said softly, “that I know from experience” Harry could feel the complex surge of emotions that flooded through her at his words, not the least of which was her desire for him, and couldn’t keep from grinning.

 

Nice Harry, very subtle. You’re getting good with the compliments.”  Harry could feel her blushing.

 

“Say, Harry, do you want to see my visual of you?” asked Ginny, her voice tinged with amusement.

 

Do I dare?”

 

The thought Ginny sent him was the feel of his lips on hers and his arms, taunt and muscular, holding her against his lean body.

 

Now that’s my kind of picture!” Harry grinned, then asked curiously.  “Is that really what it feels like to be held by me, Ginny?”

 

Definitely.  Care to reciprocate?”

 

“If you insist,” laughed Harry, and sent her the memory of what it had been like to be on the other side of that same kiss.

 

God, I love you, Harry Potter!”  Ginny sounded slightly breathless.  “Oh yeah, and Happy Birthday!” she added.  “Mum’s planning a regular party, with a cake and everything for supper tomorrow after you get in, but don’t tell her I told you!”

 

Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.  Say, Ginny, can I make my birthday wish now?” asked Harry.

 

If you want.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“In bed, you twit.”

 

“At Grimmauld Place?”

 

“Where else?”

 

“Are you sitting up or lying down?”

 

“Sitting.”

 

“What color is your bedspread?”

 

“Harry, what?”

 

“Just bear with me.  What color is your bedspread?”

 

“Alright, it’s a patchwork quilt, done in nine-square blocks.  It’s got every color you can imagine.”

 

“What are you wearing?”

 

“Harry!”

 

“Come on, Ginny.”

 

“O.K., a pink and white polka-dotted night shirt.”

 

“Cute.  And you hair?”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Your hair.  How is it done?”

 

“Harry, why-”

 

Please, Ginny.”

 

“O.K., one braid down the back.”

 

O.K., now sit still and close your eyes.  Try to ignore me for a minute.”

 

“What are you going to do?” asked Ginny. Harry didn’t answer. “Harry?”

 

“I’m right here,” said Harry from right next to her left ear.

 

Ginny started, opening her eyes and swinging her head left at the same time, colliding nastily with Harry’s nose.

 

“Damn!” said Harry eloquently.

 

“What are you doing here?” asked Ginny in amazement.

 

“Getting my nose clipped it would seem,” said Harry, massaging the bruised item.  “Is that any way to greet your husband when he apparates on your bed at 11:00 at night?”

 

“Harry I, I’m sorry!” said Ginny, sounding contrite as she reached out and touched his nose gently.  “I wasn’t expecting. . .does it hurt?”

 

“Never mind the nose,” said Harry, looking her up and down.  “God, you look good!”

His gaze took in her sleeveless nightshirt and the pigtails.  “Hey!  I thought you said just one braid!”

 

“I - I didn’t want you to see me as too little girlish,” said Ginny, blushing fiercely.

 

“Not a chance,” said Harry, an evil grin lighting up his face.  “I like them!  Although,” he said, tugging on one of the braids, “with that nightshirt, it does sort of make you look like a naughty school-girl.”

 

“Technically, Harry, I am a school girl.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot. How about the naughty part?” he asked interestedly.

 

Ginny went scarlet.

 

“I guess this means you passed your apparition test?” said Ginny, stating the obvious to cover her embarrassment.

 

“In the immortal words of Fred and George,” said Harry, grinning and giving a slight bow, “with distinction.”

 

“But Harry,” said Ginny, lowering her voice.  “What are you doing here?  If mum finds out -she’ll kill us both!”

 

“You said I could make my wish,” said Harry softly, getting caught, as usual in the depth of her clear, amber eyes.

 

“What did you wish for?” said Ginny, not breaking his gaze.

 

“To be with you on my birthday,” said Harry softly, holding out his arms to her.  “Come to me, Ginny.”

 

For several long moments they simply held each other, drawing strength from the other’s arms, sharing the intoxicating sensation of being held body-to-body and mind-to-mind.  The mental embrace was so incredibly stimulating that it was some minutes before Harry came to his senses and kissed her. This of course led to a whole new type of stimulation that left them both panting slightly as they broke apart.

 

“You kiss like an angel, Harry!” said Ginny at last, pulling him down to lie beside her on the bed.

 

“I had a good teacher,” said Harry leaning on one elbow and grinning down at her.  “But I thought you said kissing like a devil would be more interesting?” he teased.

 

“Devils are angels too,” said Ginny with a mischievous grin, “they just know how to have more fun is all.  And you, Harry, you took my breath away the very first time you ever kissed me.  So it wasn’t just my teaching, and I know for a fact that you didn’t get that much practice in with Cho!”

 

“Maybe it’s like my flying,” said Harry, tracing the sprinkling of freckles across her nose with the finger of his free hand, “Maybe its instinctive.  Natural talent, if you will.”

 

I wonder what other natural talents he has, thought Ginny before she could help herself.

 

“You forget I can hear you,” Harry whispered, grinning down at her, and was rewarded by a blush.  “You might want to be careful.  I could take that as an invitation.”

 

“Would you really wait for an invitation, Harry?” asked Ginny.  Her luminous eyes were just inches from his, her fingers were playing teasing games with the buttons of his shirt.  “Even though we’re technically married?”

 

“In that department, my lady, your wish is my command,” said Harry in a would-be light tone, which was belied by the sudden breathlessness of his voice.

 

“Then kiss me again, angel!” said Ginny, laughing.

 

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down to her kiss.  The taste of her was addictive. He had to have more of her, and more . . .the scent of her; a mixture of citrus and sandalwood filled his head, driving out all rational thought. The feel of her body beneath him, arching against his, the way her hands were holding him to her, tangling in his hair . . .Harry pulled himself away abruptly.  There were footsteps on the stairs.  He could swear it!

 

“Someone’s coming!” he breathed, looking down at Ginny, her face so close to his, her eyes wide and inviting.

 

“Go, then!” she said, reaching up and touching his face.

 

In the next heartbeat he had disappeared without a sound.  Only the scent of him, a warm, soapy, yeasty scent, lingered in his wake.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A moment later, Mrs. Weasley stuck her head in the door and noted her peacefully sleeping daughter before going back downstairs to where the rest of the Order was gathered in the parlor.

 

“I could have sworn I heard voices,” she said to the room at large.  “But both Ron and Ginny both appear to be sleeping.”

 

Lupin exchanged a grin with Moody, whose magical eye was turned up to the ceiling.

 

“He passed, eh?” mumbled Bill, who was watching them interestedly.

 

“With distinction,” said Lupin, grinning.

 

 “A real gentleman, that one,” growled Moody.  “Attaboy, Potter!”

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry was packed before breakfast, even though he knew that Lupin wouldn’t be coming to take him to headquarters until lunchtime.  When he came downstairs, he found his Aunt and Uncle, both looking rather strained, as if they’d been arguing.

 

“Leaving today, eh, boy?” growled Uncle Vernon as he spread marmalade on his toast with rather violent motions.

 

“Yes,” said Harry shortly.

 

“That werewolf chap taking you?”

 

Harry gave a curt nod.

 

“Going by kettle again, are you?”

 

“By fire actually-”

 

“Not in this house you’re not!” spat Uncle Vernon.

 

“No, we’ll be using-” Harry hesitated, catching a sharp look from his Aunt.  “Another fire,” he finished lamely.

 

“Blast someone else’s parlor all to shreds, what?” chuckled Uncle Vernon darkly.

“Dudders says he was here again yesterday,” said Uncle Vernon, addressing Aunt Petunia.  “Evidently he stayed for quite some time.”

 

“He came to see Harry,” said Aunt Petunia shortly, averting her gaze.  “Harry wasn’t ready, so he sat at the kitchen table and had a cup of coffee.”

 

“Well that’s one good thing, anyway,” said Uncle Vernon as he folded his paper and stood to go.  “Get you off to that freak school, boy, and there will be no excuses for that, that half-breed to be hanging around my house, ogling my wife.”

 

Harry bit back a sharp retort.  He knew for a fact that his Uncle was having a covert affair with the secretary at his office, and it was very possible that she wasn’t the first.  When  it came to Aunt Petunia, however, Uncle Vernon was obviously of a rather possessive frame of mind.  Harry glanced quickly at his Aunt Petunia.  Her mouth had gone very thin.  He was reminded forcefully of Professor McGonagall. 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vernon,” she said tartly.

 

“I don’t care what you say, Petunia,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at her.  “There was something between you two once. I can see it in the way he looks at you.  He wants you.  But I’ll tell you this, if I ever catch him in my house when freak-boy here isn’t home, you’ll wish to hell that I hadn’t!”

 

“Don’t threaten me, Vernon,” said Aunt Petunia, looking at him levelly.

 

“I’ll do what I like, Petunia.  You’re my wife,” he snarled, slamming his coffee cup so hard on the table that it shattered.

 

Aunt Petunia’s face remained expressionless, but the thoughts pouring out of her mind were anything but, and Harry, now an accomplished Ligilimens, picked up on them without really trying.  She was afraid of Vernon Dursley.  She’d seen him loose his temper before, with employees and shop clerks.  And while he’d never laid a hand on her in anger, she’d never given him a reason to, and she was afraid of what might happen if he were to find out the truth.

 

Aunt Petunia waited until she heard the car pulling out of the driveway before she reached for the broken cup.  Harry, however, got to it first.

 

“Reparo,” he said quietly, tapping it with his wand.  The cup flew back together, and he handed it to his Aunt who took it from him without comment.

 

Dudley’s eyes got very big.

 

“But, but I thought-” he paused and then swallowed, looking at Harry with amazement and not a little fear.  “I thought you weren’t allowed to do m-magic outside of school!”

 

“Only until he’s of age,” said Aunt Petunia quietly.

 

“My birthday was yesterday, Dudders,” said Harry with an evil grin.  “Happy birthday to me, eh?” he said, pointing his wand at the coffee pot.  “Accio coffee.”  The pot flew neatly into his hand.  Harry poured himself a cup, topped off his Aunt’s cup.

 

“Did you want some Dud?” Harry asked innocently, proffering the coffee pot.

 

Dudley stared at Harry in horror.  He looked positively terrified.

 

With another wave of his wand Harry banished the pot back to its spot on the counter. 

 

Aunt Petunia didn’t even blink.

 

Dudley gave a small whimper and bolted for the front door.

 

“Where are you going, Dudley?” asked his Aunt, repressing a smile.

 

“Malcolm’s,” came Dudley’s voice from the front hall.  “Be back tonight, mum.”

 

Harry waited until the front door had closed before taking a small dropper bottle out of his pocket.  It was filled with a slivery-gray liquid.  Hermione had sent it just two days ago at Harry’s request.

 

“Aunt Petunia?” said Harry.  He held up the bottle up to the light.  “This might come in handy.  A friend of mine made it, she’s really good at potions, it’s called The Draught of Peace,” he said very quickly.  “It is used to calm anxiety and sooth agitation.”  He shook the bottle slightly and a series of silvery swirls rippled through the liquid.  “It is completely odorless and tasteless.  Six drops will last for 24 hours.  Make sure you shake it well.”  He put the bottle into her hand.  “This should last you until Christmas.”

 

Aunt Petunia sat quite still, staring at the swirling gray liquid.

 

“It won’t hurt him.  It’ll just make him not care so much,” said Harry quietly before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.  “I’ll be upstairs when Remus comes.”

 

When Harry looked over his shoulder, she was still staring at the bottle, only now a small smile was playing at the corners of her mouth.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

Number twelve Grimmauld Place had changed so much that Harry barely recognized it.  Besides being free of the Bandimuns, seven months under Molly Weasley’s care had worked wonders on it.

 

Gone were the shriveled elf-heads (which had been buried beside their bodies in the back garden) and the hideous troll leg umbrella stand.  They’d even managed, finally, to get rid of Mrs. Black’s portrait that had hung in the hall, shouting insults at everyone any time she was woken up, and the atrocious family tree tapestry, which had been in the parlor. Because of the permanent sticking charm, this had involved actually removing the entire segments of wall to which the items in question had been attached and putting up new wallboard.  The doorknobs and lamp fixtures were still in the form of coiled or striking serpents, but taken in context, it now seemed more amusing than sinister.

 

The kitchen’s stone walls and dark wooden cupboards had been given a coat of white paint and the entire room had been scrubbed so clean that it sparkled.  What had once been the parlor now resembled nothing so much as a classroom, for use by the Order when having meetings or giving briefings.  A large blackboard covered the space that had once housed the Black Family Tree and a long trestle table stood in front of it.  Ranged around the blackboard were at least thirty straight-backed chairs.  Maps all stuck with colored pins covered the walls.   The dining room was now a cozy parlor of sorts for members of the order to gather in when they were at headquarters, and the bedroom that Ginny and Hermione had shared downstairs now boasted six cots for when members of the order needed a place to sleep.

 

The upstairs was still the same, except that what had been first Mrs. Black’s and then Buckbeak’s room was now a parlor for the Weasley’s with the other three bedrooms being used by Ginny, Ron and Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.  On the third floor, what had been Fred and George’s Room was now a storage room for extra food and equipment that the order might need. The room where Bill had stayed was now Lupin’s domain.

 

“Home sweet home,” Lupin said when he showed it to Harry after they had arrived and taken Harry’s trunk up to his and Ron’s room.

 

Harry’s eyes fell on the sturdy cage secured to a wall in the far corner.

 

“Just in case Severus can’t get to me in time with the potion,” said Lupin, shuddering slightly.”

“There’s got to be another way,” said Harry, staring at the cage.  “What is it, exactly, Remus, that changes a person who has been bitten by a werewolf?”

 

“Its something in the blood chemistry,” said Lupin, shrugging.  “Its been studied in great detail for centuries.  No cure or antidote has ever been found.”

 

 “No, it’s purely chemical,” said Lupin, shaking his head.  “When the saliva of the werewolf infiltrates another human’s blood, it changes the chemical make-up of the blood at the genetic level.  There have been articles; whole books even, written about it.  I’ve read most of them.”

 

Harry was still staring at the cage, an odd, half-formed thought flitting through his head.

 

“Do you still have the books and articles?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“Probably,” said Lupin, looking around the room. “Somewhere.”

 

Could, could I borrow them?” asked Harry tentatively.

 

“What on earth for?” said Lupin curiously.

 

“I’m just curious is all,” said Harry quickly, “I’d like to understand what’s happening to you,”

 

“Well, I hope you have better luck deciphering them than I did,” said Lupin.  He rummaged through one of his bookshelves, pulling out a stack of magazines and several large, extremely boring looking medical tomes.

 

Truth was, he was wondering if there wasn’t perhaps something that Ginny could do for Lupin.  He’d want to read up on it himself of course, before saying anything to her about it. Harry took the lot back to his and Ron’s room.

 

“Bored already, Harry?” asked Ron, looking up from the book he was reading.  It was “Keeping The Faith” by Buster Flygood.  “You’ve only been here, what, half an hour?  And already you’re resorting to school work!”

 

“What is that, a pen name?” asked Harry curiously, noting the author of Ron’s book.

 

“Believe it or not, he was born with it,” said Ron, grinning and looking down at the cover of his book.

 

“Guess he had to live up to his name, eh?”

 

“Best keeper the Wimbourne Wasps ever had!” said Ron, turning a page.

 

“So he says,” muttered Harry under his breath.  He could hear Ginny chuckling appreciatively.

 

Nice one, Harry!”

 

Hello, Ginny, where are you hiding, anyway?” asked Harry.

 

Up on the roof.  I’m up to my elbows in dirt.  You’ll never guess what I’m doing!

 

Transplanting seedlings?” guessed Harry without hesitation.  That’s what she’d been doing when he’d stumbled across her in her garden at the Burrow last summer, the same day he’d realized that he was falling for her

 

Want to help?” asked Ginny.

 

Are you wearing that pink number?” said Harry interestedly.

 

Come on up and find out for yourself!” said Ginny, laughing.

 

Harry was astounded.  The entire flat roof of the three-story brownstone had been converted into a garden. A series of wooden boxes, each about six feet long, three feet wide and two feet deep, had been filled with soil and were now sprouting all manner of small, green, growing things. Ginny was on her hands and knees, thinning carrot seedlings so that they would have room enough to grow.

 

“I thought you just started this yesterday?” said Harry, noting the green sprouts all around them.

 

“Growth acceleration spell,” said Ginny without turning around.  “Dad put it on after I finished planting yesterday.” 

 

She was kneeling beside one of the wooden boxes, her hands covered in earth, her long, vividly red hair tied back with a blue bandana.

 

“Can’t people see us?” asked Harry, looking over the edge of the roof.  He could see houses ranging away on either side of them and, in the distance, the outline of London’s famous clock tower.

 

“Nope.  The entire building, roof and all, is under the Fidelius charm as well as being unplottable.  We can see out, but no one can see us unless Dumbledore himself has told them where it is,” said Ginny, standing up and brushing dirt off her hands.

 

“Convenient,” said Harry, looking around.  “Speaking of convenient, why don’t you wear gloves?” Harry asked her curiously.

 

“I like the feel of the dirt on my hands,” said Ginny. “It makes me feel connected to what I’m doing.”  She shrugged.  “Sometimes I like to think that something from me goes into the soil and helps the plants to grow.”  She stared at the seedlings all in a row.  “Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

 

It was quite possible, thought Harry, that something of her did go into the plants she tended.  She was a Natural Elemental after all.

 

Ginny grinned then, held her hands up in front of her and closed her eyes.  In the next moment the dirt was gone as if it had never been.

 

“Hi, Harry,” she whispered, slipping her arms around his waist.

 

“Hi, yourself,” he said, smiling down at her and wrapping her in his arms.  She felt so right in them, he couldn’t help grinning against her hair, but then bent quickly to catch her lips in a kiss.  “I’ve missed you, Ginny,” he said, running his hands through her long, silky hair.

 

“You just saw me, yesterday!” said Ginny, grinning up at him.

 

“Yeah, but we were, uh, interrupted,” said Harry, holding her tightly against him and tucking her head under his chin.

 

“Disappointed, Harry?” asked Ginny, smiling against his chest.

 

“With what?”

 

“That I’m not wearing the pink outfit?”

 

Harry held her out at arms length, looking her up and down, taking in her denim, cut-off shorts and the white shirt tied at her midriff. 

 

You know what this reminds me of?” he asked, finally.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It reminds me of what you were wearing when I first came across you in your garden at The Burrow last July,” said Harry.

 

“You have a good memory,” grinned Ginny.  “It probably reminds you of that outfit because it’s the same outfit,” said Ginny, her eyebrows arched.

 

Well, that explains it then, and no, I’m not disappointed,” said Harry, holding her close and tucking her head back under his chin.  “I don’t think you could ever disappoint me, Ginny.”

 

They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms for some minutes, before either of them spoke.

 

“Do you have the books in your room?” asked Ginny quite suddenly.

 

“Books?”

 

“That Lupin gave you.”

 

“Well, yeah, but-”

 

“I’ll have to take a look at them.  Just so I know what it is I’m dealing with.”

 

“But Ginny -”

 

“I know.  You hadn’t even decided whether or not to ask me, but I don’t see why I couldn’t try,” said Ginny, shrugging.  “I’ve been given this gift for a reason, Harry.  I don’t see why I shouldn’t use to help whomever I can.”

 

Last school year, Ginny had discovered that she had the rare ability to heal by touch alone.  She had given Harry back the memory of his parents and taken away his hatred for Professor Snape.  She had also mended Dennis Creevy’s wrist when he’d had a hairline fracture, cured Luna Lovegood of a badly wrenched knee, and re-knit her own vertebrate and nerves when Crabbe had hit her full force in the back with his beater’s bat with what should have been a paralyzing blow. Harry’s mind wandered to Lupin’s Boggart, and what it revealed as his greatest fear; the full moon.

 

“It would mean so much to him, Ginny,” said Harry, running one hand down her sun-warmed hair.  “So,” said Harry, looking around the rooftop with interest.  “Is it all going to be vegetables?”

 

“Dad gave me a corner for my own, want to see?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, Ginny took his hand and led him to the South-West corner of the roof where a plot about twenty feet square had been enclosed by a white picket fence on two sides, and was bounded on the other two sides by the walls of the roof itself.

 

“Why the fence?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“So I can grow things up it.  Vines, flowers that need support, things like that,” said Ginny brightly.

 

She swung open a low gate on one side and led him in.  It was going to be beautiful, thought Harry.  She’d planted a lilac tree in the center, and rose trailers were beginning to creep up the roof walls and fence.  The rest of the patch was given over to some sort of soft, springy grass, except in the very back corner, where the two roof walls came together.  There, instead of grass, was a tumble of rocks, about eight feet on a side that had been made into a stunning rock garden.

 

“It’s beautiful!” said Harry, looking around with interest. “Though not as, er, private as your garden at home.”

 

“No, but it’s all mine!” said Ginny proudly.  “Actually, the whole roof is pretty much mine.  Mum isn’t much into gardening.  She was all for having me do the whole bit in vegetables and herbs, but Dad talked her out of it.  He said I needed something to keep me occupied.  They had a regular row, if you can believe it.  Mum said that vegetables would keep me plenty busy, and said that I shouldn’t be wasting time and space on flowers, but Dad insisted, so here it is!”

 

“I know exactly how I’d like to keep you occupied,” Harry said, grinning down at her and pulling her to him.

 

Halfway through their kiss a voice from the stairwell called, “Harry? Ginny?”

 

“Over here, mum,” said Ginny, pulling a face and taking a step back from Harry.

 

“It’s half past one, Ginny, super will be at six.  Do you think you’ll have the carrots finished by then?” asked Mrs. Weasley, stepping around a bed of herbs, her apron full of apples. 

 

“Hello, Harry dear!” she said, bustling over and giving him a one-armed hug.  “Remus said you’d come!  Did your trunk get up to your room O.K.?”

 

“Yes, thanks,” said Harry.

 

“And do you remember where everything is?”

“Of course he does, mum,” said Ginny.

 

“Ron’s downstairs you know, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley.

 

“Yeah, I saw him already,” said Harry, grinning, “He was a bit preoccupied with Buster Flygood.”

 

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “He needs to be thinking about more then Quidditch this year.  N.E.W.T.’s are coming up!”

 

Ginny, have you told her yet?” asked Harry.  Ginny had been informed by Dumbledore at the end of term this past school year that because of her outstanding school record, and taking other things (like the fact that she and Harry had exchanged vows in April) into account, that she would be promoted to seventh-year status, skipping her 6th year altogether, so that they could finish up together.

 

Not yet.  Dumbledore said that he’d include a letter of achievement and promotion with my regular booklist.

 

“Should be challenging,” said Harry non-committaly to Mrs. Weasley.

 

“And Arthur told me about the apprenticeship, Harry!” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him.  “What an honor!  People have been waiting years for Dumbledore to choose an apprentice!  How long will you be studying with him?  Has he said?” she asked interestedly, glancing quickly at Ginny.

 

She’s hoping that I’ll give her an answer of a few years,” Harry told Ginny, reading Mrs. Weasley’s thoughts without even trying.  “She doesn’t want to loose you yet, and she has a gut feeling that what we have is for real.

 

No joke!” said Ginny, fingering the bracelet on her wrist.  They had decided to exchange bracelets instead of rings after they had become joined.  Bracelets were less conspicuous.

 

“Actually, Professor Dumbledore seemed fairly confident that I’d be able to complete my apprenticeship and my Hogwarts education at the same time,” said Harry.  He watched as Mrs. Weasley’s face fell perceptibly.

 

“Only a year, are you sure, Harry?”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“He says that I’ve already got an excellent grasp of the basics,” said Harry as he conjured a pail with a flick of his wand, then banished Mrs. Weasley’s apron full of apples.  They reappeared in the pail, which he then handed to her.

 

“Well, I suppose he knows best,” said Mrs. Weasley, taking the pail with a sniff.  “But still, I’d think that he’d want to train you a bit longer than a year.”

 

“Harry’s already really good, mum, honest!” said Ginny defensively.

 

Am I?” asked Harry sub-vocally, raising his eyebrows at her.

 

Ginny promptly blushed to the roots of her already flaming hair.

 

You know what I mean, Harry.”

 

Of course I do!” said Harry, grinning at her discomfort.

 

“Look who’s talking!” said Mrs. Weasley, all smiles again, unaware of the byplay between them.  “Ginny got Outstandings in everything, Harry, did you hear?  We got her O.W.L. results back two days ago.  Ten O.W.L.’s, Harry, tenAll of them Outstandings!”  Mrs. Weasley was glowing.

 

“Yeah, she told me!” said Harry, and didn’t need Ginny’s prod in the ribs to realize that he’d just slipped up.

 

“She told you?  When did she tell you?” asked Mrs. Weasley quickly.

 

“Well yeah, just now as a matter of fact, that’s what we were talking about when you came up,” lied Harry quickly.

 

Nice save!” shot Ginny, glancing sideways at him.

 

“What I can’t understand, is why they still haven’t made you a prefect,” said Mrs. Weasley, sniffing loudly.  “You’ve gotten all Outstandings, you never get into trouble, so why I wonder. . .”

 

Ginny grimaced.  Harry knew, and so did Dumbledore, (because Ginny had talked to him about it at the same time she’d confronted him about Harry’s going to the Burrow last summer), that she wouldn’t have wanted to be prefect even if it had been offered to her.

 

“No need to make that kind of a face, young lady,” said Mrs. Weasley severely.  “It would have been good for you to have some responsibility.”

 

Harry was struggling to keep from laughing.

 

“Molly?” came Moody’s gravelly voice from the stairwell.  “Molly, are you up there?  Tonks says she’s going to start those cookies you wanted for desert.”

 

“Oh no!  Alastor, tell her to wait, I’ll be right there!” said Mrs. Weasley looking alarmed.  “I’ve got to run, she’ll destroy the kitchen by herself.  Six O’clock, Ginny, don’t forget!”  And Mrs. Weasley was gone.

 

“As I was saying,” said Harry, turning to Ginny and pulling her back into his arms after Mrs. Weasley had disappeared down the stairwell.  “Absolutely no privacy!”

 

“Now, Harry,” said Ginny with a mischievous glint in her eye.  “Remember what Ferdinand said.”

 

“Which bit?” asked Harry, grinning as he recalled the Jarvey that had slipped into the Burrow before Christmas the previous year to warn them of the immanent attack.

 

“The bit about not everything being what it appears to be.”

 

“Ginny, what?” said Harry, pulling back a bit to look at her.

 

She grinned and, taking his hand, led him past the lilac tree towards her rock garden.

 

As they came within a couple feet of it, Harry felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to be back downstairs, unpacking his trunk, or something . . .wasn’t there something else he was supposed to be doing?”

 

“Ginny-”

 

“Ignore it, Harry.  It’s a permanent imperturbable charm coupled with an undisturbable charm.”

 

What?  Why?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Ginny led him right up to the edge of the tumbled rocks.  The urge to be somewhere else was stronger than ever, but now that Harry knew what he was dealing with, he managed to ignore it.

 

“What do you see?” asked Ginny.

 

Harry looked.  From every crack and cranny flowers were blooming: primroses, buttercups, violets and small, creeping vines.

 

“It’s gorgeous, Ginny!”

 

“But what do you see?”

 

“A rock garden.”

 

“Is that all?” asked Ginny, grinning broadly.

 

Harry looked closer.  There was nothing else.  It was a rock garden, a picture perfect rock garden.  Picture perfect.  Picture. . .Ginny gave him a sharp push from behind  and Harry stumbled forward, throwing out his arms to break his fall, for any moment he would catch his shins on those rocks.

 

Harry blinked.  Everything was exactly as it had been a moment ago, the skyline of London before him, the warm afternoon sun and the soft breeze playing in his hair.  Everything was the same, except for the fact that the rocks, and the overwhelming urge to be someplace else, were both gone. They were standing now on a square of soft, springy grass, approximately eight feet on a side where the South and West roof walls of #12 Grimmauld Place came together.

 

“What the-”

 

“Harry spun around.  Instead of being able to see the rest of the rooftop, where the edges of the rock garden had been was a shimmering, silver-gray mist.

 

“It’s a privacy screen,” said Ginny, grinning broadly as she stepped through the mist and caught sight of his face.  “Wizards who live in Muggle neighborhoods use these if they are keeping a Hippogriff or some other obviously magical animal in their garden.”

 

“But how-” began Harry.

 

“Dad,” said Ginny bemusedly.  “He borrowed them from someone in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  He’s put a permanent undisturbable charm on them. It also has an imperturbable charm.  We can hear what’s going on out there, but no one out there can hear us in here and anyone who comes near it gets the overwhelming urge to — be somewhere else.”  She turned to a wicker hamper standing against the wall and lifted the lid.  “He showed them to me just after he’d put up the picket fence,” said Ginny, not meeting Harry’s eyes as she pulled a fluffy down comforter and two plump pillows out of the hamper and spread them out on the ground at their feet.  “He also said that no one should have to wait three months after their wedding ceremony for their honeymoon,” said Ginny softly.

 

Harry stood quite still, letting a wide range of emotions wash over him.  Ginny was standing just a few feet away.  The sun glinted in her vividly red hair and her eyes, alight with the spirit and power he loved so much about her, had finally met his.  Could it be possible, that after three months of waiting. . .

 

“Supper isn’t until six,” said Ginny quietly, closing the gap between them in two smooth steps.

 

“What about the carrots?” asked Harry, his voice catching as Ginny began undoing the buttons on his shirt, “You told your mum you’d have them done before supper.”

 

Ginny gave a casual wave over her shoulder towards the carrot bed. Harry knew, without being told, that she had just projected her intent at them. The carrots were thinning themselves. Damn but she was getting good at this magic-without-a-wand stuff!

 

“They’ll be done,” she said as her smooth, cool hands slipped the shirt off his shoulders.  It fell to the ground, unheeded. Her fingers were running up and down his bare chest now, and her touch was like fire, igniting every nerve in his body.

 

“They’ll be done long before we are,” she said, smiling up at him. Her eyes were large and luminous.

 

Unable to stand it any longer, Harry caught her hands in his then folded her in his arms and, covering her mouth with his own, kissed her with an intensity that was equaled only by her own.  The taste of her was intoxicating. He couldn’t seem to get enough. The feel of her beneath his hands as he held her to him . . . The scent of her was filling his head, driving out all rational thought. He wanted her so badly he didn’t think he could stand it. With a stupendous effort, he managed to pull back, taking a great, shuddering breath and held Ginny at arms length. 

 

“Is, is this an invitation, Ginny?” asked Harry, looking down into her clear, amber-brown eyes.  His voice sounded oddly gruff and ragged, even to his own ears.

 

Her eyes were sparkling mischievously and then she was wrapping her bare arms sinuously around his neck, letting her body mold itself to his.

 

Come to me, Harry.” 

 

Her voice, silkily smooth and sinuous, was in his head then, her thoughts twining with his, telling him exactly what she wanted him to do.  It was all the invitation he needed. In a matter of minutes, the rest of their clothes had gone the way of Harry’s abandoned shirt and lay strewn across the ground and Ginny was kissing him again.  This time, when she kissed him, she melted into his embrace so completely that he couldn’t tell where his body ended and hers began. And this time, it didn’t matter. This time their union was complete, body, mind, and soul.

 

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

When they arrived downstairs for supper (with ten minutes to spare so they wouldn’t have to answer awkward questions from Mrs. Weasley), they found that Hermione had arrived in their absence.

 

“How was Australia?” asked Harry as she gave both he and Ginny hugs.  Hermione’s last letter had been posted from Brisbane, and had included a Muggle picture of her and her mother posing for the camera with a kangaroo.  Her note had said it had been a tame one in a petting zoo, but it still looked pretty cool to Harry.

 

“Cold!  Well, from Canberra down, anyway.  It’s their winter there you know.  Brisbane was nice though, and Sydney.  I wish you guys could have been with me when I met the wizard from the Aboriginal tribe near Alice Springs.”

 

“Isn’t that near Ayers Rock?” said Ginny interestedly.

 

“Closer than Sydney,” said Hermione, grinning.  “We were having dinner at the hotel resteraunt, and he just walked in, came straight over to our table and started talking to me as if he’d known me my whole life.”

 

“How did your parents take it?” asked Harry.  Hermione’s parents were dentists, both of them Muggles, and before Hermione had received her Hogwarts letter, neither of them had ever known anything about the magical world.  They were very supportive of Hermione, but they were still rather wary of things that were obviously magical.

 

“Oh they were ever so polite, but you could tell that they were wondering how he knew me, and then he invited us to meet the rest of his tribe.”

 

“An entirely magical tribe?” asked Ginny curiously.

 

“It’s a known fact that the Australian Aboriginal tribes have more witches and wizards per capita then even the largest of Muggle cities.  They have high Magical potential.  I’ve heard that the same holds true for the African Bushmen.”

 

“Weird,” said Ron, shaking his head.  “Do the witches and wizards go to school like us?”

 

“No.  They get trained in their cultural history and learn to do a lot of natural magic that most western witches and wizards take for granted.  So, Harry, when did you get here?” asked Hermione.

 

“Just after lunch,” said Harry.

 

“Where’d you skive off to anyway, Harry?” asked Ron curiously.  “I finished Flygood’s book about ten minutes after you left and went looking for you, but you’d disappeared.”

 

“Harry was helping me thin the carrots,” said Ginny airily.

 

“Oh yeah, the garden.  Forgot about that,” said Ron.

 

“What garden?” asked Hermione interestedly.

 

“They’ve put a vegetable garden in up on the roof,” said Ron dismissively.  “It was a right mess, all broken tiles and stuff.  Dad had us level off the whole thing and then put in planting beds so Ginny can grow vegetables and stuff up there.”

 

“So Ginny put you to work?” said Hermione, grinning broadly at him.

 

“I don’t mind, really,” said Harry, shrugging.  “I like to garden.”

 

That was nice of you to help out, Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley as she ladled up platefuls of stew.  “But I dare say it was boring work.”

 

“Not at all, said Harry brightly, glancing at Ginny and grinning broadly in spite of himself.  “I had a good time!”

 

Ron choked on his butter beer and had to be thumped on the back by Ginny, who was looking at Harry with her eyebrows raised, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Ron!” said Hermione reproachfully, “what he meant is that he enjoys gardening and he enjoys Ginny’s company, so he had a good time!” Hermione gave a dismissive wave.  “Right Harry?”

 

Harry merely raised his eyebrows at her.  “If you say so, Hermione.” Then he dropped her a wink.

 

Hermione blinked.      

 

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you to help out, Harry, and I suppose, if you really don’t mind, “said Mrs. Weasley apologetically as she passed around the rolls.  “Ginny could probably use your help with the rest of the planting and thinning.  It’s quite the project.”

Mr. Weasley, who’d been watching this exchange from down the table with a small smile, caught Harry’s eye.  Harry grinned broadly at him and winked again.

 

“I’d love to!” said Harry sincerely.

 

Back to index


Chapter 2: DIAGON ALLEY REVISITED

CHAPTER TWO

DIAGON ALLEY REVISITED

 

 

 

It took the rest of the week for Harry and Ginny to bring the rooftop garden up to Mrs. Weasley’s exacting standards.  It probably could have been done much faster and more efficiently, but neither of them volunteered the fact that most of the gardening was doing itself with just a projected intention from one or the other of them

 

“Too bad we’re finished,” said Harry on Saturday afternoon, looking around at the raised beds and their neat rows of vegetables and herbs.  “Can’t we find something that needs working on up here tomorrow?” he asked, coming up behind Ginny and wrapping her in his arms.

 

“There’ll be plenty to do, Harry, weeding and all of that once things get growing,” said Ginny reasonably as she relaxed against him. 

 

Harry grinned into her hair.

 

“Besides that, Harry, tomorrow is my day to help Bill out at the studio.  Do you want to come watch?”

 

“I’d love to!” said Harry sincerely.  “You teach, right?”

 

“Just the three beginning level ballet classes in the afternoons.  They’re an hour long each, first one starts at two, then Bill and I will be practicing for a Latin competition coming up in November.”

 

“You’ll be competing?” asked Harry.

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“How come you’ve never competed before?”

 

“You have to be sixteen to enter the adult competition,” said Ginny, shrugging.  “And Bill was too old for the Junior Competition.”

 

“You’ll win hands down, Ginny,” said Harry confidently.  He’d watched Ginny and Bill dance at the Delacour’s last spring, and then Ginny by herself at her birthday party.  “You guys are good.”  He tightened his hold on her waist and bent to whisper in her ear.  “Good thing you’re brother and sister, or I’d be jealous!”

 

“Funny you should say that.  Fleur said the same thing to Bill,” said Ginny, giggling.

 

“Did she really?” asked Harry.

“Yeah,” said Ginny, leaning her head back so she could look at Harry’s face.  “Does it bother you when I dance with Bill, Harry?”

 

“Nope,” said Harry instantly and sincerely.  “I love watching you two dance together!  The way you intuit each other’s moves and are so comfortable with each other.”  He paused, looking down at her.  “If it was anyone but Bill, maybe I would be jealous, but not Bill.”

 

“I trust him,” said Ginny simply.  “Just like I trust you,” she added softly.  Harry kissed her upturned face.

 

“So, how will we get there, to the studio I mean,” asked Harry.

 

“Well, you can apparate directly to Bill’s flat. He lives one floor below the studio, 117 Diagon Alley, 3rd floor, and its less than fifty miles, so you won’t have to stop at an Apparition checkpoint.”

 

Harry snorted derisively.  The ministry, in their desperate attempt to show the Wizarding world that they had everything under control and instituted a new apparition policy which regulated the distance one could travel by apparating without checking in at a Ministry-controlled apparition checkpoint.  A Witch or Wizard who planned on apparating further than fifty miles was required to file a travel itinerary with the Department of Magical Transportation and make the expected stops at the apparition checkpoints so that their papers could be checked.  This, supposedly, would help the Ministry to track unusual travel patterns, which might indicate a person’s being under the influence of the Imperious curse.

 

“And you?” asked Harry.

 

“Well, I’m still under age after all.  I’m not supposed to apparate yet.”

 

Supposed to?” said Harry suspiciously.

 

Ginny grinned up at him, closed her eyes and disappeared, only to reappear at the other end of the roof.

 

“Nice!” said Harry appreciatively.  “You didn’t even make a sound, Ginny.”

 

“Neither do you,” Ginny pointed out, coming back to stand beside him.

 

“I don’t?”

 

“Nope.  Not even a whisper.  But really, Harry, after learning how to become an Animagi!” said Ginny, shrugging, “It was actually quite simple.  So anyway, I’ll be a good girl and go by Floo Powder,” she said lightly.

 

Bill and Fleur’s flat occupied the entire third floor of 117 Diagon Alley.  The flat and the studio above it had the distinction of being the only known property on all of Diagon Alley (with the exception of the Leaky Cauldron) to front both Diagon Alley and Charring Cross Road in Muggle London.

 

“We got it cheap since no one else wanted it,” said Bill, reasonably.

 

“I think it makes most people nervous,” Fleur had added with a graceful shrug.  “To be able to see both worlds at once, but there is so much space, it is magnificent!”

 

It was nice, thought Harry, looking around.  Fleur’s simple but elegant taste was evident in the minimalist style in which the flat had been decorated.  The hardwood floors had been polished to a high shine.  Thick, expensive-looking Persian rugs were scattered here and there.  The chairs and sofas were mostly leather, but looked very comfortable, and recessed lighting picked out individual pieces of artwork, plants or sculpture.

 

“You have electricity!” said Harry, grinning when he saw the electric range and refrigerator in the kitchen.

 

“Oh yeah,” said Bill, smiling proudly.  “On the Muggle side, we are over a bookstore, so we have access to the power grid, and that’s not all, see?”

 

He slid back a rice-paper wall-screen to show a study, picked out in chrome and black leather and a state-of-the-art computer system.

 

“Wow, Bill!” said Harry, admiringly, as he took in the details of the wide screen monitor and the sleek fax/copy machine combo hooked up to the modem.  “I suppose you have DSL, too,” he said, grinning.

 

“Of course,” said Bill, grinning.  “And it’s not just a toy for me,” he said, glancing at Fleur, who was smiling, an amused expression on her face.  “I do need it.  Most of my Muggle students do all of their payments online, using credit cards and all of that, and I maintain a website for them, to keep them posted on closings and upcoming events, changes in schedules, that type of thing.”

 

“Nice.  But if they pay by credit card, you must have a Muggle bank account, too.”

 

“Of course,” said Bill.

 

“It’s not conventional,” said Fleur, shrugging.

 

“But it works!” said Harry, looking around.  He was reminded, briefly, of Lupin’s telling him about George and Nancy Evans and how they had mingled the best of both worlds.

“I suppose you’re not above going to the occasional Symphony or rock concert, either, are you,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“In fact, we just went to see the Kiev String Quartet last Friday evening,” said Bill, his eyebrows raised.  “And Ginny comes with us all the time.  Want to come with us some time?”

 

“I’d love to!” said Harry sincerely.  The Dursley’s had never taken him anywhere if they could help it.  Going to the zoo the year he turned eleven had been the exception, not the rule. 

 

This, he thought, looking from the picture windows overlooking Diagon Alley, to those looking out over Muggle London, was how it should be, the best of both worlds.

His reverie was interrupted by Ginny’s arriving in a flash of green flame.

 

“Too bad you have to bother with fires still,” said Bill, stepping to the fireplace and pulling her to her feet.

 

“Yeah, well, mum would have a fit if she knew that I could apparate, let alone that sometimes, at least at Headquarters where it can’t be detected that I do,” said Ginny, laughing.  “I’m supposed to be to young, too irresponsible and all that rubbish.”

 

“That’s not all you do that haven’t told mum about!” said Bill with a knowing glance at Harry.  “I suppose you two have been putting those privacy screens dad borrowed up to good use?”

 

Harry could feel the heat creeping up his neck, but Ginny merely punched Bill on the arm.  “You’re embarrassing him!” she hissed as Bill rubbed his arm.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

 

“No need to be embarrassed, either of you,” said Fleur, her eyebrows arched.

 

“I’m not,” said Harry and Ginny in unison.

 

They grinned at each other and then Harry pulled Ginny into his arms and kissed her soundly.

 

“I’m just not used to anyone else knowing about it yet is all,” confessed Harry, looking into Ginny’s eyes.

 

“Well, anyone who sees you two together would have to be blind or stupid to not be able to tell that you’re in love,” said Fleur dismissively.  “How you choose to express that between yourselves is surely none of their business.” She shrugged gracefully.

 

Bill and Ginny exchanged amused glances.

 

“It’s the French upbringing,” Bill explained to Harry.

 

“She obviously doesn’t know mum that well yet,” added Ginny.

 

Harry choked back a snort.

 

“So, ready, Ginny?” asked Bill.

 

“Yes.  Come on, Harry, I’ll show you the studio.”

 

Bill’s dance studio took up the entire fourth floor of 117 Diagon Alley, and was accessible via narrow stairways from both Charring Cross Road and Diagon Alley.  Each stairway led to a small waiting room that in turn opened into the dance shop.  The two studios were accessed by separate doors in the dance shop.

 

“It took the Ministry six months, six months, to approve the layout, Harry!” said Bill, sounding frustrated.  “They were all concerned, you see, of having Diagon Alley accessible from Muggle London at any point other than the Leaky Cauldron.  They wanted it completely separated and tried to convince me that I should teach only witches and wizards in the Diagon Alley studio and the Muggles separately if I taught them at all, but that’s ridiculous!  It’s counterproductive and would be far too expensive to maintain.  Learning to dance has nothing to do with being Muggle or Magical.  Anyone who learns to dance has to start off on the same foot.  No pun intended,” he said, glancing at them apologetically.

 

Harry noted with some interest that the entrance to the Diagon Alley stairway had been disillusioned to look like part of the wall, complete with large, framed unmoving painting.

 

“They insisted,” said Bill, when Harry asked about it.  “They’re afraid you see, that some Muggle would stumble across the entrance and perhaps learn more than they should about us.”

 

“As if a dozen Ministry officials wouldn’t sweep down on them in a heartbeat!” said Harry dismissively.

 

“That’s exactly what Dumbledore said,” said Bill, grinning.  “There are two guards posted at the foot of our stairway at all times, but would they listen to him?”

 

“Of course not,” said Harry grinning back.

 

“I actually had to do research and prove to them that it breaks no statutes or secrecy decrees to teach Wizards and Muggles together.  It worked, they had to agree to let me teach both together and in either studio, as long as I disillusioned the Diagon Alley entryway.”

 

Bill showed Harry into the studios.  They were quite impressive.  They were both large, taking up half of the length of the building (although only 2/3 as wide, the other 1/3 belonging to the waiting rooms and store).  Both were full of light, thanks to large picture windows on the ends and half a dozen skylights apiece.  Studio A’s picture windows looked out over Diagon Alley.  Studio B’s windows looked out over Charring Cross Road.

 

“They wanted me to disillusion the windows, too!” said Bill with a snort.  “I mean, look, Harry.”  Harry looked. 

 

From thirty feet up, Diagon alley was indistinguishable form any other London city street.

 

“You can’t see anything,” said Harry dismissively.

 

“Exactly.”

 

A few minutes before two, small, pink-clad figures began emerging from both waiting rooms and filing into studio A.

 

“We teach the youngest ones here,” Ginny told him in an undertone.  “As they are the least likely to think twice if they do happen to see anything out of the ordinary.  Bill holds the adult classes in studio B.”

 

Soon about fifteen children between the ages of four and seven, a mixed lot of  Witches and Muggle girls.  Seeing them in just their leotards, tights and filmy skirts, Harry realized with a start, that he couldn’t tell the difference between the witches and Muggles.

 

Harry sat at the back of the studio by the large picture window, alternately watching Ginny’s class and trying to pick out individual people in Diagon Alley thirty feet below. Ginny was a natural teacher.  She went from child to child, correcting postures, changing foot positions and directing them in their exercises.  The little girls all seemed to adore her.  Their eyes followed her every move.

 

Harry had to grin.  He couldn’t blame them.  He was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her himself.  Something about seeing Ginny in her black leotard, pink-seamed tights and short, skimming, black skirt was very distracting. 

 

“We’ll be eating supper with Bill and Fleur,” Ginny said as the last class, a mixed group of about fifteen boys and girls was filing out of the studio.  “Bill and I will practice for the competition afterwards.”

 

It was close to six before they ate.  Fleur had put together a rather elegant dinner with soft music on the stereo, candles magicked into the air over the table, and, endearing her to Harry’s heart forever, treacle tart for desert. 

 

An hour after desert, they all headed back up to the studio.

 

“You going to watch?” Harry asked Fleur as he pulled up a chair in the back of studio A.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” said Fleur throatily.  “There’s something about watching those two dance,” she shook her magnificent head.

 

“I know what you mean,” agreed Harry wholeheartedly, watching Ginny stretching out at the barre.  “It’s like watching the ocean, or a fire maybe-”

 

“A force of nature, yes!” said Fleur, her eyes lighting up.  “That’s it exactly, Harry.  Together, they are a force of nature!” She actually clapped her hands together.

 

They watched as Bill and Ginny did a dry run of the number they were putting together for November’s competition.  Even in its rough stages, it was still impressive.

 

“You know what I think it is?” said Harry, leaning forward to whisper in Fleur’s ear as they watched Bill and Ginny working out the logistics of a complicated lift.

 

Fleur shook her head.

 

“It’s trust,” said Harry as Ginny fell backwards without hesitation from her perch on Bill’s shoulder.  He caught her neatly, bending her into a tango-like dip, and they were back into the rhythm.  “She trusts him implicitly.  She knows he’ll catch her,” said Harry, shaking his head admiringly.

 

“You know, I think you’re right,” said Fleur, watching them appraisingly.  “It says quite a bit for both of them, don’t you think?”

 

*     *     *

 

It was nearly ten before they called it a night.  Harry apparated in the kitchen of Grimmuald place just moments before Ginny arrived with a flash of green flames in the fireplace.

 

“You must be tired,” said Harry, taking her bag and placing it on the table.

 

“A little.” She didn’t look tired.  She looked flushed and excited and absolutely beautiful, but not tired.

 

“You like dancing, I can tell,” said Harry.

 

“Gee, you think?  Really, Harry.  I love it.  I try to get a couple hours of practice in every day, that’s what the barre on the wall in my bedroom is for.”

 

“When do you practice?” asked Harry quickly, the thought of watching Ginny in a leotard was definitely something he could appreciate.

 

“Early mornings usually, just after breakfast, before mum can get organized enough to parcel out her projects.”

 

“Can I watch sometime?”

 

“Sure, anytime you want.  Just come on in. I usually leave the door open.”

 

“You know, Ginny, you do good with the teaching.  The kids all seem to love you.”

 

“It’s fun!  I love to see the little ones reach a new milestone, like standing on one leg!” said Ginny, grinning.

 

Harry chuckled.  He couldn’t help but remember one little curly haired girl in Ginny’s first class who had, for the first time today, managed to stand on one leg for a whole thirty seconds and had been so excited that she’d jumped up and down, squealing in glee.

 

“I wouldn’t want to teach all day, every day, but it does make for a nice change from schoolwork.”

 

“Or gardening?” said Harry slyly, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her to him.

 

“Actually,” said Ginny, as her hands slid in under his shirt, “I don’t think gardening is something I could ever get tired of.”

 

“Are we speaking literally or metaphorically?” asked Harry.

 

In reply, Ginny kissed him. He had barely begun to kiss her back when they broke apart as the creaking stairs announced someone’s approach to the basement kitchen.

 

“Oh good, Harry, Ginny, you got back O.K.!” said Mrs. Weasley, bustling into the room.  “Are you hungry?  Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Actually, mum, we’re fine.  Fleur had us to supper,” said Ginny, suppressing a sigh.

 

“That was very nice of her.  Did you thank her, Ginny?”

 

“Yes mum, of course I did.”

 

“Well, you must be tired out!  Three classes and practicing for that silly Muggle tournament on top of everything else.”

 

“It’s not silly, mum,” said Ginny resignedly. 

 

Harry could see that they’d obviously had this discussion before.

 

“Competing in a Muggle dance competition!  I’ve never heard of such a thing. What will Bill think of next?” said Mrs. Weasley scornfully.

 

“They’re really good, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry fairly.  “They could very well stand a chance of winning.”

 

Mrs. Weasley sniffed loudly. “Well, on your own head then, Ginny.  But it’s time you were in bed, both of you.”  She shooed them up the stairs and ahead of her, following them right up to the second floor.

 

“Night, Ginny,” said Harry, giving her a quick kiss outside her and Hermione’s room (in spite of Mrs. Weasley) before slipping into his and Ron’s room. Ron was still up, reading a new book, an autobiography by Ludo Bagman titled “I Cheat to Win.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read this much,” said Harry, observing Ron critically.

 

“You’d be reading too if you were stuck in this house all summer,” said Ron dismissively.

 

“Try being stuck at the Dursley’s,” said Harry grumpily.  “And all I’ve got there are my schoolbooks.  The last book Dudders read was Green Eggs and Ham.”

 

“Yeah, but at least you get to go outside regularly.  So, what’d you think?” said Ron as Harry got out of his jeans and pulled on his pajamas.

 

“Of what?” asked Harry.

 

“Bill’s studio, their flat, you know,” Ron waved vaguely in an all-encompassing gesture, “the whole setup.”

 

“I like it,” said Harry sincerely.

 

“It’s O.K.,” said Ron, dismissively, “It’s a little too, oh I don’t know, upscale for me I guess. That’s Fleur for you.  She comes from a rich family.  They’re big into antiques and stuff, but wait till you see Fred and George’s place!  Not just the shop, but also their flat.  Now that’s a place I could get seriously comfortable in!”

 

“I liked Bill’s flat though,” said Harry truthfully.  “It’s very comfortable, but in an elegant, understated sort of way. They’ve mixed in a lot of Muggle amenities, but it works.  And the studio is a great idea! Its excellent for Wizard/Muggle relations. I bet Dumbledore played a big part in getting it approved.”

“It was a real pain getting it going,” agreed Ron, “But it seems to be working out O.K.”

 

O.K.? Ron, he’s doing really well, and from all accounts his studio has an excellent reputation with both Wizards and Muggles.  I did a search on the Internet.  He’s listed as one of the top dance schools in London!”

 

“What’s an Internet?” said Ron, looking up, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

Harry had just opened his mouth to explain to Ron about Muggle computers when Mrs. Weasley stuck her head in the door.

 

“Now boys, I want your light off, now, it’s after eleven!”

 

“You’d never know that we’re of age,” said Ron, heaving a sigh as he tossed his book on the floor and turned out the light.  “With the way she goes on.”

 

“That’s right,” said Harry, grinning at the ceiling.  “We are of age, aren’t we?”

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“And you passed your apparition test, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did,” said Ron indignantly.

 

“Well then, care for a little nighttime stroll?” asked Harry, sitting up in bed and reaching for his glasses.

 

“But where’s there to go, Harry?” asked Ron.  “You can’t leave the house and-”

 

“We’ll go up,” said Harry, pointing at the ceiling.

 

“The garden?  Well, I suppose.  It’s not like we’re leaving the house or anything,” said Ron, considering.

 

“And I’ll summon some butter beer,” suggested Harry.

 

“O.K., O.K., let’s do it then,” said Ron, and promptly disapperated with a small pop.

 

Ginny?”

 

I heard, Harry, we’ll meet you up there.”

 

Harry grinned and disapperated, promptly reappearing at Ron’s elbow. If what Ginny had told him about Hermione was true, Ron was in for the surprise of his life.

 

“Accio butter beer,” said Harry.  Eight bottles promptly flew up from the kitchen below them and landed with a series of soft clinks on the patio table that had been set up beside the stairwell.

 

“Thirsty are we, Harry?” asked Ron, eyeing the collection.

 

“Only two apiece,” said Harry, grinning broadly.

 

“But there are only two of us.”

 

“I think a bit of remedial math is in order, Ron,” came Hermione’s voice from just behind them.

 

Ron jumped, and spun around at the same time.

 

“May we join you gentlemen?” asked Ginny, pulling up a chair.  Both girls were in bathrobes and slippers.

 

“How, how did you two get up here?” asked Ron, obviously startled. “Did mum forget to lock the door to the roof?”

 

“No.  We got up here the same way you did,” said Hermione archly, sitting down across the table from Harry and opening a bottle.

 

“You apparated?” Ron asked incredulously.

 

“No, I transformed myself into a Lethifold and slipped under the door,” said Hermione sarcastically.

 

But, you’re birthday’s not till September!” said Ron weakly. 

 

“Don’t be a prat, Ron,” said Hermione briskly.  “I don’t think anyone’s life, health or property will be in danger because I apperated from my bedroom to the roof of the house without a license.  Besides, according to Lupin, no one can record any of the magic we do here, so who’s to know?

 

“You don’t hear me complaining!” said Ron, looking impressed.  “But Ginny, if mum finds out-”

 

“Who’s going to tell her?” asked Ginny reasonably.  She drained her butter beer and opened a second bottle.  “Besides, Ron, if I’m doing magic without a wand, carrying on conversations with Harry in my head, channeling who knows what sort of supernatural power and, without parental consent, have been married to this oaf for four months - Apparating without a license is the least of my concerns.”

 

“Go get-em, Ginny!” laughed Harry, polishing off his second butter beer.

 

“So,” said Ron, saluting Ginny with his half-drunk bottle, “what else did you have in mind, Harry, besides coming up here and trading insults?”

 

“Hmm,” said Harry in mock seriousness.  “Let me see. . .a beautiful, starlit sky, a romantic moonlit garden, more than big enough for two couples to get lost in, two beautiful women in bathrobes. . .Oh, I don’t know, Ron.  What about a game of backgammon?”

 

“You do have a point,” Ron conceded, eyeing Hermione and Ginny appraisingly.

 

“Now wait just a minute!” said Hermione, standing up, an empty bottle in her hand.  “If you think for one minute that I’d fall into your arms that easily,” she slapped the bottle down on the table and slid onto Ron’s lap.  “You’d be right,” she finished, taking Ron’s face in her hands and kissing him thoroughly.

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged amused glances.“We’re, uh, going to go for a walk now, you two,” announced Ginny.

 

“Yeah, don’t wait up for us,” added Harry.

 

Ron gave a feeble, half-hearted sort of wave.  They left them at it and slipped off into the shadows.

 

“It’s good for them both,” said Ginny, slipping her hand into Harry’s as they passed the herb beds.”

 

“What’s good for them?”

“To flaunt authority a little,” said Ginny, laughing. 

 

“Looks like they’re doing a bit more than flaunting authority,” said Harry interestedly, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“By the way, Harry,” said Ginny appraisingly, looking him up and down.  “Nice pajamas.”

 

“Yeah, well, after last Christmas. . .” Harry shrugged. 

 

Last Christmas he’d had a nightmare that Voldemort was torturing Ginny using the Cruciatus curse and had woken to find that he’d fallen out of bed and was dressed only in a sheet.  This had been witnessed by the entire Weasley family, and Hermione.

 

Ginny giggled.

 

“Oh, you found that funny, did you?” asked Harry, only half joking.

 

“Not your dream, Harry, I just wish you could have seen the look on mum’s face when dad stood you up and she realized that you didn’t have anything on under the sheet.”

 

Harry chuckled appreciatively.

 

“My point exactly.  Besides, this is one of the pairs that your dad picked out for me last summer.”

 

“Nice stripes,” said Ginny drily. 

 

They had slipped in behind the privacy screens and were now standing at the roof wall, looking out over the London skyline. Ginny shivered slightly.

 

“Cold, Ginny?” asked Harry, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

“Not cold, no,” she said and her voice had an odd, hollow tone to it.  “He’s out there, Harry, right now.  He’s looking, looking for you, and he knows more than we realize,” she said.  Her eyes were unfocused, staring at the distant clock tower.  “He’s waiting for something. . .for someone. . .” she took a deep, shuddering breath and gave her head a small shake.  “But not tonight,” she said, turning to look up at Harry, her eyes very large and dark.  “Tonight belongs to us.”  She unknotted her bathrobe’s sash.

 

“Picking up my bad habits, are we, Ginny?” asked Harry interestedly when he saw what she was wearing, or rather what she wasn’t wearing under the robe.

 

*     *     *

 

“Hogwarts letters have come!” called Mrs. Weasley brightly at breakfast the next morning.  Nobody replied.  Harry and Ginny were both exhausted, having only gotten back to their rooms an hour before dawn.  Ron hadn’t come back until just half an hour ago, looking tired, but exhilarated.  “Well, don’t everyone speak at once!” said Mrs. Weasley testily, looking around at them all, her eyebrows raised.

 

“Thanks, mum,” said Ginny faintly, holding out her hand for her letter, which was rather thicker than usual.

 

“Now, Arthur dear, you best hurry or you’ll be late!”

 

But Mr. Weasley didn’t move.  He was staring at Ginny’s letter, his forehead creased.

 

“Actually, Molly, there’s no rush today.  I’m stopping first at Seven Sisters Station.  Someone’s charmed the turnstiles to shout crude insults at all the Muggles trying to use them.

 

“Sounds like something Fred and George would do,” Ron sniggered as he slit open his envelope and shook out the letter.

 

“Blimey!” he said weakly as a sliver badge with the letters “H. B.” engraved on it clattered onto the table.

 

Harry looked quickly to Hermione.  She was staring at an identical badge, only hers had the letters “H.G.”

 

“Figures,” said Ginny, grinning broadly and nudging Harry under the table with her knee.

 

“What, no raptures of ecstasy?” said Harry bemusedly to Hermione, who was still staring almost aghast at the badge.

 

“Raptures over what, Harry?” said Mrs. Weasley as she bustled over with a plate full of bacon.

 

“It would seem, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley calmly, “that we have the pleasure of being the parents of Hogwarts’ new Head Boy.”

 

“What?  Ron?  Oh Ron!  Oh my goodness!”  Mrs. Weasley looked astounded.  “That’s three in one family, oh what an honor!  Just think of what this means for your future, Ron!” she said, pulling him into a hug.  On an impulse she spun around to look at Hermione.

 

“And let me guess,” she said.  Hermione held up her badge.  “I knew it!” cried Mrs. Weasley, pulling Hermione in for a hug as well.  “I think you’ve been a good influence on Ron, Hermione, your parents will be so proud!” she said, kissing Hermione’s cheek.

Both Ron and Hermione promptly went crimson.

 

“No need to be embarrassed, either of you!” said Mrs. Weasley, obviously misinterpreting their discomfort.  “Being Head Boy and Girl is a great honor!”

 

“I’m not ashamed, mum,” said Ron gruffly

 

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and mouthed “good influence?” over Mrs. Weasley’s bent head.  Hermione smiled back demurely and went back to demolishing her eggs. Ginny, sitting beside Harry, read her letter through twice, coloring slightly, and handed it under the table to Harry.  It read:

 

Dear Miss. Weasley,

 

We are pleased to inform you that due to your overall outstanding academic achievement and the extraordinarily high scores you received on all of your O.W.L.’s, you have been advanced to seventh-year status forthwith in all levels of coursework.

 

While advancements of this type are highly unusual, we feel that due to your high aptitude and academic excellence you will have no problems whatsoever adapting to the course load that will be demanded of you as a seventh year.

Included you will find a book list for your seventh-year supplies as well as a parental permission form which, seeing as that you are still underage, will need to be signed in order for you to be officially transferred to seventh-year status. 

 

Sincerely,

 

 

Mineverva M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster

 

Harry passed the letter down to Mr. Weasley, who had watched Harry read with raised eyebrows.  He read the letter through once, took a deep breath and said, “Well, Molly, I think I’ve discovered why Ginny hasn’t been chosen as a prefect again this year.”

 

“What, Arthur?” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly.

 

“They obviously think that she’ll be having quite enough work to be getting on with,” said Mr. Weasley bemusedly and handed her the letter. 

 

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand very tightly under the table.

Mrs. Weasley read the letter through once quickly, and then read it again, more slowly this time.  She’d gone quite pale by the time she’d read it the second time, and had sunk into an empty chair.

 

“Mum, are you O.K.?” asked Ron suddenly.

 

Mrs. Weasley didn’t answer.  She was staring at the letter.

 

“Mrs. Weasley, what’s wrong?” asked Hermione concernedly.

Ginny’s grip on Harry’s hand tightened to the point that Harry thought she might cut off the circulation.

 

It’ll be O.K., Ginny,” Harry said soothingly. Ginny closed her eyes.

“This can’t be,” said Mrs. Weasley at last, looking again at the letter, as if hoping to spot something she’d missed.  “Arthur?”

 

“What’s going on?” asked Ron quickly, looking from his mother to his father.  “What’s happened, they chuck Ginny out or something?”

 

“Molly dear,” said Mr. Weasley calmly, “If her teachers think she’s ready. . .”

 

“Ready for what?” asked Ron.

 

“But she’s only sixteen!” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely.  “She needs to stay with her age group, Arthur.  And seventh years, seventh years are required to do all sorts of dangerous things.”  She shook her head.  “I won’t sign it, Arthur.”

 

“Molly-”

 

“I won’t do it, Arthur.  I won’t sign.”

 

Harry’s hand was now going numb.

 

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath and said quietly, “It only requires one signature Molly.”

 

Ginny’s eyes snapped open, locking onto her father’s face.

 

“You wouldn’t!” said Mrs. Weasley unbelievingly.  “Not without my consent, Arthur.  Surely you wouldn’t!”

 

“Wouldn’t what?” roared Ron in frustration.

Both his parents ignored him.

 

Hermione was looking back and forth between Mr. And Mrs. Weasley as if watching a tennis match.

 

“Yes, Molly, I would, and I will.  If Dumbledore thinks she’s ready then there’s no point in holding her back,” said Mr. Weasley tiredly.

 

“But you can’t Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley, tears now gathering in her eyes.  “You just can’t!”  There was an odd tremor to her voice now.

 

“Molly,” began Mr. Weasley.

 

Please, Arthur!”

 

Mr. Weasley had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his temples as if he were battling a headache.  He put his glasses back on and glanced at Harry, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Mr. Weasley then picked up the permission form, withdrew a quill and a bottle of ink from an inside robe pocket, and proceeded to sign the permission form, which, along with Ginny’s booklist, he was still holding.

 

Mrs. Weasley looked from her husband to Ginny, flung the letter onto the table and ran, sobbing, from the kitchen.

Ginny heaved a big sigh.  “I was afraid of that,” she said resignedly.

 

Harry put his arm around her and pulled her up against him.  She buried her head against his chest. “She’ll come around, Ginny,” he said bracingly.

 

Ron picked up the paper his mother had discarded and began reading.

 

“Wow, Ginny!” said Ron, looking up at her admiringly, having finished the letter. 

 

“They’ve skipped you a whole year?”

 

Ginny nodded.

 

What’s that?” said Hermione quickly, and snatched up the letter.

 

“Wow, Ginny!  That’s very impressive!” said Hermione, looking astounded.  “You must have really impressed the proctors!  It says here that you’re performing to N.E.W.T. level in several of your classes already.”

Ginny grinned and shrugged, then sighed again.

 

“Mum sees it as loosing me, Harry,” said Ginny, giving him a small smile.  “And after Ron leaves, I’m all she’d have left.”  She shrugged. “You made up the bit about the turnstiles, dad, didn’t you?” she asked her father.

“No, actually, but I wasn’t going to go until tomorrow,” said Mr. Weasley, refilling his coffee mug.”  He looked at her levelly over the rim of it. “This dashes a lot of her dreams you know, Ginny.”

Ginny looked down at her hands, and then met her father’s gaze. “But it fulfills quite a few of mine,” she said quietly.

 

Mr. Weasley grinned.  “That it does, and like Harry said, Ginny, she’ll come around eventually, you’ll see.”

“Is this because of-” began Ron, but broke off quickly, glancing at Mr. Weasley with an alarmed look.

 

Mr. Weasley held up a hand, staring at the ceiling until he heard the creak of footsteps above him. 

 

“Only partly,” said Mr. Weasley in a quiet voice.

 

“You know, dad?  You know about them?” Ron asked, looking amazed.

 

“Of course I know!” said Mr. Weasley heavily.  “And of course Dumbledore will be taking that into account, but she also scored Outstandings across the board, Ron, and she had notes from several of the proctors, stating that she was already performing at N.E.W.T. level in a number of areas.  So, as far as your mother needs to know, it’s purely from an academic standpoint.”

 

“You don’t sound exactly thrilled, Mr. Weasley, about Harry and Ginny,” said Hermione timidly.

 

“Believe it or not, I couldn’t be happier that Ginny and Harry have ended up together,” said Mr. Weasley with a tired smile.  “I love Harry like a son, you both know that,” he said looking at Ron and Hermione.  “I always have!  Its just that there’s so much riding on Harry’s shoulders, what with the prophecies and all, to have this responsibility added to it so soon. . .”

 

“Actually, Mr. Weasley,” began Harry.

 

“It’s dad to you, Harry, remember that, at least when Molly’s not around,” said Mr. Weasley smiling kindly at him.

 

“Well, believe it or not,” Harry swallowed, “dad,” (Ginny was grinning broadly at her now cold breakfast), “knowing that I’ve got Ginny on my side, so to speak, makes me feel as if I could take on the world!” Harry put a finger under Ginny’s chin and raised it so that she was looking at him instead of her plate.

Ginny gave an odd sort of sound, half sob, and half laugh and caught Harry about the neck, kissing him deeply. Harry was only vaguely aware of Mr. Weasley’s blowing his nose.

“When will you get around to telling mum?” asked Ron when Harry and Ginny had both turned back to their now stone-cold breakfasts.

 

“Well,” said Harry, glancing at Mr. Weasley.  “We’d thought of letting her know that we’re engaged round about Christmas.”

 

“And give her a date of sometime in June or July so she can plan a ceremony,” added Ginny, smiling slightly.

 

“Break it to her gently, eh, Harry?” asked Ron with a broad grin.

“Well, I know she’ll be disappointed, what with Ginny finishing up a year sooner.  But she’ll be of age in June after all.  Do you think she’d really object?” Harry asked, a slight frown creasing his forehead.  “And it’s not as if I can’t support her or anything.”

 

“No, Harry, that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Weasley reassuringly.  “Give her a chance to get used to the idea and a wedding to plan and she’ll be happy.  She only tells me every day how glad she is that you two have ended up together.  She’s always thought of you as another one of her boys you know.”  He smiled.  “Looks like you’ve got her pegged.”

 

*     *     *

It took several days for Mrs. Weasley to stop tearing up every time she looked at Ginny.

 

“I don’t think she’ll forgive me for signing that permission form anytime soon,” Mr. Weasley had confided to Harry.  “And it shouldn’t even have been me who signed it, Harry.  Technically it should be you, seeing as that you’re her husband, even if she is still underage.  Molly waited so long for a daughter, and now to loose her a year sooner than she’d expected.”  He’d shrugged.  “She’ll be gaining a son though, so that’s something.”

 

“What does that make, seven now?” said Harry with a lopsided grin. Mr. Weasley chuckled. Harry’s insides had given a guilty squirm at the thought of what Mrs. Weasley would say if she knew what events had precipitated Ginny’s advancement.

Finally, on Thursday, Mrs. Weasley had announced at supper (in an almost normal voice), that they’d be making the trip into Diagon Alley the next day to get their school things.

 

“And Remus has agreed to come, Harry, so you can come too!” Mrs. Weasley had said as if offering Harry a special treat.  “He’ll have to wear an invisibility cloak due to the licensure problem, but that doesn’t prevent him from being able to protect you.”

Harry tried to look elated at the prospect, but was secretly disappointed that he and Ginny wouldn’t be able to spend some time alone together.

It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Ginny said sub-vocally to Harry as he waited to see her off in the fireplace to Fred and George’s flat before he disapperated.  “Mum’s been keeping an annoyingly close eye on me ever since I got that letter, almost as if she expects me to break out unexpectedly somewhere.”

 

If she only knew, eh, Ginny?” said Harry, giving her a broad wink.

Ginny grinned at him, “Thank goodness she doesn’t!” she added sincerely before pulling him in to her and kissing him soundly, and disappearing in a flash of green flames.

 

“Hi ya, Harry!” said Fred as Harry apparated at his shoulder moments later.

“Hello yourself,” said Harry, looking around interestedly.  They were standing in a cheerfully cluttered living room.  It was about as un-like Bill and Fleur’s flat as one could get and still be on the same planet.  In fact, to Harry’s eyes, it looked like a cross between the living room of The Burrow and the Griffindor common room.

 

Squashy armchairs in faded fabrics and odd tables stood about in likely looking spots.  Several bookcases stood against the walls, crammed full of books and rolls of parchment.  A brightly colored rag rug covered most of what could be seen of the floor.  All along one wall was a workbench which was cluttered with vials and odd bits and pieces of what looked like works-in-progress.  Lupin was fingering some oddly shaped metal pieces that stood on a low stool near the fireplace.  Ron was right, it was definitely a place you could get comfortable in, but Harry still thought that he preferred the casual elegance of Bill and Fleur’s flat.

 

George emerged from what looked like a stairwell just as Ginny made her entrance in a burst of green flame.

 

“Hello, lovely lady!” said George, giving Ginny a hand to help her out of the fire.

 

“Thanks!” she said brightly.

“Hermione should be along any moment,” said Mrs. Weasley, who had just apparated with a small pop.  “You boys live like pigs, you know that, don’t you?” said Mrs. Weasley, eyeing the clutter with a longing sort of look.

 

“We don’t have time for you to clean mum,” said George, interpreting her look.  “Like you said, Hermione should be along any minute, and then we need to get going.”

 

Sure enough, Hermione appeared in the fire moments later, followed closely by Ron, who apparated at Harry’s elbow, having waited to see Hermione off.  Harry then pulled his invisibility cloak out of his bag and handed it to Lupin, who disappeared under it so he would not be seen and reported for not wearing the tracking collar that was required of any non or part human now. 

 

The collars were a step up from the licenses that the Ministry had begun requiring of any non or part-humans (with the exception of House Elves, seeing as that they were already bound by the enchantments of their kind).  The decision to track all non and part-humans had been the Ministry’s response to the magical community’s outrage at the sudden upsurge in attacks by Dark creatures and their fear of another Goblin uprising. 

 

Made of leather, the collars were charmed so that every word the wearer spoke was recorded and every place they went was tracked.  Lupin had refused to be licensed and so was not wearing a collar.  Harry had to wonder though about Hagrid, and Frienze.  Would they be required to wear collars as well or if they were exempted, seeing as they were teachers at Hogwarts?

 

“So, Harry, going to come take a look at where your money went?” asked George with raised eyebrows. 

Harry grinned and followed Fred and George downstairs to number ninety-three Diagon Alley, home of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It had been his prize-money from the Tri-Wizard Tournament that had allowed the twins to open their own shop.

 

It was really quite amazing.  The shop, though small, was cleverly laid out and was packed with witches and wizards browsing the merchandise.  Harry caught sight of Angelina Johnson tending a front register.   She saw Harry and waved, her many braids bobbing cheerfully.

 

Harry took his time looking around at the twins’ stock.  They had expanded their fireworks, now selling three different sized boxes plus some individual pieces.  They’d added disappearing gloves, belts (which made you look as if you’d been cut in two) and boots to their original disappearing hats.  There were hosts of fake wands, made of everything from the old standard rubber chickens and tin codfish to potato peelers and wooden spoons.  The extendable ears now came in two sizes, nosy, and super-nosy, and besides the portable swamps (the first of which had caused Fred and George’s flight from Hogwarts before they had been able to complete their seventh year) they now carried portable nettle hedges (which would spring up around the bearer allowing them time to escape), and oil-slick pellets which, if tossed behind the person being pursued, would create an oil slick to impede the pursuer. 

The trick sweets took up an entire corner of the shop.  Harry vividly remembered the Ton Tongue Toffees  (which the twins had finally reigned in so that they only swelled the tongue up to the size of a large salami instead of it growing indefinitely, as it had with Dudley) and the Canary Creams of course, but now they also had Hell’s Hot Balls (that made you sprout horns from your forehead and steam at the ears for several hours), Newt-tail Nougats (that caused the eater to sprout a lizard tail for a whole day), Ear-Flap Fruit-Chews (which made your ears wriggle continuously), Babbling Bubble-Gum (which caused the person chewing it to talk non-stop about whatever came into their head), as well as a dozen others.

The Skiving Snack Boxes had been expanded to include Cramping Crisps, Temperature Tabs and Chilly Chews (which gave one the chills).  According to George, the Snack Boxes were some of the most popular items they stocked, especially with Hogwarts students. And then there was the line of makeup that had begun with the Worry Wart Powder (which made the person wearing it burst out in warts whenever they frowned).  They now carried Lying Lipstick (which would change color every time the person wearing it would tell an un-truth), Clarifying Concealer (which made the face on which it was used appear to be perfectly blank and featureless), as well as Nasty Nail Polish (which would spell out rude words on the nails of the person on whom it was applied).

 

“How on earth do you come up with the ideas for this stuff?” asked Harry amazedly, watching as Hermione and Ginny giggled over the effects of the Enlarging Eye Liner (which made Hermione’s eyes appear ten times their normal size).

“Trade secrets, my son,” said George breezily.  “Trade secrets and a lot of trial and error.”

 

Harry snorted. 

 

“Still testing them on yourselves?”

Heavens no!  We’ve got people lining up to try our products out now.  They have to sign a release waiver of course,” he gestured vaguely towards a file cabinet in the back of the store.  “Tedious business,” said George airily.  “Lee keeps us legal and tends the mail-order end of the business, bloody brilliant at organizing, too.  He set this all up you know,” said George, nodding at the displays.  “Before that, we were just selling stuff out of boxes and off of folding tables. 

“Now here’s something you might find interesting,” said George to the place where he knew Lupin was standing.  George led Lupin (who had to be very careful not to tread on anyone and start a panic) and Harry to the back of the store where floor-to-ceiling glass shelves were filled with neatly labeled multi-colored dropper bottles.

 

“We call them Goblet Drops,” George said proudly.  “We just released them in June.  They’ve been an immediate hit!  You’d be surprised how many adult wizards we have buying them.”

 

Harry and Lupin examined the bottles, Harry handing them in to Lupin under the cloak.  The label on one bottle of neon-orange liquid read: 

 

“Sweet Talker” 

Make anyone say only good things about you for eight hours. 

Shake well before adding three drops to their beverage.

 

A bottle of acid-green liquid bore the inscription:

 

 

 

“Envy Is Mine”

Enjoy the covetous looks you will receive for twelve hours straight when you add six drops to your favorite beverage.  Highly recommended for parties, reunions or anytime you want someone to wish they were you.

 

Then there was “Truth Be Told” which prevented the person drinking it from telling a lie for 24 hours.  (“The ministry tried to nail us on that one,” said Fred, who had ambled over to join them, “They thought we’d used viritasirum, but there’s nothing illegal about Jobberknoll feathers!”)  And “The Babbler,” which caused the drinker to talk non-stop for 2 hours straight.

 

“What are these?” asked Lupin interestedly, taking down a small, unlabeled jar of blood-red liquid and a clear box of white tablets from the top shelf where, with a spray of dried flowers and an assortment of loose fireworks, they appeared to be part of a display.  The bottle disappeared under the cloak as he brought it closer to read the label.

 

“Those,” said George, clearing his throat, “are technically display items only.”

“But if the conditions are right?” came Lupin’s voice from under the cloak.

 

George grinned and unlocked a small cupboard at the base of the glass shelves where a dozen more bottles of the red liquid and some boxes of small, white tablets, all label-less, were stored.  He reached into a small box and removed a small square of parchment, which read:

 

“The Great Attractor”

Best when used as a mutual stimulus.  Six drops added to the beverage of your choice renders the drinker irresistible to the first person to which they speak.  Effects last for 8-12 hours depending on weight and temperament of the drinker.

DISCLAIMER:  WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACTS OF VERBAL INDISCRETION.

 

“What about these?” said Lupin, shaking the box of tablets. 

“Those are special,” said George, coloring slightly.  “We don’t even carry labels for those.”

 

“But what are they called?” asked Harry curiously.

“Well, if we had to call them anything,” said Fred amiably, “We’d call them “Bad Luck Breath Mints.”

 

“And what do they do, exactly,” asked Lupin with interest.

 

“Well, they increase your chances of winning bets or wagers if given to the person whom you are betting against,” said George.

“I suppose that you stole a Malaclaw hatching from Hagrid?” said Harry curiously, taking the box from Lupin.

We don’t steal!” said George, sounding affronted.  “We liberate.  Hagrid didn’t even know that the Malaclaws had laid eggs.”

 

“And we never saw the need to tell him,” added Fred.

“It’s a discretionary item,” said George, “for personal use only.”  He grinned broadly and placed the items back on their shelf.

 

Lupin shook his head as they headed toward the front register.  “Bloody brilliant!” he muttered to Harry under his breath.

 

“Looks like you’re doing well for yourselves,” commented Harry, noting the long line at the checkout counter.

 

“We’re expanding, actually,” said George.

 

“Really?”

 

“We’ll be opening a shop in Hogsmeade after the New Year.”

 

“You’re doing as well as all that, then?”

 

“Sure.  Besides,” said George, lowering his voice and jerking his head towards the front register where Fred and Angelina were standing very close with their heads together. 

 

“They’ll be wanting the flat to themselves I expect. The wedding is set for the 23rd of December.”

 

“So is Lee going with you, then?” asked Harry.

 

“Heavens no, the mail-order business needs him here.  He lives third floor up, over Flourish and Blotts.”

 

“You’re splitting up the dream team?”

 

“Never!  We rely on each other, Fred and me, for inspiration, research and development.”

 

 “Punch lines!” interjected Fred.

 

 “Besides,” added George, “we’ll be able to apparate directly to each others’ premises.”

 

“No ministry regulation going to slow you down, eh, George?  Don’t you know that on a trip of that length you should be stopping in at least two or more of those new Apparition Checkpoints that the ministry’s had set up,” said Harry, grinning broadly.

 

“Not while I’m alive and kicking!” said George, grinning back, then added in a whisper. 

 

“Besides, Dumbledore is all for us opening the shop in Hogsmeade. It gives him an apparition point outside of the school, and within hailing distance of a certain tunnel, which will be extended to our basement. . .”

 

George, Harry knew instantly, was referring to the tunnel from the hump-backed witch on the third floor, which came out in the basement of Honeydukes, the sweets shop in Hogsmeade.  He’d used the tunnel once or twice himself in years gone by, and knew for a fact that the twins had made use of it often themselves.

 

“You’ll stop by, Harry, when I’m in Hogsmeade, won’t you?” asked George. 

Harry grinned.  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

“And be sure to tell me when you two have made it official,” said George, nodding to where Ginny was trying on a disappearing belt, making her appear as if she’d been cleaved in two.  “Make it for next July, it’ll give me a good excuse to take a vacation.”

 

Harry stared at him.  “Is it as obvious as all that?”

 

“Only if you have the right equipment,” said George in a sly voice. An evil grin crept across his face.  He pulled a pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them onto Harry’s face.

 

“Look at Ginny,” he said.

Harry looked.  Ginny, who had been wearing a disappearing belt, now appeared to be whole once more.  Harry took the glasses off.  The belt was still there, making her look as if she’d lost her middle.  On a hunch, he then turned to where he knew Lupin was standing under the invisibility cloak.  Sure enough, with the glasses on, Lupin was clearly visible, only a faint shimmer belied the presence of the cloak.

 

“Oh my god!” said Harry, taking off the glasses and then putting them back on again.

 

“They work on all our disappearing merchandise,” said George, his grin widening, “and, as an unexpected bonus on invisibility cloaks,” he paused, letting Harry stew for a few moments.  “And, oddly enough, privacy screens.”

 

Harry handed the glasses back to George, feeling the color creeping up his neck.

“Ah, yes, I love my job!” said George, still grinning madly and tucking the glasses into Harry’s pocket.  “Free sample.  Never a charge for you, Harry.  Consider it partial payment for services rendered.  And just for the record this pair is one of only two working models.  He pulled out another pair.  I just happened to be trying them out last week when I stopped by Grimmauld place to pick something up for mum.”  He sighed and tucked the spare pair back into his pocket.  “Amazing, really, the places that you find privacy screens nowadays.  Even more amazing are the uses to which people are putting them.”  He looked sideways at Harry.  “Anyway, I had a revelation.  These glasses won’t be ready to put on the market until September or so.  In fact, I probably won’t even continue testing them until, oh, let’s say, after the start of the school year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Harry, returning George’s grin. 

 

“Yes,” said George, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a broad wink, “I know you will.”

*     *     *

 

 

Really, Molly, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary that we stay together,” said Lupin.

They had emerged into Diagon Alley from the twins’ shop and were now standing just outside their entrance, debating where to go first.  Burly security trolls stood on every street corner, brandishing their clubs and looking threatening.

 

“Behold the Ministry’s answer to this immanent threat!” announced Fred, waving a hand toward the trolls. 

 

“They’ve been rotating them through since June!” said George, who had followed them out of the shop.  “Bloody nuisance if you ask me.”

 

“It’s for your security, George, you and your shop!  You should be grateful!” said Mrs. Weasley sternly.  She turned towards Lupin’s voice.  “But remember last summer, Remus, Dumbledore said he wasn’t to leave the house without at least two of us!”

 

“And last summer there weren’t Hit Wizards camped out in Gringotts or security trolls on every street corner!” said Lupin reasonably.  “We’ll be fine, Molly, honestly.”

 

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley, eyeing the house goods shop across the street with interest.  “If you really think it’ll be O.K.”

 

“Go ahead, Molly.  We’ll all meet up at Bill’s studio at three.”

 

“Oh, all right then,” said Mrs. Weasley brightly.  “I suppose you’ll be wanting to go with Remus and Harry won’t you, Ginny, Ron?” she asked, nodding at Harry and Lupin.  Not waiting for an answer, she handed Ginny and Ron each a small moneybag.  “Here.  Here’s some money to get your things.  Now remember, Bill’s at three, not a minute later!”  And she disappeared into the shop.

“We won’t see her again for hours!” said Ron, grinning at his mother’s retreating form. 

 

“Where to, Hermione?” he asked amiably. 

“Flourish and Blotts,” said Hermione immediately.  “Books first, don’t you think?”

“Why didn’t I think of that,” said Ron bemusedly.  “You coming, Harry?”

 

“Eventually, I need to stop in at Gringotts first.”

 

Ron shrugged, “See you in a bit then,” he said as he and Hermione turned up the street to the bookshop.

 

Harry, Ginny and Lupin turned the other way towards Gringotts Wizarding Bank, which towered over the other buildings on Diagon Alley by several stories.  Ever since the Goblin rebellion in Dublin last spring, teams of Hit Wizards had been posted full time in Gringotts. They stood about, looking menacing in their black robes with

“M.H.W.” (Ministry Hit Wizard) Emblazoned in bright yellow letters on their backs, their wands out, shrewd eyes traveling ceaselessly over the milling crowds.

 

The goblin who waited on Harry (Harry thought he might be the Goblin who had waited on him the very first time he had come in here with Hagrid seven years ago) kept looking sideways at the Hit Wizards and muttering under his breath.  Harry caught his thoughts without any problem.  He was insulted at the presence of the Ministry Hit Wizards and what their presence inferred.

 

“Next thing you know, they’ll start insisting on accompanying you to every vault,” said Harry from the corner of his mouth.

 

The goblin smiled with all his teeth.

 

“An insult it is, Mr. Potter, but a show nonetheless.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Harry, eyeing the nearest team.  “They look pretty serious about it to me!”

 

“Serious they are,” said the goblin in a low voice.  “But they only have enough teams for the public areas.  They do not have the man power to watch us as closely as they would like.” 

 

Harry snorted.

 

The goblin paused, watching Harry carefully for a few moments.

 

“So long they have trusted us with their wealth. . .” he rang for a cart, speaking a few words of Gobldygook into a speaking tube.  “Ragnock will be taking you to your vault, Mr. Potter.  If you will please step over there?” he said, indicating a door to his left.

Lupin, Ginny and Harry all stepped to one side as the goblin at the desk turned to help the next person in line.

 

“Isn’t Ragnock-” began Ginny in a whisper.

 

“One of their senior goblins.  Yes,” answered Lupin, sounding impressed.  “It seems you have made quite the impression on them Harry.”  He paused; making sure that no one else could hear them.  “Bill has been attempting to bring Ragnock around to our side for the better part of two years now.  What possessed you to broach the subject of the Hit Wizards?” asked Lupin curiously.

 

“I was just following his thoughts,” said Harry, he motioned to a distinguished looking goblin who had just come through the door.  “Let’s just hope that they don’t give me up as a lost cause,” he said, making a vain attempt to flatten his hair.

 

“I am Ragnock,” said the goblin imperiously.  “I will be taking you to your vault, Mr. Potter.” He indicated a cart standing at the ready.

 

“Very kind of you,” said Harry.  He stepped into the cart, turning to give Ginny a hand in, but Ragnock had beaten him to it.

 

“With this much gracefulness and beauty,” said Ragnock softly, “You can only be the sister of the tall dancer.”

 

Ginny smiled and accepted the Goblin’s hand up into the cart.  “Bill Weasley is my brother, yes.”

 

“Ah yes, Bill,” said Ragnock with raised eyebrows.  “A very perceptive and diplomatic young man.  Much like yourself,” he said, addressing Harry.

 

Now that they were inside the tunnel and away from prying eyes, Lupin took off his invisibility cloak.

 

Ragnock gave a start of surprise as Lupin appeared from beneath the cloak.

 

This one I do not know,” said Ragnock, looking at him carefully.  “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

 

“Remus Lupin,” said Lupin, extending a hand, “and don’t mind me, I’m just a werewolf.  An unlicensed werewolf,” he gestured at the invisibility cloak that he now had tucked under his arm, “thus the disguise.”

 

“Ah yes!” said Ragnock, sounding delighted.  “Dumbledore’s pet!  We meet at last!”  He took Lupin’s proffered hand and shook it firmly.

 

What was that?” said Harry, turning quickly.

 

“Do not take offense Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock, smiling at last.  “It is a term many Ministry officials use when referring to your friend here.  Both Albus Dumbledore and Bill Weasley speak highly of him however.  I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Ragnock, touching the back of Lupin’s hand.  “You are more than welcome here.”

As they sped along to the vaults, Harry managed to ask Ragnock what he thought of the Ministry Hit Wizards being stationed in Gringotts.

“I think that after Dublin, they are afraid of just what they have done,” said Ragnock in his melodic voice.

 

“What have they done?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“They have given us power, Mr. Potter, power over their greatest treasure, power over the financial glue that holds their society together.  For centuries they would only allow us to do the mining of the jewels, of the gold and stones, the digging for the treasure in the burial chambers and mounds.  But now, ah yes, now we alone have the keys to their vaults and the access to all of their most precious information.”

 

He stopped the cart at Harry’s vault.  Harry got out and beckoned Ginny to his side before using his key to unlock his vault.

 

“You should know what is here,” he said quietly, nodding at the contents, “since it is yours now too.”

 

“Harry-”

 

“Yes it is!” said Harry quickly, overriding her protests as he filled his moneybag.  “And I have the paperwork to prove it.”  He pulled the marriage certificate out of a pocket, showed it to Ragnock and then slipped it into a leather pouch.  “If anything does happen to me, Ginny, you need to know.  Lupin has the asset lists and can explain it all to you. I thought we could keep the rings here as well,” said Harry, slipping his own off the phial chain and tucking it into the bag.  “Until we are able to wear them openly.”

 

Ginny handed him her ring as well, which he added to the pouch and tucked into a corner of the vault.  Harry turned to Ragnock.

 

“What would it take,” he said quietly, “to put her name on the accounts?”

 

“I have seen the paper,” said Ragnock, then he looked at Ginny.  “but more importantly, I have seen the joining of your hearts.”  He paused, waiting for Harry to pick up on the significance of his words.  “Yes, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock as Harry looked at him curiously.  “The bond you two share made itself known even to us.  It will be done immediately.”

 

Harry took a smaller moneybag, which he then filled and handed to Lupin.

 

“What’s this, Harry?”

 

“Your first month’s paycheck,” said Harry, grinning broadly at Lupin’s look of incomprehension.  “Since you are no longer officially the executor of the estate, I would like to retain your services as financial manger to oversee all of this,” he said, gesturing at the vault.

 

“Harry-”

 

“I haven’t got a clue about finances, Remus.  I told you, I need help!” said Harry, grinning.

 

“I’d be glad to, Harry.”  Lupin hefted the bag.  “But surely this is too much.”

 

“It’s your first month’s paycheck,” said Harry firmly.  “And that’s my final offer.”

 

“This means more to me than you could know, Harry,” said Lupin, grinning broadly and putting the bag into his pocket.

 

Ginny squeezed his hand tightly, he could feel her pride at what he had just done.

Even Ragnock was smiling.

 

“I think I will show you something, Mr. Potter, yes?” he said, looking from Harry to Lupin to Ginny.

 

Harry glanced quickly at Lupin, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

 

“If you wish,” said Harry, nodding to Ragnock.

 

“I know that I can trust you, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock quietly.  “My ears burn true.  The lady is joined to your heart and is sister to one of the few wizards I would deign to call a friend.  And you,” he said, nodding at Lupin.  “My wolf-man friend.  You are one of us.  Outcast from wizard society, surely you have known the Ministry’s wrath.”

 

Lupin shuddered and nodded.

 

“I will show you all of what it is I speak,” said Ragnock, indicating the cart with a long-fingered hand.

 

Twenty minutes later the cart coasted to a stop as it approached the end of the tracks and a solid stone wall.  They all followed Ragnock out of the cart.

 

“Here is the source of our strength, Mr. Potter, and of our resistance.”  Ragnock spoke a sentence in rapid Gobldygook and the wall split in half, revealing the entrance to a cavernous chamber.

 

The entire space, Harry saw as he stepped through the fissure behind Ragnock, was filled with work stations — hundreds of them — where hundreds of goblins manipulated energy spheres with both casualness and ease, pulling out of them piles of gold, vast, egg-sized jewels and coins of all descriptions.

 

The previous April, Harry had learned from Remus Lupin how to produce mage-fire, the physical manifestation of a wizard’s power. He had come to an understanding of how to manipulate it to create whatever he desired, but, other than Ginny, he had yet to meet anyone who had a complete grasp of this concept.

 

“You understand the way things are!” whispered Harry in awe, staring around at the workstations.  He hadn’t even been aware of the fact that Goblins knew about mage-fire, let alone the fact that they could produce and manipulate it themselves.

 

If it is the stuff we are all made of though,” came Ginny’s voice in his head, “It would make sense then, wouldn’t it?”

 

Harry shrugged and smiled.

 

As if he had shouted, the entire chamber suddenly went silent.  Hundreds of shrewd black eyes were looking at him, boring into him, reading his soul.

 

“Indeed, Mr. Potter. So we do.”

 

“Then the rebellion was a cover?” asked Lupin curiously, “For surely, with this sort of power, there is no need for actual treasure.”

 

“Oh they were after treasure, my friend,” said Ragnock, heaving a great sigh.  “And neither of the teams involved had been initiated into the knowledge.”  He indicated the energy spheres.  “For it is necessary that we maintain the illusion that the digging up of treasure is how we provide the Wizarding world with its wealth.”

 

He began walking towards the back of the camber, talking as he went.

 

“We have always had the ability to manipulate matter,” said Ragnock quietly.  “As do the house elves.  Both our races were forbidden by wizards in ages past to practice our knowledge.  In the most ancient times entire villages of goblins and elves were destroyed by wizards who wanted to ensure that the power to control matter would rest in their hands alone.”

 

“We were slaughtered, Mr. Potter.  Our homes and families torn apart and then, in desperation, the elves agreed to enslavement in order to save themselves from extinction.  The wizards offered the same terms to us, the same restrictions of our power, but we refused.  We tunneled deep underground.  We hid ourselves away, Mr. Potter.    But we were found, oh my yes. We fought back. We were fighting for our homes, our families, our freedoms, but we were termed rebels, our resistance termed ‘rebellions.’ Many of us were killed, but we killed many wizards in return.  Our race would have been wiped out altogether if we hadn’t proved ourselves to be useful, adept at the craft of mining and underground living, which most wizards cannot abide.  So we were not killed altogether.  We were used.”

 

“We maintained our knowledge of the way things are, however.  Every generation, this meant sacrificing some of our brightest and best young people in supposed uprisings and rebellions to let the wizards think that they still maintained the upper hand, that they were still in control.” He smiled with all of his teeth. “Secrecy is our only means of fighting back, Mr. Potter.”

 

“But why are you telling this to me?” asked Harry, astounded.

 

“Because, Mr. Potter.  The time has come for us to break this cycle of death and destruction.  We do not want war.  We have never wanted war.  What we have always wanted is to live in peace with our fellow creatures.  To be allowed to be what we are, equals, fellow magical beings.  It is time, Mr. Potter, that we stood on an equal footing with wizard kind, acknowledged by them as equals and given the opportunity to follow our destiny.”

 

Harry couldn’t have agreed more, but he couldn’t see what this had to do with him, and said as much.

 

“Ah, but it has everything to do with you, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock softly.  He reached out a long, multi-jointed finger and touched Harry’s lighting scar.   “In you lie all our hopes for the future.  Through you, our hurts will be healed and our world will once more be made whole.”

 

Harry shivered, and Ginny squeezed his hand tightly.  Lupin, who had been standing with a hand on Harry’s shoulder, was suddenly gripping it with a viselike grip

.

“This has been seen,” said Ragnock, looking levelly at Ginny, “And I tell you this now, so that when the time comes, you will know who to talk to, where to come.”

 

Ragnock turned to one of the very last workstations and picked up a long wooden box that lay there.  He lifted the lid gently, almost reverently, and extracted a short, gleaming dagger in a jeweled sheath.  He pulled the knife out of its sheath and held it out for Harry’s inspection.

 

It was magnificent. It was made of a type of silvery-white metal that Harry had never seen before. The handle was ridged for a firm grip and the blade was honed to a razor-sharp edge.  The hilt of the dagger was etched with magical symbols and had a number of large, gleaming emeralds embedded in it.  There was an inscription below the hilt written in runes.

 

“Peace. Equality. Truth.” Said Ginny, tracing the symbols with one finger.

 

“You read the sacred language?” asked Ragnock, looking impressed.

 

Ginny shrugged, “Some.”

 

“And it is fitting, you see, for this is not an ordinary weapon.  This,” said Ragnock, slipping the dagger into its sheath, “has been imbued with some of the most potent and ancient magics ever practiced; magic that has been lost to wizards for generations. Strengthened as it is, it will counter any protection charm or anti-death spell that any creature could place on themselves or on another.  Its blade can slice through Chimera or Dragon hide as if through butter.”  He paused, looking around at them all.  “It is the same kind of weapon that was once given to our kings for their personal protection.  And now, Mr. Potter, I give it to you, for in your hands it will pierce the darkest heart that this world has ever known and set us free.”

 

His words reverberated oddly in the cavernous chamber.  He was holding the sheathed dagger out in both his hands.  Harry reached out a hand to accept it, but was pulled up short by Ragnock’s words.

 

“I must insist, however, on your Lady’s carrying it for now, Mr. Potter, for has it not been seen that once more you shall face the Dark Lord before the final confrontation can come to pass?”

 

Ragnock was looking at Ginny.  She was staring at the jeweled sheath as if entranced.  Her hand, Harry noticed, had suddenly gone rigid in his.

 

“Perhaps I spoke too soon,” said Ragnock quietly, indicating Ginny with a nod of his head, “perhaps it is about to be seen.”

 

There must be one more battle before the end can come,” said Ginny.  Her eyes were unfocused, staring at the dagger in Ragnock’s hand.  Her voice had an odd, hollow tone that Harry had come to associate with the power that occasionally saw fit to speak through her.

 

 “And what the Dark Lord sees as his victory, will be his downfall, for when the one who will conquer the Dark Lord lies as dead, and two minds are of one body, know that if their separation can be achieved in three days, the conquer will rise again, his power assured, and will bring to pass that which the Dark Lord fears the most.”

 

Ginny gave a great shudder as her eyes snapped back into focus.

 

“Oh my God, Harry!” she was shaking now, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.  “I - I-” her breathing was coming in great gasps, as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

Ragnock quickly unhooked a silver flask from his belt and held it to Ginny’s lips.  She swallowed, choked, but took another swallow, which seemed to go down easier.  The shaking eased somewhat and Harry gathered her up in his arms as if she were a small child.

 

Someone, probably Lupin, slid a chair behind his knees and Harry sat down, still cradling Ginny against his chest.  Her breathing was coming more evenly now, but tears were pouring down her face.  Lupin unfastened his cloak and tucked it in around her shaking form.

 

“What was that you gave her?” Lupin asked Ragnock.

 

“Goblin Meade,” said Ragnock, taking a sip from the flask and handing it to Lupin.  “Take a drink.  It dispels the Dark Forces that linger after a breech such as that.”

 

Lupin took a sip, spluttered for a moment, but managed to keep it down.

 

“Here, Harry,” said Lupin, holding the flask to his lips, “Drink.”

 

A burning liquid seared his tongue, burning all the way down to his stomach as he swallowed.  He felt as if he had just drunk liquid fire.

 

“A breech?” said Lupin, looking at the goblin.

 

“Yes,” said Ragnock.  “A rift between the worlds of such power as this that we have witnessed attracts Dark Forces as moths to a flame.”

 

He held the flask again to Ginny’s lips.  She gulped down another few mouthfuls almost greedily.

 

“It will help to heal her as nothing else could.”

 

“What is it made of?” asked Lupin.

 

Ragnock smiled. “It is under penalty of death that the ingredients not be revealed, my friend.  But I will entrust you with a flask for this one’s use,” he said, indicating Ginny.  “The lady speaks the truth, and should not have to suffer for the part she plays.  She may need it again, sooner than you think.”

 

Ragnock motioned to a nearby goblin, who unhooked his full flask and handed it to Lupin.

 

“Use it sparingly, for it is very dear.”

 

Lupin nodded, tucking the flask inside his robes.

 

Ginny?”

 

I’m here, Harry,” there was a catch in her voice.  He could feel the pain, lingering even yet.

 

It was like the first time, Ginny, wasn’t it?” he asked her concernedly.

 

Ginny nodded, a sob escaping her lips as she buried her face in Harry’s neck.

 

Come to me, Ginny,”

 

No.”

 

Ginny-”

 

“I don’t want you to see-”

 

“I’m going to see it anyway.  You know I will. Let me help, Ginny.”

 

Please,Harry, It’s bad enough that I should know.”

 

“I can handle it, Ginny.”

 

She shook her head against his chest.

 

I won’t let you do this, Ginny, not alone,” said Harry, lifting a chin with one finger so that he was looking into her eyes.  “Remember Ginny, you’ll never be alone again,” he said softly. “I’m going to find out anyway, Ginny, you might as well let me see.”

She took a great, shuddering breath.  Harry could feel her resistance weakening.

Please, Ginny, come to me.”

 

This time he covered her mouth with his own.  Her kiss was deep and desperate and her mind, when it finally opened to his, poured out a torrent of pain and despair so overwhelming that Harry nearly lost himself in the darkness and anguish of it.

 

A jet of green light. A rushing as though of a high wind through the trees, and then his own body lying prone on his bed at Grimmauld Place, eyes glazed in death. Darkness. Chaos. Endless confusion. People coming and going. Voices. Voices calling his name. Voices calling Ginny’s name. Ginny, staring vacantly at a point on the wall, her eyes unseeing, unknowing.  Alive but not alive. Dumbledore’s voice reciting an incantation. Professor Snape’s face bending over him.  A bitterness on his tongue. And, at the center of it all, as if it were the focal point of everything, was a garden. Ginny’s garden. And a voice.  The voice of the Sorting Hat, speaking in a slow, measured rhythm.  And, soaring down through the white undulating mists that seemed to have enclosed Ginny’s garden came Hedwig, a scroll of creamy parchment clutched in her beak.

 

 

Harry gasped, trying to comprehend what he was seeing and feeling.  He felt the flask being held to his lips again, the burning liquid searing into his gut.  His eyes snapped open.  Lupin and Ragnock were both bent over them, looking concerned.

 

“They share the pain,” whispered Ragnock, looking at them in awe as Ginny, too, opened her eyes.

 

It was true.  The pain had been overwhelming, but now, bolstered by their mind link and by the Goblin Meade, Ginny recovered much more quickly than she had before.  Before long she was sitting up, though still looking very pale and shaken.

 

“You are indeed well matched,” said Ragnock, letting one long finger trace the contours of Ginny’s face.  “Not only does the Lady of your heart have great beauty, Mr. Potter, but strength and courage as well.  And you will need every bit of strength and courage you possess to carry the Sword of Hope,” he said, handing Ginny the sheathed dagger.

 

She took it carefully from him, holding it gingerly.

 

“Keep it always with you, Lady, for it will be needed far sooner than you think, and it is imperative that it not fall into the wrong hands, but that it be available when Mr. Potter will have need of it.

 

Ginny tucked the sheathed dagger into the waistband of her jeans, pulling her shirt out so that it covered the hilt.   She then reached out and took both of Ragnock’s long-fingered hands in her own.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Ragnock,” she said softly.

 

“No, my Lady,” said Ragnock, smiling up at her.  “Thank you.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry would never be able to believe, though Lupin insisted that it was true, that they had only been underground for a little over two hours.  When they emerged it wasn’t even time for lunch yet.  To Harry it had seemed as if days had passed while they had been in the tunnels below Gringotts.

 

 “We will need to make a record as soon as possible,” said Lupin quietly as they retraced their steps through the tunnels.  “I’ll inform Dumbledore as soon as we get back to headquarters.  “Ginny?” asked Lupin, raising her chin so that he could look into her eyes.  “Will you be O.K.?”

 

“That depends on your definition of O.K.,” said Ginny, attempting to laugh.

 

When they emerged, blinking, into the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley, Harry felt as if they had landed on another planet.

 

“Should we go to Bill’s now, or do you think you can manage to get through some shopping?” came Lupin’s voice as they stood, blinking on the steps of Gringotts.

 

Ginny caught Harry’s eye and they grinned at each other.

 

“I even brought a list this time!” said Ginny, pulling a piece of parchment out of her pocket.

 

“Yeah, but no measurements,” added Harry, chuckling.

 

“I must have missed something,” said Lupin, sounding bemused. “But if you two don’t beat all!” he paused  “That can’t be easy on you, Ginny, to have an outside force manipulate you like that, but you two merged your minds, and by sharing the pain, reduced its effect.”

 

“I think the Meade helped some too,” said Ginny faintly, still smiling.

 

“Yes,” agreed Lupin.  “That stuff is legend.  I could easily make a fortune by turning it over to Ministry officials.  They have been trying to get their hands on a sample for centuries.”

 

“But you won’t,” said Harry, grinning at him.

 

Lupin smiled wolfishly as he disappeared beneath the invisibility cloak.  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Harry and Ginny finished their shopping as quickly as possible, Lupin trailing them in the invisibility cloak, and made it to Bill’s a good two hours earlier than they’d originally planned on.  Fleur hadn’t yet made it back from work and Bill was going over accounts in his study when they arrived.  Lupin took Bill aside and explained what had happened in the tunnels.

 

Damn, Harry!” said Bill appreciatively.  “I’ve been working on Ragnock for two years, and in less than two hours you’ve made an ally of him!”

 

“I wouldn’t say that your two years have been wasted, Bill,” said Ginny quietly from her seat on the sofa.  “He did say that you were one of the very few wizards he would deign to call a friend.”

 

Did he?” said Bill, looking proud and gratified at the same time.

 

“He also called you a perceptive and diplomatic young man,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“He seemed quite taken with Ginny,” said Lupin, glancing at Ginny, who was sitting in the circle of Harry’s arm.

 

“Are you O.K., Ginny?” asked Bill.  He sat down on her other side and pulled her into a hug.  “That’s four prophecies now.  Are you making a habit of this?” he asked, looking down at her with concern.

 

“I don’t seem to have much of a choice, do I?” asked Ginny, with just a trace of bitterness.  “It doesn’t care about me,” she said, choking back a sob.  “It uses me.”  She shuddered. 

 

Bill stood up and started pacing the room.  “It makes me frustrated is all,” said Bill, his forehead creased in concern,” that my sister is being subjected to this, this force, without her consent and there is nothing I can do about it!”

 

“You want frustrated?” said Harry, looking up at Lupin and Bill, “Imagine feeling about Ginny the way I do and knowing that if it wasn’t for me, she most likely wouldn’t be going through this at all!”

 

Bill smiled sympathetically.

 

Ginny crawled into Harry’s lap and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his neck.  Lupin and Bill exchanged bemused looks.

 

“Short of the Mead, that’s probably the best tonic she could have,” said Lupin.

 

Ginny raised her head.  “Actually-” she began, but Harry was a step ahead of her, and had already bent to catch her lips in a kiss.

 

“I stand corrected,” said Lupin, smiling.

 

Back to index


Chapter 3: YOU WERE WILD HERE ONCE

CHAPTER THREE

YOU WERE WILD HERE ONCE

 

 

 

Mrs. Weasley seemed much more cheerful after their trip to Diagon Alley.  She’d met them at Bill’s studio precisely at three, laden with bundles and bags, and was in such a good mood that none of them had the heart to fill her in on what had happened in her absence.

 

“It’s good for her to get out,” Mr. Weasley told Harry in an undertone as they watched Mrs. Weasley bustling about, getting supper on that evening.  “Change of scenery does her good.”

 

“Shopping as therapy,” Harry agreed deadpan, earning a chuckle from Mr. Weasley.

 

Ginny, on the other hand, still looked rather peaky.

 

“Are you sure you’re up to teaching today?” Harry asked her at breakfast on Sunday.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it!” said Ginny, her face lighting up.  “But you’ll come with me, Harry, won’t you?”

 

“As long as Bill doesn’t mind me hanging around.”

 

“Of course not!  He told me, after last week, to bring you along any time.”

 

So Harry went to Bill’s studio again, and enjoyed himself thoroughly, he even manned the shop for an hour when the sales girl called in late.

 

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching you dance, Ginny,” Harry told her as the arrived back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place just before eleven that evening.  She and Bill had practiced after Ginny’s lessons, just as they had the previous week.  Just watching them was making Harry itch to get back on the dance floor and learn a few new moves himself.

 

“Dancing always makes me feel better,” she said, grinning up at him, intuiting his thought.  “So, ready to start up lessons again, Harry?”

 

“Yeah,” said Harry gruffly.  “When can we start?”

 

“We need someplace with enough floor space,” said Ginny, her forehead furrowing in concentration.

 

“The roof?”

“No, the planting boxes would be in the way.”

 

“The parlor?”

 

“That would work, but mum will probably tell us we’re in the way or something.”

 

“We’ll just have to take that chance,” said Harry, grinning as he took in Ginny’s bright eyes and glowing complexion.  She looked a hundred percent better than she had that morning.

 

 “There’s only one thing that is better than dancing for taking my mind off of my problems,” said Ginny, tossing her bag on the kitchen table and doing a pirouette that brought her right into his arms.

 

“What’s that?” asked Harry, though he suspected he knew the answer.

 

“Gardening of course!” said Ginny brightly.  “That is if you’re not too tired?”

 

Harry kissed her and would have kept on kissing her if the creaking of the kitchen steps hadn’t heralded Mrs. Weasley’s approach.

 

“And after mum has put us to bed like the good little children we are of course,” said Ginny, grinning mischievously.

 

*     *     *

 

That Tuesday afternoon, Harry came back from an afternoon of helping Ron unload boxes of supplies in the storage attic, to find Ginny sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, Lupin’s books and magazines strewn about her in haphazard piles.

 

“What’s up, Gin?” asked Harry, sitting gingerly on the end of the bed and catching a stack of magazines that threatened to slide off onto the floor.

 

“I think it’s doable,” said Ginny, looking up from the magazine she was reading.  “Dangerous, but doable.”

 

“What’s doable?”

 

“Helping Lupin,” said Ginny, tossing the magazine aside and picking up one of the thick medical texts.  “They all say the same thing,” she said, thumbing through the pages.  “The saliva from the werewolf bite changes the genetic structure of the person bitten.  But the change to the genetic material is only visible at the full moon.  The rest of the time it looks as normal as yours or mine.  There’s a trigger, an RNA strand that’s keyed in to the moon’s phases.”

 

“So you’ll have to wait until he changes.  But if he’s used the Wolfsbane potion Snape makes him, it won’t be dangerous.  He’ll just change into a plain wolf, and that could be restrained easily enough.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” said Ginny, grimacing.  “The Wolfsbane potion also changes the genetic structure, temporarily rendering the host as a common wolf.  So the werewolf mutation would not be visible and-”

 

“You have to see in order to be able to understand,” finished Harry quickly.

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“But that means-”

 

“That he’d have to let himself become a full-fledged werewolf, yes,” said Ginny.

 

“No, Ginny, it’s too dangerous!  What if he bites you?”

 

“I have to try, Harry!”

 

“Lupin will say the same thing, Ginny, I know he will.”

 

“It was your idea, Harry.”

 

“I would never have brought it up if I thought it would be putting you in any danger, Ginny,” said Harry, shaking his head.

 

“What’s that I’ll say no to, Harry?” asked Lupin’s voice from behind them.  Both of them jumped, turning to see Remus Lupin and Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway.  Professor Dumbledore was carrying his pensive and one of his small, spindly machines.

 

“We’ve come to make the recording of this last prophecy,” said Dumbledore gently, looking kindly at Ginny and taking in her reading material.  “Looks like you’ve been keeping busy,” he said lightly, setting the pensive down on the bedside table.  He picked up one of the magazines and looked from it, to Lupin and back again.  “Taking a sudden interest in werewolves, Miss. Weasley?” he asked bemusedly.

 

“Well, yes actually,” said Ginny quickly.  “And from what I’ve read, I think that I could cure him.”

 

The look on Lupin’s face was unfathomable.

 

“But,” prompted Professor Dumbledore, looking fixedly at her.

 

“But it would require him letting himself become a full-fledged werewolf so that I could see the genetic alteration and fix it,” said Ginny very quickly.

 

“No, Ginny,” said Lupin instantly.  “I can’t take that chance!”

 

“But Professor-”

 

“No!  I appreciate your willingness to try, but you have to understand.  I’m not myself when I change.  I can’t control the instincts like an Animagi.  What if I bit you?”

 

“There’s got to be a way-” said Ginny, looking pleadingly at Professor Dumbledore.

 

Dumbledore looked quite grave.“It might be worth the risk, Remus,” he said slowly.

 

“No!” said Lupin firmly, “I won’t have her hurt because of me.”

 

“If you were restrained as you changed . . .” suggested Dumbledore.

 

“There’s the cage in your room,” said Harry before he could help himself.

 

“And you could be stunned once you’d changed,” said Dumbledore.  “There would be no risk to Ginny that way.  I’d see to it myself, Remus.”

 

Lupin opened his mouth, closed it again and then sat down shakily on Ron’s bed.

 

“Do - do you think it could work?” he said very quietly, looking around at them all.

 

Ginny came and sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers.

 

“I can’t make any promises, Professor,” she said quietly.  “But I’ve given back memories and taken away hatred.  I’ve healed bones and muscles and nerve connections.”  She shrugged. “The least I can do is try.”

 

Lupin gave her the ghost of a smile. “You don’t know how much this would mean to me, Ginny.”

 

“I think I can hazard a guess,” said Ginny, grinning.

 

“It’s settled then,” said Dumbledore abruptly, getting to his feet and placing the spindly machine on the table next to the pensive.

 

“When’s the next full moon?” asked Harry.

 

“Friday night,” said Lupin quietly.

 

“I’ll speak to Severus myself, Remus,” said Dumbledore.

 

Lupin nodded.

 

“And I’ll meet you here on Friday afternoon.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dumbledore had flipped a lever on the side of the tiny machine, which was now beginning to spin like an over-excited children’s top and emitting showers of tiny purple sparks.

 

“Now Miss Weasley, if you will take your wand and place it at your temple, we can begin the recording . . .”

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

Friday afternoon, Professor Dumbledore arrived promptly two hours before sunset and just in time for supper, much to Mrs. Weasley’s consternation.

 

“You should have let me know you were coming!” she spluttered, aghast that he had caught her on a leftovers night.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Molly!” said Dumbledore reasonably as he tucked in to his roast and mashed potatoes.  “Eating your leftovers is better than eating the meals most people prepare fresh!”

 

Mrs. Weasley went pink with pleasure.

 

“Have you taken your potion, Remus?” she asked suddenly, as she ladled out bowls of pudding after supper.

 

“”Everything is taken care of, thank-you Molly,” said Lupin carefully.  His face was very pale, and his voice was shaking slightly.

 

Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore, but he was intent on his pudding and didn’t look up.  They had decided not to tell Mr. And Mrs. Weasley what they were planning.  As Ginny had so succinctly put it:  “Dad would understand, but mum wouldn’t, and he might let something slip.” 

 

“I’ll be upstairs, Molly,” said Remus quietly with a quick glance at the clock on the wall.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He made his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

 

“Poor chap,” said Mr. Weasley sympathetically, polishing off his second bowl of pudding.  “He really is a decent sort.  Pity he has to go through this every month.”

 

“Thank heavens for Wolfsbane!” said Mrs. Weasley with a shudder.

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s hand squeezing his under the table. Ron and Hermione left a few minutes later, saying something about checking that all the boxes in the attic had been unpacked.

 

“Go with them, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley, after they had gone up the stairs, “And make sure that they’re actually working please.  Do you know, Harry, that I found them necking behind the parlor door when they were supposed to be dusting?”

 

Harry made a non-committal sort of noise in the back of his throat.

 

“You children have to understand that all actions have their consequences.  That’s why being chaperoned is such an important thing when you are young.  I was young too once you know, and I know how quickly things can get out of control.”

 

Harry had clenched his teeth, determined not to grin.

 

“Go on now, Ginny.”

 

Ginny left the table, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

 

As if I’d actually tattle on them!” she said sub-vocally as she made her way upstairs

 

Well, Fred said you used to be, what was that? Oh yeah, a shy, skinny, scab-kneed, tattle-tailing little sister,” commented Harry.

 

Guilty!” laughed Ginny.  “I guess old labels are hard to peel off.  I’ll be waiting outside Lupin’s room.”

 

Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore and gave the smallest of nods.

 

“Harry, could I have a word with you please?” asked Dumbledore, pushing back his bowl and getting to his feet.  “We should really be going over the time-schedules for your training.”

 

“Go on, Harry, I’ll clean up,” said Mrs. Weasley, taking Harry’s plate and carrying it over to the sink.

 

Harry followed Dumbledore out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the third floor, where they collected Ginny.  They knocked and entered at Lupin’s brisk “Come in.” He had locked himself in the cage in the corner and was sitting cross-legged in the center, his eyes closed as if he were in deep meditation.

 

“Does it hurt when you change, Remus?” asked Harry quietly, thinking of his own painless change when he became an owl.

 

Lupin responded without opening his eyes.

 

“There is plenty of physical pain, Harry.  But it hurts most here,” he said, tapping his head.  “Because I have no choice!  I have no control over my actions.  In fact I-”

 

His voice broke off as an uncontrollable shudder wracked his body.  His limbs began to shake and a sheen of sweat broke out all over his body.

 

Harry glanced at the open window:  moonrise. He looked quickly back at Lupin, whose facial features were elongating into a wolf-muzzle.  His limbs were elongating and silver-gray fur was sprouting all over his body.  Before their eyes he was transforming.

 

Harry had seen Lupin change once before when they’d emerged from the tunnel under the shrieking shack back in his third year.  Ginny, however, had never witnessed Lupin’s change first-hand and was staring, wide-eyed at the wolf, who was now snarling and snapping, charging the bars with an unnatural ferociousness.

 

Dumbledore stood behind them, watching gravely as the wolf worried the bars of its cage and, finding them too solid, began tearing great gouges in the floor.

 

“Enough I think,” said Dumbledore at last.  He pointed his wand at Lupin and murmured  “Stupefy!”

 

The wolf dropped like a stone, eyes still staring, mouth frozen in a snarl of rage.  Ginny took a deep breath and unlatched the cage from the outside, casting a surreptitious look at Dumbledore.

 

“I’ll keep him down, Ginny,” he assured her.

 

Ginny turned back to the cage, climbed in and knelt down beside the form of what had, until just a few minutes ago, been Remus Lupin.

 

“Oh, Professor!” she said, running her fingers through the thick, silver-gray fur.  “I’m so sorry!”

 

Harry could see the tears glistening in her eyes.  He could feel her sense of injustice at what Lupin had been dealing with for so very long, and somehow, he was not surprised when he saw the light of her mage-fire playing at her fingertips as she merged her awareness with the beast before her.

 

Several things happened then in quick succession:  The door behind Dumbledore slammed open with a bang, and Mrs. Weasley charged in — her wand at the ready — “Arthur!  He’s not safe!” she was calling over her shoulder.  “I heard him change!  He was tearing the floor!”

 

“Molly!  No!” cried Dumbledore, dropping his wand and grabbing her by both arms. 

 

It was only then that she saw her daughter in the cage with the werewolf.

 

“Ginny!” she screamed, writhing and twisting in Dumbledore’s grip.

 

At that precise moment, Harry saw the wolf blink its large, yellow eyes.  Dumbledore, still trying to restrain Mrs. Weasley, hadn’t noticed and Ginny lost in her concentration, did not seem to be aware of either her mother’s screams or of the wolf’s regaining of consciousness.

 

Harry stood for a moment, frozen, uncertain if he should stun Lupin while Ginny’s awareness was entwined with his, then quickly decided that stunning Ginny and the wolf would be a small price to pay to avoid her being bitten.  He had just raised his wand when the wolf’s gaze locked onto his own and a torrent of though poured into Harry’s mind.

 

It was working!  At least Remus was there now as well and not just the wolf.  Harry could feel the man fighting with the beast as if the conversation were taking place in his own head.

 

“BITE!”

 

No!”

 

“FLESH!”

 

Not Ginny!  She’s trying to help us!”

 

“HUNGRY!”

 

I Won’t!”

 

“BLOOD!”

 

No, I-”

 

“SMELL THE BLOOD!”

 

You can’t make me!”

 

“RIP!”

 

Never!”

 

“TEAR!”

 

Harry! Harry, help me, I-”

 

Mrs. Weasley was still screaming as the wolf began to shudder spasmodically.  Ginny came to herself with a start and back peddled furiously out of the cage, latching it even as the wolf went into a full-fledged convulsion.

 

Mr. Weasley was now shouldering his way into the room followed closely by Ron and Hermione, all of them with their wands out, just as the wolf-shape gave way once more to the man.

 

“Molly, what-” began Mr. Weasley.

 

“Bloody Hell!” said Ron eloquently, as Remus Lupin solidified once more on the floor of the cage.

 

Mrs. Weasley had finally stopped screaming, stunned by the transformation taking place before her eyes.  When Dumbledore finally released her, she made as if to grab Ginny, but this time it was Mr. Weasley who restrained her.

 

“No, Molly!” he said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder.

 

“But Ginny!”

 

“I’m O.K., mum,” said Ginny, speaking at last.

 

“Remus?” said Harry, approaching the cage, but staying an arms-length away.

 

A ragged sob tore from Remus Lupin’s throat. 

 

“I - I’m here, Harry.”

 

“Remus, are you all right?” asked Dumbledore, now approaching the cage as well.

 

Remus Lupin raised his head to meet Dumbledore’s gaze, and Harry was not the only one to let out a gasp of astonishment.  Lupin’s usually haggard features had smoothed out considerably and his hair, which had been almost completely gray, now only had the faintest traces of sliver at the temples.  The overall effect made him look as if he had shed at least twenty years.

 

“Did, did it work?” asked Lupin hoarsely

 

“Come see for yourself, Remus,” said Dumbledore gently, unlocking the cage and holding out a hand to help Lupin to his feet.

 

Remus Lupin stood, shakily, and followed Dumbledore to the open window where the light of the full moon was pouring in across the floor.  He stood for several minutes, staring into the face of the orb that had haunted him for most the better part of his life. When he finally turned from the window, tears were pouring down his face.  He held out his arms to Ginny, who came into them instantly, hugging him unreservedly.

 

“You saw and understood!” Lupin said, his tears now dampening Ginny’s hair.  “How can I ever thank you enough?”

 

Ginny took a step back at last and tapped the silver medallion hanging around his neck.

 

“By fallowing your heart, Remus,” she said, smiling, “And by dancing in the light of the moon.”

 

*     *     *

 

“Now,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly as they all filed into the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate at Dumbledore’s insistence.  “Will somebody please explain to me what just happened?”  Her eyes were flashing dangerously.

 

“Molly, I-” began Remus, but Ginny interrupted him.

 

“It was my idea, mum.”

 

It was my idea, Ginny and you know it!” said Harry quickly.

 

I can deal with this, Harry, no point in getting her mad at you yet.”

 

Harry subsided.

 

You!” said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on Ginny.

 

Ginny took a deep breath and proceeded to tell her mother the entire story.  How she had once healed a baby bird, and Dennis’s wrist, Luna’s ankle. She then explained about how Harry’s having saved her in the Chamber of secrets had created a bond between them (leaving out the bit about the marriage of souls in April) and how this bond seemed to manifest itself, how she had used it to heal his memory, and then to heal herself through him after she had been injured in the Quidditch match.

 

 “I’ve been given this gift for a reason, mum,” she concluded quietly.  “I convinced Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and Remus to allow me to try and correct Lupin’s genetic structure.  This is well within the boundaries of my gift.”

 

When Ginny had finished, Mrs. Weasley sat limply in her chair, shaking her head.

 

“Impossible,” she said, looking from Ginny to Dumbledore, to Lupin.

 

“I’m standing here, Molly.  She cured me!”

 

“It can’t be Ginny that did this, Remus.  There must be another explanation.”  She sounded slightly desperate.  “If you had a — a talent like this, I would have known about it.”

Harry saw Ginny exchange a look with her father.

 

“Your daughter, Molly, has many hidden talents,” said Dumbledore in a soothing voice, but Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head.  “My little Ginny isn’t capable of something like this Albus, I’d know if she were.  She tells me everything.”

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s heart drop into the pit of her stomach. 

 

Yes, she and her mother had always been close . . .until Tom.  What Tom had done to her . . .what he had shown her . . .these were things she couldn’t bring herself to share with anyone, let alone the mother who still thought of her as her innocent little girl. . .the mother who refused to realize that she was no longer an eight-year-old in pigtails.

 

“You sprained your ankle yesterday, mum, didn’t you?” said Ginny, trying another tack.  “Climbing the basement stairs?”  Ginny reached down and pulled down Mrs. Weasley’s sock, exposing a slightly swollen area on the inside of the left ankle.

 

“It’s nothing, just twisted it is all,” said Mrs. Weasley quickly.  “The swelling will go down in a day or two.”

 

Ginny held the ankle in her hands and closed her eyes, staying very still for a little less than a minute.  When she opened them again and released the ankle, the swelling was gone as if it had never been.

 

Mrs. Weasley flexed her foot, and then looked down at her daughter with something like awe in her eyes.

 

“How did you-”

 

“I saw it, mum.  I saw and I understood.  When I realized what needed to be done it just, happened.” She shrugged.

 

“But, Ginny?”

 

Ginny smiled, straightened up.  “It happened when I was little, but I didn’t realize what I had done.  It wasn’t until just this year that I realized what I was capable of.”

 

“And this, this is how-” Mrs. Weasley motioned towards Lupin, who was leaning against the kitchen counter.”

 

“That’s what she was doing when you came in, Molly,” said Dumbledore soothingly.  “The nature of her gift is such that she has to see the defect or injury in order to correct or heal it.  Wolfsbane changes the genetic structure of the host, and the genetic defect is not visible except at the full moon.  There was no choice except to allow him to change into a full-fledged werewolf.  I was keeping him stunned, Molly, she was never in any danger.”

 

Lupin shot Harry a sharp look, and Harry knew at once that he had been aware of Harry’s witnessing the argument between the man and the beast.  Harry merely raised his eyebrows.  There was nothing to be gained by letting either Mrs. Weasley or Professor Dumbledore know just how much danger Ginny really had been in.

 

Mrs. Weasley seemed to accept their story more readily after Ginny’s demonstration, but while she had calmed down considerably, Harry caught her more than once looking between Ginny and himself, and he would have been able to tell, even if her thoughts had been so very easy to read, that she was contemplating the other part of Ginny’s revelation, about her and Harry’s mind link, and wondering just what all this entailed.

 

*     *     *

 

“Excuse me, Ginny, can I borrow Harry for a moment?”  Harry looked up from the book he’d been reading.  Ginny paused in mid stretch, turning to see who had just walked in the door. 

 

“Just as long as you give him back when you’re done!” said Ginny, grinning and turning back to her barre routine.

 

It was the last Monday before they would be leaving to go back to Hogwarts.  For the last three weeks or so, Harry had taken to spending the first hour or two after breakfast catching up on his reading for Dumbledore in Ginny’s room, and watching her do her dance exercises.

 

Remus Lupin was standing in the doorway, looking apologetic.  Harry grinned, put his book down, and stepped out into the hall.

 

“Sorry to bother you, Harry, but would it be O.K., if I borrowed Hedwig?” said Lupin, holding up an envelope.  “I need to send a letter.”

“And while you could use another owl, Uncle Vernon is not going to get suspicious if Hedwig arrives with a note for Aunt Petunia.  He’ll assume it’s from me,” said Harry, cottoning on.

 

Lupin smiled guiltily.

 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said.  Then added, “also, Harry, your cousin starts school on September first, right?”

 

Harry nodded, still grinning broadly.  “And both Mrs. Figg and aunt Petunia have telephones, so you could apparate there, then call ahead before making the next jump.”

 

Lupin had gone scarlet.  “Harry, I-”

 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Remus,” said Harry quietly.

 

“I - I love her, Harry!” said Remus, an odd catch in his voice.  “I always have.”

The smile Lupin gave him was dazzling.

 

“I suppose I should feel a twinge of guilt,”said Harry to Ginny after Lupin had left to collect Hedwig.

 

 “What on earth for?” said Ginny, looking up at him from a full split.

 

“For aiding and abetting an extramarital affair.”

 

Ginny snorted.  “From what you’ve told me, Harry, they experienced a marriage of souls, just like we did.”

 

“And?”

 

“And, so, they belong to each other, Harry.  She never did belong to Vernon Dursley.  It is their marriage that is the sham.  Especially if she’d already given away her heart!”

 

“I suppose-”

 

“There’s no “supposing” about it, Harry!  Continuing on as they are will bring them both nothing but unhappiness.”

 

“Speaking of which, doesn’t that hurt, Ginny?” said Harry, eyeing her position critically.

 

“Only when I was first learning how,” said Ginny, grinning up at him.  “You should see Bill, sometimes he’ll stay like this for half an hour at a time, he’ll read two or three chapters in whatever book he’s working on before he gets up.”

 

“Genevra Weasley! Get up right this minute!  You’re going to hurt yourself doing that!” said Mrs. Weasley, walking in and placing a pile of clean laundry on Hermione’s bed.  “You’ve wasted enough time for one day. Besides,” she added, sorting the clothes out into two piles, “I’m going to need your help.  We’ve got a meeting tonight of the Order. I’ve invited everyone to stay for supper, and so we have to get started with the food preparations.”

 

So much for getting any gardening done!” said Harry sub-vocally.

 

Ginny pulled a face, making Harry chuckle audibly.

 

Mrs. Weasley started, and turned quickly.

 

“Oh, hello, Harry dear.  Ginny, really!” she said glancing from Ginny to Harry and back again.  “Why don’t you put some clothes on?”

 

Ginny looked down at her leotard and tights.

 

“This is what I wear to dance in, mum.”

 

“Well yes, of course, but you have company after all!”

 

“He’s seen me dance in these at the studio, mum.”

 

“Well yes, but there are other people there.”

 

“Mum!” said Ginny, trying to look shocked.

 

Harry fought desperately to maintain a straight face.

 

“Now Ginny, I don’t mind if Harry watches you dance, but perhaps it would be best if you wore something over your leotard from now on, for modesty’s sake.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged bemused glances.

 

“And I really do need your help, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley. “So come down as soon as you’re changed.

 

Harry got up from the bed and began collecting his books.

 

“See you later, Ginny,” he called as Mrs. Weasley ushered him out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

 

God, I’d hate to hear what she’d say if she knew that I’ve seen you without the Leotard or tights!” said Harry as he deposited his books and notes on his bed, locked the door behind him, then promptly apparated back by Ginny’s shoulder. 

 

She’d just stepped out of her dance things and obviously hadn’t been expecting him, because she opened her mouth to yell in surprise, but he stifled her scream by covering her mouth with his own and kissing her deeply.  She melted into him almost immediately, and he could feel her shudder of desire as he ran his hands the length of her body.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Harry!” breathed Ginny, as he handed her a robe from the back of the chair.

 

“Just helping you to keep your priorities straight after all! ” said Harry with a grin, and disapperated with out a sound.

 

*     *     *

 

Hedwig returned at Breakfast on Wednesday, but the letter she carried was addressed to Harry, not Lupin.  Puzzled, Harry opened the envelope and shook out the single sheet of stationary.

 

Dear Harry,

 

Thank you for your note letting me know that you’d arrived safely.  As you know, Dudley, too, will be going back to Smeltings on September first.  Your Uncle was worried about me being lonely after Dudley had gone back to school, so he has kindly arranged for Marge to come and stay with us until the 15th of September to keep me company.

 

More good news, you know how proud we are of Dudley’s boxing title?  Well, he has been asked to take part in a boxing exhibition this upcoming weekend!  He and Vernon will be leaving Thursday morning.  The exhibition is Friday night, and they want to have a good night’s rest beforeDudley competes.  But they’ll be back by Saturday night at the latest, so I don’t want you worrying about me being by myself.  Besides that, Vernon has arranged for Mrs. Fig to look in on me once or twice while they’re gone.

 

I’d write more, but Vernon is anxious to see that this gets sent off.

 

Keep in touch,

 

Your Aunt Petunia

 

Harry read the letter through twice.

 

“I’m assuming this is for you,” he said, handing Aunt Petunia’s letter out to Lupin.  “Seeing as that I never sent her a note letting her know I’d arrived.”  He grinned as Lupin snatched the note out of his hand, reading it hungrily.

 

“He suspects something,” Lupin muttered, reading it through a second time.  “At least it’s Arabella he has checking in on her.  Who’s this Marge person, anyway?”

 

Harry told him all about Aunt Marge and her evil bulldog, Ripper. 

 

Remus shuddered. 

 

“Well, that’s off then, but this weekend!”  Remus looked as if Christmas had come early.

 

“You know,” said Harry, looking around to make sure that no one else was listening in.  “I bet if you sent a message to Arabella, let her know when you’re coming and all of that, I’m sure that she could, er, pass along the message.”

 

Lupin took a deep, shuddering breath.  He looked guilty and nervous and more excited then Harry had ever seen him.

 

“But Harry, what if she doesn’t really want me to come, what if-”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Remus,” said Harry, grinning broadly.  “Why else would she have been so specific with the times and days of Dudley’s exhibition if she didn’t want you to come?”

 

“And the only reason she didn’t write to you,” said Ginny, leaning around Harry, and looking Lupin in the eye, “is because Harry’s Uncle must have seen Hedwig, and knew she was sending a letter with her.  He probably checked the address.”

 

Lupin swallowed hard.

 

“You’re right, Harry, of course you are.  I’m just nervous is all.”

 

“Just follow your heart,” said Ginny leaning over and tapping Lupin’s medallion.

 

“Good advice,” agreed Harry.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

“So?” Harry asked Lupin at Breakfast on Thursday.  “Any news from Arabella?”

 

Remus grinned sheepishly.

 

“Dinner, tonight at six,” he said, not looking up from his scrambled eggs. 

 

“Dinner?” asked Harry blankly.

“Yes, at her house.  You have to understand, Harry,” he said, looking up at last.  “We were supposed to meet for dinner at six the night,” he swallowed hard, “the night she found her parents dead.  We never got to have that dinner. . .” his voice trailed off and his eyes were unfocused, as if seeing something that had happened a long time ago.

“I - I want to take her something, Harry, something that will show her how much she still means to me, but I don’t know what. . .”

 

“How about a medallion?” asked Harry, “like the one you gave the others?”

Lupin shook his head.  “Your Uncle would figure that out.  The wolf on the front would be a dead giveaway.”

 

“What about her roses?” asked Ginny.

 

“Roses?” said Lupin curiously.

Harry told him then, all about his Aunt’s wild rose garden.

 

“I wonder,” said Lupin quietly, his forehead furrowed.  “You said she never lets anyone else in there?”

 

“Well, I’ve gone in of course,” said Harry, shrugging, “Out of curiosity when she wasn’t looking.  Like I said, it’s a tangle, roses everywhere.  All colors too, and some really spectacular ones near the center.”

 

“Let me guess,” said Lupin softly.  “There are seven rose bushes whose blooms are blood-red with hot pink edges.”

 

“Yeah!” said Harry, looking at Lupin with amazement.  “How did you know that?”

 

“I gave them to her on our engagement day,” said Lupin, closing his eyes.  “They were supposed to be the flowers for our wedding ceremony.”

 

“You were wild here once,” said Ginny, glancing around to make sure there was no one else in the kitchen.  Harry wasn’t surprised to see her mage-light dancing at her fingertips under the table.  “Don’t let them tame you,” she whispered.  She held out her hands to Harry, who took the energy object from her palm.  As soon as it touched his skin it solidified into a medallion, identical to Lupin’s own, except that there was a single rose etched on the front instead of the wolf.  Harry dropped it onto the table in front of Lupin, who took the medallion in his hands, studying every inch of it.

 

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

 

“You can thank us by telling us all about how your dinner date goes,” said Harry, grinning broadly.

 

Lupin went scarlet.

 

*     *     *

 

 

Lupin showed up at lunchtime on Saturday.

 

There you are, Remus!” said Mrs. Weasley, who was slicing up sandwiches for lunch as he apparated in the kitchen of #12 Grimmauld Place with a faint pop.  “I was wondering where you’d gotten to!”

 

“Recruitment, Molly,” said Lupin mildly, sitting down at the table and pulling up a sandwich.

 

“Yes, yes, of course.  Did everything go well?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

 

“Swimmingly, Molly,” said Lupin, catching Harry’s eye and grinning broadly.  “I made considerable progress with this latest contact.”

 

“Anyone we know?” said Ron, coming in and flopping down on the other side of Harry.

“I’m not a liberty to say yet,” said Lupin carefully, then added, “But I do think that this one is going to require my, uh, personal attention.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Lupin merely smiled serenely and went back to his sandwich. Harry had to wait until later that evening before he could hear how Lupin’s visit to #4 Privet Drive had gone.

 

“So?” asked Ginny, as she and Harry stuck their heads into Lupin’s bedroom after supper.  He was on his hands and knees by the cage in the corner, disassembling it with a look of savage satisfaction.

 

God it feels good to be able to get rid of this!” said Lupin, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and brushing his hair back from his face.  “Do you realize that I’ve been a werewolf since I was six years old?  It’s been so long that it’s all tangled up in my view of who I am!”

 

“You’re not going to get off that easy, Remus!” said Harry, leaning against the wardrobe and grinning down at the man on the floor.

 

Lupin sat back on his heels and grinned sheepishly.  “Can’t get the better of you two, can I?”

 

“Nope,” said Ginny, sitting on the end of the bed and tucking her feet up underneath her.  “Come on, fess up!  Tell us what happened after you apparated at Arabella’s.”

 

“O.K., I got there about quarter till six,” said Lupin, standing up and brushing off his jeans. He pulled up a straight-backed chair, turned it around and straddled it so that he could lean his arms on the back while talking to them.  “So then Arabella called your Aunt and everything was clear, so I made the jump there.  She had supper waiting, and I’ll tell you one thing, Harry, she sure knows how to put together a dinner, your Aunt!”

“Did she go all fancy?” asked Harry, who had been to more than one of the dinners his Aunt prepared for company.

 

“No, actually, it was quite elegant, but not overdone, and she remembered, Harry, and had made all my favorite foods:  Chicken Cordon Bleu, spinach quiche, glazed carrots and homemade oatmeal bread.  She’d put a big bunch of those roses I was talking about in a bowl in the middle of the table as a centerpiece, too.”

 

“Candlelight?” asked Ginny interestedly.

 

“Not until I got there,” said Lupin, grinning.  “We’d just sat down to eat and she kept going on about how there seemed to be something missing, well I realized what it was and conjured some candles and magicked them into mid-air over the table.  She was startled of course, she’s lived so long now without magic of any kind, but she seemed to like the effect.”

 

“What did you have for desert?” asked Harry, wondering if his Aunt had made one of her famous puddings, like the one Dobby had splattered all over the kitchen when Harry was twelve.

 

To his surprise, Reumus blushed scarlet.

 

“Well, if the truth must be told, we, uh, never actually got to desert.”

Harry grinned broadly.  “So, did you tell her about what happened, about not being a werewolf anymore?”

 

“Well, yes, that’s actually what made us miss desert you see.”  Lupin, glanced up, then looked away quickly.  “We had gotten as far as the quiche and she asked me about my hair.  She asked if I’d dyed it.  Well, I told her the whole story, about Ginny and her healing ability, and how you’d managed something that everyone thought was impossible,” he said, looking at Ginny with admiration.  “She seemed genuinely happy for me, but a little sad too.  She seemed to think that now that I had a chance to live a normal life, that I wouldn’t be interested in a non-magical person like her any more and, well,” he shrugged, meeting Harry’s eye at last with a look that was both pleased and proud.  “I couldn’t have her thinking that!”

 

“Of course not,” said Harry, still grinning.

 

“Do you think she believed you?” asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised.

 

“I believe that I presented a very, erm, persuasive argument,” said Lupin, blushing furiously and looking at the floor.  “She seemed to be convinced by the time I left this morning.”

 

Harry and Ginny were both grinning now, unable to help themselves

 

“And you’ll be seeing her again, of course,” said Harry, watching Remus’s face carefully.  “I mean, after Aunt Marge has left and all.”

 

“How could I not?” said Lupin quietly, “She’s a part of me, Harry, a part I’ve tried to live without for the last nineteen years.  I’ll do whatever it takes to be with her!”

 

“I understand exactly how he feels,” said Harry, later that night as he and Ginny lay on their comforter, gazing up at the stars.  “Do you realize, Ginny, that we may not get another chance to be alone like this until Christmas?”

 

“You really think, now that I know what I was missing, that I would voluntarily go through another 3 ½ months of self-inflicted celibacy?” said Ginny, propping herself up on one elbow so that she could look down at him.  “Are you insane?”

 

Harry grinned up at her.  “You’re right, we’ll find a way.”  He pulled her down to lie on top of him and her long, silky hair fell about them like a curtain.  “Our own personal privacy screen,” said Harry, tugging on a lock.  “Too bad we can’t take the real ones with us,” he added.

 

“I vote we take full advantage of them while we have them,” said Ginny, grinning down at him.

 

“I second the motion,” said Harry, loosing himself as usual in the scent and feel of her.

 

There were none opposed.

 

The motion was carried.

 

Back to index


Chapter 4: THE END OF THE SORTING

CHAPTER FOUR

THE END OF THE SORTING

 

 

 

 

Everyone at #12 Grimmauld Place was up early the next morning.  Mrs. Weasley insisted on them all eating a huge breakfast before the started lugging their trunks out into the rain to wait for the Muggle Taxis to come pick them up.  Mr. Weasley had put in a call for them to come to #11, seeing as that they wouldn’t have been able to find #12, even if he’d asked them to.

 

In seemingly no time at all, Harry found himself standing on platform 9 ¾, staring at the scarlet steam engine with the gold letters “Hogwarts Express” stenciled on the side. Had it only been six years ago that he’d stood just here, a shy, skinny eleven-year-old boy, still in awe over finding out that he was a wizard, still amazed at his newfound ability to walk through the dividing wall between platforms nine and ten and had stared even as he was staring now, at the scarlet engine, billowing clouds of steam in its haste to be off?

As if reading his mind, a quiet voice spoke up from just behind him.

 

“Do you realize, Harry, that the next time we get on this train, we’ll be leaving school for good?”

 

“Hi, Neville,” said Harry without turning around.  “Have I become as transparent as all that?  Or have you suddenly developed the ability to read minds?”

 

“Neither.  It’s the look on your face, Harry,” said Neville with a small smile.  “You look exactly how I feel.  You’re remembering what it was like the first time you stood here, and you’re wondering where all the years have gone.”  He gave Harry a nudge and motioned towards the end of the train.  “I think Luna’s saving us seats though, come on.”

 

Sure enough, Luna Lovegood, looking as batty as ever in canary-yellow pants and a vividly purple silk blouse was waving to them from the door of a compartment near the end of the train.  Harry could see Ginny behind her, struggling to lift her trunk into one of the overhead luggage racks.

 

“Wingardium Leviosa,” mumbled Harry, pointing his wand at Ginny’s trunk.  The trunk floated up into the air until the roof of the train impeded its progress.  It was now, however, at a perfect level to be tucked into the luggage rack.

 

Ginny secured the trunk and then stuck her head out of the compartment door, watching Harry and Neville approaching the train.

 

“O.K., which one of you did that?  Harry, was that you?”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t think to do it yourself,” said Harry, grinning up at her.

 

“Yeah, me too!” said Ginny, watching interestedly as Harry magicked both his and Neville’s trunks into the racks and then handed Hedwig in to Ginny.

 

“Is it just the four of us, then?” asked Luna, looking down the platform to where Ron and Hermione were supervising several first years on board with their trunks.

 

“Yeah,” said Ginny, “But we’ve got their animals.”  She motioned to a wicker basket by the compartment door, which was spitting angrily, and to the cage on the seat beside her, in which Pigwidgeon was twittering madly.  “Hermione said that they’d probably be too busy to look after them much,” she said, shrugging.

 

“Head boy and girl,” said Luna, shaking her head.  From this close, she looked even flakier than she normally did, with a necklace which looked as if it were made lemon drops and matching earrings.  Her wand was, as usual, tucked behind her ear for safekeeping and Harry had the sudden urge to wonder what Mad-eye Moody would say about elementary wand safety if he could see it.  There was something different about Luna’s hair however.  It was no longer dirty blonde and stringy, but just blonde now, and was curled into ringlets.

 

“What’d you do to your hair, Luna?” asked Harry curiously, “It looks good!”

 

“Long-lasting Lemon rinse,” said Luna, raising her eyebrows so that her slightly protuberant eyes made it look as if she were going to scream.  She grinned though, and pulled a lock over her shoulder so that she could look at it.  “I use it instead of shampoo once a month, that and a curling charm. I always told myself that I’d never stoop to anything so blatantly girly,” she said, looking askance at the lock, “But surprisingly, the curling charm only takes thirty seconds to perform every morning and it does look good this way,” she admitted, shrugging and tossing the hair back over her shoulder.  “Besides,” she added, wrapping her arms around Neville’s neck, “Neville liked me as I was, so it’s not as if I’m doing it to get his attention or anything.  Hi, stranger,” she said softly, without a trace of dottiness to her voice, and then kissed him soundly. 

 

Neville responded so enthusiastically, that Trevor actually made a break for freedom, (probably concerned about being squashed at the tender age of seven), and hopped off under a seat to wait it out.  Harry retrieved him with a summoning charm, grinning at Ginny as Neville and Luna finally broke apart.

 

“I think you hurt Trevor’s feelings,” said Harry, handing the toad out to Neville, who took him with a sheepish grin.

 

“Oh, does Trevor want a kiss too?” said Luna, in a singsong voice.  She leaned forward then and gave him a kiss on the top of his warty head.

 

“She’s really not as weird as she makes herself out to be,” said Neville to Harry in a stage whisper, all the time grinning at Luna. “She just doesn’t want to be mistaken as a common, garden-variety kind of girl.”

 

“Luna,” said Harry, leaning back in his seat and pulling Ginny down onto his lap, “You’ll never be mistaken for a common, garden-variety kind of girl.”

 

“What about me?” said Ginny in mock-petulance, tucking her wand behind her ear and sticking her lip out at him.

 

Harry plucked her wand from behind her ear, tossed it onto the opposite seat, and kissed Ginny so thoroughly, that even Luna blushed.

 

A few minutes later Harry caught sight of a familiar face on the platform.

 

“Hey Ginny, Bill’s here!” he said, opening the door and waving enthusiastically.  Bill and Fleur were standing beside a small, silver-haired girl pushing a trolley with a trunk and a gorgeous calico cat in a cage.

 

“Gabrielle!” cried Ginny, stepping out and pulling the girl into a hug.  “You changed your mind then?”

 

Gabrielle nodded, glanced at Harry and grinned shyly.

 

“I never got to thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on the ground, “for saving my life in April.”

 

Harry raised Gabrielle’s chin until she was looking into his eyes.

 

“It was my pleasure, but I only helped” he said and then pulled her in for a hug, which she returned unselfconsciously. “If George hadn’t had his wits about him and known about CPR my getting you out of the water wouldn’t have mattered.”

 

“Yes, I know,” said Gabrielle softly.

 

“Hey, don’t I get one of those too?” said a voice directly behind them. 

 

Harry and Gabrielle both spun around.

 

“George!” said Gabrielle, her entire face lighting up in delight. 

 

Harry watched, amazed as George held his arms out to Gabrielle and she came into them without reservation, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head against his chest. 

 

“It is so good to see you again!” came Gabrielle’s voice, though it was rather muffled from being hidden in George’s shirt.

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged amused glances.

 

Uh oh!” said Harry, his eyebrows raised.

 

Something about this whole scene seems awfully familiar,” added Ginny, watching the tableau on the platform with interest.

 

She wasn’t the only one, either.  Fred was standing just behind George, a large cardboard box in his hands, and was watching his brother and Gabrielle with furrowed eyebrows.  Bill was looking highly amused, while Fleur was watching intently, a look of dawning comprehension on her face.

 

He fancies her,” Harry told Ginny in amazement as George bent his head to listen to Gabrielle, as she waxed eloquent about her trip to England.

 

And she has eyes only for him,” added Ginny with raised eyebrows, watching the look of adoration on Gabrielle’s face whenever she looked up at George’s face.  “George tested blue too you know,” she told Harry, looking sideways at him.  “And he told me once, a long time ago, that he dreamed about a girl who fit Gabrielle’s description perfectly.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.  I think I’m jealous.”

 

“Of George and Gabrielle?”

 

“No, of the fact that they have found each other so early,” said Ginny wistfully. 

 

“We aren’t exactly ancient, Gin,” Harry told her teasingly.

 

“Yeah, but you know what torture it was for me to know about us three years before you were able to come to grips with it?”

 

Harry gave her a sheepish sort of grin.  “It’s all sorted itself out Gin.  I wish I’d known.”

 

“If I’d told you when I found out, you never would have spoken to me again.”

 

“You don’t know that!”

 

Ginny merely raised her eyebrows at him.  

 

“My mother and father thought it best that she come to Hogwarts this year, given the unrest near the school,” said Fleur in her rich, throaty voice.

 

“Is the school in the mountains then?” asked Harry interestedly.

 

Whole villages of Muggles had been destroyed last year when the giants that had been recruited by Voldemort’s Death Eaters had gone on the rampage in the French Alps.  There had been sporadic reports all summer of more unrest, Muggle expeditions disappearing, children straying off and never being seen again.  Even Wizards tended to be wary of Giants who were so huge and powerfully magical that it was difficult to control them with any known spells.

 

In fact, until last year there had been no giants left in Britain.  Now there were two.  Hagrid’s ‘little’ brother, Grawp whom Hagrid had brought back at the end of Harry’s fifth year, and Maag, a young giantess teenager who Madam Maxime had convinced to come to Hogwarts during the past summer in the hopes that she would consent to be Grawp’s wife.  Why Hagrid wanted to start a family of giants was more than Harry wanted to know.  Look what happened when he’d found Aragog a wife . . .Harry shuddered, remembering the hungry sound of all those pincers clicking . . .clicking . . .he was jerked back to reality by Ginny who had prodded him in the ribs with the tip of her wand.

 

“Fleur was talking to you!”

 

“Sorry, I got sidetracked, what did she say?”

 

“Only that she didn’t know the exact coordinates of the school, that it would change from one year to the next, something about translocation spells.”

 

“I think they used something like that on the staircases at Hogwarts,” Harry told Fleur, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.  “Sometimes one staircase will lead to one place, but on Friday’s it leads somewhere else.”

 

Fleur smiled, her eyes still on Gabrielle and George.  “I never did much care for the staircases at Hogwarts.  Some of those trick steps . . .I was stuck in one for an hour one afternoon.”

 

Harry grinned. Neville had hit that trick step repeatedly and he himself had gotten stuck in it one night during his fourth year and had almost been caught by Filch and Snape.

 

“Harry!”  Ginny caught his eye and looked pointedly to where Gabrielle and George were still standing, deep in conversation.

 

“I have something for you,” said George was saying.  He pulled a silver chain out of his pocket and held it up for Gabrielle to see.  At the end of the chain was a delicate silver butterfly that was charmed to change colors endlessly, going from the most delicate pink to lavender, to mauve to pale blue to a peachy orange, to a soft butter yellow, each color blending seamlessly into the next.

 

“Oh, it is so beautiful!” breathed Gabrielle, fingering the charm.  “And you know what it looks like?”

 

“The butterfly I caught for you on the lawn at your house,” said George promptly.  “That’s exactly what I thought!  When I caught that butterfly, I thought you could put it in a jar and keep it in your room, but you convinced me to let it go free instead.” George slipped the chain around her neck and settled the charm in the hollow of her throat.

 

“I wish I had something to give you!” said Gabrielle in her smooth, creamy voice.  George went very still and Harry could see him swallow with some difficulty.

 

“That’s O.K., sweetheart,” he said at last, putting a hand on her silvery head.  “That hug was gift enough.”

 

I know what I can give you!” she said delightedly, then grabbed his hands in hers and, standing on tiptoe, proceeded to kiss him full on the lips.  “That will have to do for now,” she told him, patting his arm and smiling radiantly.

 

George, who had closed his eyes, a look of rapt wonder creeping across his face as Gabrielle had kissed him (Harry had been able to sense his fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her back) opened his eyes and grinned down at her.

 

“It will do for now,” he echoed, trying to keep his tone light in spite of the odd catch in his voice.  “Go on, you’d best be finding a seat,” he said, motioning to the train.

 

“Do you want to sit with us, Gabrielle?” asked Ginny, looking around.  “No, of course not, you’d be bored silly with us, give me a minute.” She cornered Euan Abercombie who was loading his trunk into a compartment two doors down.

 

“Euan, this is Gabrielle, she’s a third year too. She’s been attending Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, but is coming here this year to be closer to her sister,” she said, motioning back towards Fleur.

 

Euan looked appraisingly at Gabrielle who gazed back at him levelly.

 

“You want to sit with us then?” asked Euan, indicating his compartment with an inclination of his head.

 

“If you do not mind,” said Gabrielle in her smooth voice.

 

“Bring your stuff then, there’s plenty of room,” said Euan, grinning.

 

Gabrielle gave them all hugs, actually clinging to George for a moment before Bill helped her in with her trunk.

 

“You know where we are if you need us,” Ginny told Gabrielle.

 

“Be nice, Euan,” said Harry, “Or I’ll sick Dennis on you.”

 

Euan snorted derisively.

 

“Hey, Harry,” said Fred at last, throwing a disparaging look at George, who was watching Gabrielle get settled, an odd expression of longing on his face.

 

“What’s up?” asked Harry, “Who’s minding the shop?”

 

“Lee and Angelina,” said Fred dismissively.  “We just thought we’d take our lunch break and come see you lot off,” he said, looking around at them all.

 

“Can’t believe he’s gone the way of Percy,” said Fred, sighing as he spotted Ron at the other end of the train, going over a list of some sort with the engineer.

 

“Not hardly!” said Harry defensively.

 

“He’s Quidditch captain too you know, Fred,” said Ginny loyally.  “He’s not all Mr. Regulation now!”

 

“O.K., O.K., don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m just joking!” said Fred.

 

“Why are you really here?” Harry asked Fred, he didn’t bother to direct that particular question at George, the reason he was here was written across his face for the whole world to see.

 

“Advance marketing for the shop Mr. Lovestruck here will be opening in January,” said Fred loudly.

 

George finally acknowledged him with a rather sheepish grin.  Fred handed Harry the large cardboard box.

 

“Are you opening a shop in Hogsmeade?” asked Neville interestedly.  He’d been hanging out of the compartment door, and had watched the tableau on the platform with growing interest.

 

“Yep, time to spread our wings a little,” said George, his voice oddly gruff.

 

“Just thought if you lot would be so kind as to let it be known that we’ll be coming,” said Fred cheerfully.  “We’ve put together a little marketing kit, you know, free samples, pamphlets, order forms, things of that sort.”

 

“And I suppose you want me to do a bit of advertising for you,” said Harry, grinning.

 

Fred shrugged.  “Well, mate, you do have your reputation to think of.”

 

“Yeah,” said George, seeming to come to himself at last.  “What with you being our financial backer . . .”

 

“Our inspiration!” added Fred dramatically.

 

“Our hero!” said the twins in unison, both going down on their knees for emphasis.

 

Harry cringed. “All right, all right!  I’ll take the damn box, just shut up, will you?” said Harry, going slightly pink and handing the box in to Neville.

 

“Do you think she’ll be O.K.?” Ginny asked Fleur, watching as Euan introduced Gabrielle to the other kids in his compartment.

 

“In spite of appearances, Gabrielle is not in the least bit shy.  She will have them eating out of the palm of her hand by lunch,” said Fleur.

 

“Is that your sister, Fleur?” asked Neville, looking curiously down the platform.

 

“Yes, that is Gabrielle,” said Fleur.  She will be thirteen next week,” she added, looking significantly at Ginny before glancing at George.  “To be perfectly honest, I think that is the real reason that my parents wanted Gabrielle to come to Hogwarts, so that she would be near me.  I’ve always had an, erm, calming influence on her.”  She sighed, gave Ginny another hug and stepped back onto the platform as the train began moving.  “Please let me know if I am needed.”

 

“Yes, of course,” said Ginny at once.  “Hermione and I will both keep an eye on her.”

The train had begun to pull out, but Bill swung on board through their still-open door and gave Harry and Ginny both a hug.

 

“Take care of this one, Harry,” he said, bending down and giving Ginny a swift kiss on the cheek.

 

“I’ll do that,” said Harry, grinning as Bill leapt lightly back onto the platform.

 

“See you next Sunday, Ginny!” Bill called as they picked up speed. 

 

In moments the platform had disappeared from view, and they were on their way.

 

“Still teaching, Ginny?” asked Neville, once they had settled themselves and gotten the animals out of their cages.

 

“Every Sunday, except today of course.”

 

“What do you teach?” asked Luna interestedly.

 

“I teach three beginning ballet classes at Bill’s studio in Diagon Alley,” said Ginny proudly.

 

“Yes, you look like a dancer,” said Luna, eyeing Ginny critically.

 

“You should see her in a leotard,” said Harry, deadpan.

 

Neville went pink, and Ginny elbowed Harry hard in the ribs.

 

What!” said Harry, trying for innocence.

Luna just shook her head.  “How do you get there, Ginny?” she asked.

 

“Dumbledore’s fire,” said Ginny with a shrug.  “I have special permission because Bill’s studio is a bit of a pet project for Professor Dumbledore, Wizard — Muggle relations and all of that.”

 

“Neville told me about your dance at the birthday party,” said Luna with her eyebrows raised.  “Seems you made quite an impression.”

 

It was Ginny’s turn to go pink.

 

“She made a hell of an impression,” said Harry, noting with interest that Ginny had now gone scarlet.  “Especially on me,” he added more quietly, opening his arms to her.

Ginny slid onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

“You like seeing me blush, don’t you Harry,” she said in a rather muffled voice.

Harry grinned into her hair. 

 

“And how,” he said meaningfully, and was rewarded by feeling the increasing heat from her face against his neck.

 

“You’re embarrassing her, Harry,” said Neville with a grin, noting Ginny’s heightened color.

 

“Say, Luna,” said Harry, “Remember on the train ride back last term, when you were thinking about what a good idea tinted windows would be?”

 

Luna nodded, smiling.

 

“I think we could use them right about now,” said Harry.

 

“Why’s that?” asked Luna interestedly.

 

“Because I’m about to embarrass her even more,” said Harry. 

 

He lifted her chin then, and kissed her deeply.

 

Luna and Neville exchanged amused looks, and Luna, instead of pulling out a copy of The Quibbler, extracted a thick book and began to read.

 

“What’s that you’re reading, Luna?” asked Ginny, when Harry finally released her.

 

Luna held up the book.  On the front was the title:  COME BACK, SNORKACK! By Larry Lovegood.  On the back was a picture of a familiar-looking Wizard, waving enthusiastically.

 

“It actually made The Daily Prophet Best Seller List for four weeks in July! Said Luna proudly.

 

“Your dad wrote that?” asked Harry curiously, finally placing the Wizard in the picture.

 

“It’s a pretty good read, actually,” said Neville quite suddenly.

 

Harry and Ginny both stared at him.

 

“Really, he’s got a way with words, Luna’s dad.  He has no problem making people think he knows what he’s talking about-”

 

“Even when he hasn’t got a clue,” Neville and Luna chanted together, dissolving into giggles.

 

“It’s a saying he has,” explained Neville, still chuckling when he saw Harry and Ginny’s blank expressions.

 

“Talk like you know what you’re talking about, even when you haven’t got a clue,” recited Luna in a singsong voice.

 

“Sound advice,” said Ginny, struggling to maintain a straight face.

 

“Sounds like quite a guy,” agreed Harry. 

 

Luna beamed.

 

“Dad went to Hogwarts you know.  Ravenclaw, of course.  He got ten N.E.W.T.’s, six of them Outstandings,” said Luna proudly.

 

Really?” said Ginny, looking impressed in spite of herself.

 

“Oh yes.  With scores like his, he could have gone into any line of work he wanted, but instead he chose to start up The Quibbler.  It was a dream he had, you see,” said Luna seriously.

 

“So, Neville,” said Ginny, in a desperate attempt to change the subject.  “Did you actually get to meet Mr. Lovegood?”

 

“Oh, yeah!” said Neville brightly.  “Bloody brilliant, if you ask me.  Great sense of humor too.”

 

We’ll he’d have to, wouldn’t he, to come up with something like the Quibbler,” said Ginny to Harry sub-vocally.

 

“What was that he took us to, Luna?” asked Neville.

 

“A Muggle stand-up comedy club,” said Luna instantly.

 

“I thought I’d die laughing!” said Neville, grinning broadly.

 

“You’re dad took you two to a Muggle comedy club?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Oh sure, daddy’s Muggle-born you know,” said Luna airily.

 

“No, I didn’t,” said Harry, struggling to suppress a grin.  “I take it you got on well with him then,” he asked Neville.

 

“Well yeah, actually.  Gran was a bit put out about me being gone for three weeks of course-”

 

“You stayed at Luna’s for three weeks?” asked Harry in amazement.

 

“Yep, and I got to met Neville’s parents,” beamed Luna.  “They’re nutty as  fruitcakes, both of them, but nice as anything, she said breezily.

 

Harry glanced quickly at Neville, who seemed to be taking this disparaging comment in stride.  Harry and Ginny exchanged concerned looks.  They both remembered the time they’d gotten off on the wrong floor at St. Mungo’s and had met Neville’s parents who lived on a long-term ward there.  Neville’s parents had been Aurors.  They had been tortured into insanity by Lord Voldemort’s followers after he had disappeared.

 

“How’s Lockheart?” asked Harry in a would-be-light tone.

 

“He was released in June,” said Neville, looking at Harry curiously.

 

“He, he got his memory back?” asked Harry in amazement and not with a little concern, seeing as that he, after all, had been the reason, that Lockheart had lost his memory.  Lockheart had been trying to perform a memory charm on him with Ron’s broken wand.  The wand had backfired, wiping Lockhart’s own memory like a magnetized computer disc.

 

“Only what’s written in his books,” said Luna with a shrug.  “No one else seems to know much about him.”

 

“Only that he’s really good at joined up writing,” said Ginny faintly.

 

Harry sniggered.

 

Luna and Neville fell into a discussion about her father’s book.  Harry challenged Ginny to a game of exploding snap, but they gave it up as a lost cause when they realized that they could see each other’s hands and were preempting each other’s moves.

 

“This doesn’t bode well for any sort of game, does it?” muttered Harry, throwing down his hand in frustration as they reached another stalemate.

 

Harry and Ginny had discovered last Christmas that they could play chess, as long as neither one of them looked at the board in between moves or did any advance planning for strategic moves.  It required them to move spontaneously, and made for quite a wild game.

 

“Interesting strategy,” said Ron, sticking his head into their compartment and taking in their seemingly un-planned moves.  “Not very logical, but, given your particular handicap, creative.”

 

“Hello, stranger!” said Ginny, grinning up at him, having just captured Harry’s knight by an odd stroke of luck.

 

“Keeping busy, Ron?” asked Neville, who was watching Harry and Ginny’s game with interest.

 

“Nasty business, this Head Boy gig,” said Ron.  He flopped down beside Neville and promptly jumped back to his feet at an angry hiss from Crookshanks, on whose tail he’d had the audacity to sit.  “Haven’t had a moment’s peace since we left.”

 

“Where’s Hermione?” asked Harry.

 

Ron rolled his eyes.  “Settling some dispute between a fourth year Slytherin girl and a sixth year Hufflepuff boy.  Don’t know either of them by name.  Anyway, I guess he got a little too friendly, and now he has feet where his hands should be.”

 

Harry and Neville snickered.

 

“A switching spell!” said Ginny, her eyebrows raised.  “Not a usual method for getting rid of unwanted suitors, but I can see how it could be effective.”

 

Very effective,” said Neville, inexplicably clapping his hands over his ears and wincing visibly.

 

“Yes,” said Luna dreamily.  “Especially if the unwanted suitor tried to go too far without your consent . . .”

 

She caught Ginny’s eye and they both dissolved into giggles.

 

“I think I’ll forget that I heard that,” said Ron, his eyebrows raised dangerously.  “Although, if anyone comes up with any anatomic bits in the wrong place, I’ll definitely be getting back to you two.”

 

Ron grinned at Harry.  “Not a bad idea though.  Too bad we can’t switch Crabbe’s brain for a chimp’s.”

 

“Good heavens no!” said Neville in alarm.  “Can you imagine Crabbe actually having a coherent thought?”

 

“Even if it was just ‘where banana go?’” said Harry, chuckling.

 

“Anyway,” said Ron, “Hermione’s sorting him out.”

 

“You know,” said Neville curiously, sticking his head out into the passageway and looking right and left, “I was expecting a bit more security, given what happened in June!”

 

“Oh, they’ve got that under control!” said Ron dismissively.  “The engineer has to report in every ten minutes to a squad that is following the train at an undisclosed distance.  If the squad doesn’t hear from the engineer at the scheduled time, they come on board, prepared for the worst and all of that.”

 

Wild!” said Luna, looking excited. 

 

“I would have thought they’d want officials on the train,” said Neville curiously.

 

“Fudge was going to,” said Ron, “but Dumbledore talked him out of it.  There’s no point, really.  If they use a timestop again, anyone in the train would be affected, including the officials.  So the reporting in bit is more than adequate.  Of course there are least a dozen families who have opted to get their children to Hogwarts using other means,” Ron added. 

 

Just then, a fifth year prefect, a Hufflepuff Harry didn’t recognize, stuck his head into the compartment and beckoned to Ron.

 

“Say, Ron, Goyle’s got a little first year by the collar with his head stuck out the window, and won’t let him go.  His crony there is threatening to jinx us if we interfere.”

 

“No rest for the weary, eh?” said Ron and, with a great sigh and roll of his eyes, he was gone.

 

“Nope,” said Ginny, turning back to their game and, without actually meaning to, putting Harry in checkmate, “Fred and George had the right idea.  You couldn’t pay me to be a prefect!”

 

Both Ron and Hermione stopped in for lunch, but they had barely begun to eat, when the plump witch who ran the lunch cart stuck her head in.

 

“Whichever of you heads is available, there’s a boy up near the front who’s throwing people’s lunches out the compartment window.”

 

Giving a derisive snort, Ron went off to deal with the thrower of lunches.  Hermione was called out a few minutes later by a Slytherin prefect who seemed rather more amused than concerned over a series of hexes that had turned all the people in a compartment further up the train into fire-breathing jellyfish.

 

“Did we ever cause this much trouble?” asked Harry in amazement as Hermione went off to deal with this latest crisis.

 

“Well,” said Luna fairly, “the D.A. members you taught, Harry, did make a bit of a mess out of Malfoy and his friends on the way home my fourth year.”

 

“And, if I remember correctly,” said Ginny, grinning at Harry, “You, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George rather make a mess of them on the ride home the year before that, too!”

 

“Yeah, well,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly.

 

“Now you see what sort of trouble you were causing for those poor prefects and heads,” said Luna.  “But not Neville,” said Luna, laying her head on his shoulder.  “Neville’s a good boy.”

 

 “Oh, sure, right!” said Harry.  “That’s why he covered me in Stinksap last year.

 

“And not only wrote down the passwords, which you’re never supposed to do, but then left them out where Black could get to them,” added Ginny.

 

“And don’t forget, Neville, you were with us when we discovered Fluffy!” said Harry.  Neville shuddered.

 

“And didn’t you have to serve detention in the forbidden forest with Harry, Malfoy and Hermione because you were out wandering the corridors after curfew your first year?” asked Ginny. Neville pulled a face.

 

“Or your little part in our Ministry episode in June last year,” Harry pointed out.

 

“Or your having stunned a prefect and a member of the Inquisitorial squad,” interjected Ginny.

 

“Alright, alright!” said Neville, grinning.

 

“”Ooh!” said Luna in a credible imitation of Lavender Brown.  “Ooh, Neville!  An air of mystery!  I like that in a man!” she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes and pretending to swoon.

 

“Just kiss her, Neville,” advised Harry.  “She’s begging for it.

 

“Neville looked appraisingly at Luna’s upturned face, then back at Harry with an uncharacteristic glint of mischief in his eyes.

 

“So, Luna,” said Neville in a carefully calculated voice.  “You like a man with an air of mystery to him?”

 

Luna opened her eyes abruptly at his change of tone.

 

“Should we tell her, Harry?” asked Neville, dropping Harry a broad wink over Luna’s head.  “I mean, I know I promised and all that-”

 

“I don’t know if she’s ready to hear the truth, Neville,” said Harry quickly.  He was uncertain where this was going, but curious enough to play along.

 

“But surely, Harry,” said Ginny, jumping seamlessly into the dialogue.  “Surely the truth can’t hurt anyone now.”

 

“No, but mind you, Ginny,” intoned Harry seriously.  “The truth can set you free.”

 

Ginny put on a horrified face and covered her mouth with her hand. 

 

“You, you mean that if we tell her the truth, that he, that he might-”

 

Harry nodded, looking very grave.  “Yes, Ginny, the power would be released.”

 

“You have to let me tell her!” said Neville in a pleading voice.  “Please Harry!  It would mean so much to me!”

 

“No, Neville,” said Harry, whipping out his wand and pointing it at Neville’s heart.  “I can’t let you do it!  It’s too dangerous!”

 

“But surely, Harry.  Surely Neville has a right to tell her the truth if he feels he must,” pleaded Ginny.

 

“Don’t you know what that could lead to, Ginny?”

 

“But we could stun him in time if he tried to hurt her.”

 

“I don’t know, Ginny.”

 

Please, Harry!” said Neville, looking pleadingly at Harry.  “I have to tell her, don’t you see?  If I don’t I’ll be living a lie!”

 

He turned to Luna and took her by both hands.  “This is something I should have told you a long time ago, Luna,” said Neville.

 

“Neville!” said Harry warningly.

 

“I,” Neville swallowed, tried again.  “I want to tell you, Luna, but I’m afraid,” he said, his voice trembling.

 

“It’s O.K., Neville,” said Luna soothingly, running her fingers through his hair.  “Whatever it is, you can tell me.  I’m not afraid.

 

Neville took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

“I love you, Luna Lovegood.”

 

Luna closed her eyes, her look of concern being replaced by one of aggravation and then amusement.

 

“Now that,” she said at last, opening her eyes, “was good acting!”

 

“Oh, acting am I?” said Neville serenely, and proceeded to kiss her so thoroughly that Harry and Ginny decided that it was time to take a stroll down the train check in on Gabrielle.

 

*     *     *

 

Harry didn’t see Ron or Hermione again until they were climbing into the carriages for the ride up to the castle.

 

Harry had stopped to stroke the glossy neck of the nearest Thestral and was wondering to himself why a creature like this would only be visible to those who had seen death, when he spotted Ron and Hermione making their way towards the carriage.

 

“Room for two more?” asked Ron tiredly.

 

“Hop in,” said Harry, opening the carriage door for them with a flourish before climbing in himself.

 

Neville, Luna and Ginny were already inside, along with Crookshanks, Hedwig, Pigwidgeon and Trevor.

 

“You guys look wiped out,” said Neville, noting their strained expressions and pulling Luna onto his lap to make room for the new arrivals.

 

“Yeah, and the school year has only just begun,” said Ron, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

 

“It is an awful lot of responsibility,” said Hermione, taking a list out of an inside robe pocket and consulting it with a worried expression.  Besides overseeing things on the train, we’re supposed to have weekly meetings with the headmaster where we’ll be given assignments that we then parcel out to the prefects.”

 

“And then, all prefects are supposed to report in to us each evening,” said Ron, his eyes still closed. “After they’ve made sure that everyone is in their beds and all of that.”

 

“And if there is something, a dispute or whatever, they can’t handle, we’re supposed to intervene.  Only if we can’t settle it is it supposed to go to the heads of the houses.”

 

“And only in extreme cases to the headmaster,” sighed Ron.”

 

“But we do turn into a report to the headmaster at our weekly meeting,” said Hermione, pointing to the bottom of the page.

 

“As if we won’t have enough to do with homework and all,” said Ron.

 

“And studying for N.E.W.T.’s,” suggested Harry, unable to help himself.

 

Ron groaned and Hermione looked nervous.

 

“You pegged it, Ginny,” said Neville, smiling slightly, “you couldn’t pay me to be a prefect.”

 

Ginny sniggered appreciatively.

 

“Look at it this way,” said Harry reasonably.  “It’ll be good practice for married life.”

 

“How do you figure that?” asked Ron, finally opening his eyes.

 

“Well, you know,” said Harry, his lips twitching.  “Settling disputes and all.”

 

Neville snorted.

 

“Reporting in regularly to the headmaster,” added Luna, grinning madly.

 

“Or in your case, Ron, the headmistress,” interjected Ginny with an evil grin.

 

Hermione turned rather pink, and the whole carriage burst out laughing, startling their Thestrals so badly that they stumbled, making the carriage lurch.

 

“Well, I suppose that’s why they get their own rooms,” said Luna thoughtfully. 

 

“Come again?” said Harry, startled.

 

“The Head Boy and Head Girl are given their own rooms,” said Luna, shrugging.  “It’s one of the perks that come with all the added responsibilities.”

 

“You mean I don’t have to listen to Neville’s snores?” said Ron, his eyes lighting up.  “Wicked!”

 

“Where-” Harry cleared his throat and tried again.  “Where are the Head Boy and Girl’s rooms located?”   It hadn’t crossed his mind to consider that he might not be sharing a dormitory with Ron during this, their final year at Hogwarts.

 

“The Head Boy and Girl’s rooms are under a translocation spell, just like the staircases,” said Hermione promptly.  “They can be accessed from the common room of whichever house the Head belongs to.”

 

“Weird,” said Neville, frowning slightly.  “But what happens if someone from another house needs them?  I mean, someone from, say, Slytherin can’t get into the Gryffindor Common Room!”

 

“Each room has two entrances,” said Hermione, sounding, as usual, as if she was regurgitating a textbook.  “One entrance opens into their own house’s common room, the other into the third floor corridor where it is equidistant from each house.”

 

“I suppose you found that in Hogwarts, a History,” said Harry drily.

 

“Which I suppose you have yet to read,” said Hermione archly.

 

“Touché.”

 

*     *     *

 

Harry was overcome once more by a feeling of finality and stood quite still when he reached the entrance to the Great Hall.  It’s ceiling, which was bewitched to reflect the night sky outside, was clear and bright (they had left the rain behind in London).  Harry could just see thousands of stars twinkling up in the rafters.  The stars seemed to be mirrored by the hundreds of candles floating in the air above the tables, casting a warm, golden glow over the entire scene.

 

There were the four long House tables, set with their golden plates and goblets.  There was the raised staff table at the front where the teachers (with the exception of Hagrid, who was supervising the first years’ arrival by boat, and Professor McGonagall, who would be waiting to lead them in to the sorting) all sat, resplendent in their best robes.  And, last but not least, the sea of faces that made up the Hogwarts student body.  Harry remembered how mysterious and magical it had all seemed to him his first night at Hogwarts, and now, it was as if he’d come home.

 

Harry felt Ginny’s hand slip into his.  She didn’t say a word.  She didn’t have to.  Harry could feel her empathy.  She knew exactly how he felt.

 

“And you don’t even get the full seven years!” said Harry, squeezing her hand.

 

Ginny grinned up at him.

 

“Well, if we don’t get a move on, we won’t get seats, either!”

 

It was odd, thought Harry as he sat down between Ron and Ginny, how the seventh years at all the House tables had seemed to clump together at the far ends of the House tables, as if aware that this would be one of the last times they would be together as a group.

 

Harry looked around.  Ginny, on his right, was at the very end of the table, closest to the doors.  Ron and Hermione sat at his left, deep in conversation about how to go about enforcing regulations.  Looking rather lonely, Neville was sitting across the table from Ginny, also on the end.  He kept casting surreptitious glances towards the Ravenclaw table where Luna, too, was sitting alone.  Dean, who was sitting next to Neville, seemed quite absorbed by Parvati’s rundown of her summer, and on Parvati’s other side, Seamus and Lavender were chatting unconcernedly about the classes they would be taking.

 

“I wonder when they get here?” Ron said finally, looking around. As if on cue, the great double doors opened, and McGonagall ushered in her trembling line of first years.

 

“Hey,” said Harry, nudging Ron in the ribs, “Do you remember what McGonagall said when we first arrived?”

 

“Which bit?” asked Ron, watching the new students through narrowed eyes.  “God they look small!”

 

“Were we ever that puny?” asked Seamus, looking around their end of the table.

 

“About our house becoming like our family,” said Harry, nodding around their end of the table.

 

“It is, rather, isn’t it?” said Ron.

 

“I don’t remember that so much as being horribly nervous,” said Seamus, nodding towards one little fellow who couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

 

“I remember feeling like Alice in Wonderland,” said Parvati, nodding towards one tiny girl with huge, scared looking blue eyes and a head full of dark brown curls.  “As if I’d fallen down the rabbit hole.  I kept expecting that it was all a dream, and that any second I’d wake up!”

 

“Give that one five or six years and she’ll be a stunner!” said Dean appreciatively.  “Maybe even as beautiful as you,” he said, putting an arm around Parvati’s waist.

 

Parvati simpered.

 

Ron, Harry, Neville and Seamus all groaned quietly. Hermione caught Ginny’s eye, and they both turned away, suppressing giggles.

 

“There’s me,” said Neville, pointing to a chubby, pasty-faced little boy who kept tripping over the hem of his robes.

“And me!” said Ron, nodding at a tall, gangly boy in the back, who kept hunching his shoulders, trying to make himself shorter.

 

“Just think,” said Seamus quietly.  “In seven years they will be sitting where we are now, watching the first years file in and wondering where the last seven years of their lives have gone.”

 

Silence fell over their end of the table as they contemplated this statement.  The silence spread as Professor McGonagall placed the four-legged stool in front of the line of first years and settled the Sorting Hat in its accustomed place.

 

Dirty, patched and frayed, the Sorting Hat was traditionally placed on each new student’s head, at which time it would shout out the name of the House that it thought that student the best suited for. A rip near the brim of the shabby hat opened wide, like a mouth, and silence fell over the great hall as the Sorting Hat began to sing.

 

It was so very long ago

That Hogwarts School was started

The founders four were then quite sure

They never would be parted.

 

From every corner of our land

Young witches and wizards came,

So that each and every one

Could be taught and trained the same.

 

But arguments soon did arise

Between these four best friends

One said, “We should teach them all,”

And three said, “It depends”

 

Said Ravenclaw, “I will teach those

Whose intelligence is surest.

Said Slytherin, “I’ll only teach

Those whose blood is purest.

 

Gryffindor said he would teach

Those with brave deeds to their name.

While gentle Helga Hufflepuff

Said she’d teach them all the same.

 

It was for this I was created

By these four formerly best friends

To devide you into houses

But tonight the madness ends.

 

For a thousand years I’ve sorted

When you’ve put me on your heads

But since I choose not to continue

You will have to choose instead.

 

Without a further word of explanation, the Sorting Hat collapsed on the stool and, before their eyes, disintegrated into a pile of dust and tattered bits of cloth and string.

 

An absolute silence filled the Great Hall.  Everyone, even the teachers, was staring in shock at the pile of rotted scraps that had, until just moments before, been the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat.  Only Dumbledore looked relatively composed.  Catching Harry’s eye he dropped him the ghost of a wink.

 

“He knew!” said Harry, turning to the rest of the Gryffindor seventh-years.  “Dumbledore knew this was going to happen!  Look at his face!”

 

Indeed, Professor Dumbledore was sitting serenely in his chair, surveying the scene with a rather amused expression as the hall exploded in a burst of noise.

 

“Well,” said Hermione reasonably.  “The hat lives — lived -  in his office after all.  I suppose if it was planning something like this, it may very well have told him, or at least warned him.”  She shrugged, but looked very shaken all the same.

 

“But what will happen now?” asked Dean Thomas, looking confused.  “How can there be a sorting without a Sorting Hat?”  Parvati now had her head buried in his shoulder, and looked as if she were going to cry.  Lavender was staring, stunned, at the stool where the hat had stood.

 

“There won’t be a sorting,” said Neville in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried around the table.  “You heard the Hat.  Those waiting to be sorted will have to choose a house for themselves.”

 

Professor Flitwick, tears running down his tiny, wrinkled face, was sweeping the pile of dust and molded scraps into a wooden box.

 

“But it’s a hat,” said Ron dumbly.  “How could it decide not to do what it was created for?”  He looked as if someone had unexpectedly punched him in the stomach.

 

“It’s not just a hat,” said Harry quietly, staring at the teachers table as Flitwick handed the small wooden box to Dumbledore.

 

“It was alive,” said Ginny, tears standing in her eyes.

 

Seamus laughed outright.  “How could a hat possibly be alive?”

 

“It had a brain,” said Harry, his forehead furrowed in concentration, “remember it’s song our fourth year?  It told us that Griffindor had swept it off his head, and then the four wizards and witches had put some brains in it so it could choose.  Anything with a brain can think.  It talked to me when I put it on my head at our sorting.  It saved my life when I was in the Chamber of Secrets.  Ginny’s right, it was alive.”

 

“And it warned us!” said Hermione.  “Two years ago it warned us of the dangers of sorting students into houses, how it can divide us.”

 

“It was alive,” said Ginny again, tears now trickling down her cheeks.  “And now it’s gone.”  She was squeezing Harry’s hand tightly under the table, but was looking directly at Neville.  “Like a mother protecting her child, it has given its life so that we can get on with ours.”

 

Now she removed her hand from Harry’s grasp and placed hers both on top of Neville’s, which were lying, palms up on the table across from her.  Neville’s eyes got very big.  Harry could feel Neville’s thoughts as they tumbled out, a jumble of confusing images:

 

The sound of a woman’s high, cruel laughter, Alice Longbottom twitching madly on the floor, her face contorted in pain, a tall man lying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes rolling up in his head and a voice, a smooth, cool voice Harry recognized immediately as belonging to Lucias Malfoy.

 

“You stupid fool!  What did you do that for?  Now she can tell us nothing!”

 

“She wouldn’t talk,” came a woman’s voice, sounding amused. 

 

“She would have,” said Malfoy. 

 

“She didn’t even put up a fight,” said the woman’s voice.  Harry now recognized it as belonging to Bellatrix LeStrange.

 

“That’s because she was protecting the child,” said Malfoy dismissively.

 

“The child, should we kill it?”

 

“The child is nothing.  The prophecy has already been fulfilled.”

 

“But he’s seen us, Lucias.  He knows who we are.”

 

“That is easily fixed,” said Malfoy with a sneer.  “Obliviate!”

 

A burst of red sparks, and then nothing.

 

“You saw the whole thing,” Ginny whispered, her grip on Neville’s hands tightening.  “They wiped your memory!” she sounded aghast.  “Oh Neville, look at the scars they left!”  Tears were trickling down her face.

 

“Ginny-” began Neville.

 

“It’s not your fault, Neville,” said Ginny, still looking directly into his eyes.  “She was only doing what any mother would have done under the circumstances.”

 

“But Ginny, if she hadn’t been protecting me, she could have held on much longer!  Gran said a team of Hit Wizards arrived only moments later!” said Neville, his voice shaking.

 

“If you had a child, Neville, would you do anything less?” asked Ginny quietly.

 

Neville shook his head. 

 

“Of course not,” he whispered.

 

“Your mother, Neville, she suspected that you would have a part to play, even though the Dark Lord had not chosen you.”  Ginny’s voice had begun to take on the odd, reverberating quality that Harry associated with the power that occasionally spoke through her.  Their entire end of the Griffindor table had gone silent, and was watching the tableau between Neville and Ginny.  The silence spread until, for the second time in ten minutes, the entire hall was gripped in an unnatural and absolute quiet.  Meanwhile, Ginny had continued to speak.

 

For while it is the one upon whom the Dark Lord placed his mark that will destroy him, it is the one whom he passed over that will save the victor’s soul.”

 

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath, let go of Neville’s hands and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Ginny?” asked Ron tentatively as someone at a nearby table laughed, and conversations began to resume around the room.

 

Harry shook his head.

 

“Let her alone, Ron.  It could take her a bit to recover,” said Harry.

 

“What - what was that?” asked Dean, staring at Ginny with something like amazement.  “Your voice went all — all hollow!

 

“I’ll explain it later,” said Harry, looking around to see who else had caught the entire exchange.  Most of those who had heard her, seemed to have assumed that she was just putting on a show of some sort, and had gone back to whatever they had been doing.

 

Neville, however, was still staring at Ginny with something like reverence.  Ron and Hermione were both looking at her as if they’d seen a ghost and Nearly Headless Nick, who was a ghost, and had been hovering just above their end of the table, slowly settled until he was standing directly next to Ginny.

 

“She’s a seer!” he said bluntly.

 

Harry nodded, fishing in his robes for the flask of Meade that Lupin had given to him when they’d bordered the train.  He found it at last and held it up to Ginny’s lips.  She took a sip, grimaced, and swallowed.

 

“This isn’t the first time, either, is it?” said Nick quietly, casting a surreptitious glance at the staff table where McGonagall was whispering something in Dumbledore’s ear.  “Will she be O.K.?” asked Nick concernedly.  “Should we take her to the hospital wing?”

 

“No!” said Ginny, speaking at last.  “I - I’ll be O.K.,” she said.  She looked pale and clammy, but at least not devastated as she had after her prophecy in the Gringotts tunnels.

 

Nick continued to watch her narrowly.  Harry was glad when Professor Dumbledore stood and called for attention.

 

“I dare say that there are many of you tonight who are uncertain as to just what has happened here tonight.  He was motioning towards the box in which the remnants of the hat now resided, but he was looking directly at Ginny. 

 

“I think the Hat made itself perfectly clear,” continued Dumbledore.  “It has decided that it can no longer do the job for which it was created, that is, sorting arriving students to Hogwarts into one of our four houses, in good faith.  Those of you who were here for its song two years ago, will understand its hesitation.  It is — was - afraid that arbitrary sorting on its part could cause more harm than good.”  Dumbledore paused, looking around at them all.  “It may have had a point.”  He looked over the top of his half-moon spectacles at the first years lined up in front of the staff table.

 

“So, for the first time in a thousand years, I will be asking each of you which house you want to be in.”  He looked quickly around the staff table.  “But not before you have heard from each of the houses in turn.  I will now ask the Heads of each of the four houses to stand and tell us a bit about the history of their house, and why it would be a good idea for you to choose it above the others.”

 

“Look at their faces,” said Hermione, nudging Ron in the ribs.

 

“Poor gits,” said Ron, “can you imagine if we’d been asked to choose which house we wanted to be in in front of the entire school?” asked Ron.

 

“I actually had to argue with it during my sorting,” said Harry.  “It wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

 

Slytherin?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly.  “It actually tried to convince me that I’d be better off there.  It said that I could be great, and that Slytherin would help me on the way to greatness.”

 

Ron looked skeptical.

 

“Well, it wanted to put me in Ravenclaw,” said Hermione as Professor McGonagall stood up and cleared her throat.

 

“Now that I can see,” said Ron, nodding.

 

“What changed its mind?” asked Neville curiously

 

“I asked it not to,” said Hermione, shrugging.

 

“That’s exactly what I did!” said Neville, sounding surprised.

 

“Where did the hat want to put you, Neville?” asked Ron.

 

“Neville raised his eyebrows.

 

“Don’t be a prat, Ron,” said Neville with a touch of uncharacteristic sarcasm, “it wanted to put me in Hufflepuff of course, and I talked it out of it.”

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville stared at each other as Professor McGonagall began reciting the history of Griffindor House; how it had been founded by Godric Gryffindor and how its students were known for their bravery, courageousness, integrity and determination.

 

“She forgot the part about stubbornness and quick tempers,” said Neville, with a slight, lopsided smile.  Everyone chuckled.

 

“What about you, Ron,” asked Harry as Professor McGonagall sat down and Professor Flitwick stood up in his chair so that the students could see him.

 

“Gryffindor,” said Ron, shrugging.  “The hat recommended it, and to be perfectly honest, I’d never considered anything else.”

 

In his high, squeaky voice Professor Flitwick was telling how Ravenclaw House, founded by Rowena Ravenclaw, was known for it’s students who were intelligent, quick witted, adaptable and spontaneous.

 

“What about you, Ginny?” asked Harry when Professor Flitwick had stepped down to be replaced by Professor Sprout.

 

“The hat refused to choose for me,” said Ginny with a slight smile.  “I sat there for the longest time. I thought that Professor McGonagall was going to tell me that there had been a mistake and that I’d have to go home.  Finally I asked it, in my head, where it was going to put me.  It said that there was no way it determine which was my dominant trait, and that I would do equally well in any of the houses, and asked me which house I would rather be in, so I chose Gryffindor,” Ginny finished and gave a small shrug. 

 

Harry, Neville, Ron and Hermione were all looking at her.

 

“We must have confused it,” said Harry, staring at her.

 

“What?” said Ron curiously.

 

“Well, the three of us all refusing to take its proffered house,” said Harry with a vague gesture at the box of scraps sitting in front of Dumbledore.  “So here comes Ginny with equal potential in all areas, and it just threw up it’s hands-”

 

“It’s a hat, Harry, it doesn’t, didn’t, have hands,” said Ron with a snort.

 

“O.K., it’s figurative hands then, and said nope, she could just choose for herself.”

 

“Do you think that maybe that’s what triggered what happened tonight?” asked Hermione as Professor Sprout rambled on about Hufflepuff House, and how it’s students were known for the decency, honesty, integrity, fair play and were not afraid of hard work.

 

“Ginny?” said Ron, his forehead creased.

 

“Not just Ginny,” said Hermione.  “But us, all of us, showing the Hat that just because a student has the potential for one or another particular trait, doesn’t mean that is what they want to become.”

 

They were all quiet as Professor Snape stood and waited for silence.

 

“Founded by Salazar Slytherin, arguably one of the most talented wizards in recorded history, Slytherin students, most of whom are pure-blood wizards, are known for their high achievements in all areas of academic life.  If ambition and success are important to you, then Slytherin should be your house of choice.”

 

Snape sat down after casting a surreptitious glance at Dumbledore who nodded imperceptibly.

 

“Now then,” said Professor McGonagall, improvising as she went.  “When I call your name, you will come stand beside me and announce your choice to the rest of the school before taking your seat at your house table.”

 

“Anderson, Emily.”  The small, dark-haired girl with the huge blue eyes came hesitantly to Professor McGonagall’s side.

 

“Which will it be?” asked Professor McGonagall kindly.

 

The girl gave a smile that lit up her entire face.

 

“Ravenclaw, please ma’am,” she said distinctly.  McGonagall pointed her toward the Ravenclaw table where those already seated were trying desperately to act as if this were a normal sorting and had begun clapping, led by Michael Corner and Terry Boot, both of them looking determined.

 

“Andrews, Michael,” said Professor Mcgonagall and a stocky, sandy-haired boy made his way forward.

 

“Hufflepuff I think,” he said with a sheepish grin.

 

“This is too weird!” said Seamus as “Baker, Andrea,” chose Gryffindor and was welcomed with a round of applause.

 

“We’re seeing history in the making, Seamus,” said Hermione looking around and applauding politely as “Crandall, Cristina” also went to Hufflepuff. “This is an incredible moment you know.  It means that soon there may not even be a need for separate houses, that all students would be treated the same, they would have the same opportunities and advantages.”

 

“Delacour, Gabrielle,” pronounced Professor McGonagall.

 

“She’s not a first year!” said Ron suddenly.  “Why-”

 

Hermione waved him into silence.  Professor McGonagall was speaking again.

 

“Miss. Delacour is a third year, coming to us from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France.  While she is not a first year, she is a new student, so we are allowing her to be sort- to choose a house.”

 

“Gryffindor,” said Gabrielle in a creamily smooth voice.  Several of the Gryffindor boys were doing double takes.

 

“Yeah,” said Ginny quietly, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to address Hermione.  “Her thirteenth birthday is next Tuesday.”

 

“Oh dear,” said Hermione.

 

“Why ‘oh dear’?” asked Seamus interestedly.

 

“She’s part Veela,” said Ron, glancing at Hermione and grinning sheepishly.

 

“Seamus, who had seen the Veela perform at the Quidditch World Cup seemed to grasp the implications immediately.

 

“Oh dear,” he said, echoing Hermione, his eyebrows lifting.

 

Harry noted with interest that over half of the new students had chosen Hufflepuff, whose table was now packed to its fullest capacity.  Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had each received a handful of first years, while Slytherin had only picked up two, a boy and a girl, both younger siblings of Slytherins already attending Hogwarts.

 

“Now that is what I call a good sign!” said Ron when Harry pointed out the disparity to him.  He then tucked into his steak and potatoes with relish as Dumbledore called for the feast to begin.

 

Ginny wasn’t eating.  She sipped at her pumpkin juice and nibbled on a roll, but she still looked very pale and shaken. Harry was more concerned than he cared to admit.

 

When the plates had finally cleared themselves and stood empty and gleaming before them and all traces of the feast had been cleared away, Professor Dumbledore stood again and cleared his throat.

 

“Before we turn in for the night, just a few start-of-term announcements.  First of all, I would like to present to you our new Head Boy and Head Girl.  Would you stand please?”

 

Ron and Hermione stood, the color in both their faces increasing perceptibly. 

 

“I think I am correct when I say that this is the first time in over twenty years that both the head boy and the head girl have been from the same house,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. 

 

“For those of you who are in first through fourth years, first, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Severus Snape, who has kindly agreed to take on this task in addition to his position as Potions Master,” said Dumbledore, giving a wave toward Professor Snape who, looking rather smug, gave a slight bow and sat back down.

 

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

 

“He’s got it at last!” said Ron, looking amused.

“Just thank god we didn’t have to start with him!” said Harry ferverently.

“Now Harry,” said Hermione reprovingly.

“Well, I may not hate him anymore,” said Harry with raised eyebrows, “but he still seems to dislike me pretty well.”

“Those of you in years five through seven, you will notice tomorrow that your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have been combined and will be held on Friday afternoons.  The instructor for this class will be announced at the beginning of your first class,” continued Dumbledore.

 

“Weird,” said Ron, scowling.

 

Seamus looked slightly alarmed; Neville was watching Dumbledore, his forehead furrowed. Parvati looked excited. 

 

“Perhaps it will be another Centaur!” she said rather breathlessly.

 

Hermione snorted and Parvati cast her a look of deepest disgust.

 

“Well, Frienze is a really good teacher!” she said defensively.

 

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome, though, does it?” said Ginny quietly.

 

Parvati looked at her with arched eyebrows.

 

“Well, it won’t affect you at any rate, will it?” she said archly.

 

Ginny smiled and squeezed Harry’s hand under the table.

 

She’s in for a nasty surprise,” said Harry who had observed the whole exchange.

 

She doesn’t like me much,” said Ginny heavily.

 

Why?”

 

Dean,” said Ginny with a shrug.  “She seems to think that the fact that he went out with me first is an insult to her or something.”

Harry snorted, causing several people to look at him.  He shrugged apologetically as Dumbledore announced that Mr. Filch’s list of banned items now covered the better part of the second-floor corridor outside of his office, and that anyone curious to take a look at it was more than welcome, although the expression on his face clearly said that he didn’t recommend it.

 

“And last but not least,” said Professor Dumbledore, beaming around at them all, “it is my pleasure to announce that one of our students scored so high on their O.W.L.’s last year that she has been promoted to seventh-year status.  Miss. Weasley, if you would please stand?”

 

Blushing furiously, Ginny stood.  A roar of applause swept across the hall as she sat down again quickly.

 

“Advanced?” yelled Seamus, rounding on her.

 

“Excellent!” roared Dean, grinning widely.

 

“How high was high?” asked Lavender curiously, “On your O.W.L.’s I mean?”

 

“Outstandings,” said Ginny, still very pink.

 

“In which subjects?” asked Parvati, keenly.

 

“All of them,” said Ron, grinning down the table at Ginny.

All of them?” asked Dean, looking amazed.

 

“How many classes did you take?” asked Lavender.

 

“Ten.”

 

“You got ten O.W.L.’s?” said Seamus incredulously.

 

“Ten Outstanding O.W.L.’s,” said Ron, grinning at their disbelief.

 

“Unbelievable,” said Seamus, shaking his head.

 

*     *     *

 

 

“Professor Dumbledore would like to see you three in his office please, as soon as you can.  The password is Ear Flap Fruit Chew,” said Professor McGonagall, addressing Harry, Ginny and Neville as they were filing out of the Great Hall on their way to the Gryffindor common room.

 

Neville looked alarmed.

 

“It’s O.K., Neville,” said Ginny gently, putting a hand on his arm.  “Professor Dumbledore probably just wants a record of what happened tonight.”

 

“You, you mean of what you said, before the feast?” asked Neville tentatively.

Ginny nodded.

“Give me a second,” said Neville, glancing over to the Ravenclaw table where Luna was sitting.  “Let me say goodnight and I’ll come up with you.”

 

Ten minutes later the three of them were standing in Dumbledore’s comfortable, circular office.

 

“Hello, Fawkes,” said Harry as Dumbledore’s beautiful scarlet and gold-feathered phoenix fluttered gently from his golden roost to perch on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Fawkes chirruped softly in reply.

 

“I do believe he’s missed you, Harry,” said Dumbledore smiling at Harry from behind his desk..

“Is, is that a phoenix?” asked Neville, staring at Fawkes with something like awe.

 

“Yep,” said Harry as Fawkes nuzzled his neck.  “Fawkes, meet Neville Longbottom.  Neville, this is Fawkes the Phoenix.”

 

“N-nice to meet you,” said Neville, looking a bit taken aback.

 

Fawkes chirruped again.

 

“Now, Ginny,” said Dumbledore gently.  He took her by the hand and led her to a seat by the fire.  “Am I correct in assuming that the power spoke again?”

Ginny nodded.

 

“P-power?” said Neville, his eyes very big.

 

“Yes, Neville, you see, Ginny is a Seer,” said Dumbledore.

 

“A Seer?” asked Neville in astonishment.  “I mean, I heard what Nick said, but I thought he was just exaggerating.”

“There is a power that speaks through her, Neville.  This is what, Ginny, the fifth time?”

Ginny nodded.

 

“In a year,” added Harry.

 

“Neville looked amazed.

 

“Anyway, Neville, it is recommended that recordings of any prophecies, such as Ginny made tonight, be created so that they can be catalogued and stored for future reference.”

Neville nodded mutely.  He’d been in the Hall of Prophecy.  He’d seen the spheres that housed the various predictions and prophecies that had been made.

 

“And an accurate recording can be made by anyone who heard the prophecy in its entirety.”

 

“Is that why I’m here?”

 

“That is one reason, yes, Neville.  The other reason is that if I am not mistaken, Ginny’s prophecy mentioned not only Harry, but you.”

 

Neville looked at Professor Dumbledore blankly.

 

“Perhaps we should make the recordings first,” said Professor Dumbledore.

 

In just a few minutes Harry and Neville had both recorded their view of Ginny’s words using Dumbledore’s pensive and the same machine he had brought to make the recording at Grimmauld Place.  Dumbledore then walked Neville through the entire story, starting with the first prophecy made by Sybil Trelawny and how it could have referred to either one of two wizard babies whose parents had escaped Voldemort three times and who were born on the same day in July.

 

“But he chose Harry,” said Neville, looking from the pensive, where Sybil Trelawny’s form stood with its feet in the stone basin, revolving slowly, to Harry, who was leaning against the mantelpiece.  “I mean, by trying to kill Harry, he fulfilled the prophecy.”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair.

 

“But if Ginny’s prophecy is correct,” said Neville,” then both of us have a part to play.”

 

“It would seem so,” said Dumbledore gravely.

 

“But how?” said Neville, coloring furiously.  “How do I know what it is I’m supposed to do?”

 

“How do any of us know what to do, Neville,” said Dumbledore, heaving a great sigh.  “We must follow our hearts and hope that our hearts will lead us true.”

 

Neville remained quiet for a few minutes, staring into the fire as if he could see his future in it.

 

“Can I ask you a question, Professor?” asked Neville tentatively.

 

“Certainly, Neville.”

 

“Well, sir, just before the, the power spoke through her, we were talking about the Sorting Hat, and how it had given up its life so that we could get on with ours.  And then Ginny touched me.” Neville held up his hands.  “She put her hands over mine and there was a tingling, and suddenly, suddenly I remembered everything!  I remembered that LeStrange woman laughing, and my mum and dad being tortured and,” Neville swallowed, “and Draco’s dad, Mr. Malfoy, performing the memory charm on, on me.”

 

“It seems that it worked,” said Dumbledore dryly.  “Lucias must have been quick on his feet, for he was not there when the others were captured just moments after the curse was performed. Even under the influence of viritaserum, none of them ever admitted to having wiped your memory and I’m afraid that none of us ever thought to ask if there had been anyone else present.”

 

Neville, however, wasn’t finished.

 

“It’s not just the memory of my parents, Professor,” said Neville, looking rather frightened now.  “I remember everything!”

 

“What are you talking about, Neville?” asked Harry sharply.

 

“Just everything,” said Neville, shrugging.  “I can suddenly remember every ingredient of every potion I have ever made for Professor Snape.  I close my eyes and I see entire pages from History of Magic.  Everything!”

 

Dumbledore took a few minutes to explain about Ginny’s natural healing ability and how her injury during the Quidditch game had been much more serious than anyone had known, and how she had healed herself through touch alone.

 

“So it seems, Neville, that Ginny’s natural healing ability not only gave you back the memory of your parents, but fixed some of the damage done to you by that memory charm,” said Professor Dumbledore, observing Neville with a curious expression.

Neville shot Ginny a quick sideways glance.

 

“You mean that the reason I’m always forgetting things is because my memory was wiped?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

 

“Sometimes, Neville, a memory charm can cause serious damage to a mind, the more brilliant the mind, the more severe the damage.  Let me see. . .”  Dumbledore reached behind him and drew down a textbook.

 

“Intermediate Transfiguration, page 73.”

 

Neville creased his forehead in concentration then began spouting something that sounded like he was reading straight out of a textbook.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose.  He handed the book to Harry. It took Harry all of 30 seconds to realize that Neville was quoting the book word for word.

“It seems, Neville,” said Dumbledore, smiling bemusedly, “that you have a photographic memory.”

 

“A photographic, what?” asked Neville blankly.

 

“A photographic memory,” said Ginny quietly, “means that you remember everything you have ever read or seen.”

Neville snorted.

 

Harry pulled down another book.  “Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two, Page 293.”

 

“Switching Spells and Their Derivatives,” began Neville.  “In order to properly enact a switching spell, one must first-” Neville stopped suddenly, holding his head in his hands.  “How is this possible?” he said quietly, raising his head at last and looking at Ginny.

 

“The memory charm Lucias Malfoy performed on you was not shielded,” said Ginny softly from where she sat by the fire.  “It left great fissures in your brain synapses, particularly between the hemispheres.  So information would come in, recorded perfectly.  But once it was in, it was nearly impossible to extract.”

 

“What did you do, Ginny?” asked Neville, staring at her in awe.

“Same as I did with my back, Neville.  I willed the connections to re-knit themselves,” said Ginny, smiling at him.

 

“Pity you couldn’t sit for O.W.L.’s again, eh, Neville?” asked Harry lightly.

 

Neville grinned.“I, I feel like a brand new person,” said Neville dazedly.

 

“I’ll warn Luna,” said Ginny, chuckling.

 

“Thank you, Ginny,” said Neville quietly. “I’ll never be able to repay you properly for what you’ve done.”

 

“Just don’t forget me, Neville,” said Ginny with a dazzling smile.

 

“As if!”

 

“Now, Ginny,” said Dumbledore, turning to her with a serious expression.  “We can’t have you starting off the school year this tired.”

 

Ginny grimaced.

 

“I didn’t exactly want that either,” she said softly.

 

“When you return to Gryffindor tower you will find that your things have been moved to the seventh year girls’ dormitory.  You will also find a goblet of potion for dreamless sleep.  I have instructed our new Head Girl to see to it that you drink the entire thing.”  He held up his hand to stem Ginny’s protests.  “I know that between the Meade and the mind-link you two share that you could probably get through the night,” said Dumbledore.  “But the effects of channeling can be cumulative I’m afraid, and two prophecies in such a short time, I must insist on you drinking the potion.”  He looked sternly at Ginny over the tops of his half-moon glasses.

“If you insist,” said Ginny, smiling faintly.

 

“I do.  Now off to bed, all of you.”

 

Back to index


Chapter 5: THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE

CHAPTER FIVE

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

 

 

 

 “I hope that’s you, Ginny!” said Harry as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck from behind and soft lips brushed his cheek at breakfast the next morning.

 

“Who else?” said Ginny brightly. She looked much more rested than she had the previous evening.  She slipped in beside him and helped herself to scrambled eggs and toast.

 

“Well, Cho did seem pretty interested last year,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“Last I heard Cho had been accepted for Auror training and was dating Roger Davies,” said Ginny.

 

Auror training, really?”

 

“Having second thoughts?”

 

“Get real, it’s just, they haven’t accepted anyone in several years, have they?”

 

“Nope.  She’s the first since Tonks’s class.”

 

Cool!” said Harry, impressed in spite of himself.  “She must have gotten really good marks on her N.E.W.T.’s.”

 

“Best in years, from what I’ve heard.  Dad said something too, about what cinched her acceptance was her ability to conjure a corporeal Patronus,” said Ginny, with a sideways glance at Harry, who was grinning in spite of himself.

 

“Gee, I wonder where she could possibly have learned that!” said Harry, chuckling. Cho had been one of the members of Dumbledore’s Army, a group that Harry had taught Defense against the Dark Arts to in secret during his fifth year.

 

“Ready for the new term?” asked Hermione, passing them each a schedule.  “They are individualized this year,” she said, pointing to Harry’s, which read:

 

MON — WED — FRI  MORNINGS:

 

9:00- 10:00 Care of Magical Creatures

10:30-11:30 Charms

 

 

MON AFTERNOONS:

 

1:00 — 2:00 POTIONS

2:30 — 4:30      Double Herbology

 

WED AFTERNOONS:

 

1:00 — 2:00       Herbology

2:30 — 4:30        Double Potions

 

FRI AFTERNOONS:

 

1:30 — 4:30       Defense Against the Dark Arts

 

TUES — THURS:

9:00 — 11:00 Double Transfiguration

11:30 —12:00 Lunch

12:00-   8:00 See Dumbledore

 

 

SUN:

12:00 — 8:00         See Dumbledore

 

 

“Cool!” said Neville, looking at his own schedule.  “I’ve actually got two afternoons off a week!”

“Tuesday and Thursday?  Maybe they figure we’ll need it for studying,” said Seamus, looking concerned. “Seventh year is supposed to be really tough!”

Harry and Ginny exchanged guilty glances.  At the end of the last year they had discovered that not only could they do magic without their wands, but that they also had access to any information they needed for classes by using the same process of tapping into the web of connectedness between all things.

 

I feel guilty not telling them,” said Ginny sub-vocally, glancing down the table to where Dean and Seamus were exchanging N.E.W.T. horror stories that they’d heard from last year’s seventh years.

 

They’re not ready for this yet, Ginny,” said Harry bracingly.  “They wouldn’t understand.  We were pushing it when we explained about the wandless magic.”

Ginny glanced at Neville.

 

And after what you did for him, Neville doesn’t need it.”

 

“Or Hermione,” added Ginny.

 

And she’ll help Ron,” agreed Harry. 

 

I guess you’re right,” conceded Ginny. 

 

“This is something else that has to start slow,” said Harry out loud, “unlike our schedules!  Would you look at today!”

 

“Talk about full days!” said Ginny, leaning over to compare their schedules. “Good thing we’ll be in classes together, because otherwise I’d probably never see you otherwise!”

 

“And heaven only knows when we’ll have the time to actually be alone together!” said Harry, lowering his voice.

 

“Oh we’ll find time,” said Ginny, grinning mischievously. 

Harry glanced again at his schedule and raised his eyebrows.  “If throw in regular Quidditch practices, your dance practices, my self-defense training, homework, your elemental training — you’re still working with that Mira person, aren’t you?” Ginny nodded. “Well, with all of that, I don’t see how we’ll have enough time left to sleep, let alone be together for any length of time!”

 

“Don’t you trust me?” asked Ginny softly.

“Of course I do but-”

 

Ginny silenced him by holding a finger up to his lips.  Her eyes were deep and inviting and Harry had the sudden urge to loose himself in them.

 

“Then don’t think any more about it for now,” she said, holding his face in her hand. 

Harry closed his eyes, feeling a shiver of pleasure run through him at her touch.

“With you doing things like that, I can’t help but think about it!” said Harry, opening his eyes and grinning at her.

“What about when I do things like this,” said Ginny, leaning in and giving him a teasing kiss.”

 

“Oh get a room, why don’t you?” jeered Euan Abercombie as he made his way past them on the way out of the great hall.

“Got your books, guys?” said Ron, clapping Harry on the shoulder and looking pointedly at his watch, “Cause we’ve got to get down to Hagrid’s or we’ll be late.”

“No rest for the weary, eh?” said Harry, grinning at Ginny.

 

“Here’s to another school year!” said Ginny, grinning and tossing her leather knapsack over her shoulder.  She proffered her arm to Harry as if to escort him out.  “Shall we?”

 

*     *     *

 

Hagrid was still making his way down the list of creatures for N.E.W.T. classes.

 

“Ye missed the Fwoopers an the Mokes,” he told Ginny concernedly.  “An the Malaclaws and Mooncalves, the Billywigs, too.  I suppose we could review em for yeh.”

 

“It’s O.K., Hagrid,” said Ginny, smiling slightly.  “Believe it or not, I learned everything about them that Harry did.”  She cast a sideways look at Harry.

 

“Oh! Oh yeah, that’s right!  I remember!” said Hagrid, chuckling.  “Professor Dumbledore explained it to me, convenient, eh?”

 

“I bet she got the information through fluid transfer!” giggled Pansy Parkinson, poking Malfoy in the ribs.

 

“Yeah, either that or a laying on of hands,” sneered Malfoy, looking Ginny up and down with an appraising look.  “I’ll give you one thing, Potter, at least she’s a pureblood, and not a bad-looking one at that, although if rumor’s are to be believed she a bit, ah, experienced for you.  What do you say, Weaslette?  Want to get it on with a real man?” 

 

Harry could feel himself bristling and would have launched himself at Malfoy if Hermione hadn’t snagged him by the back of his robes.

 

Ginny returned Draco’s look, her eyes raking him up and down appraisingly.

 

“In your dreams, Draco!” she said coolly.

 

Malfoy went pink.  Pansy looked livid.

 

“Enough!” growled Hagrid.

 

“Gits,” muttered Ron.

 

“They did this to us all last spring,” Hermione told Ginny bracingly.

 

Ginny grimaced.

 

 “She’s jealous,” said Harry, picking up on Pansy’s thoughts.  “She’s jealous because if Malfoy paid her half the attention that I do to you, she’d be subscribing to Wizarding Wedding straightaway. I don’t understand though, they’re going to get married eventually, aren’t they? I thought that they were betrothed?” said Harry curiously.

 

“That doesn’t mean that Draco’s in any rush to actually tie the knot!” said Ginny and giggled, earning her a filthy look from Pansy.  “You know as well as I do that he’s slept with half the Quidditch groupies!  He’s not the settling type.  He likes to play the field.”

 

Harry glanced sideways at Pansy, who was leaning against the paddock fence, looking sulky.  For all her nastiness she wasn’t really a stupid person.  She must know that Malfoy wasn’t really interested in her and that he considered their betrothment an obligation. It didn’t bode well for life as a married couple . . .but what did they expect, really, in marrying solely to keep the bloodlines pure?

 

They had all gathered around the paddock fence.  In the center of the paddock a stout wooden pole about six feet high had been erected.

 

“We have a guest today,” said Hagrid, motioning towards the pole.

 

“Oh, wonderful,” sneered Malfoy.  “Something else we can’t see, like those stupid horse things?  What is it this time?  Let me guess.  Oh, I know!  I bet it’s something you can’t see unless you have an I.Q. below fifty.  Care to describe it to us, Longbottom?”

 

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

 

“Oh, so you guys can see it too? Glad I’m not the only one!” said Neville nastily to Crabbe and Goyle, earning him a roar of laughter from the Gryffindor.  Even Malfoy was smiling slightly.

 

Nice one, Neville!” said Ron appreciatively.

 

“Shush!” said Harry abruptly, raising his hand to silence them.  “Do you hear that?”

 

As if from very far away, he could just hear a very faint echo of phoenix song.  Hagrid was looking at Harry and smiling into his beard.

 

“Fawkes?” said Harry under his breath, and in a burst of flame a red and gold plumed bird the size of a swan materialized on top of the pole in the center of the paddock.

 

Ooh!  Isn’t he beautiful!” said Lavender, sounding so much like Luna’s impersonation of her that Harry and Ginny turned as one to grin at Neville, who smiled back at them sheepishly.

 

“Is that a phoenix?” said Malfoy shrewdly, his eyes narrowed.

 

“How did you manage to capture a phoenix, Hagrid?” asked Dean, looking impressed.

 

“You don’t capture a phoenix, Dean,” said Hagrid.  “Fawkes is here as my guest.”

 

“What, did you send him a written invitation?” asked Malfoy sneeringly.

 

“Somethin like that,” said Hagrid, his beard twitching.  “Now then, who can tell me the magical properties of the Phoenix?”

 

To no one’s surprise, Hermione’s hand shot up, but it was Harry who answered.

 

“They’re powerfully magical,” said Harry without raising his hand.  He was staring at Fawkes, his eyes unfocused, remembering all the times that this magnificent bird had played a part in his life. 

 

“They can disappear in a burst of flame and reappear somewhere else instantaneously,” said Harry, remembering how Fawkes had appeared just when he’d most needed him in the chamber of secrets.  “They can carry immensely heavy loads many times their body weight,” he continued, recalling how Fawkes had carried himself, Ron, Ginny and Lockhart up from the Chamber of Secrets.  “They emit a soft golden glow in the dark,” he added, seeing in his mind Fake’s glow as he’d led a sobbing, twelve-year-old Ginny to McGonagall’s office, “And their song gives courage to the pure of heart while striking fear into the heart of the evil-doer.”  He was lost now in memories.

 

The way hearing phoenix song had made him feel braver and not so alone in the Chamber of Secrets when he’d been facing Tom Riddle.  The way the web of light that had enclosed himself and Voldemort in the graveyard, the way their wands, which shared cores of feathers, both from Fawkes had dueled and Harry had forced Voldemort’s wand to regurgitate it’s spells, allowing him to see Cedric and his parents, and how the sound of Fawkes song had given him the courage to go on when he seemed without hope.  And the burst of courage it had given him just last spring before he had come face to face with Voldemort once again on the Hogwarts express.

 

“They make extremely loyal pets if they choose to attach themselves to a particular wizard,” said Harry softly, remembering how Fawkes had swallowed the curse Voldemort had shot at Dumbledore in the Atrium of The Ministry of Magic in June of his fifth year.  “When it is time for them to die, they burst into flame and are reborn from the ashes,” he added and then glanced up at Hagrid, whose eyes seemed oddly shiny.  “And their tears,” he swallowed, blinking back his own.  “Their tears have healing properties.”

 

Fawkes, who had sat silently on the pole for the entire time Harry had been talking, suddenly emitted a soft chirrup and fluttered gently to land on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“He knows you!” said Dean in amazement.

 

“Yeah, we’ve met,” said Harry dryly.

 

“Well, Harry, twenty points for Gryffindor and that about concludes my lesson,” said Hagrid grinning.  “You’ve covered just about everything except-”

 

“Phoenix feathers are often used as wand cores,” said Hermione promptly.

 

“Excellent.  Five more points for Gryffindor.  Now then, how many here have phoenix feathers as their wand cores?  There has to be at least a couple of ya.”

 

Harry raised his hand at once.  To his surprise, so did both Neville and Ginny.

 

“All three of ya?” said Hagrid, looking surprised.  “Anyone else?”

 

A Slytherin boy, (Harry thought his name was Chad) also raised his hand tentatively.

 

“Four of ya in one class!  That’s amazing.  While phoenix feathers are a wand-core substance, they are not used nearly so often as unicorn hairs or dragon heart strings.  Okay then, by next lesson, I need one roll of parchment on the magical properties of the phoenix, citing at least two instances of historical wizards who have befriended them, to be turned in next lesson.”

 

“I knew you got a new wand after yours got broken at the Ministry,” said Harry quietly to Neville when he came up to take his turn stroking Fawkes’s glossy feathers.  “But I didn’t know that your new one had a phoenix feather core.”

 

“Yeah,” said Neville with a small smile.  “Mr. Olivander thinks that my having used another wizard’s wand for so long may have had something to do with my shoddy spell work, you did notice how much my work improved last year?” he said, taking out his wand and looking it over carefully.  “Gran wasn’t too chuffed about my having broken my old wand, it was my Dad’s you know,” he continued.  “But it was made of Oak and Dragon heart string.  This one is ebony and phoenix feather,” he said proudly, tucking the wand back into his pocket.  “Even Professor McGonagall has noticed the difference,” he said, shooting a sideways look at Ginny.  “Of course now-” he shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “We’ll just have to see.”

 

“You too, Ginny?” Harry asked her.

 

Ginny grinned at him.  “When I started at Hogwarts, mum wanted to get Bill a new wand and have me use Bill’s old one,” said Ginny.  “But Bill refused to part with his, said he was attached to it, having had it for so long.  Anyway, he gave mum the money to get me a new wand, and it was a good thing he didn’t want me to use his old one, because the wand that chose me is Mahogany and Phoenix feather, 11 ¼ inches, and Bill’s is Chestnut and Dragon Heart String.”  She shrugged, still grinning.  “It took Mr. Olivander about an hour to find a wand that suited me.  He must have gone through nearly every wand in his shop!  And mum was real surprised,” said Ginny frowning slightly.  “She almost seemed to take my wand having a phoenix feather core to be an insult or something, cause except for Bill, everyone else in the family have Unicorn hairs.”

 

Harry grinned back at her, remembering his own ordeal in Mr. Olivander’s shop and how he hadn’t thought they would ever find the right wand for him and how surprised Mr. Olivander had been when Harry had proven to be compatible with his particular wand.

 

When the bell rang, the Gryffindors made their way up to the castle for Charms, while the Slytherins went off to Herbology.   Like Hagrid, tiny Professor Flitwick was concerned that Ginny might need a review, but when she had demonstrated perfect summoning, banishing and glamour charms, he was quite impressed and pronounced her quite equal to starting enchantments with the rest of the 7th years.

 

But you already know how to enchant,” Harry had told her sub-vocally, and had been rewarded by seeing Ginny turn scarlet.

 

Snape too assigned them an essay to be turned in on Friday, this one on The use of poisons in Defensive Magic.

 

“Two rolls of parchment will barely be able to do the subject justice,” said Snape silkily when Parvati had exclaimed at its length.  “Poisons, Ms. Patil, do not only kill outright.  They can also make one appear to be dead.  They can cause lethargy, paralysis, tremblings, recklessness, aggression and hysterics.  Any and all of these can be very useful in defensive magic.”

 

“We will be studying poisons in some detail this year.  In fact, our first potion, the Confusing Concoction, is one of the ingredients in what will be our final potion of the year, The Death’s Cup.  The method for the Confusing Concoction is on the board.  The ingredients are in the cupboard.  You may begin.”

 

A potion as an ingredient in a potion?  Harry didn’t think that this was a good sign.  Hermione, however, looked rather excited to begin.  He exchanged bemused smiles with Ginny, who was working at the next table with Parvati, who seemed a bit put out at being paired with Ginny, and began measuring out powdered horn of bicorn.  He may have access to all the knowledge he needed, but it wasn’t going to slice his wormwood into equal bits for him.

 

“This isn’t a good sign,” said Ron with a sigh as they made their way back to the castle from Herbology where Professor Sprout had just assigned them another two rolls of parchment on examples of venomous plants.  “Two essays in the first day back to class!”

 

“Three for us,” interjected Ginny.  “We got one from Snape, too.”

 

“What did Snape give you?” asked Neville interestedly.  Harry described the assignment.  Ron and Neville both shuddered.

 

“I’m glad to be out of there, mate!” said Ron, happily attacking his apple pie.

 

“Three essays in our first day?” said Hermione, sounding slightly nervous.

 

“And McGonagall tomorrow,” said Dean.  “Double Transfiguration.  What do you bet she assigns us an essay too?”

 

“And,” interjected Ron, “tryouts Friday night.  6:00 p.m.  We need to replace Katie straightaway.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged grins.  Quidditch was something they were both looking forward to.

 

What was that you said this morning, about having time to be alone together?” Harry asked Ginny as they pulled up tables in the common room after supper so they could start their essays.

 

Ginny grinned.  “You’ll see, Harry, and I’ve blocked it out, so you can’t access it even if you tried.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows.  It was very difficult for them to hide anything from each other with the way their mind-link worked.

 

Please, Harry, let it be a surprise,” said Ginny pleadingly.

 

“Oh, Okay.,” he agreed. “But I bet you let it slip before you can spring it on me!”

 

It was Ginny’s turn to raise her eyebrows.  “Sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one!”

 

*     *     *

 

Transfiguration the next day was just as Dean had predicted.  But Harry wondered how they could have expected anything less from Professor McGonagall than two rolls of parchment on The Dangers of Non-Animagi Human to Animal Forced Transfiguration.  To demonstrate the subject, she had transfigured Neville into a sheep, a toad and a pig in quick succession, then had turned Seamus (who was sniggering) into a chimp, before changing them both back into themselves.

 

All this and Apprentice Training too?  Harry was certain by lunchtime on Tuesday that if it hadn’t been for his being able to tap into the knowledge base that the connectedness between all things generated, he would have been in serious trouble.

 

When Harry arrived at Dumbledore’s office for his first apprenticeship lesson, he received a bit of a surprise.  Dumbledore was waiting for him with a large, wooden crate that looked suspiciously like the ones Hagrid had used for the Skrewts, just inside his office door.

 

“Please tell me it’s not a Skrewt hatching!” said Harry, grimacing.

 

Professor Dumbledore chuckled.

 

“No, Harry, just part of what we’ll need to begin your training.  But before we begin, there are several thing that I would like to discuss with you.  Please, have a seat.”

 

Harry sat.   Noting with interest as he did so that the miniature replica of the earth he had made for Dumbledore the previous spring still hung in midair over the head-master’s desk.

 

“It is an amazing piece of work, Harry and it is, in part, one of the things I need to talk to you about.”

 

Harry’s heart sank.  Was he in trouble already?  Had the ministry tracked him down after all?

 

“You have an incredible gift with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry,” said Dumbledore, taking his wand and prodding the tiny planetoid.  “With the exception of Professor Umbridge, you have received nothing but the highest marks and recommendations from your Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.”

 

“Moody wasn’t really a teacher though.”

 

“Wasn’t he?”

 

“Well, he was an imposter, wasn’t he?  A Death Eater dressed up to look like Alastor Moody.”

 

“Did you learn anything in his classes, Harry?”

 

“Well, yeah, but does what he taught us, like, really count?”

 

“Who better to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts than someone who is personally familiar with them?” said Dumbledore smoothly.

 

He had a point.

 

“I consider what you learned under Barty Crouch Jr. to be just as legitimate of a learning experience as you had under any other qualified teacher.  And for a Death Eater to regard your abilities as highly as Crouch did is high praise, Harry.”

 

Dumbledore paused for a moment, still staring at the revolving planet in front of him.

 

“You heard my announcement, at the Welcoming feast regarding Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

 

“You’re going to teach the fifth, sixth and seventh years together,” said Harry at once. 

 

“Yes.  You’re work with the D.A. your fifth Harry, proved one thing to me, we can not take chances with Defense Against the Dark Arts.  We are entering perilous times, Mr. Potter, and it is detrimental that our students learn from the best.”

 

“Are you going to be our Defense teacher, Professor?”

 

“No, Harry,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.  “You are.”

 

“I — what?”   Harry stared at Dumbledore, gape-mouthed.  Surely he wasn’t asking him, Harry to teach!  “I — I’m not a teacher, Professor!  I’m still a student!”

 

“All it would be, Harry, would be a continuation of the D.A.  Now don’t tell me that you haven’t missed teaching Defense to the others.”

 

Harry shut his mouth.  As much as he had enjoyed classes with the Devi’s the previous year, he had missed teaching Defense.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly.  “Yeah, I missed it.”

 

“I thought as much,” said Dumbledore, smiling broadly.  “You would be under an instructor’s supervision, but the class material, presentation etc. would be entirely up to you.  Do you think you could do it?”

 

Harry paused, considering.  Of course he could do it, but with his already packed schedule he wasn’t entirely certain if he’d have the time to give the class its proper attention and not have to scrimp in some other subject.

 

“As the instructor for the course, Harry, you would be exempt from turning in the homework you assign, which should give you enough time to work up your lessons for each week.  But do you think you could be impartial, Harry?”

 

“Come again?”

 

“As a combined course you would be teaching students from each of the four houses, including Slytherin.”

 

He’d be teaching Malfoy!  Harry did his best to repress an ear-splitting grin.

 

“Who — who would be supervising the classes?” said Harry at last.  If Dumbledore said it would be Snape, that would decide it for him.  He was not about to subject himself to more humiliation than Snape already dished out in Potions.

 

“I would.”

 

“You’ve got a deal!” said Harry, grinning. 

 

“Now, Mr. Potter, shall we attend to the crate?”

 

 “We won’t be working here, then?” asked Harry curiously.

 

Dumbledore smiled slightly, and, pulling out his wand, tapped it on a stone set high in the wall.  A trapdoor opened in the floor, revealing a stone slide, not unlike the one that extended from the one-eyed witch’s hump on the third floor.  The crate slid neatly out of sight.

 

“What I am going to teach you, Harry, can not be taught in the presence of other Witches or Wizards, past or present,” said Dumbledore, gesturing around the walls at the portraits who were observing them owlishly.  He motioned Harry to follow the crate down the slide.

 

The room they entered was completely circular, lit by torches in brackets and a low fire in the huge stone fireplace.  It had blank, windowless stone walls, and Harry received the distinct impression that they were underground, for it smelled faintly of earth.

 

In the center of the room were four, curved tables that would have formed a complete circle, except for the space between them which allowed for a person to walk between them and to stand at the very center.

 

“Find me North, Harry,” said Dumbledore, Handing Harry a compass and turning to open the wooden crate.

 

Harry ignored the compass.  Instead he put his wand on his palm and whispered “Point me.”  The wand came to rest, its tip pointing to a table directly behind Harry.

 

“Clever.  I’d forgotten about that spell.  All right then, Harry, here, put this on the north-facing table.”  He handed Harry a yellow cloth worked in gold embroidery.  The West-facing table received a green cloth worked in silver thread.  The South-facing table a red cloth worked in gold, and finally, the Eastern table received a brilliant blue cloth also worked in silver.  Dumbledore then had Harry attach four matching banners behind each corresponding table.  The banners were worked with curious symbols and seemed to almost glow with their own inner power.

 

“They look like the house colors, don’t they?” said Harry, standing back and observing his handiwork.

 

Dumbledore paused in his unpacking of the crate and looked around at the cloths and banners, then back at Harry.

 

“Indeed they do, Harry,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.  “Most likely that would be because the four founders of Hogwarts were the four best Elemental Magicians of the age.”

 

“Elemental Magicians?” asked Harry blankly, looking around at the banners.  “Oh!” he said as the similarity clicked into place.  He revolved slowly on the spot.  “Gold and Scarlet, Gryffindor’s colors, that would be fire.  Yellow and gold. . .Hufflepuff’s colors are yellow with a brown badger. . .badger’s live in the earth, so Helga Hufflepuff must have been an earth element magician, that would explain why so many Hufflepuff’s are great shakes at Herbology I suppose.  Blue and silver, that’s Ravenclaw’s colors, and they have a raven stenciled on their banner. Ravens fly, so that must mean that Ravenclaw’s element is air.  That means that green and silver, yeah, Slytherin’s play in green robes with silver serpents embroidered on them, and water can look green.  So Slytherin’s element is water.”

 

Dumbledore was watching Harry shrewdly.

 

“So,” said Harry, looking around at the banners.  “Were the four founders only skilled in the one element of magic, or were they just best in that particular element?  Were any of the Natural Elementals, like Ginny?” 

 

“No. All four of them were Elemental Sorcerers, like myself. Natural Elementals are extremely rare.  I believe Miss Weasley is the only one currently in existence.  But while Natural Elementals are very powerful — in that they can call up all of the elements with equal force — there are drawbacks to being a Natural Elemental.”

 

“A Natural Elemental can call all of the elements at once, or they can call them individually — that is, they can call, say, just air or only fire, but they can not use that element in any way that would harm or hinder another element.  Natural Elementals can only work constructively.  That is a disadvantage when you are working with a Dark Wizard who is also an Elemental Sorcerer, because you know they will not hesitate to use the elements to their advantage.”

 

“So the difference between a Natural Elemental and an Elemental Sorcerer is what, exactly?”

 

“A Natural Elemental is selected by the elements, because of their high levels of Akashaic power.  The elements choose to work with them — through them.  A Natural Elemental calls the elements.  They ask them for help.  They can not command the elements, and they can not ask one element to harm another.  So they could not, say, start a fire with their elemental powers, because fire would be consuming earth and air.”

 

“An Elemental Sorcerer commands the elements.  He or she can manipulate the element in any way they desire — the only exception being that they can not create life.   It was the practice in the day of Hogwarts’ founders, Harry, to specialize in one particular element if you were an Elemental Sorcerer. Even wizards such as myself, who have mastered all of the elements to one degree or another, we usually have one element in particular that is our strongest point.  One element, on rare occasions two with which we feel particularly comfortable.”

 

“Yours is fire,” said Harry without hesitation. 

 

“How did you determine that?” said Dumbledore, a smile playing around the corners of his lips.

 

“When you left your office my fifth year,” said Harry at once, “in front of the Ministry officials and Fudge, you left in a burst of silver light, and you befriended Fawkes.”  Harry shrugged.  “Phoenix’s are also known as firebirds.”

 

“And Professor Snape?” asked Dumbledore.

 

“Water,” answered Harry quickly.  “All potions use water as their base, and he’s got all those things suspended in jars standing around in his office.”  Harry shuddered.

 

“What about yourself, Harry?” asked Dumbledore.

 

Harry opened his mouth to say that between his being in Gryffindor and his temper he’d have to be fire, but stopped short of answering.  He could fly, too. . .both on his broom and as an owl.  He transformed into an owl, but into a snake too if he wasn’t careful.  Snakes were a water sign.  And earth. . . he thought of Aunt Marge and thedifferent things he’d done when he’d been upset or scared, the Dementors, the way he’d repelled them. . .how his Patronus manifested as a stag, which was an earth creature.

 

“Do I have to choose one?” asked Harry, frowning slightly.  “Because there seem to be bits of them all in me.”

 

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, still unpacking the boxes and handing things out to Harry.  “In this room, Harry, you will call forth the elements.  You will determine your greatest strengths.  You will pinpoint and bolster any weaknesses, and you will learn to manipulate all of these elements to defend yourself and your loved ones.”

 

“These are not to be considered classes as such, Harry,” he said seriously, straightening up and looking Harry in the eye.  “You will receive no grade from me.  I consider your inevitable confrontation with the Dark Lord to be your final test.”  He shrugged. 

 

“If I survive, I pass,” said Harry, equally seriously.

 

Dumbledore nodded and Harry had to suppress a shiver.

 

“There is only one hard and fast rule to being an apprentice, Harry,” said Dumbledore, who was now setting the things he had pulled out of the crate up on the tables.  “Nothing that is learned in this room can be taught to anyone else while you are in training.”

 

Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore overrode him.  “Except for Ginny.  Yes, Harry.  I have taken your special circumstances into account.”  He smiled behind his beard.  “Because of your bond, because of the marriage of souls, you and Ginny are actually one soul in two bodies; technically one entity.  So I have found my loophole, for I took a vow you see, from my own teacher, not to reveal what I was being taught to more than one person at a time.”

 

“Nicholas,” said Harry quietly.  “Nicholas Flammel was your teacher.” 

 

Dumbledore smiled.

 

“Very good, Harry, and you didn’t even have to probe my mind.”

 

“Am I supposed to make the same sort of vow?” asked Harry curiously.  He felt reluctant to do so, but would if Dumbledore asked it of him.

 

“I’m not going to ask you to do that, Harry,” said Dumbledore, looking grave.  “For there may very well come a time when you feel you must reveal what you have learned.”  He sighed.  “And it may be necessary for you to tell several people at once.  I would not have you bound, as I have been.  I truly believe, Harry, that we are now beyond convention, as you and Ginny should know.  Times are changing,” said Dumbledore, and suddenly he looked very old and very tired.  “Times are changing and it is you, Harry, who are the catalyst.”  He sighed again.  “It is never easy to introduce change, Harry.  You will definitely have your work cut out for you.”

 

The tables were set up now, and Harry looked around at them.  Fat colored candles in holders, sticks of incense, a small stoppered bottle of water, another of something that looked like sand or maybe salt and a leather-bound book lay on each table.  The books were identical, except for the runic symbols engraved on the front of each one.

 

Ginny?”

 

“Stumped already?” came Ginny voice.  She sounded amused.

 

“Well-”

 

“The one on the red table reads ‘Fire Dweller.’  The one on the blue says ‘Air Sprite.’  The yellow one reads ‘Earth Spirit,’ and the last says ‘Water Demon.’”

 

“Thanks, Ginny.”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

Harry traced each Runic symbol with a finger, saying it out loud as he did so.

 

“I wasn’t aware that you could read Runic,” said Dumbledore sharply, turning to look at Harry.

 

“Ginny does,” said Harry, shrugging.

 

Dumbledore chuckled. 

 

“Ah, yes.  I forgot.  This is going to take some getting used to:  speaking to one of you but having you both hear.  How do I know who it is that is responding?”

 

“I’ll let you know if it’s Ginny,” said Harry with a grin.  “You’ll probably be able to tell anyway.  Hermione says I get this real sappy smile on my face whenever we’re talking to each other.”

 

“A beautiful mind in a beautiful body will tend to do that to a man,” said Dumbledore, looking amused.

 

Harry could feel Ginny blushing at the compliment.

 

“As I’ve just said, Harry, while you are in training, the information that you are studying is not to be revealed to anyone.”  He looked seriously at Harry.  “Even to Mr.Weasley or Miss Granger.” 

 

Harry swallowed and nodded.  It wouldn’t be easy, keeping things from them, but he understood why.

 

“There will be things that you will be able to do.  They will notice of course.  You can tell them what it is you are doing, but not how.  No specifics.  Now, to business.” 

 

With a wave of his wand, he dimmed the torches on the walls then proceeded to have Harry read aloud the Elemental Conjuring Spells from each of the books in turn to determine his strong point.

 

“Simply read the words, Harry.  Don’t try to do anything with them.  We are trying to determine your natural inclinations,” advised Dumbledore.

 

If that is anything like your other natural talents,” came Ginny’s voice in his head, “you’ll be an expert in no time at all.”

 

Harry grinned.  He couldn’t help himself, and in so doing stopped trying to physically conjure elemental fire.  With a sharp pop and a crackle like flames being lit, half a dozen salamanders popped out of thin air and floated, smoldering gently, in a semi-circle around Harry.

 

“They are now yours to command,” said Dumbledore softly, staring at the salamanders with something like awe.

 

“To command?” asked Harry, staring at them stupidly.

 

“Yes.  You have proven yourself a fire master by willing them into existence.  They are yours.”

 

“Like slaves?” asked Harry.  He could feel his lip curling.

 

“They are elementals, Harry, manifestations of the power of fire.  Once they are conjured in an individual form such as this, if they are not controlled they will run unchecked - like Peeves,” Dumbledore added, smiling.

 

“What should I ask them to do?” said Harry.

 

“They will do whatever you command.  Ask them to extinguish the torches, then to relight them.”

 

“Right then,” began Harry, “Er, elementals-”

 

“Fire Dwellers,” muttered Dumbledore.

 

“Yeah, er, Fire Dwellers,” said Harry. 

 

All six salamanders snapped to attention.

 

“Okay then, would you please-”

 

“Command them!” said Dumbledore.

 

“Extinguish the torches,” said Harry, feeling foolish.

 

Six golden-red blurs zoomed about the room.  In a matter of seconds, the room had been plunged into darkness.  Now six softly glowing forms hung in the air in front of Harry.

 

“Okay then, relight the torches.”

 

In an instant the room was lit again.

 

“That’s too weird,” said Harry.  “I feel like I should apologize for ordering them around like that.”

 

“Believe me, Harry, you wouldn’t want to do that.  Elements are unpredictable.  These are not real salamanders.  They are manifestations of the power of fire, and you called up not one, but six!” said Dumbledore, looking impressed.  “They belong to you now.  From now on, whenever you face south and say ‘I call forth fire’ they will come.” 

 

One by one the salamanders were winking out as if they were lights that had been switched off.

 

“Where did they go?” asked Harry, staring at the place where the salamanders had been.

 

“Back into the elements.  They wink out if not used or commanded to stay.  They are now your eternal servants.” Harry cringed. “It’s not like you think, Harry.  Before you called them forth from the element of fire, they had no separate existence.  They were a part of the whole element.  Now every time you bring them forth, they will revel in their new separateness.  Trust me, I have had much experience with this.  They are eternally grateful to the power that made their individuality possible and they will do anything for you.  Don’t ever be tempted to set them free either, Harry,” said Dumbledore, his lips twitching.  “Once they have been given individuality, if they are left unchecked and unfettered, elementals can wreck great havoc.  Go ahead now, call them back.”

 

Harry faced south. 

 

“I call forth fire.” Six tiny pops, and the salamanders were back. “Cool!” said Harry, watching them bob gently before him.  “Professor, what is the limit of their powers?” he asked finally.

 

“Elemental power, Harry, wielded by an Elemental Sorcerer has only one limitation.  It cannot create life.  Other than that, their power is limitless,” said Dumbledore quietly.

 

Harry stared at the salamanders, trying to comprehend this latest revelation.  Limitless power at his command?  No wonder this wasn’t magic that was made common knowledge!

 

“Does it matter where I ask them to go?” said Harry.  “What will happen if other people see them?”

 

“Unless you ask them to show themselves to someone,” said Dumbledore, smiling, “they usually move so fast that most wizards and Muggles only register them as the quickest blink of light, like a firefly. They reside just above our vibrational level. Others will see the magical results of course, and most wizards will assume that a spell has been cast.”

 

“Okay, you,” said Harry, pointing to one salamander, which detached itself from the group of them and came to hover before him.

 

Harry pulled a galleon out of his pocket and held it out to the salamander.  “Take this to Ginny and come back straight away.  You two,” he pointed at two more of the bobbing forms.  “Bring us two supper trays.  You three, go clean Professor Dumbledore’s office then come back here.”

 

The salamanders winked out.  The one he’d sent to Ginny got back first.

 

Ginny?” he said, reaching out to her with his mind.

 

Way cool, Harry!  I was talking to Ron and it just dropped, seemingly out of thin air into my lap.”

 

Harry grinned.

 

“Convinced?” asked Dumbledore, smiling.

 

“Getting there!” said Harry.

 

The dinner trays arrived next, smelling wonderful.  Harry directed the salamanders to place them on the South table.  Then the three he had sent to clean Dumbledore’s office returned.

 

“Thank you all, you may go now,” said Harry, nodding at them.  They promptly winked out.

 

“It is O.K. to thank them, isn’t it?” he asked Dumbledore.

 

“It’s a good idea actually,” said Dumbledore, grinning broadly, “and so were the supper trays!” he said, attacking his with relish.

 

They ate quickly.  Harry was anxious to try out another element.

 

“How about fire’s complimentary element, air?” asked Dumbledore, handing Harry the book with ‘Wind Sprite etched on it.  He knew what he had to do now.  He read the words, relaxed his mind, and allowed them to appear.

 

The light, breezy quality he associated with changing into an owl seemed suddenly to fill the entire room.  A series of whispers, like the wind in the trees was followed by a series of faint pops and six tiny electric blue beings appeared in front of him.  They looked like a cross between pixies and fairies.

 

“Wind Sprites,” said Dumbledore in astonishment.  “Six of them Harry!  I expected you to be strong in Fire, but six in Air as well?  I’m impressed!”

 

“And, how do they work?” asked Harry.

 

“Just like the salamanders.”

 

“They’re beautiful!”

 

“And powerful, Harry.  Remember Tinkerbelle from the Muggle story of Peter Pan?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“A Wind Sprite if ever there was one!”

 

Harry had two of the Wind Sprites clear away the supper trays, three clean Gryffindor tower, and the last take Ginny another Galleon.

 

The element of water produced four snake-like creatures, all undulatingly green and oozing obsequiously.

 

“I don’t trust them,” said Harry after he had had them scrub the flagstone floor and extinguish and then relight the torches.

 

“Water is not a natural element for you, Harry,” said Dumbledore.  “See, the number is lower, but still. . .” his voice died off and he looked at Harry with an odd expression.

 

Earth seemed to be Harry’s weakest element yet, producing only two creatures that looked like a cross between badgers and nifflers only with eyes that glowed gold.  They were quick as lightning and blended into the shadows seamlessly.  He directed one to bring him a book from his bedside table and the other to fetch them some butter beer from the kitchens.

 

“Very interesting,” said Dumbledore, once the creatures were back and had been allowed to wink out.  “Earth is your weakest element, and yet you still produced two elementals.”

 

“Is that unusual?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Most elemental magicians can only manage to produce one or two elementals of their own and strongest element.  More than three is rare.  Six is unheard of!”  Dumbledore looked very grave.  An elemental magician who has mastered all of the elements will usually be able to produce one in each of their weaker elements, on rare occasions two.”  He looked at Harry levelly.  “I will not lie to you, Harry.”  He turned to face south and intoned “I call forth fire.” 

 

Four sparkling salamanders popped out of the air in front of him.  “As you deduced, Harry.  My element is fire.”  He nodded at the salamanders then said, “you may go.”  They winked out instantly.  “Four is as many as I have ever been able to conjure — in my strongest element!  I produce two each in air, water and earth.”  He stood quietly, observing Harry, who was deep in thought, for some minutes.

 

Harry remained silent, thinking.  Everyone said that Dumbledore was one of, if not the most powerful wizard alive.  If his strongest element was fire, and he could only conjure four. . .

 

“Why?” said Harry, barely above a whisper.

 

“Why what, Harry?”

 

“Why me?” said Harry, a little louder this time. 

 

He stood quite suddenly and called forth one element after the other in quick succession.  They hung there around him in a circle:  six Salamanders, six Wind Sprites, four Water Demons and two Earth Spirits.

 

“Why am I able to call up this many?” he said, gesturing at the group before him.  “Do you realize how much power they represent?  Do you realize what I could do with them?”

 

Dumbledore waited for them to wink out before he answered.

 

“I am guessing, Harry, that it is because of the power Voldemort transferred to you that you are able to conjure four of the Water Demons,” said Dumbledore quietly.  “Your calling of water seemed as stilted as when you called forth earth, and yet you produced more of them.”

 

Harry shivered.

 

“So without Voldemort’s transferred power, you think I would have produced two, like I did with the Earth Spirits?” asked Harry.

 

Dumbledore nodded.

 

“But according to what you said, that’s still a lot!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Six Wind Sprites and Salamanders. My mother wasn’t, like, a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, was she?” asked Harry amusedly.

 

Dumbledore looked up at him.

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“Well, if my dad was a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor-”

 

Who told you that?” said Dumbledore in a stunned voice.  He took Harry by the shoulders and actually shook him slightly.  “No one knows about that, Harry!  After you parents died, I was the only one who knew!”

 

“My dad told me,” said Harry.  “When we, when Ginny and I stepped beyond, to get out of the timestop on the train in June, they were there, my mum and dad and Sirius.  They told me.”

 

Dumbledore conjured a chair and sank into it, shakily.

 

“But Tom Riddle is a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin.”

 

“Yes.  And he is most adept in elemental magic,” said Dumbledore.

 

“Surely he can conjure as many Water Demons as I can fire or air.”

 

“Most likely, Harry.  I wouldn’t know for sure.  I have only ever seen him use his Water Demons, and then only four of them.”

 

Harry sat quietly, contemplating this.

 

“Professor,” he said at last, staring at the chair’s legs.  “Surely Voldemort knows who I am, or at least he must suspect, otherwise, why would he have chosen me over Neville?”

 

“The knowledge of the source of your lineage, Harry, has never been written down.  No Potter Family Tree will ever show Goddric Gryffindor on it.  No formal record of Tristian Potter having married Nymphadora Gryffindor has ever been found.  The knowledge has been passed down from parent to child for generations.”  Dumbledore took a drink of the butter beer that the Earth Spirit had brought them. 

 

“Who else knows about this, Harry?”

 

“Just Ginny.”

 

Dumbledore nodded.

 

“Yes, of course, she was there.”  He looked at the watch on his wrist and stood up with as start.

 

“Good heavens!  It’s nearly ten O’clock!” We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the time from now on.  Best be getting back to Gryffindor tower, Harry. Practice conjuring your elementals, they are not offended by small tasks believe me.  We’ll begin working on how to use them defensively beginning on Thursday.”

 

 

*     *     *

 

By Friday afternoon, Harry was more than ready for the weekend.

 

“I’m ready to take a break,” said Harry, more to himself than to anyone else as he tried for the third time to spear a bite of steak at supper and, for the third time, missed.

 

“You can rest after tryouts tonight,” said Ron.

 

Harry had completely forgotten about chaser tryouts.

 

“Six O’clock on the field, both of you,” said Ron to Harry and Ginny.  He stifled a yawn and helped himself to another baked potato.

 

Ginny grimaced.

 

“You know how important it is that we find someone who can pick up where Katie left off,” said Ron, who had caught her look.  He brandished a forkful of potato at her as he spoke.  “We need a seamless team if we’re going to go for the Quidditch cup again.”

 

Ginny snickered as a blob of butter and sour cream fell off his fork and onto his lap.

 

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find someone to replace Katie,” said Neville around a mouthful of steak.  “She was good!”

 

“So’s Ginny!” piped up Euan from down the table.  He was sitting across the table from Gabrielle, who was listening intently to the conversation.

 

“Are you a chaser, Ginny?” asked Gabrielle.

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“She’s an excellent chaser,” said Harry leaning in and kissing Ginny’s neck.

 

Ginny blushed crimson, but looked rather pleased at the complement.

 

Gabrielle snagged Harry’s robes as he walked by her on his way to Gryffindor tower to get his broom.

 

“Harry, what does one have to do to try out for the Quidditch team?” asked Gabrielle, keeping her voice down so that Ron wouldn’t overhear.

 

“Bring your broom and show up at six,” said Harry with a shrug.  He paused, and then asked, “Have you played much Quidditch?”

 

“I was a reserve chaser on my house team at Beauxbatons,” said Gabrielle, drawing herself up proudly.  “But,” she paused, looking hesitantly down the table to where Ron was talking to Hermione.  “I don’t want him thinking he has to choose me, or even consider me, just because I’m Fleur’s sister.”

 

Harry squatted down beside her.

 

“I have an idea,” he said, thinking fast.  “How about I do a Glamoury charm on you to make you look like someone else entirely?”

 

“Can you do that?” asked Gabrielle curiously, sounding interested.

 

“Sure can.  Meet me in the common room at quarter till six.  Ron will already be down on the field if I know him, so he won’t know.”

 

“Thank you, Harry!” said Gabrielle brightly, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

Harry got to his feet and grinned at Euan, who was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy on his face.

 

“Not bad!” said Neville appreciatively as Gabrielle turned around, her arms outstretched so they could see her disguise.

 

Neville, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Euan, Colin and Dennis were all gathered around the corner where Harry had administered the charm.  Instead of a silver-haired, 13-year-old girl, Gabrielle now resembled a sandy-haired, freckle-faced, 13-year-old boy.

 

“I didn’t want to change the size and shape too much,” said Harry apologetically, “since she is trying out.  We’ve to see what you really are capable of.”

 

“What’s your name gonna be?” asked Euan suddenly.

 

Everyone looked at him.

 

“Ron’s going to ask you your name.  What are you going to tell him?”

 

“You can’t say Gabrielle, not looking like that,” said Hermione.

 

“Gabe,” said Gabrielle instantly.  She lowered her voice and put on a swagger that made them all chuckle.

 

“Well, come on, Gabe,” said Ginny.  “Let’s get you down to the field.

 

“This is going to take a while,” sighed Colin as they emerged from the locker room and saw the group waiting by the goalposts.  There were at least a dozen of them, all looking incredibly nervous and anxious.

 

“Buck up, Colin!” said Harry, giving him a thump on his skinny back.  “At least we get to fly!”

 

“Yeah,” said Colin, his face lighting up.  “There is that!  Come on, Dennis!”  He tossed a club to his fourteen-year-old brother and fellow beater.  “Let’s see what this lot has got!”

 

Ron had devised a sort of obstacle course for those wanting to try out for the one open position on the team.  The chaser-hopefuls had to pass the Quaffle off to their team-member chasers (played by Euan and Harry), get past the opposing team chaser, (played by Ginny), dodge a Bludger aimed at them by the Creeveys, and get past Ron, the keeper, to score.

 

The first three didn’t stand a chance.  They either missed the Quaffle thrown to them by their own teammates, or fumbled the ball as they flew.  The next person, a fourth year girl Harry knew only by sight, wasn’t bad at passing and throwing, but got the Quaffle stolen from her by Ginny before she could come anywhere near the hoops.

 

The next two fumbled the ball before they could even get up any speed.  Then a fifth year boy, a friend of Dennis’s actually made it past Ginny, but missed a wide-open hoop.  Number eight, a fourth year boy, was actually fairly good.  Ginny stole the ball from him, but he stole it back and would have scored if Ron hadn’t done a wild, end-over-end spin to block it.

 

“Not bad,” said Harry aside to Ron, who was eyeing the dwindling hopefuls warily.

 

“There’s got to be someone better though,” said Ron, sounding a bit desperate.  “He’s O.K., but he’s not on Katie’s level.”

 

“Maybe he’d improve,” said Harry shrugging.  “None of us were perfect when we started out.”

 

“I suppose,” said Ron, but he didn’t sound too excited.  “Let’s see what else we’ve got before we start getting desperate.”

 

The next two never made it past Ginny, who wasn’t even really trying that hard by this time.  The next to last, a third year girl, was surprisingly good and actually managed to score, earning her a raised eyebrow from Ron. Gabrielle had waited until the very last.

 

“You, what’s your name?” said Ron, who looked tired and rather dejected.

 

“Gabe.  Gabe Simpson,” said Gabrielle quickly.

 

“What year?”” said Ron, uninterestedly.

 

“Third,” said Gabrielle, crossing her arms and leaning on her broom (a Nimbus 2001 if Harry wasn’t mistaken).

 

“Nice broom,” said Ron, perking up a little.

 

“Thanks, it was an early birthday present.”

 

“Ever played Quidditch before, uh, Gabe?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“O.K., then, you know the rules.  You’ve been watching.  Let’s see what you can do.”

 

Gabrielle tucked the Quaffle under her arm and, accompanied by Harry and Euan, soared off to the end of the field.

 

“On my whistle, then,” called Ron from down the field.  “Three, two, one. . .”

 

The whistle blew and Gabrielle was off, zipping down the field, passing the Quaffle flawlessly to Harry, who threw it to Euan, who tossed it back to Gabrielle, but threw it too low.  Gabrielle, however, did a neat sloth-grip-roll, catching the Quaffle on her way back up.

 

Nice,” came Ginny’s sub-vocal.

 

“Harry grinned.

 

Ginny came next, darting out from behind the Creevey’s to block her way.  Gabrielle reverse-passed to Harry, who wasn’t expecting it and nearly dropped it.  Gabrielle swerved neatly around Ginny, dodged the bludgers easily, caught Harry’s pass, and faked Ron out to put the Quaffle through the center hoop.

 

“Very nice!” said Ginny out loud this time, grinning broadly.  They all looked at Ron, who was beaming.

 

“Welcome aboard, Gabe, did you say your name was?” he said, clapping Gabrielle on the shoulder.

 

“Actually,” said Harry, taking out his wand and performing the counter-charm.”

 

Gabrielle?” said Ron, looking stunned as Gabrielle shook out her mane of silvery hair.  “That was you?”

 

“I didn’t want your decision affected by me being related to you,” said Gabrielle, shrugging.

 

“So I offered to disguise her,” said Harry, grinning at Ron.

 

Ron recovered quickly.

 

“That was excellent, really!”

 

“Thanks,” said Gabrielle, sounding both pleased and proud.

 

“Quidditch practice, Monday and Wednesday, six O’clock,” said Ron to Gabrielle, then, grinning broadly, strode off toward the locker rooms.

 

“He would have to pick two of the busiest days of the week!” groaned Harry.

 

“Admit it Harry,” said Ginny as the made their way back to the castle.  “You don’t have a day of the week that isn’t busy.  Besides, he’s doing it on Monday and Wednesday because of your apprenticeship training with Dumbledore.”

 

“Do we have to go back in yet?” asked Harry, eyeing the doors to the castle with apprehension.  “Can’t we take a walk or something?” He looked over his shoulder at the moonlit grounds.

 

“Now, Harry,” said Ginny, grinning up at him and tugging on his arm until he fallowed her through the doors and into the entrance hall.  “You’ve had a long week and you should really need to be getting to bed early.”

 

“What I need,” said Harry, catching Ginny around the waist and pulling her into his arms, “Is to spend some time alone with you!”

 

“And who says you can’t have both?” said Ginny, her eyebrows raised.

 

“Ginny, what?” asked Harry, pulling back so he could look at her.

 

Ginny’s grin widened as she slipped out of Harry’s arms and led him not up the marble steps, but down the broad stone ones that led to the Hufflepuff dormitories and the kitchens.

 

“Where are you taking me, Ginny, you hungry or something?” asked Harry curiously as they passed the picture of the giant bowl of fruit that led into the kitchens.

 

“Don’t you trust me?” said Ginny bemusedly.

 

“Of course I do, it’s just-”

 

They had stopped alongside a series of painted panels, each depicting a piece of a landscape.  There seemed, however, to be a small piece of wood missing from the frame of the panel directly in front of them.

 

“Filch must not get down here much,” said Harry, fingering the break.  “But Ginny, what are we doing down here?”

 

Ginny laid a finger over his lips, reached into her pocket and pulled out a splinter of wood, which she slipped into the break.  It fit seamlessly, and the panel swung open.

 

“After you,” said Ginny, motioning him through.

 

Harry stepped through the panel.  Ginny followed, removing the splinter from the frame as she did so, and the panel swung shut behind her.  They were standing in a low-ceilinged room with a large stone fireplace at one end in which a fire was crackling merrily. In front of the fire there was a sofa and a low table on which stood steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plateful of scones.  Partially hidden behind a high paneled screen Harry could just see a queen-sized bed heaped high with snowy white linens.  And in the far wall was a door, which appeared to lead to a private bath.

 

“Where are we?” asked Harry, looking around appreciatively.

 

“Guest quarters,” said Ginny, grinning still more broadly.

 

Just then Harry noticed a small figure backing out of the bathroom with an armful of towels.  As the figure turned, Harry recognized the profile.

 

Dobby?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Harry Potter, sir!” said Dobby ecstatically.  He dropped his armful of towels and, coming up to Harry, hugged him around his middle.

 

“What are you doing here?” said Harry dumbly.

 

Dobby grinned sheepishly and glanced at Ginny.

 

“It is all done as your Ladyship asked,” he said to her, his huge green eyes glowing.

 

“Thank-you, Dobby,” said Ginny gently.

 

“Your Ladyship?” asked Harry, looking at Ginny with raised eyebrows.

 

“It is a term of respect, Harry Potter,” said Dobby earnestly.  “And if anyone deserves it, Miss does.”

 

“How did you manage this, Ginny?” asked Harry, gesturing around at the room. “Won’t we get in trouble if anyone finds out we’re in here?”

 

“Harry Potter must not be concerned, sir,” said Dobby, turning back to Harry.  “Tis a gift, sir.  A gift from those teachers at Hogwarts who know of your bond, sir.”

 

“Professor McGonagall gave me the splinter just after we arrived last week,” said Ginny, grinning from ear-to-ear.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more flustered than when she was explaining to me what it was for,” said Ginny suppressing a laugh.  “But she said,” Ginny cleared her throat and put on her best McGonagall imitation, “Now, Miss. Weasley, the Headmaster says we must take certain matters into account, and that you should have guest quarters made available to you and Mr. Potter,” then she handed me the splinter and explained how it worked.”

 

“And how does it work?” asked Harry, fingering the splinter.

 

“It is a key, Harry Potter,” said Dobby quickly.  “Each guest suite has but one key, and those are kept by the head-master to give out to visitors as he sees fit.  When the splinter is removed, no one can enter.  To get out you tap three times on this stone,” Dobby pointed at a white stone set into the gray stones of the doorframe.  He tapped it three times and the panel swung open.  “But be certain that, if you leave you take your splinter with you so you can get back in and, once you are in that you remove the splinter, or anyone can come into your room.”

 

“And the fire is not connected to the Floo network,” said Ginny, “so no one is going to pop out when we least expect it.”

 

Harry had one more question.

 

“And no one is going to notice that we’re not in our dormitories?”

 

“If they do, they report to the Head Boy or Girl, right?” said Ginny, grinning.

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“And I’ve already explained it to Hermione, and she’ll be informing Ron.  We have permission from the head-master after all!”

 

“How long do we get to keep the key?”

 

“Until the end of the school year,” said Ginny with a mischievous smile.  “Although Professor McGonagall did say to, uh, ‘use it wisely.’”

 

“In other words, not to use it so much that we make other people suspicious,” said Harry, nodding.  “I don’t believe either of us has anywhere we’re expected to be until Sunday morning,” said Harry, pulling Ginny into his arms abruptly.

 

“Dobby will just be leaving now,” said Dobby, picking up his towels.  He was grinning from ear-to-ear and shuffling sideways towards the door.

 

Harry let go of Ginny, reached out and grabbed Dobby’s arm as he passed.

“Thanks, Dobby!” he said.

 

“Anything for you, Harry Potter, sir!” said Dobby, his tennis ball-sized eyes shining with adoration.  “I will be sending your trays up at mealtimes, your Ladyship,” said Dobby with a tiny bow to Ginny.  She smiled her thanks and Dobby was gone with a crack like a whip.

 

Harry turned back to Ginny and his breath caught in his throat.  She was so beautiful!  Where she stood, the light from the fire caught and tangled in her vividly red hair and kissed the rose-petal smoothness of her skin.  Her eyes were aglow with the power and spirit he loved so much about her: aglow with her love for him.

 

“Think you can handle being alone with me for 24 hours?” asked Ginny in a silkily smooth voice that made Harry’s mouth go suddenly dry.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had crossed the distance between them and in one fluid movement, had swept Ginny into his arms and deposited her on the bed.

 

“It won’t be nearly long enough!” he said gruffly.  “A whole lifetime wouldn’t be enough!”

 

Back to index


Chapter 6: THE BOY WHO LIVED

CHAPTER SIX

THE BOY WHO LIVED

 

 

 

“There you are, Harry,” said Neville at Breakfast on Sunday morning.  “An urgent owl just arrived for you, see?” He pointed to the table, where a large, sleepy-looking screech owl sat blinking slowly at them, a parchment envelope clutched in its beak.  Unlike normal post owls, this one had a white collar, on which was stenciled in red letters the word URGENT.

 

“Thanks, Neville,” said Harry.

 

“Hello, you,” he said to the owl as he reached out for the letter.

 

Ginny handed the owl a corner of toast, which it snapped up gratefully.

 

“He looks tired,” said Ginny, stroking the owl’s rather ruffled feathers.

 

“URGENT owls fly non-stop usually,” said Neville.  “Any idea who it’s from?”

 

“No idea,” said Harry, looking at the envelope.  “There’s no return address and I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

 

He turned the envelope over and over in his hands, as if he could divine the contents by touch alone.

 

“Well open it, why don’t you!” said Ron in exasperation, making as if to snatch the envelope from Harry.

 

“All right, all right,” said Harry, frowning slightly at the envelope.  “Keep your knickers on!”  He split open the envelope with his table knife and withdrew a parchment letter and a small piece of lined notebook paper.  He unfolded the parchment letter first.  It read:

 

Harry-

 

Sorry to disturb you at school, but I am concerned for your Aunt.  I had not seen her all week, so I stopped in to pay a call and make sure that everything was all right.  The large woman staying with them, the one that looks so much like Vernon (I guess it’s his sister) was reluctant to let me see her, but your Uncle said “It’s O.K., it’s only that mad Figg woman,” and so I was shown into the kitchen.

 

Petunia looked as if she’d been crying, and there was makeup over what appeared to be a fresh bruise on her cheekbone.  She was cheerful enough, and assured me that everything was “quite all right” but then she tucked this piece of paper into my pocket when she hugged me goodbye (although she winced when I touched her back).

I considered alerting Remus, but then hesitated, because I didn’t know if it was what she would want. I leave it to you to decide what should be done, Harry.  You know her better than I do.  But whatever you do, it should be done soon.

 

Sincerely,

 

Arabella Figg

 

 

 

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Harry unfolded the scarp of notebook paper. 

 

 

Harry,

 

Dudley caught me adding the drops to Vernon’s coffee.  I poured the rest of them down the drain, but Vernon suspects the worst.  He is convinced that I was trying to poison him.  Marge is now staying until October first at Vernon’s request.  He is becoming extremely violent and volatile.  I would leave, except I am being watched and, to be honest, I have nowhere to go where I would be sure Vernon couldn’t find me. 

 

If I could ask you one favor, it would be appreciated. If you can think of a way to get in touch with Remus, and warn him about Marge’s extended stay, please do so.  I don’t want him getting involved in a domestic dispute.

 

Petunia

 

 

Harry could feel the contentment and happiness he had felt after his day with Ginny being replaced by a slow, burning anger.  Uncle Vernon was hurting her.  Dudley had squealed like the pig that he was, (they should never have removed that tail), and now Uncle Vernon was venting his frustration on Aunt Petunia.

 

Harry closed his eyes, fighting the anger that was building up inside of him.  Not only anger at Uncle Vernon, but a simmering anger for Aunt Petunia as well.  A small voice whispered that she deserved it.  She deserved to be hurt, just as Harry had been hurt by her indifference.  He’d been bullied and ignored and treated as if he were nothing more than an obligation for years

 

Let her hurt! — whispered the voice.  Let her hurt like Uncle Vernon had hurt him when he’d beat him for things as simple as rolling his eyes or daring to take a second piece of cake for desert.  Let her hurt like he’d been hurt when Dudley had used him as a punching bag. 

 

It’s her turn to lie awake at night, unable to sleep because of the hurtful words that kept replaying themselves over and over in her brain.  It’s her turn to wonder if maybe there’s some justification in the names she’s being called, or in the accusations that are being made.  It’s her turn now.

 

He handed the letter to Ginny and tried to go back to his dinner, but he couldn’t do it.  There was a nasty, nauseated feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a part of him wanted to take Uncle Vernon’s thick purple neck and squeeze. . .

 

“What are you going to do?” asked Ginny, her eyes very big and frightened.

 

 

He couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t ignore her.  She hadn’t asked him for help, she had asked him to warn off Remus Lupin.  She hadn’t asked him for help, but she was still his Aunt.  She was the only family he had left.

 

“I have an idea,” said Harry, thinking fast.  “Stay here, it’ll be less suspicious if one of us stays put.”  He tore out of the Great Hall and found an empty classroom.

 

“Point me!” he hissed at his wand.  It spun slowly on his hand, pointing north.  Harry turned in the opposite direction.

 

“I call forth fire!” he called.  Six salamanders popped into existence in front of him.

Harry took a spare bit of parchment and a quill from his pocket and scribbled a note, which he tucked under the collar of the nearest elemental.

 

 

Aunt Petunia,

 

This is an elemental.  He is a manifestation of the power of fire.  I have sent him to protect you.  He will not hurt you, but don’t be surprised by what he may do.  I am arranging for you to be removed from Privet Drive as soon as possible.

 

Harry

 

 

 

“Take this to my Aunt Petunia, number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey,” Harry told the salamander.  “Make sure she is alone when she receives the note.  Let her see you when you are sure that she is alone.  I want you to protect her.  Do not harm anyone else in doing this, but don’t let her get hurt.  Do not leave until she has been removed from number four by a witch or wizard.  When she has, come straight back to me, understand?”

 

The salamander gave a curt nod.

 

“Go then,” said Harry.

 

The salamander disappeared with a sharp pop.

 

“O.K., you,” said Harry, pointing at another salamander.  “Take these three notes to Professor Dumbledore.  He handed it Aunt Petunia’s note, Arabella’s letter, and a hastily scribbled note of his own, which read:

 

Professor,

 

Just received an Urgent owl from Arabella.  My Uncle is turning violent and Aunt Petunia wants to leave, but has nowhere to go.  I would like to alert Lupin, but I don’t want him getting in trouble, any suggestions? 

 

I have sent a salamander to protect her until we can find a way to remove her from Privet Drive.

 

Harry.

“The rest of you may go,” Harry told the rest of the salamanders, which promptly winked out.  Harry made his way back to the Great Hall.

 

“Bad news, Harry?” asked Neville, and Ron looked up as Harry sat back down.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” said Harry, forcing himself to smile.

 

“You’re not very good at lying you know,” said Neville in an undertone.

 

Harry turned to look at Ron who was once more attacking his bacon.

 

“It worked for him,” said Harry, nodding at Ron.

 

“I’m just thinking about the prophecy,” said Neville in a barely audible voice.  “Even if the brunt of this damned thing falls on you, how am I supposed to save your soul if I don’t know where the blood hell you’ve got to?”

 

Ginny and Harry were both staring at Neville now.

 

What?” asked Neville, noting their stares.  “Have I sprouted antennae or something?”

 

“Beep, beep!” said Luna, coming up behind Neville and holding her index fingers up behind his head as impromptu antennae.  “Take me to your leader!” beeped Luna.

 

Neville pulled her abruptly onto his lap and kissed her soundly.

 

“My, we are in a mood today,” said Ginny aloud, her eyebrows raised.

 

“Damn straight!” said Neville, coming up for air at last.  “That bloody prophecy scaring the pants off me, Urgent owls, you two disappearing for a whole day,” he kissed Luna again.  “And I got an A on my Transfiguration test Friday, Ginny!  An A!”

 

“How does it feel?” asked Ginny, grinning.

 

“Tell you in a second,” said Neville.  He looked Luna up and down before kissing her again.

 

“I meant getting an A in Transfiguration,” said Ginny with a giggle.

 

“You should have seen McGonagall’s face when she handed me back my test!” said Neville with a look of glee on his face.  “She was astounded.  My work’s been getting better ever since I got my own wand, but this. . .” he paused and swallowed before continuing.  “I feel like someone switched a light on in my brain.”

 

“Watch out world,” said Harry with a grin.

 

Harry raised his toast to his mouth, and nearly bit into a piece of paper that had appeared on it, seemingly out of thin air.  He unfolded it and read:

 

Harry,

 

Situation with Aunt being resolved as we speak.  Meet you and Ginny in my office at Noon as usual.

 

Albus Dumbledore

 

 

“Where did that come from?” said Ron, who had seen the note appear in Harry’s hand and was looking around curiously at the rafters for a departing owl.

 

“Thank you,” said Harry to the empty air over the jug of orange juice where he could just detect a faint sparkle.  “You may go.”

 

“Harry,” said Ron, looking from Harry to the jug and back again, his forehead creased.  “Who were you talking to?”

 

“What was that, Ron?” asked Harry, pretending he hadn’t heard him.

 

“I said, oh, never mind,” said Ron.  He stood and waved as Hermione came through the doors to the Great Hall.

 

Ginny grinned at Harry and gave him the thumbs up.  Harry grinned back and poured himself another cup of coffee.

 

*     *     *

 

At twelve O’clock, Harry and Ginny were in Dumbledore’s beautiful circular office.

 

“I need you to give Bill a message for me,” said Dumbledore, handing a thick parchment envelope to Ginny.

 

Ginny took the envelope, tucked it into her dance bag, and swung the bag over her shoulder.

 

“I’ll see that he gets it,” she said, smiling at Dumbledore.  She then beckoned Harry to her and kissed him deeply.

 

“Be good, Mr. Wizard,” she whispered suggestively, smiling into his eyes.

 

“Devil incarnate,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“And thank you, Professor,” said Ginny, taking a pinch of Floo powder and tossing it onto the flames, which turned green and shot up significantly.  “The use of the guest room is the best wedding present you could have given us!”

 

Before either Harry or Dumbledore had a chance to respond, she had stepped into the green flames and had disappeared.

 

When Harry glanced at him, Dumbledore was smiling and shaking his head.

 

“She’ll keep you on your toes, that one,” said Dumbledore appreciatively.  “Now, Harry,” he said, turning around, suddenly serious.  “I want you to know that the situation with your Aunt is being taken care of.”

 

As if on cue, a salamander popped out of the air in front of Harry.  There was a note tucked under its collar.  Harry took note and dismissed the salamander.  The note was from Lupin.

 

Harry,

 

Good call with the elemental.  It most certainly kept Petunia from receiving a severe beating from your Uncle.  Or, should I san another severe beating, for he had already given her one before the elemental arrived.  Those were the bruises Arabella saw.

 

In the process of protecting her, however, the salamander ignited a fire that burned #4 to the ground.  Don’t fee bad, though.  It was actually a good thing.  It provided a much needed distraction that allowed us to remove your Aunt from the scene and modify your Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley’s memories.  No one was hurt.

 

Your Uncle and Cousin now believe that your Aunt died in the fire.  We placed a body in the rubble which we obtained from the city morgue (an unclaimed body) and switched its dental records with those of your aunt.

 

Petunia is with me at Grimmauld Place for the time being.  Molly is fixing her up with some compresses, which should have her right again in no time.  She will be safe here Harry, and I hope she’ll be happy.

 

Remus Lupin.

 

 

“Well,” said Harry, refolding the note.  “That’s one less thing to worry about, anyway.  So, she’ll be at Grimmauld Place?” asked Harry as they descended to their workroom.

 

“Yes, I thought it best,” said Dumbledore.  “I find it interesting, Harry that this should happen just now.”  He was smiling slightly as he lit the torches in the room with a wave of his wand.  “Given as that this to be the subject of our next lesson, using your elementals to protect yourself and others.”

 

Harry stared at the floor.  Had he gone to far?  Perhaps he should have asked permission before he sent the salamander.

 

“They are yours, Harry, to do with what you will,” said Dumbledore, picking up on his thoughts.  “This is something that you need to understand.  Elemental magic is beyond control and regulation by The Ministry of Magic.  That is why it has been labeled as Dark Magic by The Ministry.”

 

“Dark Magic?” asked Harry, feeling rather alarmed.

 

“Yes.  You don’t think that the ministry wants Elemental Magicians to become the norm do you?  Unlimited power would undermine the power they see themselves as having over the lives of the magical community.”

 

“But the investigations-”

 

“Are pointless,” said Dumbledore.  “No one who uses real Dark Magic either for their own purposes or defensively is going to refer to it openly or leave evidence lying around.  Even if the ministry managed to catch an elemental, which they can’t, it wouldn’t tell them anything, for it obeys only it’s master; the person who called it from the elements.”

 

“Will you get in trouble if they find out you’ve been teaching me?”

 

“There’s no way they can prove that I’ve taught you to use elemental magic, unless you show it to them.”

 

Harry snorted.  “Then I’d be in as much trouble as you.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Professor,” said Harry, frowning slightly.  “If the Death Eaters can all conjure elementals. . .”

 

“It is highly doubtful that, Harry, that Tom Riddle has taught elemental magic to his Death Eaters,” said Dumbledore, chuckling.  “That would give them far more power than he is willing for them to have, that one of his greatest weaknesses, Harry.  Lord Voldemort is desperate to have complete control over others’ lives.”  Dumbledore sighed heavily.  “Elementals can be used, Harry.  They can be used to achieve any results that you wish, but just like the elements they represent, each elemental has its strengths and its weaknesses and is best if used by employing it in complimentary assignments.  For example, you did exactly the right thing in sending a salamander to protect your Aunt.  But what possessed you to do it?”

 

“Well,” said Harry carefully, his forehead screwed up in concentration.  “I know Uncle Vernon.  He is shallow and self-centered.  He is very predictable, scheduled even.  But he can become very angry, especially at anything that disrupts his life.  If something interrupts his schedule he is very quick to deal with the interruption decisively.”

 

“Exactly, Harry.  He is predictable, possibly dangerous.  Fire elementals work best when used for protection or when used in predictable situations.  Just like a real fire, they need to be controlled.  Their assignments need to be regulated.  If they are used in unpredictable circumstances they can ignite the situation, literally and figuratively.”

 

“What about the Wind Sprites?” asked Harry.

 

“Exactly the opposite,” said Dumbledore, chuckling.  “They delight in being unpredictable, just like the wind can be so unpredictable.  They work best if allowed to be spontaneous.  They are just as powerful as fire and they will fulfill the task you have assigned them, but neither the results or the method will be the same every time.  Look at a hurricane, Harry, or a tornado, even a thunderstorm.  The trick to correctly using Wind Sprites is to give them a set finishing point.  They are phenomenal in unpredictable situations, but if used in predictable situations they can aggravate the situation.”

 

“Fanning the flames, so to speak,” said Harry, grinning.  “So what about the Earth Spirits?”

 

“Incredibly powerful, Harry, but steady, slow, and dependable.  They work the very best when maintaining a desired situation or keeping the peace.  If they are aroused or their routine is interrupted, they can devastate everything around them.”

 

“Like an earthquake,”

 

“Or volcano. Exactly.”

 

“And the Water Demons?”

 

Dumbledore smiled faintly.

 

“What would you say Tom Riddle’s primary element is, Harry?”

 

“Water,” said Harry promptly.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“He is a parslemouth, his mark is a snake in a skull, he possesses the form of his pet snake Nagini regularly, the one that attacked Mr. Weasley, and he was in Slytherin, whose symbol is the serpent.”

 

“Yes indeed, and I have seen Tom Riddle do things with his Water Demons, Harry, things that I could not possibly have imagined.”

 

Dumbledore sounded very tired and old suddenly.

 

“But you’ve driven him back, Sir, surely-”

 

“Yes, Harry, for my skills with fire equal his own with water, but that is where it ends, for equally matched as we are, I can never overcome him.”

 

Dumbledore called forth his two Water Demons and let them hang in mid-air, oozing gently before him.

 

“These, Harry, these are manifestations of the power of water, the power of the ocean to smooth rock into sand, the power of rain to wear away stone, the power of the raging river to cut canyons out of limestone and clay.”  He sighed heavily. “Each element, Harry, each element, besides its strengths, has its weaknesses.”  Dumbledore released the Water Demons and they promptly winked out. “Tell me, Harry, what quenches Fire?”

 

“Water,” said Harry absently, and then did a double take.  Dumbledore was smiling grimly.

 

“Yes indeed.  Water quenches fire.  Enough fire, Harry, enough fire can boil water and turn it into steam.  It can rob it of its awesomeness.  But I fear I haven’t the strength.”

 

Harry was watching Dumbledore carefully.

 

“And what, Harry, is Earth’s weakness?”

 

“Water,” said Harry promptly.

 

“Yes.  Water weakens earth.  It wears it away.  The only element that water does not affect is air.  It can make air heavier, it can encumber it with humidity, but air can fight back by whipping water into a rage, by turning a rainstorm into a hurricane, say, but air cannot destroy water.  Enough air can trap water in the clouds or change a downpour into a snowstorm, and enough earth can absorb water, convert it into food and nourishment for growing things, but nothing can truly destroy it.”

 

It was something to think about, thought Harry, as they went over some of the incantations in the books that would it one element against another and as they reviewed which elements were best to use in which circumstances.

 

“You will need to know this, Harry,” said Dumbledore gravely as they extinguished the lights.  “Go over them in your head.  Think about which elementals you would use in any given circumstance and use them, Harry.  Practice.  Start small.  Get used to directing them for use in the smallest of situations and it will not seem unnatural to call them forth when the need arises.  In fact, you may want to consider keeping one of each with you at all times in case you need them.”

 

Harry waited in Dumbledore’s office until Ginny arrived in the fireplace in a burst of green flames.  Then they headed back to Gryffindor tower together.

 

“Of course,” said Harry as they were climbing the last staircase, “Of course you know that I’d really like to be going in the opposite direction.”

 

“The feeling is mutual,” said Ginny, squeezing his hand.  “But unfortunately, we still have several essays to write, and even tapping into the knowledge base won’t help us in the actual writing.”  She shrugged.  “Mooncalf,” she said to the fat lady.

 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” agreed Harry.

 

“Of course she’s right, dear,” said the Fat Lady pleasantly as she swung open.

 

*    *     *

 

 

Hagrid had them working with Ashwinders now in their Care of Magical Creatures class.  Ashwinders were thin, pale-gray serpents with glowing red eyes that reminded Harry forcibly of Lord Voldemort’s snake-like gaze.  The Ashwinders would materialize from the embers of an unsupervised magical fire and would promptly slither away into the shadows of a dwelling in which it found itself, leaving an ashy, chalky looking trail behind it.  The Ashwinder itself was harmless and died within an hour, but during it’s hour of life it would lay a clutch of brilliant red eggs which, if not found and frozen with a suitable charm would ignite the dwelling within minutes.  Hagrid was making sure that each of them could freeze an Ashwinder’s  red-hot eggs promptly before they burst into flames.  It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, since the eggs could be anywhere; on the undersides of furniture, inside of kettles or baskets, or even hanging from the rafters. Harry even found some in the pockets of Hagrid’s coat.

 

“The eggs, see, can be eaten whole once they’ve been frozen,” said Hagrid cheerfully.

 

Lavender made a sort of retching sound.

 

“No, really,” explained Hagrid patiently.  “They’re supposed to be right helpful to those suffering from gout.  They’re also one of the main ingredients in most love potions,” he added, his beard twitching.

 

Lavender perked up immediately.  Both she and Parvati were looking at the eggs now with more interest than disgust.

 

“Do you really think that those eggs would work in love potions?” Harry asked Hermione as she, Ron, Harry and Ginny made their way down to Hagrid’s hut on Saturday morning.  Hagrid had asked them to come down because he had something he wanted to show them.

 

“Well, love potions are real enough,” said Hermione briskly.  “But they tend to backfire, especially if the person they are used on realizes that they’ve been given one.”

 

Ron snorted. 

 

“I remember your mum telling about a love potion she made as a girl,” Harry told Ron.

 

This time it was Ginny who snorted. 

 

“It didn’t work like she thought it would.  Well, I guess it did, sort of, but once the guy she used it on got interested in her she found she didn’t like him as well as she thought she had and then couldn’t get rid of him,” she said, laughing.  “It took her months to convince him that she wasn’t interested.”

 

“God, I’d hate to see what Dean would have been like if you’d used a love potion on him,” said Ron amusedly.  “He was hard enough to shake as it was.”

 

“Yeah, all you did was kiss him,” said Harry teasingly.  “That was love potion enough.”

Ginny went pink.

 

Hagrid was waiting for them on his front porch.

 

“I want to show you lot what’s comin up next in class,” he said, grinning.  “Besides I think it would be better for him if he started small.  You know, get used to people slowly.  He’s really shy.”

 

“Who’s shy, Hagrid?” said Hermione tentatively.  They had a good bit of experience with the sorts of creatures that Hagrid found interesting.  Some, like Fawkes and the Unicorns were fascinating.  Others, like the Mooncalves and Malaclaws  were simply interesting.  And then there had been the Blast-Ended Skrewts . . .

 

“You’ll see!  He just arrived last night, I made him up a place special, just inside the forest.”

 

“He?” said Ron hesitantly. 

 

They were all looking at Hagrid warily now.  Hagrid had a tendency to befriend creatures that most witches and wizards would consider to be monsters.  His last foray into the land of monsters had resulted in his befriending Grawp, his baby brother, who also happened to be a full-blood giant with a very violent disposition and a rudimentary grasp of the English language.

 

“Yeah, Charlie befriended him on one of his trips for Dumbledore,” continued Hagrid.  “He convinced him that a good-will trip would be beneficial for wizard-magical being relations. He’ll be helping us out in classes this week.  Thought I’d start off small today so he can get used to havin people around.”

 

Ron and Harry exchanged alarmed glances.

 

“Well,” said Hermione, “if Dumbledore knows-”

 

“Of course Dumbledore knows,” said Hagrid with a rumbling chuckle.

 

He led them to a small shed that had been erected just inside the forest behind the paddock, though not visible from it.

 

“He feels more comfortable on his own ya see,” said Hagrid.  He rapped firmly on the door.

 

“Darby, I’ve brought them friends of mine I told ya would be coming.”

 

The door to the shed swung slowly open, seemingly of its own accord.

 

“Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, I want you to meet Darby,” said Hagrid congenially.

 

There was nothing there.  Hagrid now appeared to have his arm around someone’s shoulders.  Harry chanced a glance at Ron, who shrugged.

 

“Hagrid,” began Hermione.

 

“Darby is a Demiguise,” said Hagrid in a conversational tone.

 

All four of them gasped as from seemingly thin air, a pair of black, doleful eyes had appeared, then a wide, thin-lipped mouth and a blunt, widespread nose.  The creature seemed to be holding back hair with massively long and thick fur covered fingers.

Now that he could see the face, by squinting his eyes just so, Harry thought he could see the outline of the creature’s body, as a sort of silvery shimmering.

 

“You of all people should recognize this, Harry,” said Hagrid cheerfully. 

 

“Demiguise fur is used to spin invisibility cloaks,” said Ginny wonderingly.

 

“Yer right, Ginny, exactly!” said Hagrid happily, beaming at her.  “An they’re right peaceful.  Too many have been killed for their hides.”

 

“Killed?” said Harry, startled.

 

“Their hair is so valuable that many low-life wizards will resort to outright murder rather than take the time to befriend a Demiguise and go through the proper procedure for asking for it’s fur.”

 

“They’ll give it to you?” said Harry.

 

“If they feel yer trustworthy, yeah,” said Hagrid.  “If they don’t feel yer trustworthy, no amount of persuasion can convince them to help you, and if ye try to take it by force, they’ll just disappear.”

 

Darby shook his head, and Harry had a quick impression of thick silvery fur before Darby’s face disappeared.

 

“Cool!” said Ron appreciatively.

 

“He’ll be in classes this week?” asked Hermione interestedly.

 

“Yeah.  Only N.E.W.T. level though, 6th and 7th year,” said Hagrid grinning. “Go on, Hermione, I don’t think he’d mind if ye pet him.”

 

Hermione reached out a tentative hand and looked wonderingly as her hand seemed to disappear in front of her.

 

“He’s so soft!” she said in amazement.

 

They each touched him in turn.  Harry though that his fur felt very soft, cool and fluid, almost like his invisibility cloak, as well it should if it was made from Demiguise fur.

“Thanks, Darby,” said Hagrid.

 

There was a low, grumbling sound, and then the door to the shed closed, seemingly by itself.

 

“Demiguises are really, really shy,” said Hagrid, ushering them back into his hut and pouring tea all around.  “They only have one baby at a time, and most of those are murdered for their pelts before they can reach adult-hood had have babies of their own, so they are really rare.

 

Fang was in ecstasy, licking their hands and seeming especially glad to see Ron.

 

“He recognizes one of his own,” said Harry in an undertone to Hermione, who grinned.

 

“One of his own what?” said Hagrid curiously as he set out a plate of rock cakes and a tin of treacle fudge.

 

“Go ahead, Ron,” said Harry.  “Hagrid won’t tell anyone.”

 

Ron grinned and let himself turn into the mixed breed dog.

 

“Blimey!” said Hagrid, dropping his teacup, which shattered.

 

“And that’s not all,” said Harry, grinning at the look on Hagrid’s face as Hermione repaired the cup.  “Better hold on to Fang, Hagrid.”  He nodded at Hermione and Ginny, who promptly became the silver fox and the sleek black cat.

 

“And you, Harry?” said Hagrid shrewdly, as the others turned back into themselves.

Harry grinned, closed his eyes, and became the owl.

 

“I should have known!” chuckled Hagrid, looking both proud and amused as Harry fluttered onto his shoulder and nipped his ear.  “How many people know about this?” he asked, as Harry turned back into himself.

 

“Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin,” said Hermione.

 

“And Bill,” added Ginny.

 

“We’re supposed to keep it quiet,” said Ron, shrugging, “what with things being like they are right now.  Dumbledore doesn’t want it widely known that Harry is an Animagus.”

 

“Yeah, he thinks it could come in useful,” said Harry, braving a rock cake.

 

“What’s that ye got, Harry?” asked Hagrid curiously as Harry tucked his crystal phial back down his robes (it had become dislodged during his transformation).

 

“It’s a protection charm,” said Harry, holding out the phial without taking it off of the chain.

 

Hagrid took the phial in one of his huge hands, squinting at it through narrowed eyes. 

“You know what this looks like,” Hagrid said, his forehead furrowed in concentration.  He glanced sideways at Harry and then added, as if he’d thought better of it,  “Never mind, forget I said anything,” he looked worried now.

 

“Hagrid,” began Harry.

 

“No, Harry.”

 

“It looks like something you found around my neck the night you pulled me out of the rubble of my house, doesn’t it?”

 

Hagrid looked sharply at Harry.

 

“How’d you know about that?”

 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened that night, Hagrid,” said Harry quietly.  “I think it’s time someone told me.”

 

 

* * *

 

“It was just after midnight on Halloween when I got the call from Dumbledore.  Something had gone wrong, he had gone to check on Sirius, but Sirius was gone.  Could I check on the Potters for him?”

 

“Well of course I went.  I used Floo powder to travel directly to James and Lily’s.  Ended up in the middle of a nightmare!”  Hagrid shuddered.

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s arms around his waist.  She was shivering.  Ron, who was standing behind him, had a hand firmly on his shoulder.  On his other side, Hermione’s hand had slipped into his.

 

“The house was a shambles. The walls had great gapin holes and the roof had mostly collapsed in,” continued Hagrid, “And there were bodies.”  He paused and swallowed.  When he spoke again there was a tremor in his voice.

 

“James, James was lyin in what had been the livin room.  His wand was out and there was two death eaters lyin dead beside him.  He’d put up a good fight, that much was certain.”

 

Harry felt a certain surge of pride.  His father and mother may have been killed, but at least his father had taken a couple of the attackers with them.

 

“I found Lily upstairs in what must have been your room, Harry.  She was lyin by what remained of a crib.  It was just a pile of charred cloth and splinters of wood, but there you was, sittin in the middle of this nightmare, bawlin your eyes out, tryin to crawl over the rubble to get to your mum.  You were screamin for her, see.  ‘Mummy, I want my mummy!’

 

Well, I fished you out of that mess, brushed you off.  I expected you’d be hurt worsn ya were, and ya did have that nasty cut on your head, it were bleedin freely an all that, but ya was O.K. otherwise.  Ya clung to my neck like I was a life buoy.  Never felt a grip that tight on a tyke that little.  That was when I found the phial, like that one there.”  Hagrid motioned to the phial in Harry’s hand. 

 

“You was still screamin for your mum when Sirius showed up on that flyin motorbike of his.  He looked sick, he did, when he saw what had happened.  He tried to convince me to let him take you, and I would have, except that Dumbledore had said that if ya was alive, that I was to take ya straight to Nicholas.”

 

“Nicholas?” said Harry sharply, speaking for the first time since Hagrid had begun his story.

 

“Well, yeah.  Nicholas Flammel, Dumbldore’s old teacher.  He said that if ya were still alive they’d need to put some protection charms on ya.”

 

“So you took me to Nicholas.”

 

“First thing, yeah.  Dumbledore was waitin for me there.  They deduced that your mum had used the Matrical charm to save your life.”

 

“The Matrical charm?” asked Hermione interestedly.  She sounded as if she were crying.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know all the details, but its old magic, see, really ancient stuff, but powerful.  Only a witch can perform it. The witch performs it on the person she means to protect, then, if she is killed, the charm is activated.  When it is activated it provides an impenetrable shield around the protected person.  It only lasts for a few minutes, but it also has the effect of causing any harmful curses to backfire on whoever cast them.”

 

“Like Lockheart using my wand,” said Ron gruffly.

 

“Yeah, anyway, it wears off quick, the external effects anyway.”  Hagrid went on.  “Of course, it leaves a bit of protection in the very blood of the person on whom it was cast, especially if they were directly related, but her charm didn’t explain why ya weren’t crushed when the roof caved in.”  Hagrid was shaking his head now.

 

“It was because of this,” said Harry.  His throat felt raw, as if he’d been screaming for a very long time.  “The phial you found around my neck was a protection charm, an elixir so powerful that if worn on your person, no mortal harm can befall you.”

 

“That explains a lot then,” said Hagrid, wiping his eyes.  “But why weren’t James and Lily wearin them too, if they were as powerful as all that?”

 

Harry explained about Snape and the charms and how his father had put his own charm on Harry, and how his mother had refused to wear hers if it meant living without him.

 

“That was a pair of soulmates if ever I saw them,” said Hagrid, blowing his nose.

“But anyway, Harry, Dumbledore and Nicholas, they used Lily’s charm, her blood bond, to bind you to her sister, so as long as you could call home where the blood of your mother resides, you couldn’t be touched.”

 

Harry was very quiet for several minutes.

 

“And then you took me to the Dursley’s?” said Harry, fighting the lump in his throat.

 

“Yeah. Gave you to Dumbledore.  He put ya on the front step, put ya in a charmed sleep so ya wouldn’t wake up till your Aunt or Uncle found you, and with a letter explaining to yer Aunt what was being asked of her, and that by takin you she would be sealin a magical contract to provide you with protection by keeping you in her house until the terms of the contract were met.”

 

Hagrid stopped talking at last.  He was looking at Harry now with something very like pity.

 

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Harry, leavin you on them Muggle’s doorstep.  I didn’t see you again until I came to collect ya and take ya to Hogwarts.”  Hagrid sniffed loudly.  “But there weren’t a day went by that I didn’t wonder were ya was and how things were goin for ya.”

 

Harry managed a slight smile.  His brain was full, reeling.

 

“I love you too, Hagrid,” he said abruptly, and Hagrid pulled him into a very scratchy, whiskery bear hug that nearly snapped his spine.  “And thank-you, Hagrid,” said Harry, finally managing to pull away.  “Thank you for telling me.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

They walked back up to the castle for lunch, none of them talking much, and all of them deep in thought.

 

“Harry?” said Hermione, laying a tentative hand on his arm.  “Harry, are you going to be O.K.?”

 

“I, I think so,” said Harry, trying his best to sound normal.  “I’m not too hungry though.”

 

“I can imagine,” said Ron.  “After hearing that story, I don’t feel too good myself.

“Maybe you should lie down, Harry, get some rest,” said Hermione.

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Harry.

 

Hermione looked concernedly at Ginny who came around to stand in front of Harry, taking his hands in her own.

 

Come to me, Harry,” came her soft voice.

 

“Not now, Ginny, O.K.?” snapped Harry.

 

“Let me help you, Harry.”

 

“Ginny-”

 

“Remember, Harry, what you told me in my garden?”

“You’ll never be alone again,” they both whispered.

 

“Then come to me, Harry.”

 

He found himself yielding to her voice, his mind opening to hers.  And then he could feel their thoughts twining together, his pain and fear and anger diluting as it was shared, and then it was gone, replaced by a deep, lingering sadness.  Harry could feel the tears on his face and Ginny in his arms, her vivid awareness in his mind, soothing his grief.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and opened his eyes.

 

“Wow, Harry!” said Ron, looking shaken.  “Was that one of your mind merges?”

Harry nodded, then looked down into Ginny’s upturned face, caught at once by the depths of her clear, amber eyes.  The spirit of her, the power of her, he couldn’t tear himself away.

 

“Thank you, Ginny.”

 

The smile she gave him was dazzling.

 

“That was incredible!” said Ron.  “I could feel it!”

 

“Really?” said Ginny, looking up at Ron, but it was Hermione who answered.

 

“There was a power radiating out from the pair of you.  It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before!” 

 

She looked stunned.  Ron put his arm around her and drew her tight against his side.

 

Look at them,” he whispered to Hermione.

 

Harry and Ginny were still wrapped in each other’s arms and minds.

 

“We’re going to miss lunch,” said Ron after several minutes.

 

He took Hermione by the arm and steered her up the steps towards the Great Hall.

Harry and Ginny followed them through the doors into the castle, though not into the Great Hall. 

 

Back to index


Chapter 7: NICK STEPS BEYOND

CHAPTER SEVEN

NICK STEPS BEYOND

 

“The disappearing elixir is one of the most useful defensive potions there is, but great care must be used in its creation, for if incorrectly brewed, it can cause the drinker to become permanently invisible.”  Snape’s smooth, chilly voice echoed around the dungeon classroom.

 

Harry could feel Ginny shiver and glanced over to where she was working with Parvati at the next table.  Hermione had offered to let Harry and Ginny work together, but they had both refused.

 

“We don’t have to be together every second,” Ginny had said, grinning.

 

“Besides, it’ll give Draco and his bunch less ammunition if we’re not,” Harry had argued reasonably.  “Don’t you like working with me?” He’d said in mock petulance.

 

“Don’t be a prat, Harry, of course I like working with you!” Hemione had snapped, and that had been the end of it.

 

They were in their third week of classes now, and instead of leveling off, their assignments had actually picked up in intensity.  Snape had already dismissed over half of the remaining Potions class for not performing up to expectations.

 

Bill was one of only six people to get a N.E.W.T. in Potions his 7th year,” said Ginny sub-vocally as they began measuring out the ingredients for their disappearing elixir.

 

He, Hermione, Ginny and Parvati were the only Gryffindors left in Potions.  The Slytherins were down to eight, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson among them.  Harry wondered absently as he carefully poured out a level teaspoon of leech juice, if Snape would find a reason to let him go.

 

Harry no longer hated Professor Snape.  Ginny had helped him come to grips with his hatred last year.  It was because of her persuasion that Harry was now wearing the crystal phial with the protection elixir in it on it’s thin silver chain that Snape had given them last April, under his robes.  Ginny wore its twin tucked down her own robes. Harry might not hate Snape any more, but that hadn’t changed Snape’s attitude toward him one iota. Why would Snape have given him and Ginny a gift like this, thought Harry, if he really did hate him as Harry had always felt he had?

 

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it.  He’d almost added too much leech juice.  Potions was still his least favorite and most difficult class.  Access to unlimited knowledge couldn’t help him when it came to measuring out the correct amounts of ingredients, and being able to manipulate the elements wouldn’t hold his hand steady when he shredded his mandrake.  He just had to concentrate and get on with it.

 

Relax, Harry,” came Ginny’s calm, soothing voice in his mind.  “One last year and then you can be done with this indefinitely.” 

 

Harry grinned broadly.  He couldn’t help himself.  Ginny always had that effect on him.

He glanced up at the teacher’s table to find Professor Snape watching him narrowly.  Harry quickly mastered his Occlumency skills and blocked his probe.

 

Ginny, feeling Harry’s defenses go up, looked up too, startled.

 

Was he trying to read you again?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wonder what he wants?”

 

“Probably wants to find a reason to dismiss me from class,” said Harry, shrugging.

Snape called for their samples and directed them to clear away their things.

 

“I’d like a word with you, Potter, after class please,” said Snape softly when Harry brought him his corked sample.

 

“I’ll meet you in Herbology,” Harry told Ginny and Hermione as they made to leave.

“What do you think he wants?” asked Ginny quietly.

 

Harry shrugged. “Probably going to kick me out for not performing up to expectations,” said Harry, only partly kidding.

 

Hermione looked worried. “Don’t joke about things like that, Harry!” she said reprovingly.

 

“Well, this is Snape we’re talking about,” said Harry.

 

“What’s the matter, Potter?” sneered Draco Malfoy on his way out of the dungeon.  “Having to take remedial Potions again?”

 

Harry ignored him, waiting until the last person had left before approaching Snape’s desk.

 

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

 

“Yes, Potter, sit down,” said Snape, motioning to a chair beside his desk.

 

He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book, which he placed on the desk in front of him.  For several minutes Snape sat quite still, his hands on either side of the book, staring at the cover. 

 

Looking closer, Harry could see that the book was covered with odd, indecipherable symbols and some sort of runic-type of writing.

 

Oh my god!” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  “It’s the Book of Dark Shadows!”

 

“The Book of Dark Shadows?” echoed Harry out loud.  Harry couldn’t have deciphered the writing himself, but as he’d sat there, staring at the cover, he had caught a glimpse of the underlying pattern in the odd symbols.  It was the Dark Mark.

 

Snape’s gaze locked onto Harry’s face.

 

“You read Runic?” he asked sharply.

 

“I know what this is,” said Harry softly, tracing the symbols etched into the cover.

 

The Book of Dark Shadows, Harry, is a book every Death Eater is supposed to have.  They are rumored to contain all the knowledge that Voldemort saw fit to share with his followers, spells and charms of such complexity that very few wizards alive could possibly perform them.”

 

How did you know that?” Harry asked her

 

I heard it on the extendables last summer.  Snape was going on about it at one of their top secret meetings.”

“This is the book rumored to contain the knowledge Lord Voldemort saw fit to share with his most loyal supporters,” Harry told Snape quietly.

An odd, twisted sort of smile was playing across Snape’s face. “Very good, Potter,” said Snape softly.  “Yes.  This is the Book of  Shadows.  It is an interactive sort of book.  When the Dark Lord writes in his own volume, the rest are automatically updated,” he said, gesturing to the cover.

 

“A Protean charm,” said Harry in admiration.  “We’re working on those in Charms right now.”

 

“Yes indeed, but it is an incredibly complex Protean charm.”

 

“Like the Mark on your arm,” said Harry.  “He touches one, and you all feel it.”

 

“Yes.”  Snape was regarding Harry shrewdly.  “I forget how much you have learned,” he said softly, observing Harry through narrowed eyes.  “I think that the Devi’s must have taught you more than they let on.”

 

“They taught me enough,” said Harry carefully.  “As you most likely know, Professor, Chandra Devi had us put together our own Book of Shadows in which we were supposed to put all of what we have learned to date.  It is rather — useful.  The rest of what I have learned has not been by choice,” he finished through stiff lips.

 

“No.  Not by choice,” said Snape, rolling up his sleeve and holding out his arm for Harry to see.  Harry could feel Ginny shudder at the sight of the grotesque figure etched into Snape’s very skin in angry reddish-black welts forming the skull and snake that was Lord Voldemort’s signature, came into view.

 

This, Potter, this was by choice,” he said angrily, shoving his arm under Harry’s nose.  “I chose this of my own free will.”

 

Harry remained silent, staring at the mark, wondering why Snape was choosing to reveal this to him now.

 

“Why?” Harry asked at last, keeping his voice low and averting his gaze.

 

“Why what?” snapped Snape.

 

“Why did you choose this?” asked Harry, indicating the mark on Snape’s arm.

“What else was there?” said Snape in a far different tone of voice then Harry had ever heard him use before.  It was almost a tone of regret, tinged with sadness.

 

Harry looked up quickly.  Snape was looking at the mark on his arm, tracing the lines with a long, white finger, his face inscrutable.

 

“There is no need to go into details, Potter, but my family being what they were, it was the only way I could think of to prove to the world that I could ever be more than a filthy little mudblood, that I was willing to do whatever it took to purge myself of the taint of my Muggle heritage.

 

Oh wow, Harry! He’s Muggle-born! That explains a lot about him!” said Ginny’s voice.

 

“And Voldemort accepted you?” asked Harry in a carefully neutral voice.  “He’s always on about pure-bloods and all of that.”

 

“Oh yes,” said Snape, with a low, mirthless laugh.  “As you know, the Dark Lord himself is a half-blood, and he saw in me a determination, a thirst to prove myself by any means at my disposal, that he admired.”

 

With a sudden jolt, Harry remembered his own sorting when the Hat had told him that he had a strong thirst to prove himself. Could part of the reason he had hated Snape so much, was because he knew that if, given the opportunity, he could have ended up very much like him?  It was a disturbing thought.

“He’s told me so more times than I could count.”  Snape paused as if considering his next words very carefully.  “He accepted me, Harry, more completely than anyone in my life ever had up to that point.  He offered me a purpose, a sense of belonging, a family.”

 

Harry remembered the glimpses of Snape’s childhood that he’d stumbled upon when Snape had been attempting to give him Occlumency lessons during his fifth year:  the greasy-haired boy cowering in a corner while the hook-nosed man towered over him yelling, using his fists. 

 

Harry thought then of his own childhood, of the Dursley’s locking him in his cupboard, of having Dudley beat him up regularly, of having to wear hand-me-down clothes and taped glasses.  Why hadn’t he been turned against Muggles the way Snape had?  Hadn’t a family been what the Mirror of Erised showed him was the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart when he had first come to Hogwarts? 

 

If things had gone just a little bit differently, if he hadn’t met up with Ron on his first train ride and learned about Slytherin’s reputation for turning out Dark Wizards, if he hadn’t made friends with Ron and Hermione, if he had taken Draco Malfoy up on his offer of friendship instead, how might things have been different for him?  Harry shuddered, not liking where this line of thought was taking him.

 

“I did hate your Father, Harry,” said Snape.  “He had everything I had ever wanted; a family, pureblood breeding, money, parents who cared about him and were proud of his achievements.  He was a charmer.  Something I could never achieve.  He had friends, loyal, unswerving friends.  He had talent too, both in classes and on the Quidditch field, he was an incredible Seeker, although I do believe that you are better,” he said almost grudgingly.  “He had girls throwing themselves at his head, and the one girl that didn’t, the one woman who didn’t want anything to do with him, he pursued and ended up marrying.”  Snape fell silent for a few minutes, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark etched into the cover of the book before him.

 

“I assumed, when I first laid eyes on you your first night at Hogwarts, you looking so much like James and already having found a friend.  I assumed that, also like James, you were destined to be a thorn in my side.”  Snape shrugged.  “There is only one problem.  While you may have inherited his looks, his talent, his wealth, and even his ability to make loyal friends, you have also inherited your mother’s depth of understanding and her ability to see beneath the surface of things to what is really there.”

 

When he finally met Harry’s eyes, Harry was astonished to see real warmth of feeling in them.  “She saw me, Harry.  She tried to pull me out of myself, to convince me that there was more to life than just taking revenge on the Muggles that had made my childhood so miserable.  But I wouldn’t listen.  I, I tried to make it up to her, with the phials,” Snape broke off, looking once more at the book in front of him.  He pushed it quickly across the table.

 

“Take it, Harry.  Use it in your training, for it is common knowledge that Dumbledore has taken you on as his apprentice.”  He paused, and swallowed.  “He knows that Dumbledore is training you.”  Snape closed his eyes, shuddered, then opened them again.  “And this, Harry, this frightens him more than you could know, and when he is afraid, when he is afraid, his anger knows no bounds.” Snape took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That will be all, Potter,” he said abruptly, pulling his curtness around him like a cloak.

 

“Professor?”

 

“I said, you may go,” said Snape.

 

“And there is something I think you should know,” said Harry curtly, not moving from his chair.  He pulled the phial out from his robes and held it up for Snape to see.

 

“Your kindness to my mother saved my life the night that Voldemort tried to kill me.

 

Snape was shaking his head. “No, that was Lily’s charm, it caused The Dark Lord’s curse to backfire.”

 

“Yes, but its effects wear off almost immediately.  The roof collapsed, you see, and I should have been crushed or at least seriously injured,” said Harry, keeping his voice low.  “But I escaped without a scratch, other than this,” he said, indicating his scar, “because my dad, in spite of his dislike of you, admired your skill with potions.  He took the protection charm, one of the two you had given Lily, and he put it on me, and my mum refused to wear hers if my dad wasn’t wearing his.  Hagrid removed it when he pulled me out of the rubble, it had broken in the collapse, and it was the charms that you made for Ginny and me that saved the lives of everyone in the compartment when Voldemort attacked the Hogwarts Express in June.  So you see,” said Harry softly, “My mum was right about you after all.”

 

He turned then, collected his bag and left, leaving Snape alone with his memories.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

As October rolled around, Ron upped their Quidditch practices to four a week in preparation for the first Quidditch game of the season.  Slated for the first Saturday of November, they would be playing against Ravenclaw.

 

“How on earth are you getting any homework done, Ron?” asked Harry that evening as they were getting into their Quidditch robes in the locker room for practice.

 

Ron looked around at him, eyebrows raised.

 

“You’re a seventh-year, Ron, you’re getting ready to take N.E.W.T.’s in June, you’re Head Boy, with all the responsibilities that entails, and you’re Quidditch Captain.”

 

Ron grinned and shrugged.

 

Oh my god!” said Harry, staring into the mirror, which reflected Ron in his Quidditch robes, who was now pinning his silver Head-Boy badge under the Quidditch Captain pin.”

 

“Harry, what?”

 

“Look, Ron!”

 

Ron looked around, obviously confused.

 

Look!” said Harry, taking Ron by the shoulders and turning him around so that he was facing the mirror

.

“Harry, what are you on about?” said Ron, his voice now tinged with exasperation.

 

“What do you see, Ron?” asked Harry, trying desperately to control his voice.

“I see me.”

 

“Yeah, and-”

 

“I’m Quidditch Captain,” he said, touching the badge.

 

“And-”

 

“And I’m Head Boy . . .” Ron’s eyes got big and met Harry’s in the reflection.

 

“Just like you saw in the mirror of Erised,” said Harry quietly.

 

Ron stared for several minutes, swallowed hard, then shook his head. “Coincidence,” he said firmly.

 

Is it?” asked Harry.

 

Ron shrugged, grinned at Harry, picked up his broom and headed out to the Quidditch pitch.

 

Ron may have been able to shrug it off, but the realization that Ron had achieved the deepest, most desperate desires of his eleven-year-old’s heart disturbed Harry on a very fundamental level.  He remembered what it was he had seen when he stood before the mirror:  his mother and father, his family, a place where he belonged.

He wondered idly as he chased after the snitch, the crisp autumn air streaming through his hair, just what it was he would see if he could stand in front of the mirror once again and close he was (if at all) to obtaining that goal.

 

He didn’t have long to brood, however.  What with their seventh level coursework, his physical training, Quidditch practices and putting together lessons for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, Harry found that he was even busier this year than he had been the year before.

 

When he had led the D.A., he and the others had hidden their involvement as much as possible, relying on the room of requirement to give them what they needed in the way of equipment and space.  Now Harry had the support of the entire staff as well as the resources of the entire school at his fingertips.

 

He and Dumbledore had started by magically increasing interior of the current Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  Seats arranged in tiers had been ringed around what had once been Chandra Devi’s dais.  The dais itself had been expanded to five times its size, plenty big enough for twenty people at a time to work on spells in tandem. And in what had once been the Devi’s personal living quarters, Harry now kept the equipment they would need for their classes.

 

Harry had spent the days prior to his first lesson worrying about whether or not he would be able to keep control of such a large group of students, but Dumbledore had put him at his ease immediately.  He himself would be supervising the classes.

 

“I plan on staying out of your way,” he told Harry, his blue eyes twinkling over the tops of his half-moon glasses.  “But perhaps just having me there will keep some of the others from taking advantage of the situation.”

 

And indeed it had.  The Slytherins in particular seemed rather put out at having a seventh year (and Gryffindor at that) teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts.  But whether it was the official capacity of Harry’s position, or Dumbledore’s silent but unmistakable presence in the back of the classroom during each of the lessons, they hadn’t done anything more than mutter to themselves about it.  But from the moment Dumbledore had introduced Harry as their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and had explained a bit about how the D.A. had gotten started, and how it had played a definitive role in getting rid of Delores Umbridge, the rest of the class been most supportive of the work Harry was giving them to do.

 

He began with a run-down of the spells they had learned in the D.A. during Harry’s fifth year, having each student demonstrate their ability to perform the spells effectively.  It had taken two weeks worth of classes to bring them all up to speed.  Now he was looking at introducing some of the basics of physical self-defense into the program, as a base for some of the more complex spells and charms he was planning on teaching them and he was finding that not only were the notes and research he had taken while working with Surya were coming in handy, but that he was continually referencing his own book of shadows as well. 

 

“You should have everyone keep up the Book of Shadows that the Devi’s had them put together,” advised Hermione after the third week’s class.  “You should think about it, Harry.  At least have the new fifth and sixth years begin putting one together.” 

 

Harry was rather touched when she offered to help him grade all of the fifth and sixth year’s new books and to check on the additions to the books of those in seventh year who had started them with the Devi’s. 

 

She was right to suggest it, he knew she was.  But he didn’t want to burden Hermione with more responsibility.  And he honestly didn’t see how he would be able to keep up with checking and grading books for all the fifth and sixth years who hadn’t been in the Devi’s Defense classes.

 

But it wasn’t only his new responsibilities with the Defense Class that was taking up Harry’s time and energy. His studies with Dumbledore were picking up their pace.  They were working their way through the Book of Shadows Snape had given them now, going over curses and counter-curses and hexes so complex they made Harry’s head reel.

 

“He’s become quite subtle,” commented Dumbledore one Sunday afternoon at the end of October.  They were pouring over the timestop spell that had allowed Voldemort to take over the Hogwarts Express the previous June, but keep Harry aware and awake.

 

“See how he used his elementals to actually protect you from the spell’s effect?  He doesn’t call it that though, see?” he said, pointing to one line with a long finger.  “He didn’t want any of his Death Eaters to know about them.”

 

Harry squinted at the text.  His eyes were glazing, his stomach was rumbling with hunger, and he couldn’t for the life of him, see why this interested Dumbledore so very much.  To top it all off, his brain kept reminding him of a potions essay due tomorrow on Instantaneous Poison’s that he still had to write.

 

“Have an elemental do it for you,” said Dumbledore, picking up on Harry’s thought without really trying.

 

Harry wasn’t surprised.  It hadn’t been as if he’d been hiding his thoughts after all.

“Can I do that?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Certainly!  Haven’t I told you that their power is unlimited?”

 

“Well yeah, but-”

 

“What have you been using them for?”

 

“Well, to check in on Aunt Petunia, to protect Ginny when she goes to Bill’s studio, to fetch things,” he shrugged.  What else was he supposed to do with them? “But to do homework?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Haven’t you already told me that you already have access to all the information you need?”

 

“Well yeah, but-”

 

“And if you have access, then the elementals who are also part of the connectedness-”

 

“Have access to it too” finished Harry. “But won’t Snape notice if I turn in a piece of homework that isn’t written by me?”

 

“Think this through, Harry,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.  “Who called your elementals into existence?”

 

“Well, I did.”

 

“Yes, of course.  So you control them.”

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“Then tell them to write it in your style and in your handwriting.  They are very good about that.  How on earth do you think that I sign everyone’s Hogwart’s letters every year?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

 

Harry chuckled appreciatively and promptly called forth a Salamander, to which he gave directions for writing his essay.

 

“Good choice,” said Dumbledore, “But this being a Potions essay, why didn’t you use a Water Demon?”

 

“I don’t want to sound too smug,” said Harry, “And they would.”

 

Dumbledore chuckled and turned back to the study of the timestop spell.

 

“So, see here?  His Water Demon protected you from the effects of the spell when it was initially cast, allowing you to continue functioning normally.  Look here, he calls forth “The Power Of My Soul” and then charges it to keep ‘The Marked One’ from feeling the spell’s effects.”

 

“Why hasn’t he just sent one of his Water Demons to finish me off?” interrupted Harry.

 

Dumbledore’s head snapped up, his keen blue gaze meeting Harry’s green one with a shrewd, calculating look.

 

“What was that, Harry?” he asked in a carefully modulated voice.

 

“Why, if Voldemort is so very adept with his Demons, well then why hasn’t he sent them after me?” asked Harry.  “Why aren’t I dead?  I mean, I doubt very much that complex protection charms or shields or anything else could stand against a well-placed elemental.”

 

Dumbledore was staring at Harry as if seeing him for the first time.

 

“You’re quite right, Harry.  It is something which I have wondered about myself ever since Voldemort returned to his body and his full powers. I thought at first that it must be my elementals that were deflecting any would-be attempts on your life.”

 

Your elementals?” interrupted Harry.

 

“Yes.  Earth spirits, both of them.  They’ve been keeping an eye on you since you came out of that maze at the end of your fourth year.”

 

“Then where were they when the Dementors attacked me and my cousin?”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “What happens when an Earth Spirit’s routine is disrupted?”

 

“Upheaval.  Oh!” said Harry, cottoning on.  “Mundungous.”

 

“Yes.  He threw them for a loop when he disappeared like that, without any warning.  They both came to report to me, leaving you unprotected.”

 

Harry grimaced.

 

“I realized my mistake at once, of course, and sent the Wind Sprites to take their place immediately.”

 

“But that was a mistake too,” said Harry, his forehead screwed up in concentration, because when Voldemort attacked at Christmas-”

 

“They went overboard, yes.  They whipped him into a frenzy that resulted in the Weasley’s home being leveled.”

 

Harry shuddered, remembering that Christmas night when Lord Voldemort had attempted to kill him at the Burrow, but had only succeeded in destroying the Weasley’s home, thanks to Harry having been warned in a dream of his approach.

 

“I left them on the case though,” said Dumbledore, “For I really didn’t know what to expect next, nor from what direction the next attack would come.”

“And it worked.  Ginny and Luna’s elements are both air. Hedwig’s too, probably,” said Harry, remembering how all three had seemed to be able to acknowledge him, although they were moving far slower than usual.

 

“Yes, and while the Wind Sprites reacted sluggishly, because of the Water Demons-”

 

“They did make it possible for me to break Ginny out of the timestop and for us to thwart his plans again.”

 

Dumbledore smiled grimly.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“If you’d sent Salamanders?”

 

Now it was Dumbledore’s turn to shudder.

 

“But why didn’t Ginny use her elemental powers?” asked Harry.

 

“I suspect, Harry, that she didn’t have the time to react when Voldemort first struck.”

 

“But later, instead of — leaving — like we did, couldn’t she have used them against the Death Eaters when they Apparated in?”

 

“Ginny’s powers are strong, Harry, but she is a Natural Elemental.  She can not use them to hurt or to destroy.  She knows this, and the Death Eaters were determined to do just that to those in the compartment. It would have taken an Elemental Sorcerer to counter their effects, a powerful Elemental Sorcerer who was not affected by the initial Time Stop.”

 

“Do you still have the Wind Sprites protecting me?”  Harry asked curiously, glancing around the room.

 

“Until now I have had a Wind Sprite on hand, just in case.  But it might be best, now that you know how they work, for you to instruct one of each of your elementals to be on hand for you at all times.”

 

“Er, Professor,” said Harry, frowning slightly.  “How much does your Wind Sprite tell you?”

 

“It only gives me the information I ask it for,” said Dumbledore, his moustache twitching.  “They are very discreet, elementals.  I will leave it on duty, for it will inform me at once if anyone tries to harm you.”

 

Just then the Wind Sprite Harry had sent with Ginny appeared at Harry’s elbow.

 

“She’s back,” Harry announced, unable to suppress the grin that had crept across his features at the thought of Ginny upstairs, waiting for him.

 

“Time to call it a night I think,” said Dumbledore, extinguishing the torches with a wave of his hand.

 

Ginny was waiting for them in Dumbledore’s office, looking flushed and beautiful as she always did after an afternoon spent dancing.

 

“I say,” said Dumbledore, taking in Ginny’s thigh-length skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels and the mid-riff bearing, heavily sequined top.  “You do look most fetching this evening!”

 

Ginny blushed scarlet, but grinned as she replied. “Dress rehearsal.  Which reminds me,” she extracted a letter from her dance bag and handed it over to Dumbledore.  “Bill sent this, and he also wants to know if it will be possible for Harry to attend the performance.  It’ll be the Friday night after our match with Ravenclaw.”

 

“I will speak to Lupin,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry.  “After his, erm, transformation, it is highly doubtful that anyone would recognize him as the same person they knew before.  I don’t see why Harry wouldn’t be able to go as long as Lupin goes along too.  After all, keeping up Muggle-Wizard relations is very important.  Is it still being held in London then?” asked Dumbledore.

 

Ginny named the theatre.

 

“Yes, yes.  Who knows, I might come myself, especially,” he paused, looking Ginny up and down appraisingly, “if you will be dancing in that.”

 

Ginny turned a deeper shade of pink, but looked pleased nonetheless.

 

“Actually, this is only a model of my costume.  The real thing is much more elaborate, but it’s cut along the same lines.”

 

Harry definitely liked the lines.  He was finding it very difficult to tear his eyes away in fact.

 

“Just a reminder to both of you,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he looked from Harry, in his distracted state, to Ginny, who was obviously very aware of his distraction.  “That tomorrow is Halloween.  Besides the feast tomorrow night, it will be announced at breakfast tomorrow morning that classes for the day have been canceled as a school treat.”

Harry caught Ginny’s eye and felt all the tiredness and exhaustion draining away, leaving behind only an intense, aching desire.  It had been several weeks, after all, since they’d visited the guest quarters.

 

*     *     *

 

Ginny insisted on stopping at the kitchens first.

 

“It’ll make a good cover story if anyone asks,” she said when Harry protested.  “Besides, if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

 

“Well . . .”

 

“And believe me, Harry, you’re going to need your strength,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

 

Harry went scarlet as Ginny laughingly tickled the pear in the picture of giant bowl of fruit that disguised the doorway to the kitchens.

 

The kitchens were brightly lit, even at this time of night.  Coming from the semi-darkness of the corridor, Harry had to squint against the light.  There were the four long tables, each set up under its counterpart in the Great Hall above, but they were bare now, and scrupulously clean.  He paused just inside the doorway, looking around.

 

“Harry Potter, sir!” came a high, soft voice from his left knee.

 

Harry looked down.  Winky stood, blinking at him, her large brown eyes like small moons, her squashed tomato of a nose as bulbous as ever.  But she was clean for a change.  Her neat skirt and blouse looked worn now, and had obviously been mended, but were spotless, where once they had been stained and full of rips and tears.

 

“Hello, Winky,” said Harry, smiling down at her.  “Are you feeling better?”

 

Winky blushed, casting her eyes down to the floor.

 

“Winky is most ashamed that Harry Potter saw her in her, condition.  And it is most good to see Miss again,” she said, addressing Ginny with real warmth.

 

“I’m just glad to see you up and about, Winky,” said Harry sincerely.

 

“If you are here to see Dobby, sir,” began Winky.

 

“Is he here?” asked Harry quickly.

 

“He is cleaning Gryffindor tower, sir.”

 

“All by himself?”

 

Winky shrugged.

 

“Is not difficult, with a house elf’s abilities.  Besides,” she motioned to a knot of house-elves standing by the fireplace at the other end of the room.  “The others will not.”

 

“But Hermione has left off with the hats!” said Harry quickly.

 

“Yes Sir, but they think that she might find another way to trick them into freedom.”

 

Harry closed his mouth, which he had opened to protest, then closed it again.  With Hermione, you never could tell. 

 

“Maybe you could help us, Winky,” Harry said finally.

 

“Winky would be honored sir.”

 

“We would appreciate it if you could send two supper trays to guestroom #3,” said Ginny, smiling down at her, “And perhaps two breakfast trays in the morning?”

 

“It will be done, Miss,” said Winky, looking at Ginny with the same sort of adoring expression that Harry was used to seeing in Dobby’s eyes whenever he was talking to him.

 

“She looks loads better,” said Harry as they made their way down the corridor to their guest suite.  “I wonder what could have triggered a change like that?” He was talking more to himself than to Ginny, who was concentrating on fitting the splinter into its niche properly and hadn’t responded.

 

“I mean,” he continued as he followed Ginny into the guest suite and pulled the landscape shut behind them (making sure to remove the splinter as he did so), “The last time I saw her, she was filthy, drunk and barely coherent.”

 

Ginny still hadn’t said anything.  She tossed her dance bag into a chair by the door and crossed to the low table before the fire where two steaming supper trays were waiting.

 

“It looks as if Winky was as good as her word,” said Ginny in an odd sort of voice as she bent low over the table, inhaling the steam.

 

Wait a minute,” said Harry, looking at Ginny’s back, his forehead creased.  He was momentarily distracted by the way Ginny’s already short skirt had ridden up on her shapely legs as she’d bent to smell the food. He swallowed hard, hastily reassembling the thoughts that had been scattered by his momentary lapse.

 

“You did something to her, didn’t you?” said Harry.  It was the way Winky looked at her, as if, in her own way, Ginny had set Winky free.

 

“She was hurt, Harry,” said Ginny quietly, turning around at last and pulling the pins from her hair as she did so.  “Her mind was scared from the trauma of what happened to her master and how he had treated her.  She was in pain, Harry.  Drinking was the only thing that dulled it for her.”

 

Ginny shook out her hair and it fell, glossy-red and glinting in the firelight, nearly to her waist.

 

“I suppose it was Hermione’s idea,” said Harry, unable to tear his eyes away as Ginny put one foot up on the table so as to be able to unfasten the strap on her shoes.  He always had liked looking at her legs.  “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” he asked finally, as she ran both hands the length of her fishnet stocking clad leg.

 

Tempting you more like,” said Ginny with a seductive smile.  “If I was teasing, I’d be showing you something you couldn’t have,” she added in a silkily smooth voice that made Harry’s mouth go suddenly dry.  “But of course, if you’re too tired. . .” she began. 

Before she could complete her sentence, Harry had closed the distance between them and had silenced her with a kiss.

 

*     *     *

 

“Incredible,” said Harry, staring in amazement as the entered the Great Hall for the Halloween feast the next evening.  As had happened so many times already this year, Harry was struck with an unaccountable sense of finality. 

 

Hundreds of carved pumpkins had been magicked into midair.  The candles inside them lit up their faces like malevolent spirits, golden eyes glowing balefully.  A cloud of live bats swooped back and forth across the ceiling, intent on some purpose of their own, and great spider webs festooned the walls like death day banners.

 

“I always wondered why they didn’t make a mess of things,” said Ginny, eyeing the bats mistrustfully.

 

“I wouldn’t think that you of all people would be squeamish around bats, Ginny,” said Harry, grinning down at her.  “I mean, what with your bat-bogey hex and all.”

 

“Yeah, but my bats aren’t real enough to leave droppings,” said Ginny giving a small shudder as the cloud flew over them, missing their head by only a few feet.  “They just come out of your nose is all.”

 

“Suppose these ones are charmed or something,” said Harry, shrugging.  “Are those Ghouls?” he added, motioning to where a group of cloaked figures were setting up instruments on a stage above the teachers’ table.

 

“Looks like it,” said Ginny interestedly.  “I wonder what kind of music Ghouls play?”

They slipped into seats across from Ron and Hermione.

 

“Hey, Neville,” said Harry, nudging Neville, who was sitting beside him, in the ribs.  “Did you get my message?”

 

“Yeah, how’d you do that, anyway, Harry?  It just appeared out of thin air!”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“Ah, one of your apprentice things, eh?” said Neville, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Yep,” said Harry, grinning.  Remembering the last time he and Ginny had disappeared for the night, and how worried Neville had been, Harry had decided to send Neville a note with one of his elementals, letting Neville know that he was Okay.

 

“If you needed to, you could let me know the same way?  If you were in trouble I mean?” said Neville quietly.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry.  “I could do that, Neville.”

 

“So,” said Ron, his eyebrows raised nearly into his hair.  “Did you two have a good time?”

 

Hermione prodded Ron sharply in the ribs as Neville choked on his pumpkin juice.  But Harry caught Ginny around the waist and gave her a slow, lingering kiss.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Ron, raising his goblet in salute. 

 

The feast was as fantastic as only Halloween feasts at Hogwarts could be.  The food platters kept refilling themselves with all sorts of treats, and “The Gadding Ghouls” played a weird sort of off beat music.  Their lead singer put Harry more in mind of a werewolf’s howl than of anything else.

 

“I wonder how Lupin’s getting on?” said Ron, having obviously been pursuing the same line of thought as Harry.

 

Harry grinned.  “Well, he’s still in hiding, technically, what with this bit about werewolves having to be licensed.”

 

“But he’s not a werewolf anymore,” said Ron, in a voice rather louder than he realized.  A couple people looked around as Hermione trod on his foot, but only Neville seemed to have actually heard what he’d said.

 

“Yeah, well, no one else knows that yet, so he has to act as if he still is one,” said Harry in a whisper.

 

“What do you mean, Lupin isn’t a werewolf anymore?” asked Neville, keeping his voice low, as if intuiting that this wasn’t something that should be spread around.  “There’s no cure for a werewolf bite.  How could he stop being a werewolf?” He had addressed Ron, but it was Ginny who answered.

 

“It happened this past summer, Neville.  It dawned on me that perhaps it was possible that my healing talent could be used to cure Professor Lupin.”

 

“And it worked?” asked Neville incredulously.

 

Ginny nodded.

 

Neville sat back and whistled in appreciation.

 

“But we can’t tell anyone yet,” said Harry, shrugging and helping himself to another steak.  “Because Professor Dumbledore says it would lead to awkward questions for Ginny,  and that the Ministry would want to study her gift.

 

Ginny shivered and Harry gripped her hand beneath the table.

 

Neville looked critically at Ginny. “Dumbledore has a point,” said Neville at last, looking at Harry and grinning broadly.  “We can’t take any chances with this one.”

 

Ginny went pink.

 

The Gadding Ghouls played several raucous songs as the feast began to wrap up.  Some of the students actually started dancing between the tables, a few even on the tables.  There were several calls from other Gryffindors for Ginny to join them, but she stayed firmly in her seat, shaking her head and smiling bemusedly.

 

“I don’t mind performing,” she said firmly, “But I’m not showing off.”  She grimaced as a Hufflepuff fourth year girl went past them gyrating wildly.

 

“She looks like an unbalanced Sneak-O-Scope,” said Harry with a snort, earning several chuckles from their end of the Gryffindor table.

 

When the ghosts did their usual formation gliding that signaled the end of the feast, Harry noted that Nearly Headless Nick was not among them.  Instead, Harry could see him leaning against the back wall of the Great Hall, looking extremely morose.

 

“Happy Deathday, Nick,” called Harry as they passed Nick on their way to the Entrance Hall.

 

Nick nodded rather absently.

 

Harry was about to follow Ron through the doors when he felt Ginny tug on his sleeve.

 

“Hold on a minute, Harry,” she said softly. 

 

“What’s up, Ginny?” he asked, but Ginny was threading her way between the remaining students towards where Nick stood, watching the milling throng.

 

“What’s wrong, Nick?” asked Ginny quietly.

 

Nick shrugged slightly, still staring at the milling students.

 

“Nothing,” he said finally, when Ginny continued to look at him.

 

“You’re not very good at lying, Nick,” said Harry seriously.  “You might as well tell her what’s wrong, you know.  She’s a Seer after all.”

 

Nick looked at Ginny appraisingly. “You’re probably right,” he said finally, glancing at Harry.  “Bit I’d rather not talk about it in front of-” He cast a surreptitious look over his shoulder to where the Bloody Barron was deep in conversation with the Gray Lady.

 

“Come on then,” said Harry, and led the way to the empty Transfiguration classroom.  He closed the door behind them and lit a few torches with a wave of his wand.

 

“So what’s eating you, Nick?” asked Harry.

 

Nick gave his ruff a rather nervous tweak and had to reattach his head.

 

“I assume you’re not talking about my physical body,” said Nick with a desperate attempt at humor. “For I’m certain that the worms and pill bugs finished that off long ago.”

 

“Nick!”

 

“Really, Mr. Potter, I don’t know if what is bothering me can be put into words.”

 

Ginny reached out a hand, stopping just short of touching his. “May I, Nick?” she asked.

 

He gave her a small nod, and she laid her hand on his, or rather, her hand sank into his.  Ginny closed her eyes.

 

“You’re in pain,” she whispered, her eyes snapping open and meeting Nick’s.  “You’ve had enough of this plane of existence.

 

“I didn’t realize it until I had talked to you after your godfather, Sirius’s death,” whispered Nick.

 

“You want to go on,” said Ginny softly.

 

“I’d give anything to go on,” said Nick wearily.  “I’m so tired, and I’ll never be able to rest.  I thought this. . .” he gestured vaguely to his body, “was what I wanted. . .”

 

“But it’s not enough,” said Ginny. She withdrew her hand from Nick’s and there were tears in her eyes.

 

“I’m afraid that this isn’t something you can heal, Ms. Weasley,” said Nick rather stiffly, turning as if to go.”

 

“No, but there is a way to get you where you want to go,” said Harry, thinking fast.

 

“Don’t jest, Mr. Potter,” said Nick sharply.

 

“Is going on what you truly want, Nick?” asked Harry carefully.

 

Ginny was looking at Harry curiously, a look of dawning comprehension on her face as she realized what Harry was suggesting.

 

“Because If I help you, if we help you, you won’t be able to come back.”  Harry swallowed.  “Ever.”

 

Nick blinked.

 

“You, you can do this?” he asked, an odd, hopeful note in his voice.

 

We can do this,” said Harry, glancing at Ginny, who nodded.  “It takes both of us, Nick, but I think we can manage it.”

 

A smile crept across Nick’s handsome, ghostly face.

 

“Then I accept!” he said, looking as if Christmas had come early.  “I suppose I should,” he paused, then shrugged and grinned.  “Would you give my regards to the instructors?” he said. “Particularly Minerva and Albus.  Tell them that I am sorry I didn’t say Goodbye in person, but that it was time for me to go,” said Nick, looking excited.

 

“I’ll do that,” said Harry with a grin. He nodded then at Ginny, and she came to stand in front of him, facing him.

 

“Stand between us, Nick,” said Harry quietly.  “And don’t be surprised if things get sort of wild for a few minutes,” he warned.

 

Nick drifted gently between them.

 

“Ready, Ginny?”

 

Ginny nodded and closed her eyes. 

 

Harry did the same.  He reached deep down to his core, letting the power fill him until he could feel the mage-fire crackling at his fingertips.  He opened his eyes and saw that Ginny too was emitting bolts of energy from her fingertips.  Nick looked stunned.

 

Both Harry and Ginny extended their hands then, by mutual consent, directly into Nick’s torso, until their fingertips met.  Suddenly, it was as if all three of them were caught in a windstorm.

 

Come to me, Harry,” whispered Ginny in his mind, and Harry opened his mind to hers, letting her power fill him even as his filled her.  All three of them were standing now in a cocoon of light.  As the classroom winked out of existence, Harry could have sworn that he’d seen several shadowy figures in the doorway.

 

*     *     *

 

 

The undulating white mist had not changed.  But Nick had.  Still clad in his doublet and holiday ruff, his neck was no longer mostly severed, but securely attached, as a normal head should be.  He looked around, then reached up and felt his neck.

 

“Where are we?” he asked, then added, “What have you done to me?” as he felt his neck.

 

“We have stepped beyond,” said Harry, pointing to the white mist where a host of shadowy figures were standing just out of sight, beckoning to him.

 

“Wh-what am I supposed to do?” asked Nick, staring at the figures in the mist with something like fear in his eyes.

 

“Go to them,” said Ginny softly.

 

Nick took a step toward the mist, then stopped, looking back at the pair of them.

 

“Are you coming?” he asked.  He sounded nervous, scared even.

 

“As long as we are physically alive, Nick, we can’t come any farther than this,” said Ginny gently.  “Go on, Nick.  They’re waiting for you.”

 

Nick took a few more hesitant steps toward the figures.

 

“I - I’m afraid,” he said, stopping again, just short of the roiling whiteness.

 

Suddenly, he went rigid.  He was staring avidly at a form that was taking shape at the edge of the mist.  A woman, a beautiful, dark-haired woman with gorgeous violet eyes was holding out her arms.

“M-Margaret?” gasped Nick, looking awestruck.  He reached out, took her hands in his, and was gone.

 

“It’s a good thing you’ve done,” said a voice just behind them.

 

Harry and Ginny both spun around startled.  Professor Dumbledore was standing at the edge of the mist, gazing at the spot where Nick had disappeared with a sad, wistful look on his face.

 

“I’ve felt his restlessness for years now, but there was nothing I could have done.  Not by myself.”

 

He laid one hand each on Harry and Ginny’s shoulders.  “Thank you both,” he said, smiling.

 

And then the mists were swirling and churning once again and, with a jolt, Harry found that they were once again standing in the middle of the Transfiguration classroom, except that it was no longer deserted.

 

Professors McGonagall and Snape were standing just inside the doorway.  Snape was gripping the back of a chair very tightly.  Professor McGonagall was dabbing at her eyes and sniffing loudly.  Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway itself, smiling broadly at them over his half-moon glasses.

 

“I do believe that was a first,” he said, glancing at Snape, who looked shaken.

 

“A first?” repeated Harry.

 

“I mean, I don’t believe that what you two just did has ever been done before,” he explained.

 

“To be perfectly honest, Professor, I wasn’t sure myself that it could be done, but we had to try,” said Harry, looking up at him. 

 

“Who was Margaret?” asked Ginny interestedly.

 

“The Lady Margaret Ashton,” said Professor McGonagall thickly, “is the reason Nick was beheaded.”

 

“She was the wife of Lord Ashton,” said Professor Snape in a strained voice.  “She was married off to him against her wishes.  It was a political match, arranged to give her family stronger ties to the nobility.”

 

“But she had given her heart to Nick before they arranged the marriage,” said McGonagall, wiping her eyes on a large, tartan handkerchief.  “And they were caught in the act you see.”  She blew her nose loudly.

 

“He wouldn’t let go of his mortal ties because he wanted to be near her, even in death,” explained Dumbledore.

 

“Except that when she found Nick dead, she killed herself to be with him,” said Snape softly.

 

“A regular Romeo and Juliet,” sighed Ginny.

 

All three of the professors looked at her sharply.

 

Ginny shrugged.  “Dad’s got a book of Shakespearian plays,” she said, grinning.

 

Dumbledore chuckled.  “Believe it or not, there is cause to believe that their story was the basis for his original work.”

 

McGonagall and Snape exchanged amused looks.

 

“He gave me a message, Nick did,” said Harry, looking around at them all.  “He said to tell you that he’s sorry he didn’t get to say goodbye in person, but it was time for him to go.”

 

“Indeed it was,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “Indeed it was.”

 

Back to index


Chapter 8: THE TOURNAMENT

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE TOURNAMENT

 

 

 

The first Saturday morning of November dawned crisp and clear. The air had a definite smell of autumn and the sky was a crystalline blue; perfect conditions for the first Quidditch game of the season.

 

Ron had been working them hard, but even he hadn’t been able to find fault with their last few practices.  They were working together seamlessly.  So it wasn’t entirely unexpected that after they’d all changed into their Quidditch robes, instead of the usual pep talk, Ron merely said, “What can I say, except if we play like we’ve practiced, Ravenclaw doesn’t stand a chance!”  And had led them out onto the field.

 

The excitement of the crowd in the stands was palpable, and indeed, it seemed as if the entire school had shown up to watch the match. Harry had to grin when he spotted Neville and Luna.  They were seated halfway down the field.  Each had an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulders, but each holding their own team’s pennant.

 

“A shining example of inter house cooperation,” Harry told Ginny when he caught sight of them.

 

“Good luck, love,” said Ginny, catching him around the neck and kissing him soundly.  There were several whoops from the stands.

 

“Watch your back, Ginny,” he told her, grinning. 

 

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and took off to join Euan and Gabrielle in the center of the field where Madam Hooch was opening the ball crate.  Harry mounted his Firebolt and soared up into the brilliant blue of the autumn sky, reveling in the feel of the sun on his face and the wind whipping through his hair.

 

Ravenclaw had put together an excellent team.  Even Ginny was hard put to get past their new Keeper, although she did, twice, before Harry finally caught sight of the Snitch for the first time.

 

It wasn’t any good though.  The Ravenclaw Beaters had preempted him, sending both bludgers straight at his head.  Harry had to execute an intricate spiral roll to avoid them both and, in the process, lost sight of the Snitch. What he caught sight of instead astounded him so thoroughly, that his broom actually dropped several feet before he regained control and swung it around to rejoin the game.

 

Sitting in the stands beside Professor Dumbledore, was Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic and, sitting beside him, as calm and relaxed as if he hadn’t a care in the world, was a face Harry had last seen in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic in a Death Eater’s robe; Draco’s father, Lucias Malfoy.

 

“Harry, you O.K.?” shot Ginny, picking up on his astonishment.

 

“Yeah, it’s jus - never mind. I’ll tell you after the game.”

 

Just minutes later, Ginny had scored again and Harry was pulling up from a spectacular sixty foot dive with the snitch clutched tightly in his fist.  The stands erupted with shouts and applause.  They’d won, 180 to zero.

 

“Harry, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” said Ron when they’d finally made it through the cheering crowds and back into the locker room.

 

“Malfoy’s in the stands,” said Harry through clenched teeth.

 

“Well of course he is,” said Colin, shrugging out of his Quidditch robes.  “He’s captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team this year.  I expect he wants to see what he’s up against.”

 

“Not Draco!” said Harry shortly.  “His father.”

 

What?” said Ron, dropping his broom as all the color drained out of his face.

 

“Wasn’t Draco’s father arrested a couple of years ago?  He was accused of being a Death Eater or something, wasn’t he?” asked Euan.

 

“He is a Death Eater,” said Harry.  “I saw him with Voldemort at the Ministry the summer of my fifth year when he was arrested.  He’s got the mark on his arm and everything. He was imprisoned, but escaped last summer with the rest of the Death Eaters.”

 

The entire locker room had gone completely silent.  Ron and Ginny had heard all of this before, but Colin, Dennis, Euan and Gabrielle were all staring at him wide eyed.

 

“He was cleared of all charges,” came Ginny’s voice from behind Harry. 

 

Everyone turned to look at her.

 

“It was in this morning’s paper,” she said.  “Andrew Crofton overruled the Wizengamont’s sentence, so now he can show his face in public again.”

 

“Can they do that?” asked Harry stupidly.

 

“After yesterday’s new decree,” said Ginny heavily, “he can do just about anything he wants.”

 

“What decree?” asked Harry, Ron and Colin all together.

“The Minister of Magic has declared a state of emergency,” said Ginny, “After the latest Goblin uprising.”  She shot a meaningful glance at Harry.  Both of them knew that the Goblin rebellions were a sham.  They were a cover for the real work that the Goblins, led by Ragnock, were doing.

 

“The first thing he did, after declaring the state of emergency, was to give the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection the power to regulate and control the punishments meted out by any Ministry department or the Wizengamont.”

 

“And the first thing Crofton does is clear Lucias Malfoy?” said Harry incredulously.  “Shouldn’t that be a dead giveaway to Fudge as to what side that man is on?”

 

Ginny shrugged, looking stricken.

 

“Harry,” said Ron, pausing with his arms only half into his regular clothes.  “Harry, what’s to prevent this Crofton from overturning your ruling, mate?”

 

The locker room went silent again.

 

“Let’s hope that they don’t think of that themselves,” said Harry, attempting a grin.  It felt more like a grimace though, and his mouth was suddenly very dry.

 

Harry had been accused of using magic while underage and had originally been expelled from Hogwarts.  It had been decreed that his wand would be destroyed, not to mention the lifetime ban from Quidditch that Professor Umbridge had imposed on him during her tenure as Headmistress of Hogwarts his fifth year.  He shuddered involuntarily.

 

“Or Hagrid’s,” said Ginny in a very small voice.

 

Harry closed his eyes.  He could only hope that with the way things were going, the Ministry would be kept too busy to even consider it.

 

*     *     *

 

 

“Their stories just haven’t been as colorful since Rita Skeeter changed her style,” sighed Hermione, emerging from behind The Daily Prophet at breakfast on the Friday before Ginny and Bill’s dance tournament.

 

“What’s up?” said Ron, looking over her shoulder as he came into the Great Hall.

 

“Nothing, I told you,” said Hermione, folding the paper.  “It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something. . .”

 

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other.

 

“Just as long as they’re not waiting for tonight!” said Ginny with a grin.

 

“Nervous, Ginny?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Well, cheer up. Dumbledore’s given us permission to leave at noon.  Professor Dumbledore is going to be taking the Defense class for me this afternoon.  They’re setting up a new section on mental defense.”

 

Harry had gone ahead with Hermione’s recommendation of continuing the Devi’s work with the students.  With Hermione’s help he duplicated the spells that had been placed on their own Books and would have taken her up on her offer to help in grading them if he hadn’t remembered the essays that his elemental had done for him not that long ago.

 

He had decided to put a couple of them to work grading the books for him.  He used Earth Spirits for the grading; they were nothing if not thorough and always made interesting grumbling noises as they read through the work. 

 

“At least we’ll have one less potions class!” said Ginny, sounding relieved.

 

“I thought you liked Potions?”

 

“I don’t mind Potions itself, it’s Parvati,” confessed Ginny with a small, twisted smile.

 

“Parvati?”

 

“Yeah, Harry, don’t worry about it, O.K.?” said Ginny as Harry cast a surreptitious glance down the table to where Parvati and Dean were chatting animatedly.  “It’s not anything I can’t deal with.”

 

Ginny reached under the table for her books. “Damn!” she said suddenly.  “I forgot my bag!”

 

“I’ll wait,” began Harry, who had gotten up to head down for Care of Magical Creatures.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ginny, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.  “Tell Hagrid I’ll be there in a minute.  No need for us both to be late!” She turned and ran off up the Marble steps.

 

Harry shouldered his bag and headed off to Hagrid’s hut with Ron, Hermione and Neville.

 

“Hermione,” said Harry, putting a hand on her arm to let Neville and Ron (who were deep in a conversation about Andrew Crofton’s Goblin connections) pull ahead of them.  “Hermione, what’s going on with Ginny and Parvati?” he asked finally.

Hermione gave a small sigh. “It’s being handled, Harry,” she began.

 

“Come on, Hermione!  I know that whatever the problem is, it’s making Ginny feel bad.  She tries not to think about it, but whenever she and Parvati are around each other I can feel how tense Ginny is inside.  She avoids Parvati, which is ridiculous, seeing as that they share a dormitory now.”

 

“Well, that’s part of the problem you see,” began Hermione.  “Parvati’s jealous.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

“Of Ginny.”

 

“But Hermione, why?” said Harry, completely confused now.

 

“Honestly,” Hermione shook her head.  “How men can be as blind as they are and not walk off a cliff is beyond me.”

 

“Hermione, what?”

 

“Well, to start with, like you said, they’re in the same dormitory now.”

 

“So?” said Harry, shrugging.

 

“So, now Parvati has to see her constantly, not just every now and then, and it rankles her.”

 

What rankles her?” asked Harry exasperatedly.  “You mean it bothers her that Ginny was advanced?”

 

“Partly, Harry, but what really bothers her is that Dean went out with Ginny before he went out with her. Ginny was his first choice.  And he still talks about her all the time.  He obviously thinks highly of her.”

 

“Yeah, well, she’s with me now though, isn’t she?” said Harry, grinning at her.

 

Hermione smiled at him almost pityingly. “And that’s the other problem.”

 

What is?”

 

“The fact that Parvati has felt oh, I don’t know, possessive of you I guess, since the Yule Ball our fourth year when you asked her out.”

What?” said Harry, incredulously.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione.  She went off with those boys from Beauxbatons when I didn’t ask her to dance again.  She seemed to have a pretty good time, too as I recall,” said Harry waspishly.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you asked her, Harry,” said Hermione gently. 

 

“Even if it was out of desperation?” said Harry mulishly.

 

“She doesn’t know that, does she?” said Hermione. “She probably thinks you asked her because you really liked her.”

 

“Hermione, why can’t dealing with women, other than you and Ginny I mean, ever be simple?” said Harry with a heavy sigh.

 

“Are you saying that Ginny and I are simple?” said Hermione with a mischievous smile.

 

“You know what I mean!” said Harry exasperatedly.  “I can talk to you.  You don’t hedge around issues.  I don’t have to guess what you’re inferring when you say something.  You say what you mean straight out!”

 

“Well, some people would take that as an insult,” said Hermione, linking her arm through Harry’s and grinning up at him.  “But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

“And what Ginny and I have,” he looked down at Hermione, trying to convey some of what he felt.  “It isn’t possible for us to hide anything from each other.”

 

They continued walking for a couple minutes before Harry spoke again.

 

“So, Parvati’s jealous,” he was slowing down even more as they were now approaching the paddock fence where the others were gathered.  “But what is she doing that is causing all of this fuss?”

 

“Oh, you know,” said Hemione in a calculatedly light tone.  “She’s making disparaging comments, veiled insults, innuendos, starting rumors.”

 

“Such as?” prompted Harry.

 

“Such as the rumor that Ginny traded, uh, favors to get you to convince Dumbledore to advance her.” Said Hermione, looking at the ground again.

 

What!” said Harry, outraged.

 

“No one believes her,” said Hermione soothingly.  “I mean, all anyone has to do is see Ginny’s O.W.L. scores to know that she really did deserve to be advanced.  Even Lavender got on Parvati’s case when Parvati started suggesting that.”

 

“God damn it, Hermione, didn’t we go through this exact same thing last year?  Why is everyone so anxious to believe that Ginny isn’t exactly what she appears to be?”

 

“But she’s not what she appears to be,” said Hermione reasonably.  “Not really.  She has — powers, you do too.  Why do you think there are always some sort of rumors going on about you?”

 

“That’s different,” said Harry, waving a hand dismissively.  He’d been the object of rumor and hearsay ever since he’d first stepped foot in the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid on his first visit to Diagon Alley.  He’d gotten used to it. “There’s plenty of reasons for people to believe odd things about me, but Ginny . . .”

 

Harry shot a filthy look at Parvati, who was watching him and Hermione approach the paddock with a wary expression.

“And what else?” said Harry.  He was breathing rather faster and harder than he had been.

“Well, she did say something about Ginny getting onto the Quidditch team last year.”

“What, exactly, did she say,” said Harry in a low, dangerous voice.

“She just wondered out loud what Ginny had to do in order to get chosen as Seeker our fifth year.” 

“Fly a hell of a lot better than anyone else who tried out is all!” he said heatedly.

“Again, Harry, anyone who has seen Ginny play knows that she’s the best Chaser Gryffindor has ever had, bar none!”

“What else, Hermione,” said Harry resignedly. 

“Well, you know of course that Ginny has now dated three of the five Gryffindor seventh year guys of course,”

“Yeah,” said Harry warily.  “What about it?”

“She said something to Hannah Abbot about Ginny, erm, sleeping her way to the top,” said Hermione in a very small voice.  “It’s just a rehash of what Dean was throwing around last year, but you know the Slytherins, they lap up stuff like that, they’ve been adding and embroidering until they’ve got half the school convinced that Ginny is. . .well . . .”

 

“If you call her a scarlet woman I’m going to have to do something drastic.”

 

“Well, that’s the general principal.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, fighting with all his might the urge to hex Parvati where she stood.   Why couldn’t she just let sleeping dogs lie?  The rumors had died out readily last year, especially after Neville had punched Dean over the way he was treating Ginny.

 

What a load of codswallop!” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  “The things people will say to get attention!”  Ginny paused, then added with a giggle, “But at least she considers you the top!”

 

“You’re right,” said Harry out loud.

 

Hermione stared at him.

“Harry, what?”

 

“Ginny just said that what Parvati is saying is a load of codswallop, and I agreed with her,” explained Harry.

 

I also said that you were the top,” Ginny reminded him.

 

Harry didn’t answer.

 

“Well of course it’s a load of codswallop,” said Hermione briskly.  “But you did ask,” she added apologetically.  “Just don’t do anything stupid, Harry,” she said anxiously just as Ginny’s voice in his head said, “It’s not worth getting involved in, Harry.”

Harry shook his head as if trying to dislodge a fly.

 

“Harry, you O.K.?” asked Hermione.

 

“Both of you were advising me not to get involved,” said Harry, grinning, “At the same time!”

 

“Just don’t give Parvati the satisfaction of acknowledgement, Harry.  She’s trying to get your attention is all.” 

 

Hermione grinned at him and went to join Ron and Neville at the paddock fence while Harry waited for the small dot coming down the hill to catch up with him.

 

“Why is it,” muttered Harry as Ginny joined him.  “That for the first five years at Hogwarts I didn’t seem to be exactly overwhelmed with girl problems, and now that I’ve found the one woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, there are women problems popping up all over the place?  Cho last year, Parvati this year. . .”

 

“They see you in love, Harry, and they like what they see,” said Ginny knowledgeably.  “They like how you treat me.  Parvati thinks that by attacking me she can undermine our relationship and get you for herself.”

 

“That’s twisted logic if I ever heard it,” growled Harry. “Besides, I thought she and Dean were an item.”

 

“Oh they are that,” said Ginny, smirking.  “I have some bits on Parvati I could dredge up and air out if I got the urge.”

 

“So do it.”

 

“First I want her to know that I know,” said Ginny, a nasty smile creeping across her face.  “Have you noticed anything — unusual about Dean’s sleeping habits lately?”

 

“Dean’s — what are you on about, Ginny?”

 

“Just hear me out Harry.  Did he usually sleep with his hangings closed before?”

 

“Well, no, not all the time, only when it would get really cold.”

 

“What about recently?”

 

“I’ve been avoiding him recently.”

 

“Come on, Harry, you must have noticed, even if you didn’t realize you had.”

 

“Well,  yeah, I guess he’s been sleeping with his hangings closed more lately, but what does that have to do with  . . .”  he paused, eyes going wide.  “Damn, Ginny!  You mean, he and Parvati . . .?”

 

“Well, I can say for certain that Parvati’s been missing from our dorm.  She leaves the hangings closed to make it look as if she just went to sleep early, but I checked one night.  She’s not there.”

 

“But if she and Dean are so close, why has she got it out for you?” said Harry, more confused now than he had been at the beginning of the conversation.  “Why should she care how close we are if she’s got they guy she had her sights trained on?”

 

“Who said that the average woman’s mind was easy to understand?” said Ginny, her eyebrows raised.

 

“You’ve got that straight!” said Harry fiercely. 

 

“So the fact that you’re dating a supposedly loose woman doesn’t make you want to find someone a little more, erm, virtuous?” said Ginny, grinning broadly.

 

“Not bloody likely!” said Harry.  Catching Ginny about the waist he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.

 

Dean, Neville, Shamus and Ron all whooped.  Lavender giggled.  Parvati had gone quite pink and was determinedly looking in the other direction.  From behind him, Harry heard a sneering voice say, “Trying to brush up for the exams, Potter?”  It was Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherins.

 

“That’s right,” said Harry, not releasing his hold on Ginny.  “Lends a whole new meaning to the idea of study groups, doesn’t it?”  He kissed her again.

 

“You might want to be careful, Potter,” said Malfoy in a low voice that nonetheless carried around the paddock.  “From what I’ve heard she’s been a real, uh, help to a whole lot of people.”  He looked Ginny up and down, sneering.  “You might end up with something more than exam answers if you get too friendly.”

Harry could feel his insides clench.  Over Ginny’s shoulder he could see Hermione looking daggers at Parvati who had gone ghostly white and looked scared.

 

“Who gives a damn, Malfoy,” said Hermione abruptly.  Everyone turned to stare at her, shocked by hearing her swear.  “You tried this tack last year and all you got for your troubles was to have Neville serve detention,” she said coolly.  “If you’re going to give Ginny a hard time, at least come up with something original, or is that too difficult a word for you to understand?”

 

“Why you stinking little mud-”

 

“So, that explains why you steer clear of Pansy then, doesn’t it Draco?” said Ginny coolly, looking him straight in the eye.  “Afraid you’ll catch something you can’t cure?”

 

Malfoy turned his attention abruptly from Hermione to Ginny, his usually pale face had gone quite pink

 

Pansy called Ginny something very rude indeed, but Ginny, with an evil grin that forcibly reminded Harry that she was sister to Fred and George simply said, “Takes one to know one, Pansy!” and, taking Harry’s arm, turned away.

 

CRACK!

 

A white-hot jet of light just missed Ginny’s left ear and splintered the paddock rail.  Harry spun, his wand out, ready to strike, but Malfoy was already flat on his back, his eyes huge, his face beet red as he struggled to catch his breath.

 

Harry could see the shimmer that belied the presence of the Wind Sprite Harry had guarding Ginny at all times now.

 

“Release him,” said Harry.

 

Draco sat up, taking in a huge, gasping breath.

 

“Who was he talking to?” hissed the stringy Slytherin boy who had also been able to see the Thestrals, looking around curiously.

 

“I wouldn’t advise trying that again,” said Harry in a dangerous voice, his wand still pointed directly at Draco’s heart.

 

The shimmer was now by Harry’s left shoulder.

 

“Good work,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

 

There were other mutters going around the paddock.  Among the Slytherins, it was things like, “How’d he do that?”  and “You fool, he’s apprenticing with Dumbledore!”  while among the Gryffindors, it sounded more like, “Excellent!” “Did you see his face?” and “Slimy git!”

 

“Thanks, Harry,” said Ginny.  She looked completely composed, but Harry could feel how disturbed she was and when he took her hand, it was shaking.  Harry squeezed it tightly.

 

Was that an elemental?”

 

“A Wind Sprite.”

 

“Impressive,” said Ginny, glancing sideways at him.  “But I thought you had to conjure them before you can use them.  That’s what I have to do.  The way I have to do it they’re not that good for immediate defense.”

 

Harry grinned sheepishly.

 

I’ve got a Wind Sprite permanently assigned to protecting you,” he admitted.

 

Really?”

 

“Yeah,” he paused, looking at her levelly.  “Does that bother you?”

 

“I’m flattered,” said Ginny, grinning.

 

I’ll have a couple more watching you and Bill tonight,” Harry told her.  “Just in case.”

 

Just in case of what?” asked Ginny.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

Hagrid appeared then, muttering his apologies for being late and carrying a great stack of Dragon-hide squares of different colors and textures.  He then set them to work identifying each Dragon-hide square by its skin-type, texture and color using the Monster Book of Monsters as reference.

 

“It’d be easier if you could see the real things,” Hagrid told them apologetically,” but ye have to have special trainin before the Ministry’ll let you handle, or even see the real thing except in very special circumstances, like the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

 

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged amused looks, remembering Baby Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon that Hagrid had raised from an egg their first year.

 

“He’d have the real things here if he could,” said Neville in a low voice, as if reading Harry’s mind.

 

“Of course he would,” sniffed Hermione.

 

“And he could probably handle them, too!” said Seamus.  He glanced at Harry, grinning, before dropping his voice and adding, “Like you handled Malfoy, Harry, that was excellent!”

 

*     *     *

 

Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Neville were halfway up the hill, headed towards the castle and their Charms class when Parvati, panting slightly, caught up with them and took Ginny by the arm.

 

“Can I talk to you, Ginny?” asked Parvati, her eyes very big and scared looking.

 

Ginny nodded.  Harry was about to move off with the other three who had already resumed walking, when Parvati spoke again.

 

“You might as well stay, Harry, this concerns you too.”

 

She waited until the others had moved on a bit more before she spoke again.

 

“I, I want to apologize, Ginny,” she said at last, her eyes on the ground.

 

“For what, Parvati?” said Ginny, attempting to keep her anger out of her voice.

 

“Well, for not being very nice to you since you moved into our dormitory for starters.”  She swallowed hard, then added, “and for starting that rumor about you,” said Parvati in a very small voice.  She glanced sideways at Harry, going very pink as she did so.

 

Harry could feel Ginny fighting the urge to say something very rude, but she mastered it at last and, fighting to keep her voice even finally asked, “Why, Parvati?  Why would you say something like that about me, when you know it’s not true?”

 

“I, I was jealous,” said Parvati, her voice so low now that she could barely be heard.

 

“Jealous of me?” said Ginny, managing a small smile.

 

Parvati nodded, still looking at the ground. “You’re just too damned perfect Ginevra Weasley,” said Parvati abruptly, looking at Ginny with a near furious expression on her face.

 

“Come again?”  Ginny looked stunned.

 

“Everything comes so easy for you!” Parvati nearly spat.  “You dance, you sing, your one of the best Chasers Gryffindor has ever had, you have a figure most of us would die for, perfect skin, hair that looks good no mater what you do and all you have to do is look at a guy and he’s yours for life!” 

 

“Ahh!  And the truth comes out at last! It annoys her, Ginny, that Dean still talks about you and she thinks that because he asked you out first, that you’re still his first choice,” said Harry, picking up on Parvati’s feelings without really trying.  “She also still finds herself attracted to me,” said Harry, fighting the urge to blush, “and thinks that by undermining our relationship that she can have a shot at me again.”

 

Great.  Tell you what, Harry, I’ll let you deal with that last bit, shall I?” said Ginny, her smile broadening.  “Since you are the one who asked her out originally.”

 

“Parvati,” said Ginny gently, taking her arm and waiting until Parvati met her eyes.  “I’m not perfect.  Damn,” she chuckled darkly.  “You’ve got no idea what I’ve had to go through, Parvati.  It may seem like everything comes easy for me now, but I have to work hard to keep it looking that way!  And inside?  Inside Parvati, sometimes I’m still that scared little girl who was taken down to the Chamber of Secrets and is quite certain that she’s never going to get out alive.  I learned the hard way not to trust my senses.  I learned my lesson well . . .too well.  I’m afraid that I put up blocks to keep myself from ever getting hurt like that again.  I put up barriers that make it hard for me to get to know anyone.  Those barriers keep my emotions bottled up inside so I don’t let them out and let other people take advantage of them. I don’t let them out like I should, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel. You don’t have to worry about me changing my mind about Dean,” she said, smiling now.  “In fact-” Ginny paused  “Your turn, Harry.”

 

“In fact Parvati,” said Harry, trying to keep a straight face.  “It isn’t exactly common knowledge yet, but Ginny has agreed to marry me.”

 

“The ceremony is going to be on Harry’s birthday next summer,” said Ginny decisively.

 

That’s news to me!” said Harry wryly.

 

“Really?” asked Parvati, looking astounded.  “I, I had no idea!” she looked mortified.

 

“No one does, Parvati,” said Harry, suppressing a grin.  “You’re the first to know, besides Ron and Hermione of course.”

 

And Neville and Luna,” added Ginny.

 

But she doesn’t need to know that,” Harry put in.

 

“Of course,” said Parvati faintly.

 

Why my birthday?”

 

“Why not?  We’ve got to give mum a date after all.”

 

“So cheer up, Parvati,” said Harry.  “There’s no harm done.  Anyone who knows Ginny will know that the rumor can’t be true, and anyone that believes it has dung for brains.”

 

Parvati sniggered appreciatively.

 

*     *     *

 

After lunch Harry and Ginny went up to Gryffindor tower to drop off their books and pick up Ginny’s dance bag.  Ginny’s costumes were already at Bill’s studio.

 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” she said, indicating Harry’s school robes and cloak.

 

“Only to Bill’s,” said Harry, grinning.  “I had something ordered special, but it was delivered to Bill’s flat.  I’ll change there.”

 

Looking relieved and a bit nervous, Ginny took his hand and they made their way down to Dumbledore’s office to catch his fireplace to Bill and Fleur’s flat.

 

“Thanks for coming early!” said Bill brightly when they stepped out.  “This will give us a chance to practice all four pieces one more time.”

 

Four pieces?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Yeah!  The judges give us points out of ten in three different Latin Dance styles: Tango, Rumba and Cha-Cha.

 

“That’s three,” said Harry, feeling foolish.

 

“And we’ve also been asked to give an exhibition number,” said Bill, sounding excited.  “They only ever ask one, sometimes two couples each competition to do that.

 

“Why you two in particular?” asked Harry.

 

“I think it’s the fact that we’re a brother-sister team,” said Ginny, grinning.

 

“Yeah, that and the fact that we’re competing in the Nationals in our very first competition,” added Bill, looking proud.

 

“We had to send them a video to qualify, you know, to prove that we were up to the standards of this competition.”

 

“Well there you go then,” said Harry, shrugging.  “You’ve knocked their socks off already!”

 

Bill shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

 

Ginny refused to let Harry watch them practice.

 

“I want you to be surprised!” she said when he’d protested.

 

Harry shrugged, and entertained himself for the next couple hours surfing the Internet on Bill’s computer.  He’d snuck into Dudley’s room a few times during the summer when Dudley had been out, and had always been careful to delete any trace of his excursions, but it was still a novelty.

 

Fleur breezed in around three and dragged Bill and Ginny down from the studio so that they could get ready to go.

 

“They need to leave in an hour,” she said smoothly when Harry asked what all the rush was.

 

“Four O’clock?” said Harry, rather startled.  “But the competition doesn’t start until seven!”

 

“It starts at seven,” said Fleur, “But they must check in, and change.  It is not just the costumes, it is the hair and the makeup.”  She shook her head.

 

“Make up?  They both look fine to me!”

 

“Stage makeup,” said Ginny rather breathlessly, brandishing a large makeup box at him.  “The judges have to be able to see your face from the audience.”

 

“Yeah, we don’t wear any and all anyone sees are whit ovals dancing around in glittery costumes,” snickered Bill.

 

“They will leave in an hour, we don’t need to be there until six,” continued Fleur.  She smiled at Harry.  “Do you mind being my escort?” she said, her eyebrows arched.

 

“Not at all,” said Harry, grinning. 

 

“We will sit together and share our nervousness,” said Fleur in an undertone.

 

An hour later they had put Bill, Ginny and their large box of costumes into a Muggle taxi and had waved goodbye.  They were as safe as Harry could make them.  Besides Ginny’s usual Wind Sprite guardian, Harry had assigned a Salamander to Bill and had sent a Water Demon to watch them both.  On top of this he had insisted that Bill wear the extra phial that he had found in his mother’s box of thing the previous year, the same one that he and Ginny had used to protect Neville, Luna, Ron and Hermione on the when the Hogwarts express was attacked.

 

“No one will notice,” Harry had said when Bill had protested.  “And if they do, they’ll just assume that it’s part of the costume.  Besides, Ginny’s wearing one.”

 

Once the Taxi had disappeared from view, he went back up to the apartment to see if the Tuxedo he had ordered fit properly.  It did.

 

Fleur circled him, making last minute adjustments and brushing away stray pieces of lint.

 

“Your hair looks different,” she said, looking at him critically. 

 

“A soothing charm,” said Harry, grinning.  “It was the only way I could get it to lay flat.”

 

“Quiet a difference,” said Fleur appraisingly.  “I would hardly recognize you, you look quite debonair.”

 

“Muggle equivalent of dress robes,” said Harry, shrugging.

 

To be perfectly honest, he hardly recognized the wizard that was looking back at him from the full-length mirror. 

 

“Well, it becomes you,” said Fleur throatily.

 

“You look quite elegant yourself,” Harry told her, and indeed, she did.

 

She was wearing a floor-length gown of clinging, silver-gray velvet with a matching hooded cloak, which was lined with white satin.  Her shoes and bag were of some sort of silvery material and she had on an elegant necklace of pearls and diamonds.

 

“It was a wedding present from my parents,” she said, fingering the necklace when Harry commented on how beautiful it was.  “They never do things by halves, my parents.”  She paused, looking at their reflection in the mirror.  “Together we shall be turning heads I think,” she said, her eyebrows arched.

 

“When do you expect Lupin to arrive?” asked Harry curiously, looking at his watch.

 

Remus Lupin would be accompanying them to the tournament.  He had been in hiding ever since the passage of the non, and part-human licensure act. And even though Ginny had cured him of his condition this past summer he had continued to live as if he were a werewolf, since it was more than likely that his presenting himself for a change-of-status with the Ministry would only lead to awkward questions for himself and Ginny, and possibly complications for both of them.

 

So different was his appearance now, however, that Dumbledore had been quite certain that no one would recognize him for who he was if he were to attend the tournament, especially since it was a Muggle competition, and very few, if any, wizards would be in attendance.

As if in response to his question, the doorbell on the Muggle London side of the apartment chose that precise moment to ring.  Fleur swept over to the door and ushered in a very elegant-looking couple both dressed in eveningwear.

 

It took Harry a full minute to realize that the dapper-looking man in the tuxedo with his long, light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, which he had tied with a black-velvet ribbon, was Remus Lupin.

 

“Wow, Remus!” said Harry, looking him up and down.  “You look incredible!”

 

“Amazing what a little spit and polish can do, eh?” said Remus, grinning.  “And perhaps I should introduce my date,” he said, his smile broadening as he held his hand out to the woman beside him.

 

She was dressed in a gown of pale, ice blue satin, which exactly matched the color of her eyes.  Some of her shoulder-length golden ringlets had been caught up in a partial knot at the back of her head.  The rest had been left to tumble freely down her neck.

“Introductions won’t be necessary, Remus,” said the woman, laughing.  “Hello, Harry.”

 

Harry gaped.  It was his Aunt Petunia.

 

“Wow!  Aunt Petunia?” he said, swallowing hard and looking her up and down.  “My god, you look, you look fantastic! I, I wouldn’t have recognized you!”

 

“Did I look so very bad before?” she asked with a hint of mock petulance.

 

“No, it’s just,” Harry swallowed, and then grinned.  “I guess I’ve never seen you look this elegant, or this happy,” he said giving her a hug.  “I must say, being in love becomes you.”

 

Fleur came up to him then and took Harry’s arm.

 

“Have you two been introduced?” asked Harry, looking from Fleur to his Aunt.

 

“We met once,” said his Aunt quietly.  “At Grimmauld Place I believe, though it was just in passing.  You were with your husband, visiting his parents, Fleur, isn’t it?”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Fleur, her forehead creased.  “And you are Petunia Dursley, Harry’s Aunt. I remember seeing you, although you did not look so,” Fleur paused, looking for a tactful description, “rested,” she finished at last.

 

“I was, well, you could say I was recovering from a prolonged, erm, relationship,” said his aunt, her eyebrow raised.

 

Everyone was very quiet for a moment.  It was Lupin who finally broke the silence.

 

“I’ve got the Taxi waiting downstairs,” he said.

 

Fleur locked the apartment, dropping the key into her silver evening bag, and they proceeded down the narrow staircase to the waiting Taxi.

 

The theatre where the competition was to be held was small, and packed to the brim with hundreds of elegant people in eveningwear and jewels. Harry and the rest had prime seats.  Bill had made certain of that.

 

As Harry steered Fleur through the milling crowds, he was hard put not to notice how many men followed her progress with their eyes.  Quite a few women were looking their way too, which puzzled him, until Fleur, who was waiting in a queue to check her cloak whispered in his ear, “I told you that together we would be turning heads!”

 

“Fleur, what?”

 

“They are watching you I think,” said Fleur, indicating a knot of women to the left of the theatre entrance that kept looking their way and smiling behind their hands.

 

“They’re probably just looking at you because they’re jealous.”

 

“I don’t think so,” said Fleur, looking at him archly.  “Don’t put yourself down, Harry, you are very handsome, and should not be ashamed to admit it.”

 

Harry could feel the color starting to creep up his neck.

 

“No need to be embarrassed, Harry!” said Fleur, grinning broadly as they headed in to their seats.  “You will need to be getting used to it I think.”

 

They located their seats, and made themselves comfortable.  Lupin was on the aisle, Petunia sitting next to him, Fleur next to her, and Harry on the inside, an empty seat separating him from an elegant, gray-haired woman in a black velvet gown who was fanning herself with her program.

 

As Harry sat back in his seat, he let his thoughts go out to Ginny.  He had, of course, been keeping half his attention on her ever since she and Bill had left in the Taxi.  He knew that they’d arrived O.K., had checked in and had drawn their performance numbers for the competition, found their dressing room, and that now Ginny was desperately fighting the urge to bolt down the fire escape outside their dressing room window.

 

You’re going to be fine!” said Harry, focusing all of his attention on her at last.

He could feel her physically relax at the sound of his voice.

 

Hey, Harry!”

 

“Hey, yourself!”

He could feel the sappy grin that he always wore when he was talking to Ginny in his head, starting to steal across his face.

 

When are you doing your exhibition number?” asked Harry.

 

After the Tango competition, which is the last section.  It’ll be while the judges are making their decision.”

 

“How’s Bill doing?” he asked.

 

Ginny focused on Bill, where he sat, legs propped casually on a table, thumbing through an outdated Muggle magazine as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

 

Typical!” said Harry, and was rewarded by an audible giggle from Ginny.  “Just remember who you’re dancing for, Ginny,” said Harry as a stagehand stuck his head into their dressing room and announced that the curtains would be going up in five minutes.

 

Who?”

 

Me!” said Harry, grinning.

 

God I love you, Harry!” said Ginny, sounding rather breathless.

 

And I love you,” said Harry, caressing her with his thoughts.  “Now go knock em dead!”

Harry came back to himself to find Fleur, Lupin and his Aunt all staring at him curiously.

 

“So, how are they doing?” asked Lupin, his eyebrows raised.

 

Harry grinned sheepishly, but was spared having to answer by the house lights suddenly dimming.

 

The Master of Ceremonies began by introducing the twenty couples that would be competing for the Title of National Champion in alphabetical order.  There were three couples from Scotland, five from Ireland, and two from Wales.  The rest were from England. Bill and Ginny were the last on the list.

 

“And finally,” cried the announcer, “From London, representing “The Waltz Wizard’s Studio of Dance and making their competitive début, I give you none other than the Waltz Wizard himself, William Weasley, and his enchanting sister Ginevra!”

 

Bill and Ginny swept forward in long, black-velvet cloaks embroidered with silver stars and other magical symbols.  Bill swept his cloak over one shoulder, took a bow and held out his hand to Ginny, who pirouetted, spinning the cloak out about her and showing off her form-fitting costume.  There were admiring cheers from the crowd.

 

“Cute,” said Harry, catching on to the symbolism as he applauded loudly.  “Is that the name of the studio?” he asked Fleur.

 

She smiled and nodded.

 

“Did you like my intro?” said the tall, thin man in glasses who had taken the empty seat on Harry’s right.

 

Your intro?”

 

“Yes.  I wrote it for them,” the man lowered his head and looked into Harry’s eyes over the top of his half-moon reading glasses.

 

Professor?” asked Harry dumbly, looking the man beside him up and down.

 

“I told you I’d come if I could,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

 

“Nice glamoury charm,” said Lupin appreciatively, leaning across the ladies to address Dumbledore.  “If I hadn’t known you were coming, I wouldn’t have recognized you!”

“That is the whole point,” smiled Dumbledore, and then turned to watch as the competition began.

 

 

 

They were all really very good, thought Harry as couple after couple took the stage for the Cha Cha.  The costumes were dazzling, and the routines were all smooth and very impressive.  But when Bill and Ginny took the stage it was as if all the others had ceased to exist, for Harry at least, and for Fleur too, to judge from the way she was gripping his hand.

 

“They are good!” breathed Lupin as the flawlessly finished their Cha-Cha routine.

 

“I told you!” said Harry, still feeling rather faint. 

 

“They still have two dances to go,” whispered Fleur, gripping Harry’s hand tighter.

 

“It’s not just their dancing though,” said Dumbledore, observing the pair critically.

 

“There is something else.”  He paused, considering.  “It is almost like watching a, a-” he gestured vaguely, looking for the right words.

 

“A force of nature,” said Fleur softly.

 

“Yes!” said Dumbledore, beaming at her.  “That is it exactly!”

 

The Rumba was also impressive, but it was their tango that made Harry’s heart beat a tattoo against the inside of his chest.  It was affecting Fleur, too, he could tell from the way her breath became uneven and ragged as she watched them.

 

They began the piece in the traditional manner.  Both of them were dressed in black, Bill in a Tuxedo cut for dancing, Ginny in an ankle-length, free-flowing dress encrusted with black seed pearls, her hair caught up in a tall black comb in the traditional Spanish knot.  But the song switched gears after half a dozen bars, picking up its tempo and adding a definite contemporary beat.  While still a tango, it was now a tango with attitude. 

 

As the music changed, so did the dancers outfits.  When Bill and Ginny had completed an intricate lift and spin, Ginny’s ankle-length skirt was gone, revealing the same, short, flared leather skirt and fishnet stockings she’d been wearing when Harry had seen her after the dress rehearsal.  Bill’s jacket and fake tuxedo front had also disappeared, revealing a low-cut, black silk shirt.  With an inviting gesture that made Harry’s mouth go dry, Ginny removed her comb and shook out her hair (which had been charmed into a cascade of ringlets).  Bill swept her into his arms again, and they were off, only this time with a sexiness and sophisticated flair that Harry was beginning to think of as their signature style.

 

Incredible!” breathed Dumbledore.

 

Fleur was still gripping Harry’s hand, but her grip had relaxed somewhat, and she was now grinning from ear to ear.

 

When the number was finished, the roar of applause from the crowd was overwhelming.

 

“Win or loose, I’d say they’re a hit!” said Lupin, leaning across Petunia and Fleur to speak to Harry.

 

“I’ll say!” breathed Harry, smiling at Fleur who had finally released his hand.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” said the announcer, and the audience slowly fell silent.  “While the judges are making their selection, we are pleased to present a special performance by the brother/sister team representing The Waltz Wizard’s Studio of Dance, William and GinevraWeasley.

 

When the music started, Harry and Fleur exchanged amused glances; it was A Night in Tunisia.  Bill and Ginny were giving a revised version of the performance they had presented at the Delacour’s the previous April.

 

“They’ve brushed it up a bit!” said Lupin with raised eyebrows.

 

Harry shook his head, amazed that they could have improved on what had seemed, at the time, a flawless performance.

 

The applause for their exhibition number was as prolonged as for their Tango, and Harry could feel himself swelling with pride, but also, inexplicably, with a touch of another emotion.  Was it jealousy?  No, no, it was hatred!  And Harry knew at once that the feeling was not his. As the announcer stood up once more, Harry felt his scar begin to burn, as if it were being heated up from the inside, as if someone had lit a fire behind it.

 

“And the third place winners tonight are Patrick O’Neil and Jennifer Anderson of Paddy’s Dance School in Dublin!”  Applause drowned out Harry’s whispered attempts to get Dumbledore’s attention.

 

“Second place goes to Michael Kirk and Adrea Mitchell of The Northumbria Dance Academy!”

 

Harry nudged Dumbledore, pointing at his scar, which now burned with a white-hot pain that was making Harry’s eyes water.

 

Dumbledore was suddenly alert, reaching over to Lupin; he poked him in the back and nodded at the stage.  Lupin reached into his breast pocket for his wand as the announcer said, “And tonight’s winners and new National Latin Dance Champions, William and Genevieve Weasley of the Waltz Wizard’s Dance Studio in London!”

 

The crowd was on its feet, applauding wildly and blocking their view of the stage.  Harry leapt to his feet just in time to see Bill and Ginny sweep onto the stage, once more in their embroidered cloaks.  The hair on the back of Harry’s neck was prickling nastily and his scar hurt so bad he felt as if his head were about to split in two. What happened next happened so fast that Harry barely had time to register it.

 

As Bill took the trophy from the announcer, raising it above his head, Ginny’s arm raised with his, three separate jets of green wand-light converged on them from three separate directions, one from directly backstage).  The three bolts got within two feet of Bill and Ginny before hitting what seemed to be an invisible barrier and splintering into a web of green light, that reminded Harry vaguely of the golden web that had enclosed himself and Voldemort when their wands had locked in the graveyard.  Except that this web pulsed for a few seconds before breaking apart into a shower of green stars that drifted slowly to the stage.

 

“Wind Sprite?” asked Dumbledore, putting his wand away again.

 

Harry nodded, craning his neck to try and see where the curses had come from.

 

“And a Salamander, and a Water Demon,” he admitted.

 

“You weren’t taking any chances, were you?” said Dumbledore, looking impressed.

 

The crowd, obviously thinking that this was a pyrotechnic display, a play on the Wizard reference of the winners, was roaring its approval.

Ginny and Bill stepped forward, out of the rapidly disappearing sparks, and took one last bow.  Both looked pale and shaken as they turned to go off stage.

 

Ginny! Don’t go that way!” warned Harry suddenly.  “One of those bolts came from backstage!”

 

He saw Ginny tug on Bill’s arm, whisper something in his ear, and, smiling, both of them headed for the steps on the side of the stage that lead to the audience.

 

On impulse, Harry scooped up the bouquet of roses he had waiting for Ginny and hurried down to meet them. A moment later he had her in his arms, his face buried in her hair.  She was shaking uncontrollably.  Even Bill looked unnerved.

 

“Thank God you’re O.K.,” said Harry into Ginny’s hair, meeting Bill’s eyes over her head.

 

“Was - was that the killing curse?” asked Bill shakily.

 

“Yes,” said Harry shortly.  “How could you tell?”

 

“I - I thought I heard the incantation from somewhere behind us,” said Bill.  “But I thought I must be hearing things.”

 

“Yes, one of the attackers was backstage,” Harry confirmed.

 

“There was more than one?”

 

“There were three,” said Dumbledore.  He was still in disguise, but Bill obviously recognized his voice at once.

 

“Three?” he said dazedly.  “Which one of us were they after?”

 

Lupin shrugged as Fleur, who was just behind him threw herself into Bill’s arms.

 

“It doesn’t matter, the fact is, that they almost succeeded.”

 

“So what stopped them?” asked Bill curiously.  “Why aren’t we dead?  I didn’t think that the killing curse could be blocked.”

 

“It was an elemental,” said Petunia in a quiet voice.

 

Lupin, Dumbledore and Harry were all staring at her.

 

“I saw the one Harry sent to protect me from Vernon.  This one wasn’t the same kind, but it protected in the same way.”

 

“An elemental?” said Bill, turning to Harry.  “You conjured an elemental?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

Bill whistled appreciatively. “Impressive, Harry, and thank-you!”

 

“We should really be getting out of here,” said Lupin. The theatre was emptying fast.

 

“Our things,” said Ginny, her voice was trembling slightly.

 

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the dressing room.  It was empty.  He willed their things to vanish and reappear in Bill’s apartment.

 

“All taken care of,” said Harry, opening his eyes.  “Now lets get out of here before any of them decide to come back and finish the job!”

 

Half an hour later the Taxi had dropped Bill and Fleur off at their apartment.

 

“We’ll go back to Hogwarts together from Grimmauld Place,” Dumbledore said decisively.  “Molly will be beside herself if she hears about this before we can assure her that you’re all O.K.”

 

Harry left his Salamander with Bill to keep an eye on him, just in case someone decided to come looking for him.

 

“It won’t hurt you,” he told Bill, slowing the Salamander down enough to show it to him.  “I’ve instructed it to stay for a week, just to make sure that there’s no attack being planned.”

 

The Taxi then took Harry, Ginny, Dumbledore, Lupin and Petunia to #12 Grimmauld Place.  As expected, Mrs. Weasley was beside herself to learn of the attack, and would have prohibited Ginny from having anything to do with what she called “Bill’s wild ideas,” again, if Mr. Weasley hadn’t stood firm.  By the time she had finished ranting it was after midnight.

 

By the time they arrived back in Dumbledore’s office, it was nearly one in the morning, so instead of climbing all the way up to Gryffindor tower, Harry and Ginny slipped down to the guest room behind the landscape.

 

The first thing Harry did was to send a note with a Salamander to Neville, another each to Ron and Hermione.

 

“So they won’t worry,” Harry told Ginny when she’d asked what he was doing.  “You were fantastic, you realize that,” he said, yawning widely as they both slipped out of their clothes and crawled in between the crisp linen sheets.

Ginny smiled against his chest where her head was pillowed and fell asleep almost at once.

 

Harry lay awake for a few minutes longer, luxuriating in the feel of her body so close to his, the vividness of her spirit, still alive and more precious to him than ever before.  He tightened his grip protectively and fell asleep with the scent of Sandalwood and Citrus filling his head.

 

He dreamt that night, not of dark corridors and locked doors, or even of mysterious gardens, but that he was making love to Ginny, and he woke up to find her skin under his hands, his skin inside hers, and decided that if it was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

 

They slept through breakfast.  Well, O.K., so they didn’t actually sleep through it, but they missed it all the same, and neither one of them seemed to mind so very much, although both of them ate ravenously when they finally came down to lunch.

 

Back to index


Chapter 9: MISSING IN ACTION

CHAPTER NINE

MISSING IN ACTION

 

 

“I called an emergency meeting of the Order last night.” 

 

It was Sunday afternoon and Harry was, as usual, working with Dumbledore.  Today, because they were working on the ninth of the twelve forbidden Dark Spells instead of Elemental magic, they were working in Dumbledore’s office instead of in the circular room below his it. This particular spell was called the Mind Exchange, and involved switching the consciousness of one’s opponent from their own brain to one of a host (ether it was another human, an animal or an inanimate object didn’t seem to be of much concern to the spell’s creator). 

 

The main reason that this particular spell was listed as one of the Dark Spells, was because it was not reversible by standard transfiguration methods.  Only the person who cast the spell could reverse it, and most times that was not something they chose to do.

 

“There are many instances of animals acting in a markedly unusual manner, having knowledge and powers far beyond anything they should by any rights have.  The saddest of all is when a consciousness is transferred into an inanimate object.  I myself once met an incredibly knowledgeable tree, a conifer of great age, who had once been a wizard, but who had been changed many hundreds of years ago by a rival wizard.  The wizard who cast the spell died before he could be convinced to reverse it.”

 

“And the tree — er — the wizard?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Was cut down and turned into a lovely dresser.”

 

“It was killed?”

 

“You can’t kill a consciousness, Harry,” said Dumbledore with a small smile.  “No, we still have long talks whenever I’m picking out my socks for the day.”

 

“Your dresser was once a wizard?” said Harry faintly.

 

“I was devastated when I found that he had been cut down,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head.  He was rooted in a most extraordinary strand of woods behind my family home.  Unfortunately, we did not own the title to the land and the owners cut it down before I could go about purchasing it myself.”

 

“How — how does he like being a — a dresser,” said Harry.  He was trying to wrap his brain around the idea of having one’s consciousness switched into a tree and then made into a dresser and spending the rest of one’s existence having one’s insides used to store clothes.

 

“He says that it has its moments.  The actual chopping down when he was a tree hurt like anything, but other than that, he enjoyed having his corners dovetailed, and doesn’t miss the bugs, but prefers it when I keep things neat and don’t just toss them about.”

 

Harry, who was desperately fighting the urge to break into a mad peal of laughter, repressed it with some difficulty.  He lost the urge to laugh, however, when Dumbledore temporarily switched his consciousness into one of the many spindle-legged tables that resided in Dumbledore’s office.  The thought of being caught in that form forever — or until someone decided to bin me because I was a bit worn — Harry thought frantically.  The idea was quite disconcerting.

 

They had learned the first six Dark Spells (the Threshold Spell, the Hell Fire charm, the Imperceptible charm, the Labyrinth curse, the curse of Inner Fire, and the Blood Shield) the preceding year.

 

So far this year they had mastered not only the Mind Exchange, but The Scrambler a nasty curse that rearranged all of an individual’s internal organs.  This was not as bad as it seemed, seeing as that the curse also managed to arrange for them to continue working as they should, but it could do odd things to an individual to suddenly have a small intestine in place of their brain, or their heart attached to their pancreas.  Individuals who had been victimized by this particular curse usually spent the remainder of their days as recluses, seeing as that this was another spell that could only be reversed by its originator.

 

The Angler curse (another of the Dark Spells) had taken nearly three weeks to master.  The goal of the Angler curse was to plant an idea — any idea — into a person’s brain in such a way that they were powerless to resist it.  It was, as Dumbledore had explained, undetectable by usual Dark Magic detection methods, which made it invaluable to Dark Arts practitioners. 

 

Harry had been working on implanting benign ideas, such as Dumbledore always lifting his right hand before he began to speak, into Dumbledore’s .  But the progenitors of the curse had designed it to be used with much more destructive ideas, such as suicide, or homicide.

 

All in all, Dumbledore was very pleased with his progress and mastery of the complex spells that they were practicing.  By comparison, his other classes had become almost boring . . .except for Potions, which was still (as far as Harry was concerned) a qualifiable nightmare.

 

How he’d managed to make it this far in Potions was a mystery to Harry.   His work (thanks to mental prods from Ginny and the resources available to him through his connection to the way things were) was impeccable, but Snape didn’t seem to care.  He never passed up an opportunity to publicly humiliate Harry.  Whether his hostility was a front to convince the Slytherins that he really did hate Harry in order to ensure his supposed support of Voldemort, or whether his animosity wasn’t  put on because he really did hate Harry, was  a question Harry didn’t dare to voice.  But it nagged at him nonetheless.

 

*     *     *

 

 

“So, where are you lot going for Christmas, Harry?” asked Neville at breakfast a few days after the tournament.

 

“Christmas?” asked Harry blankly.  To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t given the matter much thought yet.  He supposed he’d be staying at Headquarters, although he couldn’t come out and say this to Neville.

 

“Yeah, you know, mistletoe, Christmas presents, eggnog, Christmas.”

 

“Well-” began Harry.

 

“Fred’s wedding for one,” said Ron thickly, his mouth full of toast.  “It’s on Christmas day you know.”

 

“Yeah, I got the invitation,” said Neville, shaking his head sadly.  “Gran’ll never give me permission to go though.  It’s in a Muggle church, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, Angelina’s parents sort of insisted she have a traditional Muggle wedding.  They’re Muggles you know.”

 

“That’s just it.  Gran doesn’t trust Muggles.  It isn’t that she doesn’t like them,” he said hastily, catching Hermione’s look.  “She’s just never been around them much, and tries to avoid them as much as possible.  She avoids anything she doesn’t understand.”

 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Neville!” said Hermione, slamming down her goblet of orange juice so hard that half of it sloshed out onto the table.  Everyone was staring at her.

“Are you of age or aren’t you?” she asked testily.

 

“Well of course I am!” said Neville defensively.

 

“Well just go then!  You want to, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do, but Hermione -”

 

“The wedding isn’t until late afternoon, Neville,” said Ginny quietly.  “You’ll still be able to visit your parents.

 

Neville met her eye and tried to smile, but it turned out to be more of a grimace. “You have a point,” he conceded.

 

“And you can bring Luna as your guest!” said Ron brightly.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will,” said Neville slowly, a smile spreading across his round face.  “But how will I get there?”

 

“The ceremony’s in London,” said Ginny,

 

“Well, you could take a Taxi,” said Ron with a shrug.

 

Neville looked downright alarmed at this suggestion.  “I don’t know the first thing about Muggle transportation!”

 

“Well, if Luna’s father is Muggle-born, he can set you straight on how to pay them and all of that,” said Hermione dismissively.  “I’ll write you out directions to the church from the Leaky Cauldron.”

 

“Mum’s not to chuffed with this Muggle wedding business if the truth must be told,” said Ron, gloomily.  “She seems to be under the impression that without a proper Wizarding ceremony they won’t be properly married or something.”  He rolled his eyes.

Harry and Ginny exchanged guilty glances.  Their own joining had happened so spontaneously that there had been no time whatsoever for an actual ceremony, Muggle or Magical.  That didn’t seem to change the fact that they were very much married however.

Ron caught their glance and chuckled.

 

“She’ll have a right fit of course when she finds out that her only daughter went and got married without any sort of a ceremony!”

 

“Who says she’ll ever have to find out?” said Harry with a shrug.  “We are going to let her plan us a ceremony for next summer.”

 

Hermione, Neville and Ron were all grinning broadly at them now. 

 

“Speaking of which,” said Harry indicating the windows were several hundred owls were now swooping through, intent on delivering the morning’s post.  Hedwig was clearly visible, stark white against the crowds of brown, tan and gray.  She was headed for their table, a small package tied to her leg.

 

To everyone’s amazement (except Harry’s), instead of going to Harry, Hedwig landed lightly on Ginny’s shoulder and held out her leg.

 

“For me?” asked Ginny.

 

Hedwig hooted softly and rubbed her head against Ginny’s cheek. Ginny untied the package from Hedwig’s leg.  Instead of taking off, she hopped onto Harry’s shoulder, watching Ginny open her package with undisguised interest.

 

Inside was a small, black, velvet box.  Ginny opened it and her sharp intake of breath was enough for Harry to know what she thought of his choice.

 

“Oh, Harry!  It’s beautiful!” she breathed.

 

It was an engagement ring.  He had ordered it weeks ago.  The silver band was etched to match the symbols on his parents’ wedding bands.  The large diamond in the center was flanked by two smaller diamonds and on the inside of the band were etched the words body — mind — soul and their corresponding runic symbols.

 

Their entire end of the Gryffindor table had gone silent and was watching with bemused expressions.

 

“Say something, Harry,” hissed Hermione.  “Make it look good, you’ve got an audience!”

 

“Shall we make it official then?” said Harry, just loud enough for those listening to hear.

Ginny gave him a dazzling smile as she held out her hand so Harry could slip the ring onto her finger.  She ran her free hand through Harry’s hair and he turned his face into her hand, letting his lips linger on her palm.  The warm tingling was rapidly spreading through his body, the scent of citrus and sandalwood was filling his head, driving out all rational thought, making him forget that there was anyone else present.  He was kissing her then, and it was as if he’d never kissed her before, for the taste of her lips sent a shudder of pleasure to the very tips of his fingers.

 

An indignant hooting from Hedwig, whom they had dislodged in the intensity of their embrace, brought them back to earth.  Shouts of approval and a scattering of applause met them as they broke apart.

 

Parvati was smiling into her scrambled eggs, and Dean was exchanging bemused looks with Seamus, both of them grinning broadly.

 

“How romantic!” Lavender sighed, her hands clasped together.

 

“Nice acting,” said Ron, nudging Harry in the ribs.  “That was quite a performance.”

 

“I don’t think they were acting,” said Hermione, taking in Harry and Ginny’s lingering glances as the conversations picked up around them once again.

 

“I don’t have to pretend that I’m in love with your sister, Ron,” said Harry, unable to tear his gaze away from Ginny’s.

 

“And I suppose that when he talks to you, you still turn to jelly inside?” Hermione asked Ginny with a good-natured sniff.

 

Ginny nodded, smiling sheepishly, not breaking Harry’s stare.

 

“Pitiful,” snorted Ron, catching Hermione about the waist and kissing her soundly.

“Well, now you can all verify to Ginny’s mum that you saw me propose,” said Harry, glancing from Ron to Hermione to Neville.

 

“And we’ll be having the ceremony on the 31st of July,” said Ginny, grinning.

 

That’ll give mum something to think about,” said Ron.  “Speaking of which, Hermione, we have to set a date too.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

 

“What would you think of having a double wedding?” asked Harry, still looking at Ginny.

 

“Unless you’d rather have your own,” began Ginny.

 

“That would be excellent!” said Ron, grinning at Harry.  “That is, if Hermione and Ginny don’t mind sharing.”

 

“Weddings, no,” said Ginny, grinning broadly, “Husbands, yes!”

 

Everyone chuckled appreciatively.

 

“Besides,” added Ginny, “It’s just a gesture for Harry and I, anyway, so it’s really up to you, Hermione.”

 

“Of course I don’t mind!” said Hermione, smiling broadly.  “ We do everything else together after all!”

 

Harry, Ron and Neville all looked at her with raised eyebrows.

 

“Well, O.K., not everything, but, well, you know what I mean!” she said, going slightly pink.  “Besides, it would be just plain practical to have one wedding with one guest list and one ceremony and reception instead of two!”

 

“Trust Hermione to be practical about her wedding!” said Ron happily.

 

“At this rate your mum and dad will have all seven of you married off in no time!” said Harry, listing them out on his fingers.  “Bill last April, Fred this Christmas, you and Ginny next summer — officially!” he said, catching Ginny’s look.

 

“And Charlie, if Tonks has her way,” said Ginny, sniggering.

 

“Which leaves just George and Percy,” said Ron.

 

“And George is spoken for,” said Harry.

 

“You mean Gabrielle?” said Ron, scowling slightly.  “Harry, mate, she’s only thirteen.”

 

“Yeah, and he’s crazy about her,” said Harry.

 

“”Well, obviously, but anything can happen in four years, she’s still in school after all!”

 

“You’re right, Ron,” said Ginny with a smug sort of smile, “anything can happen while you’re still in school.”

 

Ron conceded defeat by throwing a corner of toast at Ginny across the table.

 

“Mark my words, Ron,” said Harry, grinning at Ginny as she lobbed a half-eaten sausage at Ron and hit him square between the eyes.  “George and Gabrielle are going to end up together.”

 

“Yeah, we recognize the symptoms,” said Ginny, her laugh turned into a squeal as Ron reached across the table and stuffed his entire fried tomato into her mouth.

 

“Speaking of which,” said Ron with a significant glance down the table to where Gabrielle sat chatting unconcernedly with Euan Abercombie and Dennis Creevey.  “I thought that when Veela girls hit puberty they were supposed to go nutters or something.”

 

“She seems like a normal girl to me,” said Harry.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s you,” said Ron darkly.  “Haven’t you noticed the change in Gabrielle, Neville?”

 

“Yeah,” said Neville, looking down the table and swallowing slightly.  “She’s really coming into her own, isn’t she?”

 

“It’s genetic!” said Hermione hotly.  “She can’t help how the changes in her make you lot feel!”

 

“It’s not like that,” said Neville, going scarlet.  “It’s just obvious that she’s going to be a real knockout and-”

 

“And every now and then you catch yourself wondering what it would be like to be with her,” said Hermione with a nasty grin.

 

“Well-”

 

“I swear, Hermione,” said Ginny with a grin that reminded Harry forcibly of the twins, “It’s got to be a real pain - being a slave to the male sex drive.”

 

“Now look!” said Harry defensively.

 

“Not you, Harry,” said Hermione dismissively.  “You’ve obviously got a handle on your hormones.

 

“I don’t know about that!” said Harry, eyeing Ginny appraisingly and waggling his eyebrows.

 

“Well that’s understandable,” said Hermione dismissively.  “What I’m talking about is having, oh I don’t know, urges I guess you could call them that have nothing to do with someone you really care about, but that are purely physical.”

 

Now you’ve got her going,” said Ron, heaving a great sigh, “she’ll be on this subject for a year or two.”

 

“It’s juvenile!” said Hermione hotly.  “I mean, I realize that a Veela’s chemistry does something to most men, but you’d think that they could realize what they’re dealing with and not slobber so!” she said disgustedly.  “Besides that, she’s still just a kid.”

 

“Not at the rate she’s going,” said Ron, eyeing Gabrielle appreciatively.  “What I was saying Hermione, originally, was that someone said that usually when a Veela’s genetics kick in, it usually sends them into an emotional upheaval.”

 

“I mentioned it to Fleur,” said Ginny at last, “And she didn’t seem all that surprised.

 

“Mentioned what?” said Ron obtusely. 

 

“The fact that Gabrielle seems to be adjusting without any significant difficulties, on her part anyway,” said Ginny, throwing a dirty look at Ron.

 

“And what did she say?” asked Harry curiously.

 

Ginny grinned broadly. “She said that it was probably because Gabrielle had already given away her heart,” said Ginny softly.  “She already knows where she belongs and doesn’t have to work it out.”

 

“What do you mean, she’s given away her heart?” asked Neville.

 

“To George,” said Harry quietly and they all stared at him.

 

“You saw him and Gabrielle on the platform,” said Ginny.

 

“Well, yeah, but I figured it was just, I don’t know, a passing fancy or something,” said Ron, looking stunned.

 

Ginny shook her head.

 

“Those two have known each other before.”

 

“What, you mean like when they met at the Tri-wizard tournament?” Ron’s entire forehead was wrinkled in confusion.

 

“Don’t be thick, Ron, they’re soulmates,” said Hermione shortly.

 

Everyone sat contemplating this bit of information in silence for a few minutes.

 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” asked Neville, looking off towards the Ravenclaw table with an odd, lopsided smile on his face.

 

Definitely!” said Harry and Ginny in unison.

 

“Yeah, you two would though, wouldn’t you?”

*     *     *

 

 

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, as were end-of-term exams.  Most of the fifth and seventh years were already in a frenzy of studying, certain that these tests results would give them a good idea as to how they would do on the O.W.L.’s or N.E.W.T.’s

Harry listened carefully when Professor McGonagall addressed the class on N.E.W.T. procedures during the last class before their exams.

 

“I’m telling you now,” she told them all, “so that you can begin your practical presentations.  Just as in your O.W.L. exams, you will sit a written exam for your N.E.W.T.’s.  Your practical exam, however, will be a demonstration, by you, on everything you feel you have learned so far in that particular class so far.  A chance-” she looked at them all levelly, sounding disapproving, “to show off.”

 

“For example, if you were doing a practical in transfiguration, you might choose to perform a basic switching spell, a vanishing spell, followed by an object-to-animal transformation, followed by a forced human transformation, showing the progression of your skills, or, “her lips were twitching now, “you can always choose to do something a little more flashy.”

 

She waved her wand, and her desk became a horse.  Another wave of her wand, and her chair became a knight.  The knight vaulted onto the horse, raised his spear, and the pair of them became a pair of stone plinths, which melted themselves slowly to shape themselves once more into the form of Professor McGonagall’s desk.

 

“Of course, for those of you taking History of Magic, Ancient Runes, or Arithmancy, there is not much extra you can do.  For Potions, it is the complexity of the correctly concocted potion, while for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures; it is more the difficulty of your chosen subject and the demonstrated ease with which you handle it.  As for divination. . .” she sniffed loudly, but didn’t say another word.

 

“What do you think?” asked Ron as they headed down the Marble steps for lunch.

Harry shrugged, caught Ginny’s eye and grinned.  They would both be able to have some fun with the practicals.

 

“Too bad we can’t do our mage-fire bit,” said Harry.

“Show off!” hissed Ginny.

 

“You have to admit, it would earn us outstandings!”

 

“And a prison sentence! Mage-fire has been classified as a sure sign of Dark Magic.”

 

“What?” said Harry, completely astounded.  “I know that it’s been considered a myth, but Dark Magic?”

 

“Yeah, it was in the Daily Prophet yesterday.”

 

Harry groaned out loud, and Ron and Hermione, who had been chatting animatedly about what they would most likely do for their presentations, stopped talking abruptly and looked around at him with concern.

 

“Yeah, Hermione, did Crofton really put a ban on mage-fire?”

 

“Yes he did.  The ability to conjure mage-fire is listed among the attributes that distinguish a dark wizard.”

 

“What else was on the list?” asked Harry.

 

Hermione rummaged in her bag and pulled out a folded-up copy of the previous day’s newspaper.

 

“Page four,” she said, handing it to Harry.

 

He waited until they were seated at the lunch table in the Great Hall before opening the paper to the page Hermione had indicated and beginning to read.

 

DARK WIZARD DETECTION

 

Andrew Crofton, Head of the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection, has announced the creation of a list of attributes common to Dark Wizards and / or practitioners of the Dark Arts.

 

“It is very important that the magical community is made aware of the dangers inherent in the following practices,” said Crofton at an interview on Friday.  “While not all of these attributes are indicators of Dark Magic, many of them can lead to the practice of Dark Magic.  As such, they should be avoided at all costs.  Any person seeing the listed attributes being used by another witch or wizard, regardless of how in how innocent-seeming a situation should immediately report them to the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection immediately.  Reception witches are on call 24 hours a day to take your report.  Failure to report a suspected practitioner of Dark Magic will be considered an offense and possible obstruction of justice and will be punishable by heavy fines.”  (For further information, see pg. 6).

 

 

Beside the article was a sidebar listing the “Possible Indicators of Dark Magic Practitioners” which included:

 

· Correspondence and / or communication with known or suspected Dark Arts Practicioners

 

· The use of an unforgivable curse against another human being

 

· The use of listed Dark Spells without Ministry authorization.

 

· Using a curse or jinx against another human that is not easily reversible by accepted Ministry of Magic guidelines

 

· The use or possession of Viritaserum without Ministry of Magic authorization

 

· The demonstrated ability to speak Parsletounge

 

· Magical ability beyond the known ability of the practitioner.

 

· The harboring or aiding of non-licensed non or part-humans.

 

· Producing Magical effects without the use of a registered wand

 

· The knowledge and / or practice of Legilimency

 

· The knowledge and / or practice of Occlumency

 

· Possession of articles or items which could be considered as questionable (see pg. 12 for a full list)

 

· The Practice of elemental magic

 

· The ability to conjure the effect known as mage-fire

 

· Apparating farther than fifty miles without checking in at a maintained Ministry

       Apparition Checkpoint.

 

· Failure of Animagi or Animorphmagi to report their ability to the proper Ministry Department for Registration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Better take me away now I guess,” said Harry with a snort.  “According to this list I’m a full-fledged Dark Wizard!”

 

“It’s not funny, Harry!” said Hermione seriously. “You’d better be really, really careful.  You could be in real trouble just for knowing how to manipulate matter, forget actually doing it!” she said quietly.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“Even if they heard about it from someone, they couldn’t prove it.  By their own rules they can’t force me to do something I choose not to show them.”

 

“There’s always Viritaserum,” said Hermione.

 

“Well, there is that,” said Harry with a shudder.

 

He remembered all too well how Barty Crouch had spilled all his secrets when Viritaserum had been given to him after Harry had come out of the maze alive.

 

“So be careful, Harry,” said Hermione.  Her eyes were wide and concerned.  “I don’t know what all you and Dumbledore are studying, but I’m certain most of it could be considered Dark Magic by Crofton and his lot, and since it’s common knowledge that you’re apprenticing with Dumbledore. . .”

 

Oddly enough, the afternoon’s lesson with Dumbledore was on resisting truth serums.

 

“It’s a matter of willpower,” said Dumbledore, motioning to the handful of vials on the table before him.  “If you know you are being given a truth serum, there are ways to resist, just as you resisted the Imperious curse that Moody, excuse me, Crouch put on you your fourth year.

 

Harry shuddered.  He still remembered the blissful feeling of emptiness that the curse had induced and how all his own willpower had seemed to vanish.

 

“Tonight we will be administering each of these to you in turn.  Don’t worry, I won’t ask anything too very personal,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.  “But the point is for you to resist their power, just as you did with the imperious curse.”

 

He turned to the bottles, pointing at each one in turn. 

 

“These two,” he said, “are the most easily accessible truth serums.  They don’t force you to talk.  They simply make you incapable of lying for a set amount of time.  Many Wizarding parents administer these regularly to their adolescent children,” said Dumbledore, frowning slightly.  “Since there is no coercion involved, it is not considered to be illegal.  The reasoning behind that being that the person who drinks it does not have to talk after all,” he said, grimacing, “but if they do talk, they will tell nothing but the truth.  When I administer these, Harry, I will ask you a question that I know you will answer yes to.  It is your assignment to purposefully lie to me.”

 

Dumbledore poured out a teaspoonful of the first bottle’s liquid and Harry drank it down quickly.

 

“So, Harry, are you an Animagus?” asked Dumbledore.

 

Of course he was!  Harry was about to open his mouth to say so, when he shut it again, remembering what it was he was supposed to be doing.

 

“I, I’ve read about Animagi,” he managed, keeping his face as guileless as possible.

 

“On your own, or in class?” prompted Dumbledore.

 

“In class of course,” said Harry, stumbling only slightly over the urge to come clean this time.

 

Dumbledore then asked him several other questions and Harry found the lies coming more readily to his lips.  It was fairly easy, actually.  Isn’t this sort of what he’d been doing with his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia his whole life?  Knowing he should be honest, but lying anyway to make life easier for himself?

 

“Very good, Harry,” said Dumbledore, smiling bemusedly as Harry vehemently denied that the sorting hat had ever considered putting him in Slytherin.  “Very convincing.”

 

He gave his wand a wave, and Harry felt the urge to tell the truth vanish quite suddenly.  The next bottle was nearly the same as the first, and Harry by now found it quite easy to shake off its effects entirely.  The next two bottles were babbling beverages.

 

“Usually they will make you talk non-stop about whatever comes into your head,” said Dumbledore warningly.  “If you don’t talk, the person who administered the draught will become suspicious, so the trick is to talk nonstop about anything but what they want to hear.

 

Harry found this much more difficult.  He wasn’t given to chattering anyway.  The sudden urge to say whatever came into his head took nearly half an hour to master.  It took another half hour to put together a coherent, harmless prattle that would be convincing.

 

Dumbledore removed the aftereffects of these as well, and turned to the last bottle on the table.

 

“Viritaserum,” said Harry with a shiver. 

 

He’d seen the effects of this most potent truth serum firsthand when it had been administered to Mr. Crouch’s son.  Professor Umbridge had attempted to get him to drink some in his fifth year so she could find Sirius Black and Professor Dumbledore, both of whom had been wanted by the Ministry at the time.

 

“Is there a special trick to this one?” asked Harry, eyeing the bottle warily.

 

“Unfortunately, no,” said Dumbledore with a grimace.  “It even works on the strong-willed.  You saw what it did to Crouch, and he, like you, had actually thrown off the Imperious curse.”

 

“So what makes you think I’ll be any different?” said Harry, swallowing very hard as Dumbledore shook out three drops into a spoon.

 

“I just have a suspicion,” said Dumbledore.

 

He handed the spoon to Harry, who closed his eyes and swallowed the liquid in one gulp.

 

It felt as if he had just taken one of Madam Pomfrey’s potions for dreamless sleep.  He felt so very comfortable.  Waves of drowsiness were washing over him, and then there was nothing, nothing but the sound of Dumbledore’s voice.  It was a compelling, convincing voice, not a voice he would ever be able to lie to.  He would, of course, tell it whatever it wanted to know, for it would never do him any harm.  The voice would take care of him, he was confident of that.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, what is your relationship to Ms. Weasley?”

 

Harry opened his mouth.

 

“She’s, she’s my-” but another voice was now arguing with Dumbledore’s in his head.  Why would Albus Dumbledore be asking what Ginny’s relationship was to him?  He’d been there when they were joined.  He’d signed their Marriage Certificate. 

 

“What is your relationship to Ms. Ginny Weasley, Mr. Potter?”

 

Was it a trick?  Was it Voldemort in disguise?  No, Voldemort knew about he and Ginny.  It had to be someone from the Ministry.  But why would they want to know about him and Ginny, unless it was to get one or both of them in trouble?

 

“Mr. Potter,”

 

“She’s my girlfriend,” said Harry quickly.  A white-hot wave of guilt filled him as he said it.  How could he lie to such a well-meaning voice?  What could it hurt to tell the voice that they were married?

 

“O.K. then, Mr. Potter, tell me where the Headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix is located?”

 

Now Harry knew that the voice couldn’t be trusted.  Dumbledore, the real Dumbledore wouldn’t ask him this.  He wouldn’t have to ask.

 

“What’s The Order of the Phoenix?” asked Harry, pulling an expression of curiosity onto his face.

 

Suddenly the emptiness and drowsiness was gone.  Dumbledore was standing in front of him, grinning and nodding his head.

 

“I knew you could do it, Harry!” he said, beaming.

 

“I, I thought you weren’t going to ask me personal questions,” said Harry, rubbing his forehead furiously.  His scar felt as if it were on fire.

 

“It was the only way I could ensure that you’d resist, Harry.  Trivial questions, questions that didn’t really matter wouldn’t have goaded you into resisting the serum’s effects.”

 

“When you asked about the Order,” said Harry, “I knew it wasn’t you.”

 

“Exactly.  Someone interrogating you using Viritaserum will not be asking you the score of your last Quidditch match or what house you were sorted into,” said Dumbledore with a grim smile.

 

Harry went to stand up, but sank down again quickly, a hand over his mouth.

 

“Oops!” said Dumbledore, conjuring a pail out of thin air and handing it to Harry who was promptly and violently sick in it.

 

“I think we may have overdone it for tonight,” said Dumbledore.  He extinguished the torches with a wave of his wand and steered Harry up the ramp and into his office. 

 

“We’re a bit early, but I think we’ll call it a day.”

 

Harry, still rather pale and clammy, was grateful when Professor Dumbledore personally took him back to Gryffindor tower.  He steered him through the portrait hole and handed him off to Ron, who looked alarmed at his condition.

 

“It’s O.K., Mr. Weasley,” said Professor Dumbledore.  “There is nothing wrong with him that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

 

Harry wasn’t so sure about that.  His head was swimming.  Thoughts and memories were roiling about as if his brain were a cauldron that was on the verge of boiling over.

 

The rest of the common room had gone deathly silent when Professor Dumbledore had appeared.  They watched apprehensively as Harry was half carried by Ron and Neville up to the dormitory.

 

It took both of them to get Harry into his pajamas and into bed, where he lay, trembling slightly, his scar burning so painfully that he threw up twice more in just a few minutes.

 

“I’ll get Ginny,” said Neville, turning to go back down to the common room. 

 

Ginny, however, was already there.  She made a beeline for Harry’s bed and crawled right in with him, pulling him across her lap and cradling his head against her chest. Ron and Neville exchanged glances.  With a shrug, Ron pulled the hangings tightly shut all the way around.

 

“If anyone can bring him around, she will,” said Neville, and then they were gone.

 

And then there was only the pain, and the silence, and the tumultuous, roiling thoughts and insides and then, through the silence, came a voice.

 

“Come to me, Harry,” said Ginny softly, and he didn’t have the strength to fight.

 He could feel her hands, cool and smooth against the skin of his neck and face and the scent of her, the combination of citrus and sandalwood was filling his head, driving back the waves of nausea, and she was there, in his mind, her vibrant spirit smoothing out the roiling thoughts and turbulent emotions that the cocktail of truth serum’s had stirred up.  And then she was singing, her voice, clear and calming was filling his ears and his mind:

 

You’ll always be

My love my own

Where you are dearest

I’ll call home.

 

If you should fly

To heaven’s star

I’ll follow

To be where you are

 

Not fire nor water

Earth nor air

Could keep me

If you want me there

 

And yet if you

Should turn away

Refuse my love

I would not stay

 

But cast away

From sleeps fair shore

Of you to dream

Forevermore.

 

It was their song; the song he had heard when they had first merged their minds and she had given him back the memory of his parents, the song she’d sung at Bill’s wedding the day they were joined.  Smiling, Harry finally drifted off to sleep as Ginny held him in her arms and heart and mind.

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry was dreaming.  He knew he was dreaming, for he had never seen mountains of this magnificence before, layers upon layers of them, going off to the very edge of the horizon.  It was sunrise here, wherever here was.  The thinness of the mountain air made breathing difficult.

 

Perhaps it was the after effects of the truth serums, but for some reason everything had an unreal clarity, as if he had stepped into a moving Wizarding photograph, except in color instead of black and white.  The village in the valley below him looked like a picture postcard.  There were stone houses with smoke rising from their chimneys; goats and donkeys (and were those llamas?) tethered in their yards.

 

But it was the small stone cottage on the slope directly below him that caught Harry’s attention.  It had a definite air of neglect.  There were holes in the thatch and the front doorstep was visibly crumbling, but that was his destination, yes.  The one he had been sent to find was there. Harry strode down the slope; his wand was drawn, clutched tightly in his left hand, held down by his side.

 

“Alohamora!” cried Harry, pointing his wand (no, it wasn’t his wand, it wasn’t Voldemort’s either.  It was a wand he didn’t recognize) at the door, which burst open, in a shower of green sparks.

 

The form of a man was rising from its pallet on the floor, reaching for a wand that was laying beside him.  The man had obviously been startled out of a sound sleep.

 

“Stupefy!” shouted Harry as the man went for the wand laying beside him. 

 

The man keeled over and Harry stood over him, a wave of euphoria washing through him as he conjured ropes out of thin air and bound the man tightly, then stuffed a rag into the man’s mouth, tying it tightly behind his head. Harry stood up then, panting slightly and observed his handiwork with pride.

 

“I’ve done just as he asked,” said Harry in an oddly nasal and, to his ears, high-pitched voice (although not has cold and cruel as Voldemort’s voice).  “Not a hair harmed.  Even he couldn’t have done any better.”

 

Whose eyes was he seeing this through? Harry wondered.  And who was the wizard who he, or the person whose experience he was sharing, had stunned before he could reach his wand?  Harry squinted at the man, who had collapsed on the hearthrug, but he was lying face down, and the light from the dying fire was insufficient to illuminate him in any more detail.

 

Still feeling very proud of himself, Harry rolled back the sleeve of his left arm, exposing the ghastly reddish-black outline of the Dark Mark.  He pulled a small vial from his pocket and, trembling slightly, shook three drops onto the mark.  It began to bubble with a sinister sizzling, and suddenly the Mark turned schorchingly black, and a pain shot up Harry’s arm.  He clutched his left arm with his right, cradling it gently in a hand that cast an eerie silvery glow in the gloom of the cottage.

 

It was Wormtail, the man who had betrayed Harry’s parents to Lord Voldemort.  The man who had faked his own death to escape Sirius Black’s anger when he had tracked him down, causing Sirius to take the blame for the murders he had committed.  Sirius had spent twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, while Peter Petigrew, who was an Animagus, had spent the same twelve years disguised as the Weasley’s pet rat.

When the truth had finally been discovered, and it looked as if Sirius’s name would finally be cleared, Wormtail had escaped again and had rejoined Lord Voldemort, helping him to come back to full power.

 

Put what was he, Harry, doing in Peter Petigrew’s mind?  With a nasty clenching of his stomach, Harry realized that his having saved Peter’s life in the shrieking shack must be responsible for him now being able to see through Petigrew’s eyes, but if that was so, why was this ability only making itself known now? In moments, cloaked and hooded figures were apparating all about him in the cottage.

 

“It is done as you requested, my Lord,” said Wormtail.  He was crouched now in a sort of half-bow.

 

“You have done well, Wormtail,” replied a high, cold voice that sent armies of centipedes scuttling up Harry’s spine.  “He will reveal all that he knows,” said Voldemort.

 

“And if he doesn’t?” came Lucias Malfoy’s voice from a hooded figure on Harry’s right. 

 

“Oh, he will,” said Voldemort with a mirthless laugh.  “And when I have extracted the information from his mind, I will dispose of him, as I did with Bertha Jorkins.”

 

Two other hooded figures stepped forward and turned the stunned wizard onto his back.  As the light from Lucias Malfoy’s wand fell across the prone man’s face, Ginny’s voice reverberated in Harry’s head.

 

“Charlie!  Charlie, no!”

 

Harry quickly shushed her, Wormtail mustn’t know that they were there, that they had seen, as it was he had startled when Ginny had screamed. With a stupendous effort, Harry yanked himself out of Wormtail’s mind.  His eyes snapped open.  Ginny was standing beside his bed, her eyes huge and scared.  Harry shook Ron awake.

 

“Put on your robe and slippers,” he said shortly, slipping on his own.  He then marched Ron down to the now deserted common room.

 

“Harry, what the hell is going on!” said Ron groggily as they reached the common room.  “Ginny?  What’s wrong?” he said, alarmed when he saw the expression on her face.

 

“We have to see Dumbledore,” she said quietly, addressing Harry.

 

“Yes,” said Harry.  “I’ll tell him we’re coming.”  He turned to face south.  “I call forth fire,” he said softly.  The six salamanders popped out of thin air.  Behind him he could hear Ron swear loudly and Ginny shushing him.  He scribbled a note on a spare bit of parchment and tucked it under the collar of the nearest salamander.

 

“Take this to Dumbledore,” he directed it.  “Wait in his office for me unless he has a message for us.”  He dismissed the rest, then turned north.  “I call forth air.”  He sent four of the Wind Sprites to Charlie’s aid.  “His name is Charlie Weasley, he has red hair and freckles, he’s somewhere in the mountains, a stone cottage, protect him!  Get him away from the Death Eaters,” he directed them.  “Just get him out of harm’s way, someplace where he’ll be safe, then report back to me.”

 

“Blimey, Harry!” said Ron weakly.

 

Ignoring him, Harry took Ron’s arm and steered him to Dumbledore’s office.  Dumbledore was standing by a large mirror talking not to his reflection, but to a large grouping of people, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who both looked pale and shaken, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks.

 

“I’ll go!” said Tonks at once, and Harry knew instinctively that she was volunteering to go find Charlie.

 

“Wait, Professor,” said Harry as Dumbledore made to dismiss those in the mirror.  “He might not be there anymore.”

 

“Be where?” said Ron weakly.  Ginny hushed him again.

 

“What do you mean, Harry?” said Dumbledore sharply.

 

“I sent him some,” he glanced at the mirror, and then back at Dumbledore, “Some help.  I told them to remove Charlie from harm’s way as quickly as possible.”

 

“I’m not just going to sit here!” Tonks snapped.  She looked angrier and at the same time more scared than Harry had ever seen her.

 

“Go ahead, Nymphadora, the location I gave you is as good a place to start as any, but stay out of sight, and keep in touch.  I want you reporting in every hour with your new coordinates.”

 

Tonks turned and walked out of the mirror without another word.

 

“You saw the attack, Potter?” growled Moody from the mirror.  Both his normal and magical eyes were fixed on Harry.

 

“Yes,” said Harry.  “I saw the whole thing through Peter Petigrew’s eyes.”  He then launched into a complete description of his dream, recalling every detail he could remember.  Ginny interrupted a number of times with details he had not noticed.  If any of the others in the mirror or Dumbledore’s office found this odd, they were reserving comment.

 

When those in the mirror finally disappeared, Dumbledore turned to Ron, who was now as white as a sheet.

 

“Your brother Charlie has disappeared on a top-secret mission for The Order of the Phoenix,” he said calmly.  “It seems that he has been intercepted.”

 

“Is he O.K.?” asked Ron through white lips.

 

Harry, whose scar had been burning fiercely since his dream, shrugged.

 

“I, I can’t tell,” he said, closing his eyes and furrowing his forehead in concentration.

There was a sudden, searing bolt of pain, and Harry had fallen to his hands and knees and was retching onto the hearthrug. 

 

The pain!  Oh God, the pain was unbearable!   It was going to split his head in two!  As he pressed his throbbing head into the hearthrug, a wildly sickening jolt of pleasure pierced his consciousness.  He’d done it!  And then it was gone. Dumbledore’s office was gone.

 

He was back in the stone cottage, looking down at Charlie Weasley, whose face was now slack and unresponsive, his eyes glazed, his head lolling unpleasantly.  He’d broken through the fool’s defenses!

 

“It is not difficult, Lucias,” Harry was saying in Voldemort’s high, merciless voice.  His tone was calm and instructive, as if he were teaching a lesson to a particularly bright student.

 

“It is merely a matter of breaking through the mind’s defenses.  Now he will tell us anything we want to know.  I could ask him how many times his mother has cooked porridge for breakfast, and he would give me an accurate answer.  Unfortunately, this method does have its drawbacks.  He resisted our standard probing.  Since we had to resort to this method, once we have extracted the information, his mind will be completely useless to us, and he will have to be disposed of.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” said Malfoy, looking with interest at Charlie’s slack face.

“Interesting,” said Malfoy with a wry smile.  “He doesn’t look that much different now than he does normally.”

 

Several of the other Death Eaters chuckled appreciatively.

 

“Now watch, Lucias, as I-” but at that instant, the wall of the cottage collapsed inwards with a crash.  Through the dust and debris Harry could just see a huge form scoop Charlie up in its great shaggy arms and disappear in a heat-haze-like shimmer.

 

Harry screamed in rage, his scar was splitting, he was sure of it now, and suddenly he was back in front of Dumbledore’s fire, clutching his head and screaming incoherently.  The white-hot heat was piercing him, consuming him.  He couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t-

Harry!” it was Ginny’s voice in his head, he looked up at her, his eyes streaming with pain.  She was knelling on the hearthrug in front of him.  Her hands were on his shoulders, her eyes just inches from his, were cool and clear.  If only he could immerse himself in them, for just a moment, perhaps he could cool his head enough to think!

 

And then, without warning, she was there, in his mind, her cool, calming awareness, though stunned and angered by what he’d seen and felt, was soothing the pain in Harry’s head as easily and effectively as one of Madam Pomfrey’s balms could sooth a burn.

In a matter of minutes, the pain had receded to a tolerable level and Harry, panting slightly, picked himself up off the hearthrug.

 

“He, he’s gone,” said Harry, his voice oddly scratchy, his throat raw from screaming.

 

“Who’s gone,” said Dumbledore as he and Ron helped Harry to his feet.

 

“Charlie’s gone.”

 

“Gone where, Harry?”

 

“I, I don’t know!” said Harry, shaking his head.  He stopped very quickly.  Shaking his head made it ache even more.  “Voldemort broke through Charlie’s defenses, he was telling, telling Mr. Malfoy that Charlie had resisted their standard probes and that they would have to completely destroy his mind in order to get the information they wanted out of it, and just as he was about to do it, something huge and, and hairy crashed through the wall of the hut.  It grabbed Charlie and disappeared right there in front of everybody.”

 

“Disappeared?”

 

“Yeah, it shimmered, and then it was gone!”

 

“Was it a Demiguise?”

 

“Much bigger,” said Harry.

 

An instant later Harry’s Wind Sprites had appeared, glowing eerily blue in the dim light of Dumbledore’s office.

 

“Was that your doing?” Harry asked the nearest Sprite. It nodded.  “Where is Charlie Weasley now?” asked Harry.

 

The Sprite shrugged.

 

“What did you do with him?” Harry asked nervously.

 

Another Sprite answered.

 

“We removed him from harm’s way, as per your instructions.”

 

“Where is he then?”

 

The Sprite shrugged.

 

“He is gone,” it said simply.

 

“Gone where?” Harry roared in frustration.

 

“We do not know, master,” said another Sprite apologetically.  “We merely convinced them that it was necessary to remove Charlie from the cottage.  They took him away.  Our assignment was complete.  He had been removed from harm’s way.”

 

Who removed him?” Harry asked in an almost normal voice.

 

“The Yeti,” said all four Wind Sprites in unison.  Together their voices sounded like wind chimes.

 

“Th-thank you,” said Harry faintly, looking at Dumbledore, whose mouth was hanging open in astonishment.  “You may go.”

 

The Sprites winked out, and Dumbledore sank into the nearest chair.

 

“Let me get this straight,” said Ron in a hoarse voice.  “You sent those, those-”

 

“Wind Sprites,” supplied Ginny.

 

“You sent those Wind Sprites to rescue Charlie, and they responded by having him rescued by a Yeti?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“We have to trust them,” said Dumbledore, coming to himself with a snap.

 

“The Yeti?” said Ron incredulously.

 

“The elementals,” said Dumbledore softly.  “They are all-knowing.  They have a better grasp of reality than we do by far.”

 

“But the Yeti?” said Ron.

 

“If they say Charlie is out of harm’s way, then he is out of harm’s way.”  Dumbledore paused, then called forth his own Fire Dwellers and sent two of them to look for Charlie.  They returned in a matter of minutes.

 

“He is safe.  He is alive.  But where he is we can not go.”  And they left it at that.

“One thing is for certain,” said Dumbledore quietly.  “Nymphadora is going to need help.”

 

Ron, Ginny and Harry stayed with Dumbledore until the rest of the Order had been updated as to Charlie’s condition before he sent them back to their dormitories to sleep if they could.

 

“There’s nothing more you can do for him,” Dumbledore had said firmly when Ron had protested.  “I will keep you informed, Mr. Weasley.

 

By the time they had gotten back to Gryffindor tower, the others were beginning to stir.

 

“There’s no point in going back to bed,” Harry told Ginny.

 

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried!” said Ginny, who was still very pale.

 

“We’ll meet you and Hermione down here for breakfast,” said Harry. 

 

He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek and headed up to his dormitory to change.

 

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

None of them ate very much, and Harry found that he kept glancing up at the staff table, hoping, no doubt, for some sign from Dumbledore.  Dumbledore, however, was sitting in his chair, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling over his steepled fingers, apparently deep in thought. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had their head together, and were talking rapidly in low voices. Harry felt Ginny’s hand slip into his.  It was trembling slightly.

 

He’ll be O.K., Ginny.”

 

“If anything happens to Charlie, I don’t know what it’ll do to mum.”

 

“She understands the dangers of being a member of the Order, Ginny.”

 

“In her mind she understand,” Ginny corrected him.  “But at heart she’s still a mother, and I don’t think her heart would understand at all.”

 

“Damn!” said Ron finally, after buttering his fifth slice of toast.  The other four were sitting beside his plate, untouched. 

 

“I just wish there was something I could do!” said Harry fiercely, looking from Ginny, who was still very pale, to Ron, who looked rather green.

 

“If it weren’t for you, Harry, he’d be dead already,” said Ron gruffly, tossing his fifth piece of toast onto the stack by his plate.

 

“But how do we know that the Yeti didn’t kill him anyway?” asked Harry.

 

“Because Dumbledore said that those elementals reported he was safe,” said Hermione.  “From what I’ve read about elemental magic, they are supposed to be really wise and knowledgeable, as well as powerful.”

 

“You’ve got the powerful bit straight,” muttered Harry.

 

“I can’t even pretend to understand what I saw you conjure, Harry,” said Ron, looking at Harry in awe.  “You said they were elementals, but what are elementals?”

 

“Elementals are physical manifestations of a particular element, earth, fire, water or air.  The ones I conjured were Wind Sprites.  The one that looked like a salamander that Dumbledore conjured was a Fire Dweller.  There are Earth Spirits and Water Demons too.”

 

“Is this part of your apprenticeship then?” asked Ron in a faint voice.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“And you can’t tell us how-”

 

“I promised,” said Harry, shaking his head.

 

Ron sighed heavily.

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re on our side, anyway.

 

They headed off for classes.  Care of Magical Creatures was rather subdued.  Hagrid was obviously preoccupied.  He had set them to drawing pictures of Dugbogs; marsh-dwelling creatures that looked like bits of floating wood which, on closer inspection examination will reveal finned paws, and very sharp teeth.  These creatures were known to glide and slither through marshland, feeding mainly on small mammals, and will do severe injury to the ankles of human walkers, but especially to Mandrake’s, which they would leave a bloody, mangled mess.

 

“I’m headin out this afternoon,” Hagrid said in an undertone as he bent to inspect Ron’s picture.  “Dumbledore thinks I might have more luck trackin him than Tonks alone.”

 

“What about your classes, Hagrid?” asked Hermione concernedly.

 

“Grubbly-Plank will takin them for me.  I may be gone over Christmas.”

 

“I hope you find him, Hagrid,” said Harry gruffly.

 

“Yeah, me too,” said Hagrid.  There was an odd catch in his voice.  “I don’t want ye two worryin,” he said to Ron and Ginny.  “Charlie’s tough.  If anyone can hang on, he can.”

 

“Thanks Hagrid,” said Ginny softly.

 

“Yeah, if anyone can find him, you can,” said Ron attempting a smile.

 

Charms passed in a blur.  Harry couldn’t concentrate enough to even pretend to make the proper wand movements.  He waited instead until Flitwick had turned away before turning Ron’s hair blonde and curly just by blinking at him.

 

“Oh excellent, Mr. Potter!  Excellent!” squeaked Flitwick when he saw the result.

 

“He’s gonna catch you out someday, Harry,” hissed Ron after Flitwick had turned away again.

 

“I can’t concentrate!” Harry protested.

 

“And I can?” said Ron, attempting to turn Harry’s hair red with the proper enchantment, but only managing to give it purple highlights.

 

Harry actually fell asleep in Potions, which he managed to get through without even one disparaging comment Snape, which had to be a first.

 

By the time classes were over, Harry was exhausted.  He felt as if he’d been awake for days, and his scar, while no longer burning, was prickling unpleasantly.

 

“And we have exams starting Monday!” groaned Ron as they made their way up to the common room after supper.

 

“Quidditch practice on for tomorrow?” asked Harry distractedly.

 

“Yeah,” said Ron.  “Yeah, I suppose I should remind the others.”  And he tromped off to find the Creeveys, Gabrielle and Euan.

 

“I suppose it’ll help take our mind off of things,” said Harry, staring into the fire.

 

Anything’s better than sitting around, wondering if there’s any news,” said Hermione desperately.

 

“I don’t see how any of us will have any trouble sleeping, anyway,” yawned Ginny.

 

“Not after last night,” agreed Harry, wincing at the memory of the pain in his scar.

 

“Does it still hurt, Harry?” asked Ginny concernedly.

 

“Not like it did last night,” said Harry.  “Voldemort is definitely not happy with the way things turned out.  But last night, last night he was furious!”  Harry shuddered.  “And this was with all my defenses up.  He’s getting more powerful, Ginny, much more powerful.”

 

Ginny, who was standing behind his chair, wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek against his.

 

Stay with me tonight, Harry.”

 

“Are you afraid I’ll have another dream?”

 

“If you do, you do.  But I think we’ll both sleep better if we sleep together.

 

Interesting thought!” said Harry, turning his head and burying his face in her long, silky hair, wishing desperately that he could loose himself in the scent and taste and feel of her, right here and now.

 

Interesting thought!” said Ginny, catching his thoughts with a grin.

 

And so, as they did so often, Harry and Ginny went to sleep that night with their minds merged, letting the double-awareness lull them into an almost trance-like state.

Ginny slipped into sleep first.  Harry could sense her relaxing, and then she was gone, and while he could still feel her sleeping mind resting gently in his, he couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep himself.  Instead, he pulled back the hangings and gazed out at the moon as it tracked its way across the night sky.

 

He had saved Charlie’s life by using the Wind Sprites, or had he made things worse?  If he’d inadvertently made things worse, how would he ever be able to face Mr. and Mrs. Weasley again?

 

God, he was so tired!  If only he could relax enough to sleep.  He stared out the window at the moon.  What he needed was to get out on his broom and fly, clear his mind, feel the wind in his hair.

 

Or his feathers.

 

He had changed almost without effort.  With a low hoot, he swooped out of the dormitory window and off across the lake.  What a gloriously weightless feeling!  He soared up into the night sky, higher and higher, attempting to lose himself in the all-encompassing face of the moon.

 

There was a rustle of wings behind him, and ghostly shape appeared at his wingtip.  It was Hedwig, she knew who he was.  Her Amber eyes were reproachful and she was obviously determined to ensure that he would not be alone.  He hooted at her, telling her to go hunt, that he’d be O.K.

 

“Not until you’re safely inside!” she responded, clicking her beak anxiously.

 

Feeling guilty at intruding on her hunting time, and also incredibly refreshed from his nighttime jaunt, Harry wheeled about and headed towards the castle, intending to slip back into bed and have another go at attempting to sleep, but at the last minute he changed directions and swooped into a window on the other side of Gryffindor tower.

 

There were only three velvet-hung beds in this room.  Instead of posters of Quidditch and soccer teams, two of the beds had clippings from Witch Weekly on make-up tips and beauty charms taped to their mirrors.  The bedside tables beside these beds were littered with curlers and bottles of nail polish, odd hair ribbons and spare bits of parchment. The last bed, the one with the Ivy growing up the wall beside it, the one with the pots of African Violets on the beside table — among which stalked a model of a chubby black cat with emerald-green eyes — the one with the photo of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the wall.  That must be the one he was looking for.

 

Harry looked quickly around the room to ensure that no one was looking.  He fluttered to the floor on the far side of the bed and changed back into himself, slipping though the hangings as he did so.

 

Sure enough, Ginny was there, sleeping peacefully, her head pillowed on her arm, her hair spilling out in a dark fan across her pillow.  He turned back the covers and slipped in beside her, luxuriating in the feel of her skin against his, and grinning at the realization that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her sheet.  As he began running his hands down the length of her body, he could feel her beginning to stir.

 

When he looked again at her face, her eyes were open and she seemed about to speak, he could feel the words forming in her mind, but he covered her mouth with his own, her body with his, and in moments their bodies had joined as seamlessly as their minds and they were both soaring out into the night on the intensity of the emotions awakened by their embrace.

 

*    *     *

 

Well before dawn, Harry turned back into the owl and left the way he had come, fluttering back through his own window, changing back into himself, and slipping into bed.

 

When Ron woke him a few hours later for Quidditch Practice, Harry awoke feeling as rested and refreshed as if he had slept soundly all night.  He would have thought it had all been a dream if it hadn’t been for the violet on his bedside table beside his glasses.  He looked at it, grinning, before tucking it into his buttonhole and heading downstairs for breakfast

 

Back to index


Chapter 10: FRED TIES THE KNOT

CHAPTER TEN

FRED TIES THE KNOT

 

 

 

The weekend after exams was the last Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas holidays and Hogwarts emptied as its students descended on Hogsmeade for a bit of rest, relaxation and Christmas shopping before the holidays. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had decided to go into Hogsmeade for the distraction it would provide, and also because they needed to get some Christmas shopping done.

 

“What sort of wedding gift do you get a couple like Fred and Angelina?” said Ron in frustration, surveying the contents of the household goods store with something like disgust.

 

“What do they need?” asked Hermione practically.

 

“I can’t get Fred something he needs!” said Ron, staring at her.  “He’d never let me live it down!”

 

“What did you get Bill?” asked Harry interestedly.

 

“You know that obnoxious tap-dancing clown that Bill’s got on the shelf in his office?” said Ginny with a snigger.

 

“Tacky, Ron!” Harry groaned.

 

Exactly!” said Ron, his eyes lighting up.  “I’ve got a reputation to uphold here!”

 

Hermione heaved a sigh and added a delicate wickerwork sewing box to her pile of purchases.

 

“And who the devil is that for?” grumbled Ron.

 

“Gabrielle,” said Hermione breezily.  “She does beautiful embroidery work.”

 

“Miss. Indestructible Chaser, let’s-brush-off-any-guys-who-seem-interested-in-me, Gabrielle?” said Ron, leaning on the counter and tapping his fingers impatiently as Hermione filled the basket with skeins of brightly colored thread.

 

“Not every guy,” said Harry, thinking of George.  “Just Euan.”

 

“Poor Euan,” grinned Ginny as she fingered some bolts of silk on display at a nearby counter.  “He was so depressed when Gabrielle turned him down.”

 

“Well, she could have been a little less abrupt about it,” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

“He tried to kiss her outside of Charms, Ron, when she’d specifically asked him to leave her alone,” said Hermione severely.  “And more than once I might add.”

 

“Yeah, well, slapping him was hardly called for,” said Ron, shrugging.  “She’s a Veela, she’ll have to get used to it.”

 

“Why should she have to get used to it?” asked Hermione indignantly.  “How many times does a girl have to say ‘no’ before a guy takes it as a ‘no’ and not an, ‘I’m not sure’ or ‘take me I’m yours?’” said Hermione with a touch of asperity.

 

“He couldn’t help himself, Hermione.  He’s just a kid!” said Ron defensively.  “Do you realize just how difficult it is for a fourteen-year-old boy to resist the sexual pull that a Veela puts out?” he said seriously.

 

“Harry seemed to resist pretty well when we were fourteen!” snapped Hermione.

 

“Not at first, Hermione,” said Harry truthfully.  “I nearly jumped out of the top box when I first saw them.  It took some serious concentration to be able to ignore them.”

 

“And that’s Harry,” shrugged Ron.  “He can resist the Imperious curse, too.”

 

“Gabrielle is still Gabrielle,” said Ginny, interrupting their debate.  “Look at it from her side.  Can you imagine how hard it is for a thirteen-year-old girl to suddenly have the sexual magnetism of a siren when she’s been used to being a kid for so long?” she said, her eyebrows raised.  “I mean, most kids have a bit of a warning, their bodies changing and all of that, but poor Gabrielle’s changes overnight!”

 

“She seems to be handling it fairly well,” said Harry, tossing a ball of yarn to Ginny, who caught it deftly.  “It’s the guys around her that can’t control themselves.”

 

“At least it hasn’t affected her ability as a chaser,” said Ron, taking Hermione’s bag of purchases and tucking it under his arm.

 

Ginny replaced the ball of yarn in its crate with an odd look.

 

I had the sudden urge to bat it across the floor!” said Ginny with an audible giggle.

 

Harry chuckled. “Just your true playful nature coming out is all, Ginny.”

 

“You think so?” asked Ginny, shooting him an appraising look.

 

You’re just a wild-cat in disguise,” said Harry, pulling her close and growling low in her ear.

 

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “this sexual magnetism could come in handy during a match.”

“How so?” asked Hermione as they made their way down the steps and onto the pavement.

 

“Well, if it distracts the opposing team members . . .”

 

“Provided of course that they’re male,” interjected Ginny.

 

Ron waved dismissively.

 

“If she distracts them enough of the opposing team they might get careless,” said Ron,  an evil grin lighting up his face.

 

“You want Gabrielle to purposefully distract the male members of an opposing team?” said Hermione in a shocked tone.  “That’s exploitation, Ron!”

 

“Hermione,” said Ron reasonably.  “Not purposefully, no, but she’s a Veela!  She can’t help being attractive to 99% of the male species,” he said, shooting a disgruntled look at Harry, “and if they are distracted, and we know that they are going to be, we can plan for it!  We can be ready for their distraction, their natural distraction!”

 

Hermione sniffed loudly, but refrained from continuing the argument, which Harry thought probably meant that she couldn’t think of a good enough retort for Ron’s logic.  Harry grinned suddenly.  Ron did have a point with the bit about distraction.  He, Harry, had been distracted enough by Cho Chang, who had been the Ravenclaw Chaser, and she hadn’t even been part Veela.  And didn’t he have to purposefully ignore his initial impulse during Quidditch games to watch Ginny instead of the ball?

 

I wouldn’t recommend admitting that Ron’s right to Hermione,” advised Ginny.  “She can get pretty touchy about a woman using her looks to get what she wants.”

 

Don’t worry, Ginny, I’m not a complete idiot,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“Hey, look!” said Ginny excitedly.  “Is that George’s new shop?”

 

“Looks like it!” said Ron.

 

Next door to Honeydukes, an old house had been repainted and it’s new display windows had been soaped over to hide the goings on inside.  Over the door a red and gold sign had been erected.

 

WEASLEY’S WIZARDING WHEEZES ~ TAKE TWO!

 

A paper banner across the door read:  “Grand Opening, January 2nd!”

 

“Let’s check around back,” said Harry.

 

Sure enough, the back door was unlocked.  They let themselves in, Ron calling loudly to announce their presence.

 

“In here!” came a voice from the front room in response to their calls.  “I thought you lot might show up!” said George cheerfully.

 

He was standing, surrounded by boxes of merchandise which he was handing up to Lee, who was perched on the top step of a ladder, arranging the items George handed him carefully.

 

“Looks like you’re coming right along,” said Harry interestedly.

 

“We’ll do the bulk of our sales on Hogsmeade weekends of course,” said George cheerfully, “but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t do well enough during the rest of the year.”

 

“Of course you will,” said Ron enthusiastically.  “You should hear the kids talk about it!”

 

“Everyone’s looking forward to it,” Ginny agreed. 

 

“We ran out of samples ages ago,” said Harry, grinning.  “And a bunch of people have been asking about special orders.”

 

“Well, send them along!” said George, opening a new box.

 

There was a sudden clatter of footsteps on the basement stairs and a slim, silver-haired figure came breezing into the front room.  It was Gabrielle.

 

“They’re through!” she called, grinning broadly at George, then pulled up short at the sight of the others.

 

“It’s O.K., Gabe, they know about the tunnel already,” said Lee dismissively.

 

“Yeah, I’ve used it a few times myself,” said Harry, smiling at her.  “Is it true that they’re extending it to come into your basement?”

 

“Yeah, they just broke through,” repeated Gabrielle.  “The diggers I mean,” she explained.  “And they want to see you, George.  They asked for you specifically.”

 

“Verification that they are in the right place,” shrugged Lee when George had clattered off down to the basement.  “Trolls will never take someone else’s word that they have completed their assignment.”

 

“Trolls?” said Hermione nervously as Gabrielle took over where George had left off and was now handing things up to Lee.

 

“Cave trolls,” said Lee with a shrug.   “Bloody brilliant at mining or digging.  They do exactly as they’re told.  No more, no less.”

 

“Smelly bastards,” said George, coming back into the front room, his nose wrinkled in distaste.  “The workman Dumbledore recommended is coming tomorrow to fit a trap door on,” he told Lee.  “He signed a permission form to have his memory modified after the job is done. What do you think of my new clerk?” George asked Harry, nodding at Gabrielle.

 

“Clerk?” said Hermione quickly.

 

“Just on Hogsmeade weekends when he’s got the most business,” said Gabrielle, shrugging.  “Hogsmeade is fun and all,” she said dismissively, “but there’s not much here when you compare it to Paris or London.  Besides,” she said, giving George a dazzling smile, “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

 

A moment of silence met this pronouncement.  Harry could feel George’s thoughts spilling out in a wild torrent.

 

What had he done to deserve the admiration and loyalty of someone like Gabrielle?  How could he possibly show her how much he truly cared without scaring her off?  She was still so young!  And what would he ever do if she lost interest in him, for he belonged to her.  He knew it, he felt it, but he couldn’t say anything to her about it.  Not yet.

 

George shivered, swallowed hard and then recovered himself enough to say, “She’s been a tremendous help.  I don’t know what I’d do without her!”

 

Gabrielle beamed.

 

“So, you want to see the rest of my premises?” George asked finally, and showed them around the renovated house with an air of proprietarily pride.

 

All four of the original downstairs rooms had been gutted and lined with shelves and display cases.  The stairway up to George’s apartment had been disguised using a privacy screen that looked like a huge potted palm.  When they walked through it they found themselves in the stairwell that led both up, to the apartment, and down, to the basement.

 

“Can’t have just anyone running up to my house,” said George, grinning.

 

“What about the glasses?” muttered Harry out of the corner of his mouth.  “Won’t any that you sell be able to used on your own privacy screen?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” said George, shrugging.  “The Ministry bought the patent off us.  Said it was a matter of national security.”

 

“What?” said Harry blankly, even as Ginny, Ron and Hermione both said “What glasses?”

 

“Fred and I came up with a special sort of sunglasses that reverse the effect of our invisible merchandise,” explained George, shrugging.  “As a sort of bonus they can also be used on invisibility cloaks and privacy screens.”

 

Ginny’s head whipped around so fast that she appeared to have cricked her neck.  She was now staring at Harry with a look boardering on horror.

 

“How — how long have you had these?” asked Ginny in a rather strangled voice.  To Harry she added, “and how the hell did you manage to keep it from me?”

 

“It slipped my mind actually,” Harry replied, grinning sheepishly.  “George explained it to me when we went to visit 93 Diagon Alley this past summer, but what with what happened with Ragnock, I didn’t give it another thought.”

 

“What do you mean, the ministry bought the patent?” asked Hermione before George could get around to explanations.

 

“Didn’t give us much of a choice, actually,” said Lee with a frown.  “They said we could sell them the patent, or they would take it.  That it was up to us, but that in either case we were not to sell any to the general public.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged dark glances.  Who knew to what use Andrew Crofton would be putting the glasses.

 

“That’ll definitely put a damper on Lupin’s using the invisibility cloak,” said Harry.

 

“Yeah, I thought about that,” said George frowning.  “Too late to undo what’s done though.”

 

George’s upstairs flat was quite spacious and airy.  All the walls had been removed and large windows and skylights had been installed which filled the large space with air and light.  Under the eaves in one corner, a partition had been erected behind which a full bath had been installed.  In the other corner a kitchen with an eating bar stood open to the rest of the living space.  A ¾ high wall of cubbies separated the sleeping area from the rest of the apartment.

 

“Nice,” said Ginny, looking around appreciatively.

 

“Lots of space,” said Harry, grinning broadly.  There wasn’t a stick of furniture in it yet.

 

“My furniture’s coming the week after Christmas,” said George, catching Harry’s look.

 

“You going to leave anything for Fred and Angelina?” said Ron, grinning at him, “or will they have to sleep on the floor?”

 

“I’m leaving them everything, actually,” said George with a shrug and a sideways glance at Gabrielle.  “I’ve ordered all new stuff.  Thought I’d try something different, seeing as that this place doesn’t lend itself to my usual clutter style.”

 

Harry stole a surreptitious glance at Gabrielle.  She was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching George with raised eyebrows, a self-satisfied smile playing across her face.

 

He’s doing it for her,” said Ginny, slipping her hand into Harry’s.

 

“Tell you what,” said Harry, before anyone else could make the connection he and Ginny had.  “Let’s all go to lunch at the Three Broomsticks.  My treat!”

 

There was a general murmur of consent, and they all trooped off downstairs to collect their cloaks and gloves.

 

When they emerged from the shop, they found that it had started to snow.  The soft flakes were collecting quickly on the rooftops and fence posts, turning Hogsmeade into a picture postcard. 

 

Harry nudged Ginny and nodded at George and Gabrielle, who were walking just ahead of them, their heads very close together.  Even as they watched, Gabrielle slipped on a patch of ice, giving George the excuse to put his arm around her waist.

 

The Three Broomsticks was toasty warm and full of Hogwarts students and teachers, their arms full of bundles and bags of purchases.  George was hailed by dozens of people as they entered, and a general flurry of inquiries ensued as they crossed the room as to when the shop would be opening, and what kind of merchandise would be available.  Finally he stood up on his chair, cleared his throat and made a general announcement.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he called to the excited crowd.  “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Take Two, will open for business on January second.  We will be stocking a complete line of merchandise.  If any of you would like to place orders for items before the scheduled opening, you may do so by taking an order form and contacting our mail-order department in London.  Thank you!” He waved a sheaf of parchment order forms and placed them on the end of the bar.  There was a general rush, and he retreated to their table, grinning broadly.

 

They had pulled two small tables together to accommodate them all, and ordered plates of beef stew and Yorkshire pudding all around.

 

“You lot get your Christmas shopping done?” asked George as he passed Gabrielle another glass of butter beer before she could ask for seconds.

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged bemused glances as they noted the way George and Gabrielle fingers lingered on each other’s as the glass changed hands. Gabrielle’s thoughts came through loud and clear.

 

What if he lost interest in her?  There were so many women whom he must come in contact with during the course of his work.  Older women.  Women who could offer him experiences, things she didn’t even know about yet.  What made her think that she could ever be more to him than a passing fancy?  But she belonged to him, body and soul, she could feel it when he looked at her, when he touched her, it was like coming home.

 

“Almost,” said Hermione.  “I still haven’t found a wedding gift for Fred and Angelina yet.  Is there anything in particular that they need?”

 

“They will be needing baby things before too long,” said Gabrielle in an odd, hollow sort of voice.  She was staring into her butter beer as if lost in the warm, caramel color of it, her eyes out of focus.

 

Everyone had gone quiet and was staring at her.  Harry suddenly remembered what Bill had said about all Veela having the second sight to some degree.

 

“Gabrielle?” said Ginny quietly, putting a hand on the girl’s slender arm. “Gabrielle, are you O.K.?”

 

“She is with child,” said Gabrielle softly.  “Although it is so early she does not know it yet.”

 

“Oh dear!” said Hermione, turning to Ginny, her eyes widening.  “Her parents are Muggles.  Of course she wouldn’t know!”

 

“Know what?” said Ron, George and Harry together.

 

“I see her more often than you do,” said Ginny apologetically, “and stupid me!  It didn’t even cross my mind to mention it!”

 

“What are you two on about?” said Ron exasperatedly.

 

“Most forms of Muggle birth control don’t work on witches or wizards,” said Hermione, looking stricken.  She was speaking quietly so no one at the surrounding tables would overhear them.  “There are charms of course, several very effective ones, that will keep a witch from getting pregnant if she doesn’t want to.”  Hermione was rather pink now, but her voice was steady.  “But none of them have ever been written down,” she finished with a small shrug.

 

“It is traditional for these charms to be passed from mother-to-daughter,” said Gabrielle, her voice sounding more normal now.

 

“But Angelina’s mum’s a Muggle, so she wouldn’t know,” said George, his head in his hands.

 

“But surly something that important,” said Ron, thumping his bottle of butter beer on the table.  “Surely there is something written down somewhere!”

 

Gabrielle shook her head.

 

“Well, what about those witches that are Muggle-born?” Ron added, glancing at Hermione. 

 

“It then falls to a friend or teacher to tell the girl the charms she will need at the appropriate time,” said Ginny quietly.

 

“Appropriate time?” echoed Ron, Harry and George, again in unison.

 

“Traditionally, once she has announced her engagement,” said Gabrielle, smiling slightly. “Although, in my country, it is now common to relay this information once a girl is twelve or thirteen instead of waiting until it may be too late,” she said, studiously, avoiding George’s eyes.

 

Harry was suddenly reminded of how concerned Mrs. Weasley had been when she’d found them alone together in Ginny’s room.  She’d obviously been concerned because she hadn’t yet passed that all-important information on to Ginny, and, Harry thought, she probably wouldn’t until it was unavoidable.  He glanced sideways at Ginny, who giggled sub-vocally.

 

Not to worry, Harry,” said Ginny, laying one hand on his knee under the table.  “There are lots of wizarding families who are more — modern — in their views on when a girl should be told these things.”

 

“You mean your mum . . .”

 

“Heavens no!  Lavender’s mum told her when she turned twelve and she shared the information freely, let me tell you.”

 

“Too bad she didn’t see her way clear to share it with Angelina!”

 

 “There are also ways to reverse the process of a pregnancy,” said Hermione, very quietly.

 

“Yes,” said Ginny, a determined look on her face.  “I will talk to Angelina tomorrow when I go to Bill’s, she needs to know.  She needs to realize that she has options.”

 

“It isn’t something I’d given much thought to,” Harry told Ginny an hour later.  They had left Ron and Hermione after lunch to go back to the castle, but they had not gone up to Gryffindor tower.  Instead, they had retreated to their guest suite, and were now curled up together on the sofa in front of the fire, sipping mugs of hot chocolate and nibbling the scones that Winky had brought them at their request.

 

“That’s probably why the charms are passed down from mother-to-daughter,” said Ginny, grinning at Harry across her mug of chocolate.  “It’s a well-known physiological fact that when men get, erm, distracted, everything else goes straight out of their heads.”

 

Harry could feel the heat rising in his face.  He couldn’t argue with her though, and grinned guiltily.  That was exactly how he felt when he was with Ginny.

 

“Do you have to work this, um charm thing, every time we, er. . .” said Harry, his mouth going dry as Ginny put down her mug down on the table and took his out of his hands.

 

“There are several charms you can choose from,” said Ginny.  She took a sip from Harry’s mug and licked the foam from her lips with a pink, cat-like tongue.

 

Harry swallowed hard.

 

“Some of them do have to be done every time.”  She placed Harry’s mug beside hers on the table, then turned back to face him, her eyes large and luminous.  “But the one I prefer, while a little more complex, works for six months at a time.”  She stood up as she spoke, slipping out of her jeans and sweater so effortlessly that Harry had to wonder how she’d done it.  But he stopped wondering when he saw the silk and lace set she was wearing underneath.

 

“So when I do things like this.” She was on his lap now, her knees pinning him to the sofa, her face just inches from his own. “I don’t have to worry about unforeseen consequences.”  She whispered the last words, her lips brushing his ear.

 

They never did make it to the bed.

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

Exams came and went, and there was still no word from Charlie.  When the Knight bus dropped Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny off at #12 Grimmauld Place, they found the atmosphere subdued, even though the place was bustling with activity.

 

Mrs. Weasley seemed to be in a state of perpetual shock, going through the motions of cooking and cleaning without really realizing what she was doing.  Harry couldn’t help but remember, as he saw her smile so often without it ever actually reaching her eyes, the Boggart she had battled, and how it had turned into each of her children dead in turn.

There was real emotion in her eyes, however, when she had greeted Harry.

 

“I don’t know how we can ever repay you, Harry!” she had said with an odd catch in her voice.  “Even if we don’t find him again, I have the satisfaction of knowing that he didn’t die at the hands of You-Know-Who, that he wasn’t forced to betray what he knew.” She’d turned away quickly then, and had bustled off to start supper.

 

They settled into their rooms and gotten down to some serious relaxing.  There was nothing specific Mrs. Weasley could find for them to do, seeing as that she and Aunt Petunia had everything so clean and organized that there was no extra work to keep them busy, so Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny spent the bulk of the days leading up to Christmas in the rooftop garden, on which Mr. Weasley had placed a variety of charms that would allow it to remain free from extremes in weather so that they could grow things all year round.

 

It was here that Harry and Ginny, using their mage-fire abilities (which she had nearly perfected under Harry’s tutelage) created their Christmas presents, much to Ron and Hermione’s curiosity and amazement.  Harry had explained about the magical history of mage-fire and how it had been outlawed because of it’s potential for misuse, and then made both Ron and Hermione promise not to tell anyone about what they were able to do.

 

“I wondered why you two weren’t doing any shopping,” said Ron, staring in frank wonder as Harry manipulated an energy sphere to create a small, perfect model of the earth encased in a crystal sphere paperweight for Bill’s gift.  He’d already created pairs of Angora gloves for Fleur and Gabrielle and a soft, wool throw blanket for Mrs. Weasley.

 

“You didn’t even have to knit!” said Hermione, fingering the throw in astonishment.

 

“Convenient, eh?” said Harry, grinning at her as he manipulated another sphere.  “All I have to do is picture the item in my mind, and then — pull it out of the sphere.”

 

“It’s amazing!” said Ron, staring at the jade necklace and earrings that Ginny had just shaped for Gabrielle.

 

“And it doesn’t cost a cent!” laughed Ginny, adding a bracelet to the set.  “But for the longest time all I could do was make energy items.  I couldn’t get them to solidify.  It took dozens of times being in Harry’s head when he’s creating stuff for me to get the jist of how it works.” 

 

“It’s your intention,” said Harry, grinning at her.   He made another energy sphere, from which he pulled a delicate china tea cup. “You’ve got to will it to become real.  You’ve got to feel it as a real tea cup, see it as a real teacup.”

 

“But how can you get your brain around the fact that it’s not really real?” asked Hermione, her forehead screwed up in concentration.  “It sounds so silly, Harry.  You believe something is real, so it becomes real?”

 

“But that’s true of all things,” said Harry quietly as he withdrew a small model of a Ford Anglia from another sphere.  “Everything we see, all physical objects are made of this stuff,” he said, shaking off the excess energy bolts, one of which, when released, scuttled off across the rooftop, mouse like, pursued by Crookshanks.  Half way to the stairwell, Crookshanks pounced, catching the bolt between his forepaws.

 

“Yeah, it took me forever to suspend my belief enough to get things to solidify,” said Ginny smiling brightly as she extracted a silver fountain pen from her own energy sphere and added it to her pile of gifts.

 

“How can this be considered Dark Magic?” said Ron, staring at the glowing orb she still held in her hands.

 

“It’s the power it represents, Ron,” said Harry.  “Think about it.  The ability to create anything you desire!  It completely upsets the entire economic structure that the Ministry has built up for itself.  Not to mention the fact that it is this power that has created such factions between wizards and house elves and goblins,” said Harry grimly.  “The desire to control this power that has led to horrible misunderstandings and outright killings.”  He shuddered.

 

“But if it were used for good!” said Hermione, looking with awe at the new sphere Harry had just conjured.   “If this sort of power were used to help people.”  She looked up at Harry, her eyes glowing.  “No one would go hungry or be lacking for a place to sleep or food to eat.”

 

“But again,” said Harry, sighing heavily.  “Doing that would completely upset our economic system, on which the entire power base of The Ministry is founded.  Do you really think that someone like Fudge or Crofton would give up their control over people’s lives that easily, Hermione?”

 

“But if everyone could do it-”

 

“Exactly!” said Ginny.  “If everyone could do it, there would be no need for people like Fudge and Crofton, and they can’t have that.  It’s not just the money you see, it’s the control.”

 

“Could you teach me, Harry?  Or is this another of your apprentice things your not allowed to talk about?”  Ron looked wary, but hopeful.

 

Just then Harry noticed that Crookshanks was winding sinuously between their ankles.

 

“Hermione!” he hissed, nodding at the cat.

“Oh, Crookshanks!” said Hermione when she saw what he had in his mouth.  “Where on earth did you find a mouse?”

 

“There aren’t any mice here anymore,” said Ginny quietly, looking from Harry to Crookshanks and back again.  “Mum did a rodent banishing charm on them ages ago.  Did you do that, Harry, when Crookshanks chased after your energy bolt, did you turn it into a mouse?”

 

“No,” said Harry quickly, staring at the cat.

 

“Your not telling me he did it himself?” said Hermione unbelievingly.

 

Crookshanks simple stared at her with his baleful yellow eyes.  Then, as if to prove a point, he placed the mouse on the ground at Hermione’s fee.  Immediately it turned back into an energy bolt and scuttled away again.  Again Crookshanks pounced.  When he raised his head he had, again, in his mouth, a mouse.

 

“But how-”

 

“It’s his intention,” said Harry, interpreting Crookshanks’ look.  “The bolt was acting like a mouse, so he treated it like a mouse, and now he has a mouse.”

 

“It can’t be that simple!” said Hermione, sounding incredulous.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“So, what are you giving Fred and Angelina?” said Ron interestedly as Harry produced a matching mechanical pencil to go with Ginny’s silver fountain pen as a gift for Mr. Weasley.

 

Harry grinned mischievously.  “Not telling!” he said bemusedly.

 

“Come on, Harry!”

 

“You’ll see!” said Harry stubbornly refusing to give Ron any hints as to what the gift might be.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

Fred and Angelina’s wedding was to take place on Christmas afternoon at a small church near her parent’s home in Islington.  Mrs. Weasley had been back and forth often, helping with the decorations and other arrangements, but the first time the others saw it was on Christmas afternoon.

 

“ What, you’re not a bridesmaid this time?” Harry asked Ginny as she emerged downstairs in a fetching scoop-necked, just-above-the-knee-length dress of rose-pink silk, as they were getting ready to go out and meet the taxi.  She wore the phial on it’s silver chain, but it had been disguised by the entire chain being used as the base for a woven wreath of pink and fuchsia rosebuds and baby’s breath.  More rosebuds had been woven into a headband, which was the only ornament she wore in her thick, shining hair.

 

“Angelina is keeping it simple,” said Ginny, grinning at him.  “Her parents aren’t all that well-off, so she’s decided to just have a man and maid of honor and leave it at that.  They’re also limiting the number of guests to the number of people that the church will comfortably hold, in this case about 250 I think.  Everyone’s invited to the wedding, so they didn’t have to worry about separate reception cards.  She’s thought this out pretty well.”

 

“Well, it just makes sense,” said Hermione, who looked very pretty in a form-fitting dress of royal-blue velvet.  “She doesn’t want her parents to feel bad by asking them for more then they are able to give, and they will be spared the humiliation of having to rely on their in-laws for financial help.”

 

“You both look stunning!” said Harry, looking from Ginny to Hermione and back again.  “It’s not fair to the bride you know, for her guests to look this beautiful!”

 

“He’s a charmer!” Hermione said to Ginny with a small, self-satisfied smile.

 

“Who’s a charmer?” said Ron.  He was stuffing something into his inside jacket pocket as he entered.

 

“What’s that, Ron?” asked Hermione curiously.

 

“Nothing,” said Ron hastily, patting the outside of his pocket.

 

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me!” said Hermione with arched eyebrows.

 

“Just a little something for the happy couple,” said Ron, grinning.

 

“You’re not going to play some sort of nasty joke during the ceremony, are you?” asked Hermione sharply.

 

“Of course not during the ceremony!” said Ron, looking shocked.

 

Hermione looked disbelieving but didn’t pursue the subject.  She turned away instead to put on her white wool dress coat.

 

“It’s for during the reception of course,” Ron muttered to Harry when he was sure that Hermione couldn’t hear him.

 

The small Muggle church was already decorated for Christmas with garlands of greenery though which strings of white twinkly Christmas lights had been strung.  The dais was heaped with gorgeous white Christmas lilies and blood-red poinsettias. 

 

“That must have cost a fortune!” said Ron, looking at the display.

 

“That’s the beauty of it!” said Ginny, grinning bemusedly.  “The only thing Angelina had to pay for was the candles in the holders and the flowers for the wedding party.  Everything else was provided by the church as decorations for the Christmas season!”

 

“Brilliant!” said Ron appreciatively.

 

“I guess I’m not the only one who thinks practically,” said Hermione with a sniff of approval.

 

The ceremony was very beautiful in a quiet, understated sort of way.  The pastor who joined them was an ecumenical one, and had agreed to work in the invocation of the elements along with the standard service, which he managed to do in a nearly seamless way.  Even Mrs. Weasley was moved by his presentation and had to dab repeatedly at her eyes with her handkerchief.

 

Angelina wore a simple, white, ankle-length velvet dress, and had tamed her hair into an elegant upswept knot with just a few wisps trailing down her neck.  Instead of a veil, she wore a wreath of tiny white roses and baby’s breath in her hair.  Fred wore a white tuxedo that had been tailored to fit. George, in a matching white tux was, of course, the best man, and Alicia Spinnet, whom Harry hadn’t seen since she had graduated at the end of his fifth year, was the maid of honor and wore a shorter version of Angelina’s dress, only trimmed in red ribbon.

 

The church, small as it was, was packed to its fullest capacity.  Harry recognized a handful of people.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there of course, as well as Bill, Fleur and Gabrielle (who looked absolutely stunning in a sapphire-blue velvet dress that clung to her already well-developed figure and just matched her eyes).  There were Neville and Luna, sitting towards the back, as well as Lee Jordan, Alastor Moody, Professors McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore (in his lanky young man guise again).  “He said the beard and hair would be too conspicuous,” Ginny had whispered to Harry when he’d mentioned it.  The rest of the guests, presumably, were friends of the family.

 

“Her family are quite involved in the local community I’ve been told,” Hermione said when Harry had commented on the number of people he didn’t recognize.

 

The reception was held at a rented hall just down the street from the church and was rather subdued as parties go, given the news of Charlie’s disappearance.  But there was plenty of food and drink.  The D.J. did his part by spinning out lively dance tunes, and Harry’s gift to the newlyweds (a baby Jarvey, which the Muggles mistook as a ferret) was greeted with hilarity by everyone who remembered or knew about Ferdinand’s midnight visit the previous Christmas.

 

After the traditional dance by the bride and groom, the D.J. asked the best man and maid of honor to each choose a partner for a waltz.  Alicia played politics and asked Angelina’s younger brother (who looked about fifteen and was very shy) to dance.  To everyone’s surprise (except those who had seen them together on platform 9 ¾), George danced with Gabrielle.

 

The waltz was a slow, romantic number, and Angelina’s brother sat down after only a couple turns with Alicia, looking rather embarrassed.  But George and Gabrielle were in a world of their own.

 

“When did George learn to waltz?” Harry muttered in Ginny’s ear as George and Gabrielle glided smoothly past where they were standing.

 

“He’s been coming in for lessons with Bill every Tuesday at lunchtime,” grinned Ginny, glancing at Bill, who was smiling in a self-satisfied sort of way as he watched the pair on the dance floor.

 

“It shows,” said Harry appreciatively.

 

“So does how they feel about each other,” said Ginny softly, slipping her hand into Harry’s. 

 

hey both stood quietly, watching George and Gabrielle dance.  George’s thoughts were coming through quite clearly and Harry shared them with Ginny.

 

She felt so good in his arms!  Her slim body pressed against his awakened mixed feelings of desire and protectiveness that he found alarming.  He’d always considered himself to be a free spirit, and here he found himself captured by a pair of sapphire-blue eyes that were as knowing as any grown woman’s in the body of a thirteen-year-old girl.  A thirteen-year-old Veela, he corrected himself.  Her figure had developed rapidly in the last four months until it was as alluring as that of any sixteen or seventeen year old.  This disturbing realization, added to the fact that he’d already been entranced by the spirit of the child he had built a castle for on the beach last April, (the same child who had insisted, with a clarity beyond her years, that the butterfly he had caught for her be allowed to go free, the same child whose lips he had covered with his own, breathing life back into her after Harry had pulled her from the ocean), shook him to the very depths of his soul. 

 

He pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, wondering if she realized that she had stolen away his heart.  He belonged to her now, and although she seemed to enjoy his company, he could hardly hope that she was emotionally mature enough to return his feelings.  And so he would wait.  He would wait forever if need be, for he belonged to her. She would realize this someday. It was only a matter of time.

 

“Imagine knowing who you want to be with from the age of thirteen,” said Harry, smiling bemusedly at the look of adoration on Gabrielle’s face.

 

“Try the age of eleven,” replied Ginny in an odd sort of voice.  She too was staring fixedly at Gabrielle.

 

Harry looked down at her, startled.  He’d almost forgotten that she had been taken with him since they’d first met. 

 

She met his gaze unflinchingly, and suddenly he was in her memory.

 

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind her. 

 

She turned around and saw a small, skinny, black-haired boy with taped glasses pushing a trolley with a trunk and a gorgeous snowy owl in a cage.  His gaze met hers for an instant that seemed to last an eternity; emerald-green eyes, eyes that seemed to look into her very soul.  Her breath caught in her chest and in that instant she realized two things.  First, she had known this boy before.  Second, that in that brief exchange of glances he had, however unwittingly, stolen away her heart, she belonged to him now.

 

“I knew that I belonged to you, that we were Soulmates, before I even knew what Soulmates were,” whispered Ginny.

 

“At least George isn’t as thick-headed a dunce as I was,” said softly, drawing her to him with an apologetic smile.

 

“Well, no, he’s also a bit older than you were when we met,” said Ginny, laying her head on his shoulder.

 

“That’s no excuse for me being a blind idiot,” said Harry, kissing the top of her head.

 

“Well, you came around in the end though, didn’t you?” laughed Ginny, looking up at him.  “And that’s all that matters.”

 

Harry buried his face in her hair.

 

“It took me long enough!” he said, inhaling the scent of her and resisting the impulse to lose himself in her.

 

“In that respect you always were rather thick,” smiled Ginny.  “And I’d like to get lost in you too, Harry, but mum’s watching us.”

 

“I’d noticed,” said Harry grimly, glancing over at Mrs. Weasley who was looking from George and Gabrielle to he and Ginny with a crease of concern wrinkling her forehead.

 

Just then, though, the D.J. opened the floor up to everyone, and Harry swept Ginny out onto the dance floor.

 

“You learn fast,” said Ginny, grinning at him as he steered her smoothly around the floor.

 

“Yeah, well, I have a good teacher,” he said, smiling down at her.  “She’s been teaching me pretty regularly for a year now.”

 

“You make your teacher proud,” whispered Ginny, pressing herself closer against him.  Harry swallowed hard at the feel of her lithe, limber body so very close to his.

 

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” asked Harry.

 

“What I’m doing is testing your ability to perform under pressure,” corrected Ginny.

 

“Oh, is that what that is?” said Harry interestedly.  “I thought you just wanted to be close to me.”

 

“Well, there is that,” said Ginny, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist as the music slowed to a ballad.  “And then there’s this.”  She was in his head then, showing him exactly what she’d like to be doing.  Harry had to force his concentration back to the dance floor.

 

“Mmm,” said Harry, pressing her closer.  “Feels good to me!”

 

“Nice ring!” muttered Bill as he and Fleur moved past them, going in the opposite direction.  “Have you broken the news to mum yet?”

 

“We’re about to,” said Ginny, heaving a sigh and glancing at her father, who was sitting at a table on the edge of the dance floor with Mrs. Weasley.  Mr. Weasley caught Ginny’s eye and gave a tiny nod.

 

“Just fortifying ourselves,” said Harry, tightening his grip on Ginny.  They had agreed months ago to break the news of their engagement to Mrs. Weasley at Christmas.

 

“Like some moral support?” asked Bill, grinning broadly.

 

“I’m sure we’ll be O.K., Bill, thanks though,” said Ginny, brining back at him.

 

“Of course if you hear her going nutters on us, you’re more than welcome to come rescue us,” said Harry with a nervous chuckle.

 

Fleur gave them an arch look.

“Do you really think she’ll give you a hard time?” she asked curiously, glancing over at Mrs. Weasley.  “She was perfectly lovely to me when we broke the news of our engagement to her,” she said, smiling at Bill.

 

“Yeah, well,” said Bill, “I’m the oldest of six sons.”

 

“And I’m not only her youngest child, but her only daughter,” said Ginny.

 

“And she’s not of age yet,” interjected Harry.

 

Fleur grimaced.  “I hadn’t considered that.”

 

“But dad knows,” said Bill dismissively.  “He’ll sort it out.”

 

“Leave it to dad,” said Ginny.  “Ready, Harry?” she asked as the song drew to a close.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Harry resignedly.  They snagged a passing waiter and Harry nicked five glasses of champagne.  “Let’s do this right, shall we?” he said, handing two of the glasses to Ginny and balancing three himself.

 

They wove between the tables ringing the dance floor until they reached the table where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting quietly, talking to Alastor Moody, who was sporting a rakish black patch over his magical eye, which was undoubtedly spinning unceasingly in its socket.

 

“Why thank you, Harry dear!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly as Harry handed her a glass.

 

“What’s the occasion?” growled Moody, taking the glass that Harry handed him.

 

Harry had the sudden impression that both Moody’s normal and magical eyes were now focused on him and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.  He glanced at the table to his right and received a small nod from Professor Dumbledore.  Harry took a deep breath, but Ginny beat him to the punch.

 

“Looks like you’re having a good time, mum!” she said brightly.

 

“Oh yes, I love weddings!” sighed Mrs. Weasley.

 

“How would you like another wedding to plan, mum?” suggested Ginny, holding out her hand so Mrs. Weasley could see her ring. 

 

Mrs. Weasley went quite still.  She was staring at the ring as if mesmerized.  Mr. Weasley had closed his eyes and looked as if he were preparing for the worst. Moody was looking from Mrs. Weasley’s frozen face to Harry and Ginny and back with a dawning look of comprehension.

“Congratulations, Ginny!” came Bill’s voice from behind them.  He pulled Ginny into a hug and examined the ring.  “Nice rock, Harry!  Have you set a date yet?”

 

“July 31st,” said Ginny promptly.  “Harry’s birthday.”

 

“You’ll be seventeen by then, right?” said Fleur in her rich throaty voice as Mrs. Weasley finally opened her mouth to respond.

 

“Yep.  June first is my birthday,” said Ginny, smiling gratefully at Fleur who pulled her into a hug. 

 

“I can already see that you two will be very happy together!” she said, giving Harry a small wink over Ginny’s shoulder. Harry grinned at her.

 

Mrs. Weasley had closed her mouth again and was looking very pale.

 

Excellent, Harry!” said Fred and George in unison as they both descended on the table from opposite directions.  They’d obviously both been keeping an eye on the proceedings as well. 

 

“When’s the big day?” asked Angelina, grinning broadly as Fred pulled her close against his side.

 

“July 31st,” said Ron, coming up and pulling Ginny into a hug.  “And it’s going to be a doubly big day,” he said, going up behind his mother and hugging her around the shoulders, “Because it’s going to be a double wedding!”

 

A general roar of approval met this announcement.  Mrs. Weasley was still very pale and quiet.  As the music cued up again and the couples drifted back onto the dance floor, Harry pulled up a chair between Mrs. Weasley and Moody.

 

“You look as if you’re in shock,” said Harry quietly, covering one of her hands with his.

 

Mrs. Weasley met his gaze at last.  She looked lost and very sad.

 

“I knew it was coming,” she said in a barely audible voice.  “I knew it from the moment I saw you two asleep in each other’s arms on the sofa last Christmas morning,” she said. 

She took a sip from her glass of champagne. Her hand was trembling so badly that she actually slopped some onto the table.  She put down the glass, closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again as if hoping she’d wake up to find it had all been a dream.

 

“I love him mum,” said Ginny, wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck from behind. 

 

“I can see that,” said Mrs. Weasley, clutching Ginny’s hands tightly in her own.  Her eyes had filled with tears, but to Harry’s relief, she was smiling now, too. “And he loves you,” Mrs. Weasley added through her tears, smiling into Harry’s eyes.  “He told me so last Christmas, and I can see it in the way he looks at you.” She choked back a sob and held her arms out to Harry, who came into them and held her tightly. “I’ve always thought of you as a son,” said Mrs. Weasley with a half sob, half laugh.

 

“So now we’ll make it official!” said Harry, grinning at her.

 

“A-a double wedding you said?” asked Mrs. Weasley finally to Ginny, wiping her eyes on a napkin.  “Is Hermione O.K. with this, Ron?”

 

Hermione, who had been listening in bustled over at once to assure her that she was agreeable.

 

Mr. Weasley opened his eyes at last. “She’ll be alright now,” said Mr. Weasley in a low voice to Harry.  He looked relieved.  “Give her a wedding to plan and she’ll be fine in no time at all!”

 

Back to index


Chapter 11: AN ABOMINABLE TALE

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AN ABOMIDIBLE TALE

 

 

 

The last week of the Christmas holidays passed obscenely fast (even though some of the actual days seemed to drag on forever).  This was mainly to do with the fact that with so many people in the house (and with Mrs. Weasley watching Ginny like a hawk) Harry hadn’t had a chance to be alone with Ginny since they had left Hogwarts.  It could also have had something to do with all the somber faces in regards to Charlie. 

 

It was clear from Mr. Weasley’s resigned expression that he was expecting the worst.  In fact, many of the older order members seemed to hold the same view — that while Harry had saved Charlie from Certain death at Voldemort’s hand, he had delivered him to uncertain death by allowing him to be taken away by the Yeti.  Only Professor Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Tonks of course and, strangely enough, Mrs. Weasley seemed to hold out on there being any hope for Charlie’s being found alive at all.

 

Long meetings were held where Tonks would fill the rest of the Order in on the areas that had been covered (this she would do occasionally in person, but more often by communicating through the mirror).  And inevitably some one or another would attempt to discourage her from continuing her quest.  Tonks’s response to any of these was more or less what Harry would have expected from the petite Auror, “Fuck that, I won’t stop until I find him or the Yeti that ate him.”

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had Bill to thank for their knowledge of what passed at the meetings.  As usual, Mrs. Weasley made a point of keeping them well out of earshot, and she never seemed to forget to charm the doors.  But Bill made a point of keeping them in the loop. 

 

“It’s you lot who will end up bearing the brunt of this war,” Bill said bluntly, addressing them all, but looking specifically at Harry.  “I don’t see why she insists on treating you all like children.”

 

“If any of the Order find out that your telling us stuff, won’t you be in trouble?” asked Ron pointedly.

 

“Dumbledore knows.”

 

“Your mother’s not stupid, Bill, she must know that someone is keeping us informed of what’s going on,” Hermione insisted.

 

“Mum would like to think that we’re all too young to be involved and that we’re better off not knowing,” said Bill with a grimace.  “It hurts her to no end that her entire family is as deeply involved as they are.  If I’d have to hazard a guess, Hermione, I’d say that she knows — or at least suspects that someone’s keeping you lot up to speed, but that she’s more comfortable believing that you don’t know.”

 

“How could anyone be more comfortable not knowing?” asked Ginny, frowning slightly. 

 

“She knows that she’d be overruled anyway.  If Dumbledore wants you lot kept informed, then you’ll be informed, this way she can at least convince herself that she’s done everything in her power to keep you all safe.”

 

“At least she cares,” said Harry without thinking.  Everyone looked at him.  He shrugged and grinned, refusing to elaborate.  Only Ginny could sense his turbulent thoughts and she wisely chose not to comment.

 

It had been difficult for Harry, being in such close proximity to his Aunt Petunia for the last three weeks.  It wasn’t that she was being unpleasant to him, quite to the contrary, she had been perfectly friendly.  And there was the problem.  Petunia Dursley had been the closest thing to a mother Harry had ever known (until he had met Molly Weasley of course).  For years she had treated him with a dislike bordering almost on hatred.  She had been demanding, harsh, neglectful of even his most basic needs, and verbally abusive.  And now she was being downright pleasant. Besides Ginny, only Lupin seemed to sense Harry’s unease.  He never spoke of it openly, but whenever Harry looked at him he seemed to be watching him closely.

 

Before Harry knew what was happening, the Knight Bus was dropping them off at the Hogwarts gate where they parted with Lupin.

 

“I’ll walk into Hogsmeade from here,” Lupin told Harry, “Since there was no one headed for Hogsmeade it would sort of defeat the purpose of the invisibility cloak to ask the driver to stop there for an invisible person.”

 

“How are you getting back to Headquarters?  Will you Floo from George’s?”

 

“Yeah, convenient, isn’t it, to have a safe house this close to Hogwarts?”

 

It was indeed.  Harry had seen more members of the order at Hogwarts in the first week of the New Year than he had in the past three weeks at Headquarters itself.  Twice he’d seen Kingsley Shaklebolt sweeping through the corridors, looking very regal in his official Auror’s robes.  Alastor Moody (much to Parvati’s consternation) had been present at supper for four nights running, and Ron had nearly spat out his pumpkin juice when he’d realized that the stranger sitting at the teacher’s table and engrossed in deep conversation with Professor Dumbledore at Breakfast on Wednesday was his father.

 

“Something’s going on!” Ron declared in the Gryffindor Common Room Friday night after they had seen a knot of Order members whispering in hushed tones at the top of the marble stairs. 

“Do you think it has anything to do with Charlie?” Ginny asked worridly.

 

“They would have said something to us if it were about Charlie,” said Harry decidedly.  He was right.  He knew he was.  It had been he who had been involved in Charlie’s rescue and removal from harm’s way.  Dumbledore would have told him.

 

“It’s times like this that I wish I could see on demand!” Ginny sent desperately.    

 

“If the Elementals can’t find him Gin . . .”

 

“Maybe greater powers could!” Ginny insisted.  “There have to be ways of contacting them, maybe I could ask them-”

 

“No!”  Harry had spoken out loud and the rest of the knot around the fireplace (consisting of Ron, Hermione and Neville looked around at him concernedly.  “Just thinking,” he said, grinning sheepishly, then to Ginny, “I don’t want you courting them, Gin, its bad enough that they use you whenever they feel the urge.”

 

“But if it were to help Charlie . . .!”

 

“Gin, if the Elementals can’t find him, then even if the Powers could, what makes you think that we’d be able to rescue him?  The Yeti might have taken him somewhere — else,” he finished rather lamely. 

 

“But at least we’d know!” she pleaded. The look in her eyes was tearing him apart.  Harry knew exactly what she was feeling.  She resented his refusing to let her try to use her powers, and she was contemplating using them anyway, but knew that his logic was seamless.  If the Elementals couldn’t find him, if they couldn’t help him, then no one could.

 

“Damn it, Harry, I hate it when you’re right!” she spat furiously.

 

The group around the fireplace paused again in mid — conversation.

 

“What the bloody hell are you two on about?” asked Ron. 

 

“Nothing Ron,” Ginny managed.  She was clenching and unclenching her fists.  She put Harry in mind of a cat who had been rubbed the wrong way.

 

“Nice, but unlike a housecat, when I’m in a temper I’m rather more likely to sick my Elemental powers on you for being such a dastardly burke then to scratch your hand.”

 

“You forget who you’re talking to, Gin,” said Harry, grinning at her.  “What would you do, get so mad that your elementals throw lightning bolts at me?”

 

“It would be a start,” said Ginny angrily.

 

“But you can’t use them to hurt anyone.”

 

“Not directly, no, but a lightning strike is nothing to sneeze at, Harry, or a tornado or whatever.  It could be done,” she said stubbornly.

 

Harry stared at her, she was serious, sort of.  She was also scared.  He bit back a sarcastic comment and instead pulled her into his arms. 

 

“It’s going to be Okay, Ginny, I promise you, everything will work out in the end.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

Hagrid was back.  He’d shown up to supper on Tuesday night looking rather forlorn and sad where he sat by himself at the far end of the staff table.

 

“He didn’t find him,” said Ron dully.

 

“Ron, the elementals say that Charlie’s still alive,” said Harry carefully.

 

“What good is that if they’ve stashed him somewhere we can’t find him?” said Ron gruffly.

 

“We’ll find him, Ron,” said Hermione firmly.  “It’s just a matter of time.”

 

“But if Hagrid can’t find him,” began Ron.

 

“Maybe Tonks will,” finished Ginny.

 

It was common knowledge among the members of the Order that Tonks was still searching for Charlie.  She had taken an extended leave-of-absence from work, claiming an ill family member in the Ukraine, and was still spear-heading the search for Charlie. 

 

Harry had seen her occasionally over Christmas, and once since they’d been at Hogwarts.  She looked distinctly disheveled and distracted, ignoring everyone and everything that didn’t have anything to do with her quest.

 

Two weeks into the new term, it was Harry who stumbled onto the first clue as to what had happened to Charlie.  Or rather, the first clue came searching for him.

 

Harry was in Potions on Friday of their second week back when Professor McGonagall called him out of class.

 

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she said in response to Snape’s protest, “but it is most urgent.”  Snape had subsided immediately and, wondering what on Earth could be so important, Harry fallowed Professor McGonagall up to Professor Dumbledore’s office.

 

“You have a visitor, Mr. Potter,” she said, ushering Harry inside.

 

Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, looking thoughtfully at Ragnock who stood contemplating the tiny planetoid Harry had created out of an energy sphere last year for Professor Dumbledore, and which still rotated serenely above Dumbledore’s desk.

 

Incredible!” whispered Ragnock, prodding a cloud formation over Australia with one long, multi-jointed finger.  “Mr. Potter!” he said, coming forward and taking both of Harry’s hands in his own.  He bowed his head so that it touched the back of Harry’s hands.

 

Uncertain as how to respond, Harry nodded and smiled. “Hello Ragnock,” said Harry, smiling.  “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“Always a pleasure,” said Ragnock, taking a step back.  “But it is an urgent message which brings me to you today.”

 

Harry waited for Ragnock to speak again.  Ragnock looked from Harry to Professor Dumbledore and back again.

 

“One of our mining teams was set upon three days ago by a Yeti.”  He shivered slightly.  “Or so they thought.  It wasn’t until the beast had been gravely injured that the leader realized it had been trying to communicate and not attack after all.”  Ragnock took a deep breath and continued.  “Luckily, there were certain Goblins present who had skills in healing potions and so were able to cure him of his injuries.  But it seems he was looking for one wizard in particular, a Mr. Harry Potter, and would relay his message to no other.  The goblin leader alerted me at once and I gladly volunteered to bring him to you.”

 

“B-bring him to me?” said Harry weakly.

 

“Indeed, yes,” said Ragnock with a grim smile.  “He awaits you in the Dark Forest, Mr. Potter.  He would come no further.”

 

Dumbledore made as if to stand.

 

“I am sorry, Albus,” said Ragnock, sounding sincerely apologetic.  “He will not say a word to any other wizard, or in any other wizard’s presence.  He will only speak to the wizard who sent the elemental to him, requesting his help for a Mr. Charlie Weasley.”

 

“It’s O.K., Professor,” said Harry quietly.  He laid his wand on his palm and muttered, “Point me.”  The wand spun swiftly to point north.  “I call forth air!” Harry said Quietly.

 

Five Wind Sprites (the one missing was the one he had guarding Ginny), popped out of the air in front of him.  There was a sharp intake of breath from Professor McGonagall, and even Ragnock looked impressed.

 

“I won’t have to go alone.”  Harry turned to the elementals.  “Stay with me,” he instructed them.  “And see to it that neither Mr. Ragnock, nor myself are harmed.”

 

The Wind Sprites sparkled into invisibility.  If Harry hadn’t known they were there, he wouldn’t have been able to see them.

 

“Amazing!” breathed Ragnock.  “You’re powers are increasing, Mr. Potter!”

 

Harry grinned at him.“Will you take me to him?” Harry asked the Goblin. 

 

Ragnock turned on his heel and strode out of Professor Dumbledore’s office, Harry right behind him. It was nearly an hour’s hike in to where the Yeti was waiting.  Harry was now far deeper in the forest than he had ever been before. Twice he’d spotted the pearly-white coats of fleet-footed Unicorns as they turned tail and fled at their approach.  Once he caught sight of a Centaur (he thought it might be Bane) watching him from behind a tree, his bow drawn, an arrow notched and trained on him.  But either he recognized the elemental protection, or his being in the company of Ragnock deterred him, for no attack was attempted. 

 

There was something distinctly different about the forest on this occasion. On his other forays into the forest, Harry had never encountered such a selection of wildlife as he saw this afternoon.  Perhaps it was the fact that it was daylight, but the forest seemed to be absolutely teeming with magical creatures of all kinds.

 

As they crossed a stream he saw a troop of imps capering in the shallows. He saw a number of Knarls in the roots of some of the larger oak trees, a small pack of Knarls, and even a small herd of Mooncalves frisking in a clearing, and once, when he glanced up into a tree, he thought he’d seen the secretive, smiling face of a Sphinx, which appeared to be lying on the lower branch of a giant walnut tree.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Harry said in a low voice to Ragnock, who was clipping along ahead of him at a fair pace.

 

“I saw the Sphinx and the Centaur,” said Ragnock, “and the Acromantulas.”

 

“Where?” said Harry, whipping out his wand.  He’d had firsthand experience with the nature of the giant spiders in his second year, and had been severely injured by another in the maze of the Tri-wizard tournament his fourth year.

 

“They won’t attack, Mr. Potter.  Not with your elementals in attendance,” said Ragnock, sounding rather relieved himself.  “But they are there, on the next hill to the left.”

 

Indeed, several large, many-legged shapes could be seen silhouetted against the lowering sun at the top of the next hill.  Harry kept his wand out, just in case, and smiled at the thought of what Ron’s reaction would be if he could see what Harry was seeing.

 

Should I tell him?” came Ginny’s voice in his head.

 

Heaven’s no!” said Harry with a shudder.  “He’d probably go into hysterics.”

 

He’s asking about you, Harry.  Neville and Hermione too,” said Ginny.  “Herbology started ten minutes ago.”

 

Tell them I’m still talking to Dumbledore, or McGonagall.  She’s the one who pulled me out of class after all, and even if I turned around right now, I wouldn’t be back in time.”

 

Just be careful, Harry!” said Ginny concernedly. 

 

When Harry saw another gleam of pearly white in the clearing ahead of him, he thought at first that it must be another Unicorn.  As he drew nearer, however, he realized that it was far too tall to be a Unicorn.  Besides that, unlike a Unicorn, this creature was not running from their approach, but seemed to be waiting for them.

 

It was a Yeti.  It had to be!  Nearly as tall as Gawp, the creature before him was very tall and thin, with long arms and legs.  It was also covered from head to toe in fine, white hair.  It looked very much as if a thousand Angora cats had been skinned to make its coat.

 

Unlike Gawp, or a Troll, the Yeti did not slouch or slump forward like an ape, but stood upright like a man, and its features were almost human even covered as they were by the fine white fur. It took Harry several minutes to realize that the Yeti was talking in a low, grumbling voice, almost like a purr, to several small creatures that barely came up to its knees.  On closer inspection the smaller shapes proved to be goblins.

 

Ragnock cleared his throat and the grumbling stopped.  The Yeti raised its massive head and looked directly into Harry’s eyes.  Its own were darkly black and sparkling with intelligence, although at the moment they seemed wary and startled.

 

“I have brought him as you requested,” said Ragnock with a slight bow.

 

The Yeti looked Harry up and down.  His eyes came to rest on his drawn wand.  Harry quickly tucked the wand back into his belt.

 

“And how do I know that it is he?” said the Yeti in a low, grumbling purr that Harry could actually feel through the soles of his feet.

 

Harry glanced quickly at Ragnock.

 

“He wants to speak to the wizard who sent the Wind Sprite that convinced him to rescue Bill Weasley’s brother,” said Ragnock softly.

 

Harry spoke to the sparkle at his left shoulder.

 

“Whichever of you it was that spoke to this Yeti, show yourself.”

 

An electric blue Wind Sprite solidified in front of Harry.  The Yeti addressed the Wind Sprite.

 

“What did I say to you when you asked for my help?”

 

The Wind Sprite looked questioningly at Harry, who nodded. “Answer him,” he directed it.

 

“You said that you would only help one that was actively fighting the Dark Lord,” said the Wind Sprite in its airy, bell-like voice.

 

A slow smile spread across the Yeti’s shaggy features.

 

“One such as I can never be too careful,” grumbled the Yeti.  “So many of our kind have been tricked and killed, I am afraid that it is now prudent for us to destroy any one that crosses our path for fear that they will reveal our whereabouts, even if it is inadvertently.”  He shrugged his massive shoulders.

 

“But you trusted us to care for one of your own, and so I have faith that you will not betray the trust I put in you by coming here to meet you.”

 

He stretched out his long arms, palms up, and looked at Harry.

 

“I will not betray your trust,” replied Harry, turning his own hands palms up. “May I ask why you wish to see me?”

 

“I have news of the one you charged us to protect,” growled the Yeti.  “We have him in our care.  He is alive, but asleep.  We cannot wake him.  His mind has been violated.”

 

“Yes,” breathed Harry.  “Lord Voldemort was going to use him to extract information regarding the resistance.

 

“Resistance?” grumbled the Yeti curiously.

 

“The man you are caring for is a member of a secret society that is actively fighting against Voldemort’s return to power,” said Harry quickly.

 

“Then he is well worth protecting,” said the Yeti, nodding sagely.  “The Dark Lord is no friend of ours, Harry Potter.  Under his direction, many of us were killed and for no other reason than that we exist, that we are different than your kind.”

 

“We were uncertain as to where he had been taken,” said Harry carefully.  “Other members of the resistance have been searching for him.  He is very important to us.”

 

“As I said, he is in our care.  I would bring him to you now, except that I dare not move him until his mind is once again his own.  He could be damaged even more if he were to make the jump again without his consent.”

 

“Jump?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“The jump to our dimension,” said the Yeti softly. He looked at Harry shrewdly.  “You have been there I think,” he said at last. “You have the look about you of one who knows the place of which I speak.”

 

“Is it a place of white mists that move endlessly?” asked Harry, “the antechamber to the next plane of existence?”

 

The Yeti nodded, not taking his eyes off of Harry.“It is a place where realities meet, Mr. Potter.  We, the Yeti, are still bound, physically, to this plane on which we stand, but many of us prefer to live in the entrance to the next, where at least we are allowed to live in peace and can raise our young without fear of attack.”

 

“I have been there,” said Harry softly.  “But I did not go alone.”

 

“The lady of which he speaks is his soulmate, a seer and a natural healer,” interjected Ragnock looking from Harry to the Yeti and back again.  “She is also a Natural Elemental.”

 

“So, they have chosen once again,” growled the Yeti.  “She must be very special.  A Natural Elemental and a natural healer? That is a rare combination of gifts!”

 

“Yes.  She is very special in many ways, but her healing abilities, they tell me that she heals by touch alone,” said Ragnock.

 

Harry was staring at Ragnock now.  How had Ragnock found out about Ginny’s healing abilities? 

 

“The tall dancer told me,” said Ragnock, taking note of Harry’s expression.  “We talk of many things, Bill and I.”

 

“We must bring her with us,” said the Yeti.  “Perhaps she can free his mind.”

 

“Bring her with us?” asked Harry, startled.

 

“It was only my intent to tell you of your friend’s location and assure you of his safety,” grumbled the Yeti.  “But if there is a chance she could enable him to be moved . . .”

 

“Shall I fetch her?” asked Ragnock.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” said Harry.  He closed his eyes.

 

Ginny?”

 

I heard, Harry, but how will I get there - to where you are?”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“We just sat down to supper.”

 

“Go to Dumbledore, now.  Ask him to have Fawkes bring you to us if Fawkes will consent to do so.

 

Harry waited, watching and feeling as Ginny abruptly rose from the Gryffindor table amidst protests from Ron and Hermione and Neville.  He felt the eyes of the entire student body on her back as she approached the teacher’s table and leaned forward, addressing Dumbledore in a barely audible voice.

 

“I must get to the heart of the forest immediately.  Harry wants to know if Fawkes would consent to bring me to him.”

 

Dumbledore didn’t hesitate, nor did he ask any questions.  He merely gave a sharp, shrill whistle, and Fawkes appeared in a ball of flame over the staff table.  There were cries and screams from many of the students, and not a few of the teachers.

 

“Fawkes, will you take her to Harry?” asked Dumbledore.

 

Fawkes blinked his liquid black eyes and lowered his head in what appeared to be a nod, then turned his back on them, extending his tail in front of Ginny.

 

Ginny took hold of Fawkes’ tail feathers and they both disappeared in another burst of flame.

 

Harry opened his eyes.

 

“She’s coming,” he said, just as Fawkes reappeared in another burst of flame in the clearing with Ginny in tow.

 

The Yeti yelped and leaped backward, nearly trampling a goblin who had been standing behind him.  He recovered himself immediately, however, when he realized what he was seeing.

 

“She rides a phoenix!” he breathed.

 

“Thank you, Fawkes,” said Harry to the phoenix, who chirruped and left the same way he had come.

 

“My Lady!” said Ragnock, extending his hands to Ginny.

 

Ginny smiled down at him and took his hands in hers. “It is good to see you again, Mr. Ragnock!” she said, raising his hands to her forehead.  She then turned to the Yeti and took one of his great shaggy hands in both of hers.

 

“I want to thank you for looking after our friend.  My name is Ginevra Potter. The man in your care is my brother Charlie Weasley.”  She smiled up at him and kissed the back of his hand.  “What may I call you?”

 

Harry was staring at her with something like awe.  It was the first time she had ever introduced herself as his wife, and he felt a distinct stirring of fierce pride, and a hotter, more passionate heat that belied the gravity of the situation.

 

“I am called Yarrowen,” said the Yeti in its low purr.  He seemed disarmed by Ginny’s directness and enchanted by her smile.

 

The Yeti stooped down and directed Harry, Ginny and Ragnock to climb into his arms.  He scooped all three of them up tight against his chest, then he took a step both forward and to the side, and, almost as if they had stepped through a cosmic privacy screen for in a heartbeat everything had changed.

 

They were standing once again in the midst of the roiling white mists, but it was as if the mists here had formed itself into the shape of mountains and valleys, giant, towering trees and cave-dwellings.  There were other shapes too, large forms, covered in white fur, all grumbling happily to each other and some dandling small, furry Yeti on their knees or chasing them through meadows of mist-formed flowers and grasses.

 

Yarrowen led them into the nearest cave.  There, on a pallet of soft, white fur robes, lay Charlie Weasley.  His breathing was deep and even and Harry would have thought he was asleep except for the fact that his eyes were open, glazed and unstaring, and his face was slack, just as Harry had seen it in his dream.

 

“Oh, Charlie!” breathed Ginny, tears welling up in her beautiful eyes.  “Oh, Charlie, what did they do to you?”

 

She was kneeling beside the pallet now, and had placed both of her hands on either side of Charlie’s head.  She closed her eyes.

 

She was feeling his pain.  Harry could sense it.  She was angered and saddened at the extent of the damage that had been inflicted on his mind.  There were tears trickling down her face now, and Harry had the urge to take her arms, but he fought the impulse.  She had to see in order to understand.  She must understand in order to heal.

 

It may have been minutes, or perhaps it was days later (Harry couldn’t tell, time seemed to run very oddly in this place) that Charlie began to stir and Ginny, looking very pale and drained, removed her hands from his face.

 

“His wounds were deep,” she whispered, smoothing the rumpled hair that was falling across his face.

 

Charlie’s eyes opened with a start.  He looked wildly about the cave, his gaze alighting on Ginny.  Suddenly he went very still.

 

“I’m dreaming,” he croaked, reaching out a hand and touching Ginny’s face.

 

“No, Charlie,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face now.  “You’re not dreaming.”

 

“We were worried about you,” said Harry, coming to stand next to Ginny.

 

You!” said Charlie.  It seemed to dawn on him then that he was no longer in the mountain hut.  “Then where I am I?” he asked hoarsely.

 

The Yeti stepped forward and bent low over Charlie’s bed. “You are in my home.  I have been caring for you.”

 

Charlie started when he saw the Yeti, but he did not flinch or cry out.

 

“I was attacked,” he said, still staring at the Yeti, his forehead creased.  “A man, he broke into the house I was staying in.  He-he stunned me.  When I woke up, I thought I was hallucinating, I was sure that You-Know-Who was trying to break into my mind.”

 

“You weren’t hallucinating, Charlie,” said Harry quietly.  “Lord Voldemort did indeed break into your mind, but before he could extract anything, our friend Yarrowen here rescued you and brought you beyond.”

 

“Beyond what?” asked Charlie shakily.

 

“Beyond reality as you know it,” said Ginny, tears still shining in her clear, amber eyes.

 

“And we had to wait until your mind was healed before we could bring you back,” said Harry.

 

“But how,” began Charlie.  “Who-” he looked at Ginny.  “Was that you?”

 

She nodded.

 

Charlie stared at her, astounded.

 

“And now we need your consent to take you back to your own reality,” grumbled the Yeti.

 

Charlie nodded.  “Yes, of course, by all means.”

 

The Yeti held out his arms and all four of them climbed in again.  He did his forward side-step and they found themselves once again in the clearing, where the small band of goblins was waiting. Yarrowen put them down carefully and then turned as if to go.

 

“Wait!” said Charlie, laying one large calloused hand on the Yeti’s arm.  “How can I ever thank-you for what you have done?”

 

“Harm none,” grumbled Yarrowen, a tinkle in his bright black eyes.  “Do what you will,” he added, glancing from Charlie to Ragnock, then to Harry and Ginny, “And remember me well.” And then he was gone as if he had never been.

 

“Will you be coming back to the castle with us?” Harry asked Ragnock.  “I know you would be more than welcome.”

 

“It would not be prudent for me to be seen being friendly to wizards,” said Ragnock, smiling with all his teeth.  “Especially not now. I have done my part,” he said smoothly, “and now I must return to my dwelling in haste, before The Ministry realizes that my tracking collar has not left my domicile for over 48 hours.”

 

Harry looked at him, startled.“They’re making you wear a tracking collar?” he said, a feeling outrage at this injustice welling up in him.

 

“There are ways around it, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock, his eyebrows raised.  “It is currently being worn by my cat.”

 

Ginny gave a strangled sort of giggle. “Aren’t they going to wonder why you’re climbing curtains or sitting on window sills?” she said, grinning at him.

 

Ragnock grinned back at her and touched his forehead to her hands.

 

“Your humor, as always is a breath of fresh air.  It is always a pleasure conversing with you my Lady,” he said.

 

“What about them?” asked Harry, indicating the goblins still standing to one side of the clearing.

 

“They have received permission from Albus Dumbledore to set up a camp here,” said Ragnock gravely, “where they can live collar-free.

 

“And that,” said Ginny softly, “is as it should be.”

 

Ragnock raised a hand in salute to the Goblins, who promptly disappeared into the forest then, turning back to Harry and Ginny, said “I will be seeing you both again I think,” and with that, he disapperated with a sharp pop.

 

*     *     *

 

When Harry, Ginny and Charlie walked into Professor Dumbledore’s office an hour and a half later, it was to find him deep in conversation with Professors McGonagall and Snape.  Hagrid was leaning against a window on the far side of the room.  When Hagrid turned and saw why the other three had fallen silent, the look on his face made their hour’s frigid hike through the Dark Forest worth every freezing step.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were summoned immediately and arrived minutes later in Dumbledore’s fire, looking thoroughly relieved.  Mrs. Weasley was in a state of near-shock and kept hugging Charlie, Harry and Ginny by turns.

 

Harry, with Ginny’s help and occasional interjections from Dumbledore and Charlie, went through the whole story twice.  He had to start all over again when Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody put in an unannounced appearance in Dumbledore’s fire.

 

Once everyone had their curiosity satisfied as to details, Dumbledore sent off a message with Fawkes for Tonks, who was still scouring the mountains where Charlie had disappeared.

 

“Tonks?” asked Charlie curiously.

 

“She volunteered,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.  “Actually, she insisted, if the truth must be told.”

 

“She wouldn’t give up her search you know,” Harry told Charlie in an undertone.  “Even when everyone else tried to convince her that it was pointless.”

 

“Tenacious,” agreed Charlie, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips.

“If either of you see her before I do,” he said to Harry and Ginny just before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley took him away to Grimmauld place, “tell her that I liked her hair pink.”

 

It was nearly midnight when Harry and Ginny finally made their way up to Gryffindor tower.

 

“I’ll sleep good tonight!” said Harry with a jaw-splitting yawn.

 

“What, no midnight flights of fancy?” said Ginny, grinning at him.

 

“I’m so tired I’d probably crash and burn,” said Harry, grinning back.

 

“We can tell Ron and Hermione in the morning,” said Ginny as they entered the now deserted common room.  “No pointing waking them up now, we’d just have to go through the whole story again.”

 

They said goodnight at the foot of the stairs.  Harry, who was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 12: A HOGSMEADE VALENTINE

CHAPTER TWELVE

A HOGSMEADE VALENTINE

 

 

“This is ten times worse than preparing for O.W.L.’s!” yelled Dean Thomas in exasperation one evening partway through February.  In preparation for the upcoming N.E.W.T. examinations, he had been trying for hours to enchant a pair of boots to walk around the common room as if there were someone in them.  Unfortunately, they kept coming untied and tripping over themselves.

 

“I mean, how am I supposed to do a complete Charms presentation if I can’t enchant anything?”

 

There were some sniggers from a group of fourth years by the fire at this pronouncement, which were quickly suppressed when Dean shot a murderous look in their direction.

Harry caught Ginny’s eye and grinned.

 

Idiot’s finally cottoning on, is he?” Harry sent.

 

Ginny sniggered. She had dated Dean Thomas at the beginning of her fifth year.  It hadn’t taken her very long to realize that she’d rather be dating Harry, but it had taken her two months to get rid of Dean, who had been absolutely crazy about her, and still talked about her incessantly, which drove his current girlfriend, Parvati Patil, absolutely batty.

 

Most of the seventh-years seemed to be stressing out as they began preparing their various presentations for the N.E.W.T.’s they’d be sitting for in June.  Hannah Abbot, who hadn’t thought that she’d pass her O.W.L.’s had already had to have two calming draughts administered by Madam Pomfrey.  Neville, however, seemed oddly relaxed.

 

“Don’t try so hard, Dean,” he advised, waving his wand casually at the boots, which tied themselves up neatly and began skipping around the perimeter of the common room.

 

The change in Neville over the last six months was quite startling.  Not only was he doing flawless work in all his classes (which had his teachers all shaking their heads in wonder) but he had developed a sort of casually confident attitude that had people who had known him for years doing double-takes.

 

“Relax.  Let the boots enchant themselves.”  He gave his wand a complicated little twist, and the boots went into what was unmistakably a tap dance routine.  He grinned at Dean who was staring at him, thunderstruck.

 

“Cool!” said Euan from his chair by the fire.

 

Poor Euan had gotten over his initial reaction to Gabrielle’s Veela blood kicking in.  He had gone for several weeks without talking to her at all, too embarrassed at his reaction.  She’d finally cornered him after Quidditch practice one evening, and told him to lay off being a prat, and to be her friend instead.  She, Euan and Dennis were now inseparable, reminding Harry of himself, Ron and Hermione.  Gabrielle had given Euan absolutely no hope for anything more than friendship, yet on more than one occasion, Harry had seen Euan’s glance lingering on her, an odd sort of hopeful look in his eyes.

 

“He keeps that up, he’s going to have his heart broken for sure,” said Harry to Ginny when he told her about it.  “She’s got eyes only for George.”

 

“And you’ve seen the look George gets on his face whenever he’s around her,” agreed Ginny.

 

“It’s amazing, seeing them together,” said Ginny as they emerged from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes ~ Take Two on the Saturday morning of their next Hogsmeade weekend.

 

Harry, who was grinning slightly, merely nodded.  If ever two people had been meant for each other, it was George and Gabrielle.  In the shop they worked together as a seamless unit, seeming to almost preempt each other’s needs and requests.  It was obvious, at least to Harry and Ginny that they found extreme satisfaction in just being near each other.

 

“Remind you of anyone you know?” asked Harry as they headed up Hogsmead’s main road towards the Apothecary.

 

Ginny smiled and slipped her hand into his.  It didn’t matter to either of them to know that they were being watched closely by a number of Order members.  Dumbledore had been strangely reluctant to let Harry go into Hogsmeade, but had refused to tell him why, and he was guarding his thoughts so closely that Harry had no hope of his being able to pick up on his thoughts.  It wasn’t as if they had to sneak off into Hogsmeade in order to be alone, they could retire to their guest room when they got back to the castle if they wanted.  No, he was just enjoying being with her, pretending, if only for one afternoon, that they were just two normal teenagers out on a weekend date.

 

It was drizzling steadily now, cold and dreary in spite of the warming charms they had cast on themselves before they’d left the castle, and they braved Madam Pudifoot’s obnoxious Valentine’s decorations in order to get a cup of hot coffee.  No sooner had they walked in, when they were hailed by Neville and Luna, who were already seated at a small, round table near the steamy windows at the front of the shop.  Minutes later, Ron and Hermione squelched in the front door looking very damp, but happy.

 

“Thought that was you two we saw coming in here!” said Ron to Harry as he and Neville pulled up two more small, round tables to make a larger place for them all to sit.

 

Some of the couples at the other small tables were glaring at this interruption of Madam Pudifoot’s usual romantic and intimate atmosphere, but Harry and the others ignored their pointed stares.  When Madam Pudifoot, the plump, dark-haired witch who owned the shop bustled over to take their order, they asked for coffees and croissants all around.

 

“Is this the place you brought Cho?” asked Hermione interestedly, looking around at all the tiny tables and their occupants.

 

“Where she brought me,” Harry corrected her.  “She thought it was, erm, cute.”

 

“I don’t know if I’d go as far as cute,” said Hermione with a small sniff. 

 

“Seems a bit frilly,” said Ron, brushing confetti out of his hair and glaring up at the lace-draped golden cupids.

 

“You and Cho Chang went out together our fifth year, didn’t you?” asked Neville curiously.  “Is that when she brought you here?”

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, shrugging.

 

He kicked his chair back against the wall and looked around at the other patrons with amusement while keeping half an ear on Ginny and Hermione who had struck up a conversation about Winky’s decided improvement and how some of the other female Elves were actually speaking to her now.  Within minutes Ron and Neville were talking about the new merchandise George had in his shop.

 

Luna, who was sitting on the other side of Harry, caught his eye and smiled dreamily.  She looked as batty as ever in red silk pants and a hot pink silk blouse with a necklace and earrings made of what looked like (but couldn’t be) candy hearts.

 

“I was in here you know,” she said in her most dreamy, far away voice, “when you came in here with Cho that Valentine’s Day.”  She gestured at the golden cupids over their heads.  The three cupids which had been over their individual tables, looked rather distraught what with the tables having been rearranged, and had now organized themselves into a defensive-looking posture, their backs toward each other, facing outward, and seemed to be throwing their handfuls of confetti almost violently.

 

Harry grinned at her sheepishly. “Nice little row we had, eh?”  He paused, looking at her curiously.  “Who were you here with, Luna?” he asked, looking around at the tables, each of which (except theirs) were occupied by couples; couples chatting in low voices, staring into each other’s eyes, couples casting long, lingering glances at each other, couples holding hands, or couples kissing cozily over their sugar bowls.

 

“I was the exception that proves the rule,” said Luna, dropping her dreamy voice and grinning broadly.  “I was here with a good book.  Madam Pudifoot’s got excellent coffee.”

 

“Well, you’ve got Neville now,” said Harry, grinning back at her.

 

“Yes I do, don’t I?” she said, observing Neville with an odd sort of expression.  “Although I think we’ve gotten beyond the ‘having to sit in dark corners in order to get up the nerve to touch each other’ phase,” she said, slipping her arms around Neville’s neck and pulling him down to her so that she could nibble on his ear. 

 

Neville, who had been in the middle of a debate with Ron, broke off in mid-word, pulled Luna onto his lap, and kissed her soundly.

 

Several of the couples were now looking daggers at Luna and Neville’s obvious easiness with each other.  At a table far in the back, Harry caught sight of Ginny’s old Ravenclaw boyfriend, Michael Corner, sitting with a pretty, curly-haired Ravenclaw 5th year girl.  He was holding the girl’s hand, but was staring openly at Ginny with a hungry sort of look in his eyes.

 

“Whadayaknow!” said Harry gleefully in an undertone to Ginny.  “He likes younger women!”

 

Ginny broke off her conversation with Hermione.

 

Who likes younger women?” she said, turning to Harry.

 

“Six tables back, sitting with a curly-haired blonde,” muttered Harry from the corner of his mouth.

 

Ginny took her time, looking in the direction Harry had indicated as their croissants and coffees were delivered.

 

She turned back to Harry with a mischievous grin and slightly heightened color.

 

“He’s taken Cho’s defection rather badly, I’m afraid,” she said in an amused sort of voice.  “That’s the sixth girl he’s asked out this school year.”

 

“He certainly seems to be keeping an eye on you,” said Harry, bringing his chair down with a thump.

 

“He hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off Ginny since she broke up with him,” said Luna knowledgably (Neville now being deeply involved with his chocolate filled croissant).  “Even when he was going out with Cho, Ginny was all he could talk about.  That’s probably why she didn’t wait for him.”

 

“Wait for him?”

 

“Yeah,” said Luna, grinning broadly.  “It was his idea that they break up when she left school last summer, but I think he was under the impression that she’d wait for him or something.”

 

“You started a trend, Harry,” said Ron, who had picked up on this last bit of conversation. “What does that make, two guys who have ever ditched Cho?”

 

“Harry didn’t ditch her, Ron!” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

 

“Nah, we just had a flaming row about her friend Marietta turning traitor on the D.A.,” said Harry in a low voice.

 

“O.K., a mutual break-up then,” said Ron, now tipping his own chair back and surveying the rest of the diner’s with a bemused expression.

 

“He was devastated when he heard about your engagement,” said Luna, lowering her voice even further.

 

Who was devastated?” asked Neville, who had finished with his croissant.

 

“Michael Corner,” said Harry comfortably, draping a casual arm over the back of Ginny’s chair.  “He’ll get over it.”

 

Neville snorted.  “That git!”

 

Ginny grinned at Neville, her eyebrows raised.

 

“He’s been telling everyone who will listen that it will never work out between you two,” said Luna, her protuberant eyes wide and intent.  “That you don’t, erm, suit each other.”

 

Harry grinned, feeling Ginny beginning to bristle.

 

Oh we don’t, do we?” came Ginny’s voice in his head.

 

Going to let him keep thinking that?” asked Harry, who recognized the dangerous tone of her voice.

 

It would be an insult!” said Ginny.

 

“Better watch out, Luna,” Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.  “If I’m not mistaken, Ginny is going to take our act to a whole new level.”

 

Luna giggled and leaned over to whisper in Neville’s ear.  Neville, grinning broadly, prodded Ron, who nudged Hermione.  All of them turned to watch as Ginny broke off a bit of croissant and, placing one hand flat on Harry’s chest, held the bit up to his mouth while looking deep into his eyes.

 

Don’t you dare laugh, Potter!” she shot in best McGonagall imitation as she detected Harry’s sub-vocal snort of amusement.  “I’m trying to make a point here!

 

Suppressing a grin with some difficulty, Harry let her tuck the bit of croissant into his mouth, making sure to catch her fingers in his lips, releasing them slowly and suggestively while not breaking her gaze.

 

He didn’t need Luna’s treading on his foot to alert him to the fact that more than one person in the shop was now watching the tableau at their table.  He could feel the weight of their stares raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

 

Still not breaking his gaze, Ginny took the hand not on his chest, raised her cup of coffee to her mouth and took a sip before setting it down and slowly licking the foam from her lips with a pink, cat-like tongue.

 

“Nothing like a hot cup of coffee to warm you up on a day like today,” she murmured, just loudly enough to be overheard by Neville, causing him to choke on his own coffee.

 

Harry swallowed hard.  Watching her lick the foam from his lips had brought to mind how she had done this for real with the foam from her hot chocolate the last time they had been together in the guest suite before Christmas.  Harry found his mouth going very dry as he remembered what had come after. . . . too bad she wasn’t doing it for real.

 

Who says it’s not for real this time?” said Ginny silkily.

 

I thought you were putting on a show for Michael?” Harry managed.  He was loosing himself in her eyes.

 

I was.”

 

And now?”

 

She answered by crooking her finger at him, one hand still on his chest, her eyes very large and inviting.

 

Harry leaned forward and, bending his head slightly, caught her lips in a slow, lingering, seductive kiss.  It was more than a kiss; it was an invitation.  He could feel her response to him: her breath catching in her chest and a tingling heat spreading rapidly through her body.  He pulled back before he could loose himself completely, as he suddenly found he wanted very much to do.

 

“And that, boys and girls,” he said in an undertone, so that only their table could hear him, “is the way it is done.”

 

Ron, who was now shaking with suppressed laughter, gave a great shout, lost his balance, and fell backwards under the table. Madam Pudifoot bustled over all motherly concern, to make sure Ron was okay.  In the hubbub that ensued, Hermione leaned over Ginny to whisper in Harry’s ear.

 

“You should have seen Michael’s face when you kissed her!” she sniggered.  “He actually licked his lips!”

 

“If Michael’s reaction is any gauge, I’d say you two gave an Oscar-worthy performance,” said Luna appraisingly, her eyes twinkling as a rather disgruntled-looking Michael, with his cute, curly-haired date in tow, made their way out of the shop.

 

*     *     *

 

“Is that who I think it is?” asked Hermione, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into the back of her.  They had taken a shortcut, an alley between Madam Pudifoot’s and Gladrag’s Wizarding Wear.

 

“Shite, Neville, your wand’s poking into my back!” Ron snarled, twisting away from Neville, who had, like Harry, not been expecting the pair ahead of them to stop short.  “Hermione, what the devil . . .” but Ron’s voice died off as he took in the pair ahead of them.  “Is that-”

 

“Malfoy!” hissed Neville, nodding at the sleek blonde head bent protectively over a smaller figure standing beside him.

 

“Who’s he with?” whispered Luna, sounding delighted to be observing a conspiracy of some sort.

 

“Can’t tell at this angle,” muttered Ron, craning his neck to get a better look at the pair at the end of the alley.  Whoever Malfoy was, it was clearly a female.  Even as they watched she took a step closer to him, put a slim arm around his neck and pulled him down to her kiss.

 

“Is that Pansy?” asked  Hermione in an undertone.

 

“That’s not a Hogwarts cloak,” Ginny observed.

 

Whoever was in the cloak was certainly enthusiastic.  Malfoy seemed utterly oblivious to anything around them.  Harry had seen Malfoy and Pansy together before, and he had certainly never showed this much enthusiasm in her presence.

 

“Do you think-” began Ron, turning to address Harry, but whatever he had been about to say died as abruptly as the color seemed to drain from his face. “Harry, behind you!”

 

 Harry turned his head to look behind him and was nearly blinded by a white hot bolt of light which shot past his cheek, leaving a stinging welt along his cheekbone.  As one, Ron and Harry both flung themselves on the girl in front of them (in Harry’s case Hermione, Ron, who was facing Harry, had grabbed Ginny).  Luna had pressed herself into the back door of Gladrags, but Neville was having none of it.  Wand in hand he was advancing on the hooded and masked forms that were advancing from the far end of the alley.

 

“Neville!” Harry hissed.  “Neville, we can’t win!”

 

Neville glanced back at Harry, then beyond him, his face blanching.  “Oh my god!” he whispered.

 

Harry looked up.  The curse had struck Malfoy in the side.  Blood was pooling quickly, staining the gray cobblestones crimson.  The slight figure that had just moments ago been engaged in a hearty snog with the blonde Slytherin had thrown back her hood and was advancing on the hooded throng with her wand out and murder in her eyes.

 

“Cho?” Harry breathed, not believing his eyes.  It was a hard choice as to which had startled him worse, seeing Malfoy snogging someone who wasn’t his intended, the attack, Neville’s not backing down from a crowd of Death Eaters, or the fact that the girl Malfoy had been kissing was Cho Chang.

 

Clearly startled, Ron yelped as Ginny gave a mighty shove and wriggled out from underneath his lanky frame.  Before Harry could so much as cry out, she had darted up the alley and was bent over the prone form of the dying Slytherin. He had to be dying; there was so much blood . . .too much blood.

 

Harry leapt to his feet, determined to get Ginny out of harm’s way, but a sudden shout brought him up short.  He wheeled on the spot to find Neville dueling handily with a tall, hooded figure, Luna was shooting out well-placed hexes from her niche, but it wasn’t either of them who had shouted.  Except for the Death Eater dueling with Neville, the others (there weren’t as many as it had first seemed, unless some of them had disapparated, only about a dozen in all) had turned to face a new threat that was approaching from their end of the alley, a few of them were looking up, wands trained on the rooftops of Madam Pudifoot’s and Gladrags.

 

At least two dozen Order members (some shooting hexes down from the roof)  were blasting their way through the hooded figures (many of which were now disapparating with loud pops and bangs). Harry recognized nearly all of his rescuers; Shaklebolt was leading the charge, Tonks and Moody just behind him, Lupin and Bill barely visible past Tonk’s bubble-gum pink hair, and had never been gladder to see members of the Order in his life.

 

Harry sent a well-placed binding curse at the Death Eater battling with Neville.  Caught by surprise, the Death Eater measured his length on the cobblestones, grunting and cursing as his head bounced off of the unforgiving rock. Satisfied that the Order had the others in retreat, Harry turned back to the figures at the other end of the alley. 

 

Ginny was still bent over Malfoy’s prone form, her eyes were closed and her hands appeared to have been sheathed in blood-red gloves.  Cho, wand at the ready, was standing guard over them, looking quite fierce with her shiny black hair whipping in the brisk wind and a her eyes sparking with anger.

 

“If they’ve killed him,” she snarled at Harry before he could say a word.  “If they’ve killed him I’ll hunt them down, every last one of them, and then-” her voice broke on a sob. 

 

Harry looked down at her, fully expecting to see her face wet with tears, but instead it was twisted into a look so full of hatred as to make him flinch.  She was furious, a mother tiger defending her cub.  It was an immense relief to know that her fury was not directed at him.

 

A moan from slumped form on the cobblestones at Cho’s feet brought Harry back to reality in a heartbeat.  Malfoy was stirring.  Without stopping to think, Harry had bent to support Malfoy’s weight, pulling him to his feet.

 

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he muttered, “We all need to get out of here,” he said, looking pointedly at Ginny.  A heartbeat later, Neville had slipped in on the other side and was taking half of Malfoy’s weight.  Behind them, Harry knew that Ginny and Hermione were steering Cho out of the alley.  Behind them, Luna and Ron brought up the rear, wands pointing towards the battling group behind them.

 

They stumbled back into Madam Pudifoot’s all over mud and muck and blood, to the general astonishment of the patrons.  To her credit, Madam Pudifoot took in the situation in a glance and immediately began putting couples to work bolting up doors and stopping up the chimney.  Even the cherubs got into the act, each one stationed with what now appeared to be wickedly sharp arrows, at each window and door. 

 

What could have been minutes — or hours — later, Fawkes appeared in a flash of golden flames.  The note he bore was from Dumbledore. 

 

Harry, it is safe, please bring everyone with you back to the castle immediately.  - D

 

Twenty minutes later, they had all stumbled through the gates onto the Hogwarts grounds.  A small crowd of Hogwarts villagers had gathered on the lawns, all of them looking dazed and shocked.

 

“The attack on you in the alley was not an isolated event,” said a heavy voice from behind them. 

 

Harry spun around to find Dumbledore, his midnight blue robes had several great torn patches in them and his silver-white beard was now stained with what looked like blood.

 

“It is not mine,” said Dumbledore, interpreting Harry’s look.  “They attacked from six different directions.  I am afraid that we were not quick enough, nor were there enough of us to stop them all.”

 

Harry felt his stomach plummet.  People were dead, they were dead and he could have prevented it!

 

“You did what needed to be done,” said Dumbledore gently, and Harry could feel the familiar prickle of Dumbledore’s probing at his thoughts.  “Your duty was to protect those in your keeping.  This you did admirably.”  He placed a fatherly hand on Harry’s shoulder.  On his other side, Harry felt Ginny’s blood-encrusted hand slip into his. 

 

“How — how many,” Harry managed, blinking back the prickle of tears as he took in the many bandaged figures lying about on the grass.   The sight of dozens of severely injured witches and wizards being treated by Madam Pomfrey and a group of older students made Harry’s breath catch in his chest.

 

“Oh god,” he whispered, his knees buckled, and only the combined efforts of Ginny and Professor Dumbledore kept him from sinking onto the ground himself.  “Oh god, Professor, how many — how many were killed?”

 

“Us or them?”

 

“Either — both.”

 

“Sixty three villagers and students,” said Dumbledore heavily.  “Sixteen Death Eaters, including Bellatrix,” he added, looking pointedly at Neville.  Neville gave a shudder, then buried his face in Luna’s shoulder.  “She was killed by Remus Lupin,” said Dumbledore, giving Harry a slight smile.  “Rather fitting, if I must say so myself.”

 

“Revenge is sweet,” said Lupin, limping up to them.  There was a dark twist to his smile that made Harry remember that here was a man who had once turned into a full-fledged beast once a month.  “Thank Merlin you’re all right, Harry,” he said, pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug.  “All of you!” he added, looking around at the thirty odd individuals they had brought with them from Madam Pudifoot’s.

 

“We’ve lost the The Hog’s Head,” came Kingsley Shakelbolt’s deep, melodious voice.  “It burned to the ground, Albus, but there was no sign of bodies, we think everyone got out okay.”

 

“Gladrags is gone as well,” said Tonks,  “It didn’t burn, but it’s nothing but a heap now.  One of that lot shot a tunneling curse at me, and I ducked,” she shrugged and dropped Harry a broad wink.  “I may be clumsy but no one has ever accused me of not being quick!”  Her mood turned suddenly serious.  “There were several people inside when it collapsed.  We weren’t able to save any of them.”

 

“Oh shit,” said Ron bluntly.  The rest turned to look.  Six of the coaches which normally transported Hogwarts students from the Hogsmeade station to Hogwarts were trundling up the broad gravel drive, each one pulled by a glossy black Thestral.

 

When they had stopped, several members of the Order, assisted by various Hogwarts teachers began unloading the bodies that had been piled inside.

 

“It was the only way to transport so many,” said Dumbledore sadly.

 

“It’s not that,” began Ron, then swallowed as the mangled body of a curly haired Hufflepuff fourth year girl was placed on the ground beside the hefty bodies of the Honeydukes owners.  “Well, it’s that I guess, but I,” he swallowed again.  “I can see them!” he whispered, staring at the great winged horses before him.  “I mean, who died?  Who did I see die?” he managed, staring at the beasts, a look of pure terror on his face.  “I saw lots of people fall, Malfoy, but he’s still alive, Bill, but he’s just got his arm all bandaged up now and Moody . . .fuck!”

 

No one bothered to reprimand him.  They were all staring at the limp figure with the grizzled gray hair and wooden leg that was being unloaded from the second carriage by Hagrid. 

 

“Not  Moody!” moaned Ron, looking sick.

 

“It is the way he would have wanted to go,” said Dumbledore heavily.  “Fighting to the last.”

 

“Who killed him?”  Harry managed, unable to look into Dumbledore’s face.

 

“Bellatrix,” said Lupin unexpectedly. “I was right behind him when he fell.  She wasn’t expecting anyone to react that quickly.”

 

Altogether, 26 students (fourteen Gryffindors, eight Hufflepufs and four Ravenclaws) had been killed.  Another thirty or so had been seriously injured.  Besides Alastor Moody, the order had lost excitable Deadalus Diggle and a heavy-set witch Harry didn’t recall ever having been introduced to.

 

Among the fourteen Gryffindor students were Vicky Frabisher, Laura Marchbanks, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke (all four of whom had been caught in the successful attack on Honeydukes), two third year girls Harry only knew by site, a fifth year boy Harry thought might have been named Derrick and whom he had only spoken to in passing, and all but one of the eight fourth year girls, (all seven of whom had all been shopping in Gladrags for new dress robes).

 

Both Terry Boot and Stuart Ackerly (who had been found outside of Scrivenshaft’s) were gone, as was Justin Finch Fletchly and Laura Madley, who had been found in an alleyway outside of the Three Broomsticks.

 

It was too much.  Harry found himself going through the motions of eating and drinking and helping to set up shelters for those Hogsmeade villagers who had survived and who didn’t want to risk going back to their homes.

 

Ginny had been beside herself with worry over George until he had turned up — quite unexpectedly - six hours after the fighting had ended, startling Filch quite out of his composure by emerging from the one-eyed witches statue on the third floor with all of the 22 individuals who had been in his shop safely in tow.

 

Classes were suspended until the following week, with the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts, which Dumbledore declared would now be attended by the entire school.  If it hadn’t been for the diversion of planning a class (which was to be held in the Great Hall) for over five hundred students, Harry thought that he just might have gone quietly insane.

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 13: THE UNOFFICIAL INQUIRY

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE UNOFFICIAL INQUIRY

 

For nearly a week the entire castle was in an uproar.  With the exception of the Head Boy and Girl, a handful of students selected by Professor Dumbledore (and those who were being tended in the Hospital wing) students were confined to their Common Rooms.  Even meals were sent up to the common rooms by the Elves who were suddenly and openly going about business that was usually done in the quiet of night.  

 

According to Ron, it had taken the combined skill of all six Gryffindor Prefects to maintain order in the overly crowded common room on that first night after the attacks.  Dozens of students, mostly first and second years, had been clamoring to go home, or to be allowed to contact their parents and had very nearly rioted when they had been told that this would not be allowed.  Evidently it had been nearly as bad in the other houses and Ron and Hermione had spent the entire night distributing sleeping draughts to those students who were the most overwrought. 

 

Harry had not been aware of any of this until he stumbled back up to the Gryffindor Common Room on Wednesday evening, intent on getting some sleep and preparing for the mass Defense class he would be teaching on Friday.

 

 He and Professor Dumbledore had worked non-stop for two days (taking liberal amounts of Madam Pomfrey’s ‘Open Eye’ concoction in order to reinforce the Wards around the castle and immediate grounds.  There was no need to secure the Forest.  According to Professor Dumbledore it was probably safer than the castle, seeing as that it was still under the protection of the First People, who had left their unbreakable protection spells around the entire perimeter of the ancient wood.

 

On the third day, Ginny (who until then had been systematically curing the assorted wounded in the hospital wing) joined them, adding her own Elemental Power to their own spell, ensuring that the castle and grounds would be as secure as the three of them could possibly make it.  After much deliberation by Professor Dumbledore and several of the order members who had witnessed Harry and Ginny’s display of Mage-fire, it was suggested that perhaps they could used their combined strength to reinforce the protections now in place around the castle and grounds.

 

“If I could only contact Mira,” Ginny murmured as she and Harry used their Mage-fire to reinforce the protection grid.  The grid sizzled briefly, the power of their Mage-fire briefly illuminating the ley-lines laid down by the elemental magic until the entire castle and grounds appeared for nearly five whole minutes to be enclosed in a sphere of multi-hued webbing.

 

“She could tell us if we’re doing the right thing.”

 

“Isn’t she the one who trained you?” Harry asked, leaning against the wall as the sudden drain on his magical reserves left him momentarily light headed.

 

“From the summer I turned twelve until just before I turned fifteen,” said Ginny quietly.  “Twenty-fifth of April, 1996.  She said that my training was complete, and that her time with me was at an end.  I — I haven’t seen her since.”

 

“How many times did Mira appear to you?” asked Dumbledore, suddenly intense.  “I only met her the one time, but I recall you telling me that she only appeared to you at the full moon, and only after you had called the elements.”

 

“August, 1993 was the first,” said Ginny slowly.  “There was only one time until April of 1996 that she didn’t appear, and that was when that other one, that man came.”

 

“Thirty one,” said Dumbledore quietly, more to himself than to either Harry or Ginny.  “A month of days.”

 

“What was that Professor?”

 

“Just something I read once,” said Dumbledore.  “Tell me, Miss Weasley, if this Mira ever mentioned this particular incident to you.”

 

Ginny shook her head, her eyes were red rimmed and glassy.  She looked utterly exhausted and Harry felt a sudden twinge of annoyance for Dumbledore for questioning her when she was so obviously worn out.

 

“She only said that I would need every ounce of courage and power I possess . . .” Ginny paused, her voice catching on a sob.  “And he, the other, said that the time would come to heal the rifts between our worlds, and the time to stand together against the Dark Power that threatens to destroy us both, and that they would follow me when the time came.”

 

“Did he say how they would know when the time had come?” asked Dumbledore softly, he had one hand on Ginny’s shoulder, but he was looking off into the forest as if searching for a sign.

 

Ginny shook her head, then, realizing that Dumbledore couldn’t see her, cleared her throat and said, “No, sir, I-”  she paused, her entire body going rigid .  When she spoke again, it had taken on the odd, reverberating quality that Harry associated with those instances when the Powers chose to speak through her.

 

“When the light of the two who battle for the Soul of the World is seen in the sky, then will those who came before lay aside their choice to live apart and empower he who will prevail in that which needs be done.”

 

“Damn!” said Harry eloquently.  He stepped forward, catching Ginny even as her knees gave way.  “Isn’t there a way to get this to stop, Professor?  She can’t take this, not now, not after-” Harry’s voice broke as he pulled Ginny tightly against him.  Her body was shuddering spasmodically.  Harry rummaged in his robes and breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers brushed the etched flask that held the Goblin meade.  He held the flask to Ginny’s lips.  It took three gulps to bring her back to herself and even then she looked as if she might pass out at any moment.  Harry held her even more tightly and slid down the wall until she was resting on his lap.

 

“Come to me, Ginny.”

 

“Harry, No, not — not now.”

 

“Yes now, better to have both of us weak than one of us dead!”

 

She closed her eyes, and sighed as she opened her mind to his, allowing him to absorb part of the horror that the Powers had stirred within her.  Harry realized that he had been right to insist on her sharing the memory, even as his exhausted body and mind, nearly overwhelmed with terror and sensation, slipped mercifully into oblivion.

 

*     *     *

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said a voice in his ear.  Ginny’s voice.  Harry smiled and reached out to her, pulling her into his arms, pinning her tightly against his side.

 

“Er . . .Mr. Potter?” came the questioning voice of Madam Pomfrey.  Ginny giggled and Harry could hear a distinct snort of amusement that sounded like Ron.  He opened his eyes.  He was in the hospital wing, a circle of faces stood around him, most of them now grinning broadly.

 

“I would consider that a definite sign that he has made a full recovery,” said Madam Pomfrey, the smile still clearly evident in her voice. 

 

“What — why am I here?” Harry managed, sitting up and pulling on his glasses, which had been placed on the bedside table.

 

“You passed out,” said Professor Dumbledore, his lips twitching, “after you took part of the load from Miss Weasley and before we could administer any of the meade to you with any sort of effectiveness.”

 

“You’ve had a fifteen hour lie-in, mate,” said Ron, grinning broadly.  “And while you’ve been dreaming of sugar plums, the rest of us have been setting up camp for those villagers who want to stay on the grounds instead of going back to Hogsmeade.”

 

“How — how many are staying?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“All of them,” said Hermione from the other side of Harry’s bed.  “They’re scared, Harry.  The attack really shook them up.”

 

“We’ve constructed a sort of pseudo-village for them,” explained Dumbledore, “on the other side of the lake, far enough away from the school, but still within the wards.”

“In fifteen hours?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Less actually, we had not only the entire order to help us out, but the villagers as well.  Nearly all of them are qualified witches and wizards.”

 

“What’s going to be done, about the attack I mean?  Is the Ministry going to send in security while Hogsmeade rebuilds?”

 

“The Ministry,” said a deep, resonant voice from behind Dumbledore.  Harry turned to find Kingsley Shaklebolt leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Is denying the entire incident.”

 

“Denying?”  Hermione incredulously. 

 

“How the ruddy hell can they deny half a village being destroyed?” came a gruff voice from somewhere to Harry’s right.

 

“Now Hagrid, you need your rest,” said Madam Pomfrey, bustling towards the voice with a goblet of some sort of steaming liquid in her hands.

 

Harry was out of bed before anyone could protest and had reached the side of Hagrid’s bed in an instant.

 

“My god, Hagrid, what did they do to you?”

 

“I’m okay, Harry, really I am,” Hagrid assured him, twitching himself into an upright position.  “The paste is really stiff is all, Madam Pomfrey assures me that the burns will all heal good as new.”

 

“Yeah, the only casualty is his beard,” said Ron, grinning. 

 

“And that was nearly out of control anyway,” chuckled Hagrid stiffly.

 

“Hagrid was in the Hog’s Head when it was attacked,” Dumbledore explained, smiling down at Hagrid, who was taking up three beds.  “He is solely responsible for rescuing all forty three individuals that were in the establishment at the time.”

 

“And the goat,” growled Hagrid.  “Barmy brother of yours wouldn’t leave without his goat.”

 

Harry could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore’s cough hid a snort of derision, but he wouldn’t have bet on it.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

 

 

Harry stood on the center dais, observing the many dueling pairs around him.  He had split the student body into ten equal parts, assigning one teacher to each group.  Each group was practicing a different spell or curse and the Great Hall rang with the yells of hundreds of voices raised in curses and incantations.  He had been released from the hospital wing Wednesday night and had spent all of Thursday preparing for today’s lesson.

 

“It actually makes sense to do it this way,” observed Professor Dumbledore from Harry’s left.  “In an actual battle situation, they will not have the luxury of not being distracted.”

 

“Do you really think it will come down to a battle here at Hogwarts?”

 

“I hope not, Harry.”

 

“There were so many,” Harry’s mind was replaying the battle in Hogwarts.  “How did he get so many followers so fast?  In the graveyard, my fourth year when he killed Cedric? There were dozens, yes, but not enough to pull off something like what they did in Hogsmeade!”

 

“There is reason to believe that they were not all Death Eaters,” said Dumbledore quietly.  “Two of those whom we captured and whom we believed to be Death Eaters turned out to be under the Imperious Curse.  It is very likely, Harry, that his core of supporters does not number very many more than you saw that day in the graveyard.”

 

“He released a dozen more Death Eaters from Azkaban fifth year,” said Harry, watching the closest group of second year girls who were practicing the disarming spell.

 

“But then we captured at least a dozen during the incident at the Ministry,” countered Dumbledore.  “And we’ve the bodies of ten who were killed in Hogsmeade.”

 

“How many were captured?”

 

“Just the two who turned out to not be Death Eaters.”

 

“We win, they win, we win, they win,” said Harry, grimacing.  “It could go on for a very long time, Professor, couldn’t it?”

 

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and nodded.  “This time, however, we have the advantage of knowing what and who it is we are dealing with.”

 

“Do we really?” Harry asked, his forehead creased.  “Are we really fighting Death Eaters, professor?”

 

“What makes you say that?” asked Dumbledore sharply.

 

“Well, the sixteen Death Eaters we killed, they were all ones that were captured by the ministry two years ago when Voldemort attacked the Ministry, weren’t they?” 

 

Dumbledore’s head snapped up, his blue eyes suddenly alert.  “Why do you ask?”

 

“I — I guess I just wondered,” said Harry, frowning slightly.  He took a deep breath.  “Doesn’t it seem, oh, I don’t know, strange to you that all sixteen would be those that the Ministry already knew about?”

 

“You think that perhaps they were working for the Ministry?”

 

“Or being used by the ministry,” said Harry thoughtfully.  “I mean, if the Ministry can put a collar on a Goblin that lets them know every word they speak and every move they make, how much harder would it be to create a collar that could, oh, I don’t know, control the person who was wearing it somehow.”

 

“And they wouldn’t have to use an illegal forbidden curse,” said Dumbledore, nodding.  “Same effect, no repercussion.  Interesting.  Very interesting.”

 

*     *     *

 

“ . . .and, in closing, I would like to have you all take a moment to remember the twenty six who died a week ago today and to drink with me in honor of their memory.”

 

Dumbledore’s deep, melodic voice reverberated around the Great Hall.  Every single student (including, Harry was rather surprised to see, every one of the Slytherins) stood as one and raised their cups to the twenty six individual black banners that had been hung on the stone walls of the Great Hall.

 

Malfoy, still rather pale and shaky looking was back in his place at the Slytherin table.  Ginny’s healing had saved his life, but he’d had to have multiple blood replenishing potions, and the first batch had caused him to go into toxic shock, nearly killing him again.  From everything Harry had heard, Cho had refused to leave his side, electing instead to stay on at the hospital wing and help Madam Pomfrey with the wounded then return to her training until Malfoy was out of harm’s way.

 

“I still can’t get over those two,” Ginny whispered, nudging Harry in the ribs as she nodded towards Malfoy.  “You do know that Cho is Muggle-born, right?”

 

“No, actually, I didn’t!” said Harry, rather startled.  Not that it made a difference to him.  If he’d known she was Muggle-born back when he was crushing on her, it still wouldn’t have mattered.  But for Malfoy, whose family was so uptight about the entire pure-blood  issue, it seemed rather incongruous.  “You think it’s just a fling for him?”

 

“I don’t think he’d risk his family’s reputation on a fling,” said Ginny, shaking her head.  “What worries me is what will become of the ties between he and Pansy.  They were promised to each other years ago, and the blood bond that is usually used to tie a pure-blood girl to her intended can not be undone.”

 

Harry remembered all too well the night in his third year when a twelve-year-old Ginny had coming down the steps from the girls’ dormitory, seriously pissed off at something Mandy Davenport and Laura Marchbanks had said, and how, in an unusual bout of talkativeness, she had regaled him with the finer points of arranged pure-blood marriages and how some pure-blood families would even go so far as to use a blood bond to bind a pure-blood witch to their son for fear of the blood line being tainted by Muggle blood.

He remembered being rather dazed by the sudden glut of information, and even more so by the fact that Ginny Weasley was actually fun to be around.

 

Sensing his thoughts, Ginny squeezed his hand under the table. The crowed of somber-faced students was filing quietly out of the Great Hall now, headed for bed.  Classes were to start up again in the morning.  There had been some muttering about ‘no respect for the dead’, but Harry had to agree with the Headmaster, it would be better all around to get everyone back in to some semblance of a schedule.

 

“Good news!” muttered Ron, coming up behind them and taking both Harry and Ginny by the elbows.  “Quidditch practice will start up again tomorrow night,” said Ron, suppressing a grin out of respect for the sober crowd around them.  “We’ll be restricted, height-wise, by the dome of the Wards, but otherwise McGonagall says it should be play as usual.”

 

In spite of himself Harry felt a twinge of interest.  It had taken him days, weeks, months even to get over Sirius’s death.  How was it that he wasn’t as badly affected by twenty six deaths (sixty three if you counted the Order members and villagers).

 

“It’s called shock,” came Ginny’s cool, soothing voice in his head.  “It’s too much to take in all at once.”

 

“It has to end, Gin.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But how will I know when it’s time?”

 

“You’ll know,” Ginny reassured him.  “Trust me, Harry, you’ll know.”

 

*     *     *

It was good to get back to a regular schedule and even though the general air in the castle was rather subdued by Hogwarts standards, things began to slip back into their normal routine.  Granted, there were still empty seats at all but the Slytherin table, and empty beds in more than one dormitory.  All it took was a glance at the sole remaining fourth year Gryffindor girl, Amanda Sinclair (who had decided to skip Gladrags, seeing as that she didn’t really have an interest in dress robes, and had agreed instead to meet her dorm mates at the Three Broomsticks and who had thus avoided being crushed with her friends when the roof to Gladrags had collapsed) to bring back the reality of the war being waged just outside of the Hogwarts grounds.

 

And yet, it was the general consensus of the Hogwarts staff that the routine of classes and extracurricular activities be kept as close to normal as possible, which is why the following week found the entire Hogwarts student body (and most of the displaced villagers) crowded into the stands to observe the first Quidditch match of the new year.

 

By some odd alignment of the stars, Hufflepuff beat Ravenclaw 150 to 10.  This wasn’t a reflection on their ability as a team as such, but by the completely unexpected capture of the Snitch by the clearly startled Hufflepuff Seeker.

 

“It flew right into my hand!” Harry heard her telling a fellow teammate a couple days later.  “I didn’t even see it!”

 

This upset meant that Gryffindor would be playing Hufflepuff, not Slytherin in March as they’d expected.

 

“All new tactics!” growled Ron in frustration at their next practice.  “Anderson’s got a whole different Keeping style than Flood, and while the Hufflepuff beaters and their seeker are a joke, their chasers are pretty good, so we’ll have to keep a sharp eye out.  And you two!” he said, directing a hard look at Colin and Dennis.  “Will need to be in top form!  Keep them on their toes!”

 

He was still grumbling about the upset that evening when Harry and Ginny finally made it back to the common room after an hour spent in the empty classroom on the seventh floor, where Ginny was now attempting to teach Harry how tango. 

 

“How is he coming along?” Hermione asked Ginny as Harry flopped into a chair by the fire.

 

“Not bad, considering that this time last year he could barely keep time to the music!” laughed Ginny.

 

“I’ll never be able to give Bill a run for his money,” chuckled Harry, “But I’m determined that Ginny won’t have to be ashamed to be seen dancing with me.”

 

Ron, who was bent over a Quidditch chart strangely reminiscent of the ones Oliver Wood had been so fond of, merely grunted.

 

“Oh come on, Ron!” said Ginny, poking him in the ribs with her wand.  “If George can learn to dance, so can you!”

 

“I’m more worried about the game,” said Ron, snorting.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry.  “In my opinion he should be more worried about his N.E.W.T. presentations than the game,” she said in a stage whisper.

 

“Please tell me that you’re not going to walk us through this entire chart Saturday morning!” groaned Harry as Ron prodded one of the figures across the board with the tip of his wand.

 

“It’s all about tactics!” snarled Ron, shooting Harry a very dirty look.

 

“What are you working on, Hermione?” Harry asked, looking over her shoulder.

 

“The essay for Sprout on ‘Self Defense Using Natural Plant Defense Mechanisms’” said Hermione brightly.  “Do you want me to look yours over, Harry?” she offered.  “Ron’s working on his third draft already.”  She glanced down to where Ron was now watching the figures on his chart move about on their own.  “When he’s not plotting tactics that is.”

 

“But you’re not finished yet,” Harry pointed out.

 

“I’m just adding some information I found while I was researching Snape’s essay on ‘Naturally Occurring Plant Venoms.”

 

“Chandra was right, wasn’t she? Its all starting to run together, isn’t it?” asked Harry, summoning his essay with a flick of his wand and handing it over to Hermione.  She wouldn’t find anything wrong with it, but there was no point in telling her that.

 

“I think that’s the point,” said Hermione, smiling slightly.  “Of school I mean.  To show us that it’s all connected.  I must say, having to put together that book of shadows last year has really helped.  I don’t know any of the seventh years who aren’t keeping them up.”

 

“It’s all connected all right,” said Harry quietly, but not loudly enough so that anyone but Ginny could hear him.  “It’s just too bad that I can’t find a way to connect all if it in such a way that would prevent things Hogsmeade from happening.”

 

“It’ll work out, Harry.  You know it will.”

 

“Yeah, but I still can’t help but feel as if I could have done something more than hole up in a tea room,” Harry grumbled.  He was standing beside the window now, overlooking the lake and the grounds.  Just visible in the distance were the lights of the Pseudo-village where over three hundred villagers were going about their lives.  They’d still have their real lives if it weren’t for me.  He thought miserably.

 

“You don’t know that Harry,” whispered Ginny, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. 

 

But it was true.  The sooner all of this pain and suffering could be brought to an end, the better.  And if the prophecies were to believed it was up to him.  Damn Voldemort!  Harry thought fiercely as the lights across the lake twinkled and beckoned.  What point had there been in attack a defenseless wizarding village?  Just to prove that he could?  Or had it been to provoke Harry into attacking Voldemort before he was ready, before he had a chance to beat the master of terror at his own game? 

 

Sighing deeply, Harry buried his face in Ginny’s hair.  His time would come, but it wasn’t tonight.

 

No,” agreed Ginny.  “Tonight is for other things.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

Defense classes were now back to their normal schedule and Harry was working his students harder than ever.  It wasn’t simply an interesting class now, it was deadly serious. The attack on Hogsmeade and the loss of 26 of their own number seemed to spur most students into a frenzy of concentration and determination to master skills which could keep them from being the victims should another attack occur. 

 

Harry knew that he was considered (by default probably, he thought sometimes) to be the resident student expert on Defense against the Dark Arts, but he didn’t realize what, exactly, this meant until the fifth Gryffindor seventh year asked him for pointers on their Defense Against the Dark Arts presentation. Even some seventh-years from other houses had asked his opinion on their ideas for their own presentations.

 

“I should have known,” he muttered to Ginny when Seamus and Lavender approached him after supper one evening.  “I mean, after Dean and Neville and Parvati.”

 

“And don’t forget Ron and Hermione,” added Ginny, grinning.

 

Harry shrugged.  How could he forget?  He’d helped Hermione to develop quite a complex presentation using clever transfiguration spells (transfiguration was far and away her best subject) to represent Dark objects or creatures, on which she would then perform the correct hex, jinx or charm.  She nearly had it perfect already.  Harry was certain she’d have it flawless by June.

 

For Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender, Harry had stuck to the basics; a series of gradually more complicated hexes, jinxes and counter curses that each could easily handle. 

 

“I could probably charge an advisor fee and make myself a good bit by the end of the year!” Harry said to Ron after Ernie Macmillan approached him after one Herbology class.

“They’d probably pay it, too!” said Ron.  He was still having trouble with producing a Patronus, but he was able to do so many progressively complex hexes in quick succession that Harry hardly thought that this would matter to the testers.

 

When he admitted to Professor Dumbledore what he was doing, Dumbledore merely smiled broadly.

 

“And what, Mr. Potter, are you planning for your own presentations?” he’d asked.

Stumped, Harry merely stared at him for several minutes.  He had given absolutely no thought to his own presentations and, now that he was thinking about it, he could feel the slow burn of panic beginning to roil about in his stomach.  What on earth was he going to do?  The fact that he was apprenticing with Dumbledore was common knowledge.  He remembered what Madam Marchbanks had said about Dumbledore’s doing things with a wand during his N.E.W.T.’s that she’d never seen done before.  They were going to expect something extraordinary from Dumbledore’s apprentice.

 

“Now, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sensing Harry’s building concern.  “There’s no need to panic.  You’ve been helping your fellow seventh-years prepare for their presentations, I think we could safely work on your own one day a week without ill effect on your studies.”

 

Harry felt a wave of gratitude wash through him at this pronouncement.  Indeed, by the time they faced Hufflepuff in March, Harry had made considerable progress towards developing seriously impressive presentations using the prearranged involvement of his elementals in Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

 

Herbology was a different story.  In Herbology there would be no presentation as such, instead, each student would be required to show the proctors the proper methods of handling a dangerous plant.  He was still debating if he should use the Vampire Vine (a spiky, pale-green creeper with fang-like protuberances that fed on the blood of living animals, humans included) or the Nudu Nettle (a stubby little bush with tiny, daisy-like flowers which, if not handled properly, would release an air-born toxin that would put anyone within a ten foot radius into a coma-like sleep for several hours). The description of the Nudu Nettle’s effects in 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, put Harry in mind of what it felt like to sit through one of Binns’s classes, or, as Ron so succinctly put it, “Like a double dose of Novocain to the brain.”

 

Potions, on the other hand, would be a simple matter of picking the most complex potion he felt he could handle, and doing it perfectly.  Harry shuddered at the mere thought.  Potions was still his least favorite class in spite of the fact that Snape was no longer singling him out for caustic comments or slurs.  Instead, he seemed to be studiously ignoring Harry, which suited Harry just fine.  In fact, he found that he could do much better quality of work without Snape breathing down his neck.  And Hagrid had promised to come up with a creature that he could use to demonstrate his ability in Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry threw himself into the preparation for his presentations and projects with a burst of energy.  He was able to parcel much of it out to his Elementals, but he still had a lot to do.  In fact, it was with some surprise that their match against Hufflepuff was suddenly upon them.

 

The match (held in nearly perfect weather conditions) was almost a joke.  It lasted as long as it did because neither seeker could seem to catch a glimpse of the snitch.  For two hours Harry soared about the field, wondering if perhaps he needed new glasses, watching as Gryffindor scored goal after goal.

 

The score was already 206 to 30 in favor of Gryffindor by the time Harry finally managed to locate and catch the snitch, (which he had found bobbing about lazily in mid-field as if it had been there all the time), bringing the score up to 410 to 30.

 

Their victory over Hufflepuff ensured that they would be playing for the Quidditch cup.  Whether they would be playing against Slytherin or Ravenclaw, depended entirely on the match between those two houses in April.

 

Harry’s classes with Dumbledore were taking on an oddly expectant intensity, sometimes lasting hours longer then they were supposed to. Under Dumbledore’s tutelage Harry mastered the Taproot Curse (the next of the Dark Spells) which (when properly cast) enabled the one casting it to tap into their victims energy stores, draining them to the point of exhaustion, the best ways to use his Mage Fire to create defensive shields and obstacles as well as a multitude of obsolete charms and hexes that most attackers had never heard of and would never expect him to use.

 

Even when Harry dropped into bed long after midnight, exhausted by his hours of spell casting, mage-fire manipulation and practice with his elementals, he didn’t complain.  It was as if he could sense the approach of something enormous, something for which he needed to be prepared, something that was, like some huge beast, at this very moment crouched just over the horizon, ready to spring. . . .

 

So keyed up was Harry for some sort of unexpected attack or confrontation, that when he was called out of Charms on the Monday before the Easter holidays by Professor McGonagall, he was fully expecting her to tell him that something devastating had happened.  Therefore, he was completely bewildered when she told him that there was someone in her office who would like to speak with him.

 

“Who is it, Professor?” asked Harry as they approached her office.

 

“I have been specifically instructed not to give you that information,” she said, stopping dead and staring at him intently.

 

Harry was so used to Professor McGonagall’s shielding of her thoughts, that it took him a full minute to realize that her thoughts were now spilling out in a rapid, but coherent torrent.

It was a team from the Department for Magical Safety and Home Protection.  He was being investigated for suspected links to the practice of the Dark Arts.  They had all the paperwork to make the investigation legal, and they had insisted that she wear a voice transmitter when she came to collect him so that they could monitor her conversation with Harry and ensure that she would not be tipping him off.

 

Harry nodded, still looking into her eyes to ensure her that he had picked up on her thoughts then said, “Well, I hope it won’t take long ‘cause I promised Ginny I’d sit with her at lunch.”

 

Smiling slightly, Professor McGonagall ushered him into her office.  A witch of about thirty with shoulder-length dark red hair and patrician features was seated in one of the armchairs by McGonagall’s fire.  A wizard, probably in his mid thirties, and just starting to go gray at the temples, was standing in front of the fireplace, leaning casually against the mantelpiece.  Both of them smiled broadly as he entered.

 

“Mr. Potter, this is special Agent Matthew Peters and Special Agent Angela Shipton, both of the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection,” said Professor McGonagall through white lips.

 

“Mr. Potter!” said Special Agent Peters congenially, holding out his hand for Harry to shake.  “It is such an honor to meet you at last!”

 

His voice was carefully calculated to be pleasant and non-threatening.  Harry met his eye, and knew at once that they were under orders to interview him, preferably without anyone else being present, which they could do, seeing as that he was of age, but that if he requested someone to be present they were, by their own law, obliged to allow it, although it was not required that they inform him of this.

 

“And I’m pleased to present my lovely assistant, Special Agent Angela Shipton.”

 

The woman rose gracefully from her chair by the fire and took Harry’s hand in her own smooth, cool one.

 

“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Potter,” she said smoothly, her deep blue eyes meeting his.

 

Harry swallowed, then realized why he was reacting to her this way.  She was a Veela!  Or at least a part-Veela.  He’d never seen a Veela with red hair before!

 

Be careful, Harry!” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  “They’re obviously trying to trick you into telling them something.  Most men would probably fall all over themselves to tell Ms. Shipton anything she asked. Don’t let them realize that you’re immune!

 

But why the red hair?” Harry wondered, then he realized, they had modeled her after Ginny!

I’m flattered,” said Ginny, sounding amused.

 

“Ms. Shipton,” said Harry, letting his voice sound slightly breathless.  “Very nice to meet you.”

 

She smiled demurely and sat back down even as Agent Peters began talking again.

 

“We’re just here to have a private word with you, Mr. Potter,” he said breezily, “So we’ll only take up a few minutes of your time.  If you’ll excuse us, Minerva?”

 

“Actually, Mr. Peters, I’d feel better if Professor McGonagall stayed,” said Harry quickly.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” said Ms. Shipton creamily.  “We only want a word.”

 

“But it is necessary,” said Harry, dropping his polite, schoolboy tone.  “In fact, I insist on not only having her, but Professor Dumbledore present as well.”

 

“Surely there is no need to disturb the Headmaster?” said Ms. Shipton in her smooth voice.

 

“I assure you, it will be no bother,” said McGonagall briskly, a small smile playing around her lips.  She strode purposefully to the fire and tossed a pinch of powder in before calling “Albus, a word please,” as she did so.

 

A minute later, Professor Dumbledore arrived in a burst of green flames, took in the scene before him, and immediately said, “Shouldn’t you be in Charms, Harry?”

 

“We have requested a private interview,” said Mr. Peters, looking warily at Dumbledore.  “As Agents for the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection, we have the right to privately question anyone we wish.  Mr. Potter is of age, and therefore, it is not legally necessary for you to be present.”

 

“But by your own charter, you are bound to allow the one being questioned to have up to two witnesses of his or her own choosing in attendance, provided that the one being questioned requests the witnesses voluntarily before the questioning begins, although you are not absolutely required to inform the individual being questioned of this,” said Harry quietly.

 

Both McGonagall and Dumbledore were looking at him with odd expressions.  This was obviously news to them.

 

“Most people we question do not consider witnesses necessary, Mr. Potter,” said Mr. Peters rather caustically.

 

“I’m afraid I do,” said Harry coolly.

“Then I am afraid that your having requested them will not look too good on our report, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry merely raised his eyebrows.

 

“It will look as if you have, ah, something to hide,” said Ms. Shipton smoothly.

 

Dumbledore shot her a sharp glance, his eyebrows raising considerably as he did so.  He’d obviously spotted her for what she was immediately.  He looked quickly at Harry, who gave him a surreptitious wink.

 

“I am merely concerned that what I say not be misrepresented or taken out of context,” said Harry, looking levelly at Ms. Shipton.  “I am afraid that I have, on more than one occasion, had my words misquoted and used against me.”

 

Mr. Peters fished a sheaf of parchment out of his inside robe pocket and handed them to Harry with a shrug.

 

“However you wish it.  This is an official document, Mr. Potter.  It gives us the right to question you,” he paused significantly, “uninterrupted,” he added, looking at Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, “about certain allegations that have been made toward your possible association with Dark Arts practitioners, alleged practice of the Dark Arts and possession of materials considered suspect by The Department of Magical Security and Home Protection.”

 

“If you insist on witnesses, and again, let me state that it will certainly look suspect on your report if you do, then they can only observe, and they absolutely can not be allowed to interrupt, interject, or interfere with the proceedings in any way.  Do you understand what we have just said, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry flatly.

 

“Then we will begin the questioning at once,” said Mr. Peters grimly.  “This will be followed by a search of your premises, in this case your dormitory, and the confiscation of any items that could be considered suspect.”

 

Harry nodded curtly, but as soon as he’d heard that they were planning to search his dormitory, he’d called Ginny.

 

Drop everything Ginny!  Get up to my dormitory, take Ron if you need to, remove my invisibility cloak, it’s at the bottom of my trunk, the sneak-o-scope, any letters or pictures from or of Lupin or Sirius, and don’t forget my journals, my mum’s journals too, just to be safe, oh yeah, and the Maurader’s Map.”

 

“What about the extra phial?”

 

“Yeah, that too, just go through everything and hide anything that could be considered questionable.”

 

“I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

 

“Thanks Ginny, you’re a lifesaver!”

 

Harry turned his attention back to the pair by the fire.

 

“First, for the record,” said Mr. Peters, indicating an enchanted quill that was standing, poised, above a piece of parchment, “would you please state your full name, age, birthday, place of birth, current residence and occupation.”

 

“That isn’t a Quick Quotes Quill, is it?” asked Harry, eyeing the quill warily.  He’d had enough experience with Rita Skeeter and the damage she’d been able to inflict to his reputation, not to mention his fragile 14-year-old ego during his fourth year with her Quick Quotes Quill.

 

Ms. Shipton laughed softly.

 

“Of course not, Mr. Potter.  It is a Dict-O-Quill.  It will record exactly what is said, no more, no less.”  She held out the parchment for Harry to read.  Satisfied, he handed it back to her with a small smile.

 

“O.K., then.  My name is Harry James Potter.  I am seventeen years old.  My birthday is July 31st.  I was born,” he paused, looking at Dumbledore curiously.  “I’m sorry, my parents died when I was only a year old Mr. Peters, and my guardians, I’m afraid, never saw fit to tell me where I was born.  Professor Dumbledore might know.”

 

“Professor?” said Mr. Peters, sounding aggravated.

 

“He was born at his family’s estate in Devonshire,” said Dumbledore quietly.

 

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry, giving Dumbledore a small smile.  “As for my profession, I am currently a full-time student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and my current residence is at the same school.”

 

“What year of your education are you currently in, Mr. Potter?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“My seventh.”

 

“Where do you reside when school is not in session, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Number four Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey,” said Harry automatically.

 

“And yet, Mr. Potter, it has come to our attention that as of September of this last year, the said residence burned to the ground and that your Aunt, in whose care you had been placed, died in the fire.”

 

“Yes,” said Harry.”

 

“So, Number four Privet Drive is no longer your principal residence,” said Mr. Peters.

 

“I suppose not,” said Harry.  “To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t given much thought to where I’ll be staying from now on.”

 

“Where did you go over the Christmas holidays, Mr. Potter?” asked Mr. Peters with a faint smile.

 

“To a friend’s wedding,” said Harry promptly.  “And in a Muggle Church nonetheless, that was really cool!”

 

“The name of your friend?”

 

“Fred Weasley.  He married Angelina Johnson on Christmas Day.  They are both friends of mine.”

 

“How did you get to your friend’s wedding, Mr. Potter?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“Muggle Taxi.”

 

“From what address did you take the taxi?”

 

“From the bookshop beside the Leaky Cauldron.”

 

“Why did you leave from that particular address?”

 

“Because it was the closest Muggle address to the Leaky Cauldron that a taxi could come to,” said Harry, smiling slightly.

 

“I think, Mr. Potter, that what Mr. Peters is trying to ask is where did you reside during the Christmas holidays?” said Ms. Shipton smoothly.

 

“Hogwarts,” Harry lied quickly, “But I took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley on Christmas Eve, stayed overnight with Fred’s brother, Bill Weasley, and left by Muggle taxi for the service.”

 

“Is there anyone who can verify your having been here during the Christmas holidays?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“And that would be?”

 

Harry gave Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Dobby the House Elf as witnesses.

 

I’ll tell Dobby,” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  Before Harry could ask her if she had finished stashing his questionable items, Mr. Peters next words sank into his head.

 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Potter, that it has also come to our attention that you have been in contact with, or have had contact with several non-human and part-human individuals on a regular basis.”

 

“Well, yeah,” said Harry, mustering a look of puzzled concern.  “I mean, our care of Magical Creatures teacher is a part giant, isn’t he, and my fifth year Divination Teacher was a Centaur, and our third year Defense Against The Dark Arts Teacher was a werewolf.”

 

“Are you still in contact with any of these individuals?”

 

“Well, yeah,” said Harry.  “I see Hagrid all the time in class, and Frienze I see around the school, at meals and such.”

 

“And the werewolf?”

 

“No sir,” said Harry honestly.  “I am not in contact with any werewolves.”

 

He could see Dumbledore’s mustache twitching slightly.

 

“How about Goblins, Mr. Potter?” came Ms. Shipton’s smooth, creamy voice.  “When was the last time you were in contact with a Goblin?”

 

They know about Ragnock! Harry thought desperately.  But how could they possibly know?  He shook his head.

 

“Well, when I go to Gringotts, sure, but I haven’t been there since this past summer,” he said, pulling a look of innocence onto his face. Harry chanced a glance at the Dict-O-Quill, which was recording busily.

 

“It has also been suggested,” said the Veela-woman in her smooth, creamy voice, “that you may be involved in, or linked to the Dark Arts, Mr. Potter.”

 

“Oh, that!” said Harry, sniggering convincingly.  “It’s because of what happened when I was a baby.”  He brushed back his hair, revealing the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.  “No one knows why I survived You-Know-Who’s curse.”  Harry shrugged, pulling a look of complete innocence onto his face again.  “Whenever anything even remotely ‘Dark’ happens, there are always whispers and rumors.”  He rubbed the scar and grinned sheepishly.  “But I hope this is as close as I ever come to the Dark Arts,” he said with a slight shudder.

 

“Then you deny the charges against you that claim that you can speak Parsletounge?  Because we have multiple witnesses that say otherwise.”

 

“I’ve been told by several people that I can speak Parsletounge,” said Harry, shrugging slightly.  “It happens when I’m around snakes.  That’s probably why I avoid them whenever possible,” he said, shivering slightly as he thought of the Basilisk.

 

“Then you are aware that the ability to speak Parsletounge is considered a Dark Art?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“I am aware that learning Parsletounge is considered suspect,” said Harry.  “I never learned it as such.  I can’t speak it unless I’m face to face with a snake.  Perhaps it has something to do with this,” he motioned at the scar again.  “After all, isn’t You-Know-Who’s sign supposed to be a serpent?”

 

“Yes.  Yes it is, Mr. Potter,” said Mr. Peters.

 

Ms. Shipton interrupted the Dict-O-Quill’s steady flow, used it to make a note of her own on the parchment, then placed the quill back on its tip.

 

“We have read your account, Mr. Potter, of how you managed to escape from You-Know-Who after entering the Tri-Wizard maze,” said Ms. Shipton.

 

Harry looked back at her levelly, waiting for her to continue.

 

“It has been suggested that only someone well acquainted with Dark Magic would be able to survive a direct attack of that sort,” said Mr. Peters bluntly.

 

“Well, if you consider Expelliarmus to be a Dark-spell,” said Harry, grinning, “because that’s all I did.  The rest happened just like I said in the interview.”

 

“But in order for you to force the Dark-Lord’s wand to regurgitate its spells, surely-”

 

“I just concentrated,” said Harry shortly.  “I just concentrated, and it happened.”

 

“Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that using magic without the use of a wand is considered suspect?” said Ms. Shipton softly.

 

“You think I used unauthorized or Dark Magic to force his wand to regurgitate its spells?” said Harry, not bothering to mask his astonishment.  “But it happened while two registered wands were locked in combat, not to mention in the presence of at least two-dozen wands belonging to various Death Eaters, some of them at least would have to have been registered at some point or another.  If I’d used unauthorized Magic, even without a wand, surely one of them would have picked up on it.”

 

“How is it that you know about registered wands recording their spells?” said Mr. Peters sharply.  Professor Dumbledore shot Harry a piercing look.

 

“Read about it somewhere,” said Harry vaguely.  “The Quibbler I think, couple of years ago.  I thought it was a load of old tosh at the time, but I guess they were right on, eh?” he said, with a broad wink at Ms. Shipton, who merely raised her perfect eyebrows at him and interrupted the Dict-O-Quill again to make another note.

 

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Potter, but I believe that you were the only one in your year to receive an Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Mr. Peters.

 

“Was I?” said Harry curiously.

 

“I believe so, Mr. Potter.”

 

“Cool!” said Harry, grinning.  “I wonder what Hermione would think of that?”

 

“Hermione?” asked Ms. Shipton quickly.

 

“Granger, a friend of mine, usually top of the year in everything.”

 

“Ms. Shipton made another note.

 

“Isn’t it a bit odd, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Isn’t what odd?” asked Harry.

 

“The fact that you got the Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the only one in your year to do so, I might add, while achieving only Acceptables or Exceeds expectations in everything else?”

 

“I told you, I got an Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures, too, and since when is getting an Outstanding O.W.L. considered a crime?”

 

“Not a crime, Mr. Potter,” said Ms. Shipton, smiling warmly in a soothing sort of voice.  “Simply suspect, given your academic record.”

 

Harry shrugged.  There was no point in arguing the point with them.  If they wanted to consider something like that suspicious, then they would obviously not let his comments stand in their way.

 

“And is it true, Mr. Potter, that you were tried before the entire Wizengamont for the careless use of underage magic?”

 

“Hardly careless,” said Harry before he could help himself.

 

“You admit to using magic as an underage wizard, purposefully?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry shortly.  “I cast a Patronus charm to allow my cousin and myself to escape from a pair of Dementors.  According to clause seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, I was within the bounds of the law when I drove off those Dementors in Magnolia Crescent.

 

Neither agent spoke for a few minutes, although Ms. Shipton was now scribbling furiously on the parchment.

 

“Then I think it is time, Mr. Potter, for us to inspect your premises,” said Mr. Peters finally.

 

Harry nodded curtly.

 

“Ginny?”

 

All done, Harry.

 

“Thanks a million, Ginny.”

 

“Follow me,” said Harry shortly, and led them out of Professor McGonagall’s office, down the corridor, and up the steps to Gryffindor tower.

 

“Which bed is yours, Mr. Potter?” said Mr. Peters when Harry had led them into his dormitory.  Harry pointed.  “If you three will stand back, please,” said Mr. Peters.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore were standing very close to Harry now, their shoulders touching his.

 

“Invisibility cloak?” muttered Dumbledore

 

“Ginny,” breathed Harry.

 

Dumbledore visibly relaxed, smiling slightly.

 

The two agents were sifting through Harry’s belongings now; books, photos, clothes, letters and assorted odds and ends, scales, telescope, potion kit.  After about half an hour they had accumulated a smile pile of items.  The first was the engagement picture of his parents.

 

“Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that the wizards in this photo were involved in a very prominent Dark Event?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“Of course I am!” Harry snapped, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.  “They are my parents, Mr. Peters.  Voldemort killed them!”

 

Harry saw, to his deep satisfaction, that both the agents had shuddered slightly at the sound of Voldemort’s name.  Next came a handful of Fwooper feathers.

 

“Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that Fwoopers are a controlled species, and that only licensed wizards are allowed to keep or handle them?” asked Mr. Peters.

 

“But Fwooper quills are sold at Flourish and Blotts,” said Harry quickly.  “It’s not illegal to have Fwooper feather quills, is it?”

 

“It is unusual, Mr. Potter, for one individual to have so many quills,” said Ms. Shipton quietly.  “Seeing as that they’re so incredibly expensive.”

 

“Money, Ms. Shipton,” said Harry, drawing himself up to his full height and fixing her with the iciest stare that he could manage, “is hardly one of my more pressing concerns.”

Harry could have sworn that Professor McGonagall’s cough covered a snort of laughter.

 

“And who is the blonde witch in this photo?” asked the Veela-woman, holding up the photo of Harry’s mother and Aunt Petunia.

 

“That is my Aunt Petunia,” said Harry quietly.  “And she’s a muggle, not a witch.”

 

Is?” asked Mr. Peters suspiciously.

 

“Is, was,” said Harry sadly, looking at the photo.  “I can’t believe that I’ll never see her again.

 

“And when was the last time you saw Petunia Dursley?” asked Ms. Shipton.

 

“August 1st,” Harry lied quickly.  “When I left Privet Drive.”

 

“And where did you go when you left Privet Drive, seeing as that school doesn’t start until September 1st?” asked Mr. Peters in an oddly triumphant voice.

 

It was odd, thought Harry, that they kept coming back to this question over and over again. Did they really think that he would voluntarily tell them where the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix was?

 

“He was at my house,” came a new voice from behind them.  Harry spun around.  Neville had arrived and was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl knitting his eyebrows together.

 

“And who are you?” asked Ms. Shipton imperiously.

 

“My name is Neville Longbottom,” said Neville firmly.  “And what are you doing in our dormitory?”

 

“It’s alright, Mr. Longbottom,” said Dumbledore faintly, his lips twitching.  “They are here on Ministry business.”

 

“Ah, the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection I expect,” said Neville acidly.  “Your lot put my Gran through an inspection just before Christmas.  She wasn’t too chuffed about it.”

 

“The Ministry has the right-” began Mr. Peters, but Neville overrode him.

 

“The Ministry has never dealt with my Gran in a temper!” said Neville, one eyebrow raised.  “Which is what I had to do for days after you lot left!”

 

Harry, who had a passing acquaintance with Neville’s Grandmother, and had never before been to his house, thought Neville had a point.  His Grandmother seemed quite formidable.

 

“Are you related to the Longbottoms who are in St. Mungo’s?” asked Mr. Peters suddenly.

 

“Frank and Alice Longbottom are my parents,” said Neville coolly, not so much as a tremor in his voice.  “Anything else you want to know?  Perhaps you should know that they are there because they were tortured into insanity by Voldemort’s supporters, but you probably knew that already.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped open.  Neville had never before said Voldemort’s name out loud, but he hadn’t so much as blinked as he’d said it now.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, that will be all,” said Dumbledore firmly.

 

Neville caught Harry’s eye, winked, and left the way he had come.

 

Ms. Shipton was scribbling on the parchment again.

 

“Well, Mr. Potter,” said Mr. Peters in a would-be-casual tone.  “Given the inconclusive results of our interview, I believe that an official interrogation will be required.”

 

Ms. Shipton scribbled a date and time on a scrap of parchment.

 

“Floor 1A, Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection, Friday, April 13th, 10:00 a.m.”  She said smoothly.  “And you can check all the regulations you like, Mr. Potter.  There will be no one except the accused being allowed access to an official interrogation.”

 

“It would compromise the investigation you see,” interjected Mr. Peters.

 

“And what, exactly, am I being accused of?” asked Harry angrily.

 

“It is clear, Mr. Potter, from our discussion today, that you are hiding information regarding your involvement with the Dark Arts and your communication with suspected Ark Arts practitioners,” said Ms. Shipton coolly.

 

Harry’s jaw fell open again.

 

Drop it Harry,” advised Ginny.  “You didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear.  They couldn’t find any solid evidence of your involvement, they’re bound to be pissed.”

 

Harry shut his mouth again, managed a small smile then said “Ten O’clock, Department of Magical Security and Home Protection, Friday, April 13th. Can’t wait!”  he said brightly, then added, “You lot fixed that fountain yet?”

 

Now I will see you to the front gate,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, and ushered the agents out with a coolness boarding on downright hostility.

 

Dumbledore waited at the window until he saw them crossing the lawn before he moved.

 

“Show yourself,” he muttered.  A salamander popped out of the air before him.

 

“Find and destroy any magical or non-magical listening or recording devices that have been installed by those two that just left,” he murmured.

 

The salamander because a blur, disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with a number of small, silvery squares in its mouth.  It hovered for a moment, then disappeared with a small pop.  It reappeared, seconds later, without the squares.

 

“How many were there?” asked Dumbledore in a normal voice.

 

“Twelve,” said the salamander in its smoky voice.

 

“Where were they?”

 

“Four in Professor McGonagall’s office, one in the entry hall, one attached to the entry portrait to Gryffindor tower and four among Mr. Potter’s things.”

 

“How did you destroy them?” asked Harry curiously.

 

Professor Dumbledore nodded at the salamander.

“A hot enough fire burns anything,” it said liltingly, reminding Harry forcibly of Luna Lovegood’s dreamy voice.

 

“The inspectors won’t be too happy,” sighed Dumbledore.

 

“I’m not too happy myself at the moment,” said Harry, grimacing.

 

Dumbledore smiled slightly.  “That was some quick thinking, Harry.  You too, Mr. Longbottom,” he said, without turning around.

 

Harry spun on his heel.  Neville was back, leaning against the doorframe again, smiling slightly.

 

“Those idiots gone yet?” he asked calmly, surveying the pair of them.

 

“Yes, Mr. Longbottom, they are gone,” said Dumbledore calmly.  “You do realize, of course, that by covering for Harry, you may have put yourself under closer scrutiny byte the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection?”

 

Neville shrugged.  “What are they going to do?  Link seven-year-old toads to the Dark Arts?”

 

Harry snorted.

 

“I will give your Grandmother a courtesy call as soon as I get back to my office,” said Dumbledore smoothly, “So she will know what to expect if the ministry pays her a call.”

Neville nodded, his arms still folded.

 

“She’ll help you out, no problem, especially after the little visit they paid us.  How many listening devices did they plant on you?” he asked.

 

“Twelve,” said Dumbledore, giving Neville a small smile.

 

“Gran’s found four so far,” said Neville with a lopsided smile.

 

“Knowing your Grandmother’s thoroughness, I would suspect that four are all there were.”

 

Neville’s smile broadened.

 

“That’s my Gran.  You do realize that it is almost time for supper?” asked Neville, looking at Harry.

 

Harry glanced at his watch.  It was nearly 4:30 p.m.

 

“Why aren’t you in Herbology, Neville?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Ginny,” said Neville shrugging. “She was dithering!”  He sniggered.  “I’ve never seen her dither.  I made her tell me what was going on, then came straight up here.”

 

“Good thing, too,” said Harry, grinning back at Neville.  “I was running out of fibs.”

 

You’ll have to think up a few more, Mr. Potter, if they are going to be interrogating you next Friday,” said Dumbledore calmly.

 

What’s this?” said Neville, looking alarmed.

 

“I’ve been asked to present myself for interrogation on Friday the thirteenth of April,” said Harry, raising a hand, his fingers splayed.  “Freddy Krueger lives!”

 

Neville looked at him blankly.

 

“It’s a Muggle horror movie, Mr. Longbottom,” said Dumbledore, chuckling appreciatively.

 

“Long story,” muttered Harry, smiling sheepishly.  He had seen the film once, years ago, when Dudley had rented the video.

 

Harry, Neville and Professor Dumbledore headed down to the common room where they ran into Ron, Ginny and Hermione just coming in through the portrait hole.

 

“Harry, what’s going on?” asked Ron anxiously.  “You O.K., mate?”

 

“ Ginny said you were being questioned,” began Hermione, but both of them broke off as Ginny threw herself into Harry’s arms, holding him tightly against her.  She was trembling uncontrollably.

 

“I should have known that a parslemouth could talk his way out of a mess like that!” she said, half laughing and half crying into Harry’s neck.

 

Harry grinned into her hair.

 

“Neville was the right person to tell, Ginny, he saved my neck!”

 

“Yeah, I heard!” she beamed at Neville.  “That was a very brave thing you did, Neville!”  Neville went pink.

 

“Least I could do, Ginny.”

 

“Harry,” said Ginny, looking up at him suddenly.  “Do you think we could make a stop at St. Mungo’s on our way to Headquarters Saturday?”

 

“I think that would be an excellent idea, Ginny,” said Harry, grinning down at her.

 “What do you say, Neville?  St. Mungo’s on Saturday morning?”

 

“You don’t think-” began Neville, staring at Ginny.

 

“I can’t promise it’ll work, Neville,” said Ginny, smiling up at him, “but the least I can do is try!”

 

“But,” Neville swallowed hard.  “I didn’t do this to get anything from you, Ginny!”

 

“I know that, Neville!” said Ginny softly, taking Neville’s arm in her hands.  “I really don’t know why I never thought of it before.  What do you think, Professor?” she said, turning to Dumbledore.

 

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” he said, beaming.

 

Back to index


Chapter 14: THE LONGBOTTOMS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE LONGBOTTOMS

 

 

 

Saturday morning found Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville waiting with their luggage at the front gates of Hogwarts for the Knight Bus to take them first to St. Mungo’s and then #12 Grimmauld Place. To Harry’s surprise, Kingsley Shaklebolt was waiting on board the bus.

 

“We’ve tripled the protections on the Knight Bus,” he murmured to Harry as they boarded.  “We were actually thinking of using a Portkey to transport you, but Dumbledore has every confidence in the extra charms that have been put on the bus.  And just so you don’t sit on him, Remus disillusioned, he’s sitting by that pile of shopping in the back seat, if you’d sit in front of him.  I’ve had a devil of a time holding onto those seats, but there’s more room upstairs.”  He herded Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna up the narrow staircase in the back as Harry and Ginny took their seats in front of the seat seemingly full of luggage.

 

Harry whispered his greeting to Lupin, then  magicked his and Ginny’s luggage into the overhead racks. As the Knight Bus lurched its way across the countryside, Harry was forcibly reminded of his first ever trip aboard it when he had been running away from Privet Drive, his Aunt Marge still bobbing like a grotesque life buoy on the ceiling.  He felt a twinge as he remembered that he had also gotten his first glimpse of his Godfather, Sirius Black, that same night.  Odd that he should remember that night now, because, strangely enough, he felt oddly empty inside as he watched the castle recede, as if he’d never see it again.

 

“Don’t be a prat, Harry, of course you’ll see it again,” said Ginny sharply, one hand on his knee.

 

“It’s just a feeling,” he said, shrugging.

 

“So is this,” said Ginny.  She moved to his lap, straddling him as if he were the chair, until she was resting her elbows on his shoulders instead of the back of the chair.

Her face was just inches from his.  “What do you think of this feeling?” she asked, smiling as she kissed the tip of his nose.

 

Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist.  He could feel the warmth of her pressed against him and was suddenly very aware of how very long it had been since he and Ginny had been alone together. As if on cue the bus lurched to its next stop, causing the pair of them to topple sideways into the aisle.  Harry ended up on top, pinning Ginny to the floor of the bus.

“It makes me feel like I’m in control!  Superior!  On top of things!” growled Harry, deep in his chest.

The whole bus was laughing uproariously, but Harry ignored them and kissed Ginny deeply as the bus lurched again.

 

“St. Mungo’s!” called Stan Shunpike as they slowed to a stop.

 

“If you two are quite finished!” came Lupin’s gravely voice from behind them,” I do believe that we’ve reached our stop.”

 

Grinning, Harry got to his feet and gave Ginny a hand up.  They filed off the bus, which had stopped just outside of the department store that fronted St. Mungo’s.

 

Ron and Hermione stepped through the glass first with Lupin, then Neville and Luna.  Harry, who was watching the street behind them noticed that a small, curly haired girl, not older than five who was hanging on her mom’s hand, was staring, entranced, at the place where Luna and Neville had just disappeared.

 

“She saw us!” said Harry abruptly to Shacklebolt.

 

Chuckling, Kingsley Shaklebolt took Harry and Ginny’s elbows, and steered them through the glass.

 

“It’s not unusual for the young ones to notice things that the adults consider unusual,” he said, shrugging as they stepped into the noisy waiting room.

 

“But what if she tells someone?” Harry asked, curious now.  “Doesn’t that break one of those secrecy codes?”

 

“Who would believe her?” Her parents will think she’s making things up is all.  If she keeps seeing things, they’ll brush it off as a vivid imagination.  When she gets a bit older she’ll be reprimanded for making things up and not living in reality.  Eventually she’ll become just like all the rest and refuse to see what is right in front of her if it doesn’t agree with the definition of reality that she’s been taught to see.”

 

“It just doesn’t seem right is all,” said Harry, more to himself than to the tall, broad shouldered Auror.  “It’s like a giant lie.  Oh yes, little girl, it doesn’t matter what you actually saw, what you say you saw can’t possibly exist, so therefore it doesn’t.”

 

“The alternative,” said Shakelbolt as they all piled into the lift, “Is to announce to the world at large that we exist and watch our way of life disappear as we’re driven into hiding, or used in experiments because they want what we have.”

 

“Do you really think the Muggles would resort to witch burnings again?” said Harry incredulously.

 

“Or worse!”

“What it would take,” said Ginny quietly, “would be to start with a handful of Muggles, little ones, like that girl.”

 

“What girl?” asked Ron, who was watching Ginny, Harry and Shakelbolt with his forehead creased. Ginny ignored him.

 

“Or older ones who are open to the idea, immersing them in our world, letting them see that we’re not so very different than them, then letting it grow from there, not a general announcement,” she said, throwing Shakelbolt a dirty look as the lift clattered to a stop.

 

“Sooner or later someone in power, someone who would want to use our abilities for their own ends, would find out about us,” said Kingsley, shaking his head.

 

“But if you start small,” insisted Ginny as they disembarked, “If you taught just a few, then let them teach their children and so on, perhaps one day we’d have an entire generation that could live together without fear.”

 

“And maybe pigs could fly,” responded Kingsley, rather more abruptly than usual.

 

“Well, if you use the right charm,” began Ron, but stopped abruptly as Moody shot him a quelling look.

 

Ginny sighed, glancing at Harry sideways, but didn’t say anything more.  They had reached the closed ward.  Neville’s Grandmother was waiting outside the ward door.

Neville touched the buzzer.

 

“Well, Neville, what is this all about?” asked his Grandmother sternly, looking around at them all.  “I got your message.  You’re very cryptic message, and here I am, but I’d like to know why-”

 

But Neville merely held up a hand, stemming her flow of words as the ward healer stepped out into the hall.  His Grandmother, looking startled at Neville’s taking the upper hand, subsided while casting an odd, appraising look at her grandson.

 

“Visitors?” asked the healer brightly.  Neville nodded.

 

“For the Longbottoms, right?” she asked.  But before any of them could reply, she’d chirruped, “This way please!”

 

The closed ward was much as Harry remembered it.  Lockhart’s old bed was now occupied by a youngish, dark-haired wizard who was flipping through the pages of a thick volume.  Books were stacked in heaps about his bed and on his bedside table and even on the windowsills.

 

“That’s Maurice.  He is convinced, poor dear, that he is living in a story you see,” murmured the healer.  “He says that when he finds the right one he’ll be able to break the spell and we’ll all live together in peace.”

 

“Interesting idea,” muttered Ron. 

 

“I just wish it was that easy!” countered Harry.

 

On the other side of the ward, a pale, gray-haired witch was standing on her bed, babbling non-stop and gesturing wildly at the ceiling.

 

“Come, Greta.  You can talk to them just as well with your feet on the ground,” said the healer soothingly, helping the babbling witch down from her bed.  “She hears voices you see,” said the healer in an undertone.  “And is convinced that if she can just get close enough, she can join them.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged alarmed looks.

 

“Has-has she lost someone close to her lately?” asked Ginny in a small voice.

 

“How did you know that, dear?” asked the healer.  “She just lost her husband of 72 years only three weeks ago.  That’s when they brought her here.

 

Ginny swallowed hard.

 

She can hear them, Harry, the people who have gone beyond.  She can hear voices like the ones that we heard behind the arch in the death chamber.

 

Harry shivered and took her hand as they followed the healer to the end of the ward where Frank and Alice Longbottom lived.  The healer conjured them some chairs and erected screens around their beds with a wave of her wand before going back to her other charges. 

 

“Now, will someone please tell me what this is all about?” asked Mrs. Longbottom again.  Kingsley Shakelbolt took her aside and began talking quietly to her.

 

Alice Longbottom’s face had lit up when she’d seen Neville, and from her bedside table drawer she’d taken a handful of candy wrappers, which she handed to him, beaming.  When she saw Ginny, however, she stopped dead.

 

“L-Lily?” she said raspily in a voice that sounded as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

 

“Alice Longbottom and Lily Evans were inseparable in school,” came a new voice from behind them.  Albus Dumbledore was standing just inside the screens, watching sadly.  “They were in the same year, different houses.  You do look incredibly like Lily,” he said softly to Ginny.  He glanced then at Mrs. Longbottom, who had stopped talking quite suddenly and was now staring at her daughter-in-law.

 

“L-Lily?” said Alice again, reaching out her hands to Ginny, a smile of delight on her face.

 

Ginny took Alice’s hands in her own and closed her eyes.  Alice suddenly went rigid, her eyes staring straight ahead, widening slightly.  They stood there for some time, locked together.

 

Tears were trickling down Ginny’s face now.  Through his awareness of her, Harry could see the damage that had been done by Bellatrix LeStrange’s Cruciatus curse and, beneath it, hidden under layers of pain and confusion, was the sharp, witty, intelligent mind of Alice Longbottom, the Auror.  He could feel the pain receding, the confusion melting, the damage repairing as Ginny saw and understood.

 

Alice Longbottom blinked, and it was as if a curtain that had been veiling her eyes was drawn back and in that moment she saw Ginny, actually saw her.

 

“You’re not Lily!” she said raspily, still staring at Ginny.  “You have her eyes thought,” she said, looking at Harry with mounting confusion.  She looked around wildly, her eyes finally coming to rest on Mrs. Longbottom.

”Mum?” she said, sounding relieved.  “Mum, where am I?  Where’s Frank?  That woman!” she shuddered, then looked around wildly again.  “Where’s the baby?”

Harry heard a sniff from behind him, Hermione was crying, her head buried in Ron’s shoulder.  Luna was holding Neville’s hand in a viselike grip.

 

Mrs. Longbottom dropped all her dignified pretenses and took Alice in her arms.

 

“Oh, my precious girl!  So much has happened.  Where do I begin?”

 

She took her time, telling the whole story with help from Shakelbolt, who Alice greeted with seeming familiarity, though she seemed rather confused as to how he had gone from the Auror-in-training she remembered to this self-confident man.

 

“They were both Aurors,” muttered Hermione in Harry’s ear.  “They must have worked together.”

 

Harry nodded, his arms now tight around Ginny, who was shivering slightly, tears still pouring down her face, even though her face was now wreathed in smiles.

 

“As for the baby, Alice,” said Mrs. Longbottom, with an odd catch in her voice.  “The baby has grown up.  Alice, I’d like you to met your son, Neville Longbottom.”

 

Neville stepped forward, rather hesitantly, regarding the woman before him with a mixture of wonder and curiosity.  Alice returned the favor, looking him up and down.

 

“I know you!” she said suddenly, looking confused.  “You came to see me, and you gave me candy,” she smiled then, and it was Neville’s lopsided smile.  “And I wanted to give you something back, but all I had-”

 

Neville held out the wrappers, which he was still holding in his free hand.

 

Neville?” she said, reaching out a hand and touching his face.

 

“I missed you, mum!” said Neville gruffly.

 

“You’ve grown so!” said Alice, tears now trickling down her face.  “You grew up, and I’ve missed it!” she folded him in her arms then.  Neville was sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder

 

“It’s O.K., Neville, mummy’s here,” she crooned and Harry, looking around, found that he wasn’t the only one blinking back tears.

 

When things had calmed down a bit, Ginny turned her attention to Frank Longbottom.  An hour later, they left Neville, Luna, and Mrs. Longbottom in the company of Neville’s parents.  Professor Dumbledore had convinced the Healer-in-charge of the Longbottom’s that the shock of seeing Ginny, who closely resembled an old friend of the Longbottoms, had shocked them out of their 16-year stupor.

 

“That was a good thing you did tonight,” Kingsley told Ginny as the lift descended

 

“A very good thing,” Dumbledore agreed.

 

Ginny smiled faintly. Harry looked down at her with concern.  She looked drained and very, very tired.

 

“Did you know that old woman on the closed ward, Ginny?” asked Hermione. “The one you stopped and talked to on the way out?”

 

Ginny shook her head.

 

“But I bet she stopped babbling as soon as Ginny left,” said Ron, smiling grimly.  “You’re going to wear yourself out, Ginny.”

 

Ginny shrugged.  “I had to try,” she said softly, leaning her head against Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so tired, Harry.”

 

Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

 

“The healer says that the Longbottoms will go home this afternoon,” said Dumbledore, smiling as they crossed the waiting room and stepped through the display window entrance.  “There is no point in keeping them any longer, even though their recovery was rather, er, sudden.”

 

Lupin must have stuck out his wand hand.  Instantaneously the Knight bus had appeared in front of them with a tremendous bang.

 

“Your luggage is still on board,” Stan assured them as they clambered on.  “Just like you asked.”  He grinned widly at Harry.  “So, you’re friends with the real Neville Longbottom now, eh?” he asked.

 

Harry shrugged.  “Always was,” he said.

 

Dumbledore was looking back and forth between Harry and Stan.

 

“Never mind,” Harry told him, grinning sheepishly.  “Long story.”

 

“Now where?” Stan asked as they settled themselves.

 

“Grimmauld Place,” said Dumbledore.

 

“No number?” interjected Ernie, the driver.

 

“Not presently, no. We’ll walk from there.”  Which, Harry thought, wasn’t entirely a lie.

 

“Your call, governor,” said Ernie, shrugging.  He accelerated and a moment later they were rumbling past the small square of scrubby grass and brush in the middle of Grimmauld Place.

 

Stan helped them pile their luggage onto the pavement before re-boarding the bus.  With a loud crack the Knight bus disappeared and the post box that had jumped out of its way as it left snapped back into place.

 

Mrs. Weasley met them at the door with hugs all around and a disillusinioning spell for Lupin, and Kingsley magicked their luggage to their rooms before they all trouped downstairs to the kitchen.

 

“I know it’s a bit early for an actual supper,” said Mrs. Weasley as they entered the kitchen, “But I know you missed lunch, so-” she gestured at the kitchen table, which was set for tea.

 

“Harry!” cried a voice, and Aunt Petunia, who had been putting a tray of éclairs onto the table, put them down carefully and came to give him a hug.

 

“You look good!” Harry told her, holding her out at arm’s length and looking her up and down.  Her curly blonde hair now fell well below her shoulders and was cut so that some of the ringlets framed her face, softening her features somewhat.  And, while she was still slim, she had put on some weight, and it set well.

 

“Being in love becomes you!” Harry whispered, and was rewarded by his Aunt going slightly pink.  “Are you happy?” he asked her quietly.

 

So happy, Harry!” she said, smiling up at him.  He could see the truth in her eyes.  “Although I know — I know I don’t really have any right to be, not after — after-”

 

“It’s over,” Harry said firmly, taking his aunt by the shoulders.  “Mistakes were made, you did what you did.  I’ll admit that I’ve been thinking about it . . . wondering why . . .but you know what?”

 

Petunia shook her head.

 

“I’ve decided that it just doesn’t matter,” said Harry, “Not now.  Not after everything both of us have gone through.  So,” he said quickly, pulling up chairs for all of them,

“Do you keep up with Dudley?”

 

“Oh yes,” said his Aunt.  “Vernon’s got him a job lined up at Grunnings as soon as he’s finished school.”

 

Harry shuddered.  Grunnings was Uncle Vernon’s company, which sold drills and was, in Harry’s opinion, the most boring place on earth.  “Boring,” he muttered.

 

“My thoughts exactly!” said Petunia with a grimace.  “Drills, Harry, I ask you!  How can anyone make a career out of selling drills without going crazy?  There were times I thought I would go quietly insane listening to Vernon go on about his models and orders.”

 

“Where is Remus, anyway?” asked Harry, looking around the table.

“Here,” said Lupin, stepping into the kitchen and stooping to kiss Petunia’s neck.

 

“Did you know, Harry,” put in Dumbledore, “That Petunia is the only Muggle to ever have become a member of the Order of the Phoenix?”

 

Really?” said Harry, looking at her appreciatively.

 

His Aunt smiled and shrugged. “I know my contributions are limited,” she said, holding her hands palms up.  “But I can help Molly take care of headquarters, which frees her up for other things.”

 

“And she’s a great asset to us with her knowledge of the Muggle world,” interjected Dumbledore smoothly.  “Banking and shopping and getting us things we need.”

 

“I go by the name Pamela Evans now,” she said, giving Harry a grin.  “They’ve got me a drivers license and passport and everything.”

 

The conversations picked up around them, and Harry became very aware of the fact that Ginny had hardly touched her food.

 

“You O.K., Ginny?” he whispered.

 

“I’m just tired.”

 

“We need to get you to bed I think,” said Harry.

 

“Sounds good to me,” murmured Ginny sleepily.  She wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist and nestled her head under his chin and, within minutes, had fallen sound asleep.

Harry caught Dumbledore’s eye.

 

“Why don’t you take her up, Harry,” he said quietly.

 

Mrs. Weasley whipped around.  “Is there something wrong, Albus?” she said, glancing from Dumbledore to Ginny, who was nestled in the circle of Harry’s arm.

 

“She just needs a good night’s rest, Molly, she’s had a tiring day.”

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Weasley sharply.  “Ginny?”

 

“Sit down, Molly,” said Dumbledore kindly, “And I’ll tell you all about it.”

 

“But Ginny,” began Mrs. Weasley, getting to her feet.

 

“Harry can take her upstairs, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley, laying a hand on her arm.

 

“Is she O.K.?  What happened?”

 

“Something wonderful, Molly,” said Dumbledore soothingly as Harry picked Ginny up in his arms like a child and started up the stairs.  “Something miraculous!”

 

*     *     *

 

Ginny stirred as Harry laid her on her bed, waking up enough so that Harry could help her out of her clothes and into her nightgown, but she was asleep again practically before her had touched the pillow.

 

What on earth had he done to deserve to be loved by someone as incredible as Ginny? Thought Harry as he stood over her sleeping form, brushing a few stray locks of hair from her face.

 

“I love you Ginevra Potter,” Harry whispered into her ear as he pulled the covers up under her chin and kissed her lips lightly.  He may have been mistaken, but Harry thought that she had smiled slightly at his words. 

 

“Take care of her!” he admonished the sparkle beside her bed; the wind sprite that he had guarding her.

 

“Of course, sir!” it chimed quietly.

 

“We’ll have to bring them up to speed of course,” Lupin was saying when Harry came back into the kitchen.

 

“Eighteen years worth of catching up!” chuckled Dumbledore.

 

“How’s Ginny?” asked Ron instantly when he caught sight of Harry.

 

“Sleeping like a baby,” said Harry as he sat down in Ginny’s empty chair.  “She was worn out.”

 

“I can imagine!” said Dumbledore.  “Channeling the amount of healing energy it required to undo the damage done to the Longbottoms would wear anyone out.”

 

“I’ll go up after supper and help her into her night things,” said Mrs. Weasley briskly.

 

Harry trod on Hermione’s foot under the table.

 

“Let me, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione, cottoning on almost instantly.  “I’ll do it when I go up to bed.”

 

“Well, O.K. dear, if you really don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all!” said Hermione reassuringly.

 

“Thanks!” muttered Harry out of the corner of his mouth when he was sure that Mrs. Weasley was occupied in ladling more stew into the serving dish.  “I’d never hear the end of it if she knew that I’d already helped her into her night things.”

 

Hermione simply smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.

 

 

 

Harry awoke with a start.  By the illuminated dial of his wristwatch he could see that it was just after three in the morning.  Smiling to himself, he closed his eyes and disapperated without a sound.

 

“You called?” he said to the slim figure leaning against the roof wall.  He had reappeared behind the privacy screens in the rooftop garden.

 

Ginny turned to him, opening her arms as she did so, and he came into them willingly, gathering her to him, luxuriating in the feel of her, so vibrantly alive in his arms.

 

“Thank you for tucking me in,” she said, smiling against his chest.

 

“Anytime,” said Harry, grinning into her hair.  “So I take it you’re feeling better?” he said as he felt Ginny’s hands slip up under his pajama top.

 

“Now Harry, you of all people should know that there are two things I need to truly feel better,” she said, grinning up at him.

 

“And that would be?”

 

“Your mind and your body, Mr. Wizard,” whispered Ginny.  “You’d better kiss me quickly, Harry, before I’m forced to do something desperate.”

 

“Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” said Harry.  His hands were undoing the sash of her robe even as he bent his head and covered her lips with his own.

 

The scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her skin under his hands, of his skin against hers. . . it was as if every centimeter of his body was attuned to her, vibrating with the intensity of their embrace.

 

Her kisses had an oddly erotic passion to them tonight, and the way she touched him, it was as if she were savoring every sensation, as if she knew something he didn’t, as if she’d seen something coming and could, perhaps, shield him with her love if she could only love him hard enough.

 

Ah, but there was something coming.  Harry found that his mind was oddly clear and focused as he looked down at Ginny’s beautiful face, just inches below his and felt her body arching up against his, desperate for his touch.  There was something coming, and whether it came tonight or next week or ten years from now, it would change their lives forever.

 

“Come to me, Ginny,” he whispered and then she was there, in his mind, his body inside of hers, and perhaps it was knowing that this most perfect of moments couldn’t last, that in fact, it might not ever come again, perhaps it was this which lent such an intensity to their lovemaking; such an intensity, such an utterly wild and passionate abandon that Harry forgot everything.  Nothing else mattered.  Nothing mattered but the moment that was theirs tonight.

 

When the sun finally crept over the edge of the roof wall of #12 Grimmauld Place, it found them still wrapped in each other’s arms and hearts and minds, basking in the reflected glow of their love.

 

*     *     *

 

An hour later, Harry and Ginny met on the landing, both fully dressed, to head down to breakfast.

 

“I feel as if I should be embarrassed or something,” Ginny whispered, taking his arm as they started downstairs.  “I mean, seeing you after what we did this morning!” she grinned.

 

“We didn’t do anything we haven’t done before!” Harry whispered back, grinning down at her.

 

“You know what I mean, Harry, that wasn’t like anything-” she paused, at a loss for words.  “That was more incredibly intense than anything I’ve, we’ve ever felt, and you know it!”

 

Harry stopped quite suddenly, caught her about the waist and pulled her up against him.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said gruffly, looking down into her clear amber eyes.  “And just talking about it makes me want you all over again!”

 

“Oh it does, does it?” said Ginny mischievously, wrapping her arms sinuously around his neck and letting her fingers tangle in his hair.  “And what would you say if I were to tell you that just seeing the way you look at me, just being aware of what we were doing to each other only an hour ago makes me tingle all over?” she had pressed her body still closer to his until Harry could feel every curve of her.

 

“I’d say that I think I know a way to make you do more than tingle!” he growled as he bent to catch her lips in a kiss.  His kiss was purposefully erotic: long, slow and sensual.  He was tempting her with his tongue, and he knew he’d succeeded when he felt her sharp intake of breath and felt her body melt fluidly into his.

 

“Er-” came Lupin’s voice from a few steps below them.

 

They broke apart, both panting slightly.

 

“You do know that it’s dangerous to do that on the stairs, don’t you?” he asked, his eyebrows raised so high that they were in danger of slipping off his face.  “It’s way too easy to loose your balance. This is the voice of experience speaking.”

“Um-” began Harry, but Lupin grinned at him and continued.  “Molly is on her way up to fetch you,” he said in a low voice, jerking his head over his shoulder.  “And I thought perhaps it would be prudent if I found you before she did.”

 

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning sheepishly.

 

“Don’t mention it,” said Lupin, still grinning broadly.  He preceded them down the steps to the kitchen.

 

“Here they are, Molly!” he said brightly as the entered the kitchen.

 

“Oh good!  I was just coming to find you!  Have either of you seen Tonks?” she asked as she piled Harry and Ginny’s plates with eggs and bacon.

 

“She went out for a walk,” said Ron, grinning broadly over his coffee mug.

 

“With Charlie again I suppose,” sniffed Mrs. Weasley.

 

Ron sniggered. Hermione shot Ron a reproachful look.

 

“How else are they supposed to find time to be alone together?” he muttered to Harry.

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged guilty glances.  Harry caught Mr. Weasley’s eye and felt his face going red.

 

“When did they leave, Ron?  Arthur, do you know?”  Did anyone see them go?”

 

“About two hours ago,” said Hermione quietly.

 

Mrs. Weasley began to splutter.

 

“Now Molly!” said Mr. Weasley placatingly, “they’re both of age and-”

 

“Well, there is a lot of mischief a pair like them can get into in two hours!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

 

Boy has she got that right,” said Harry in Ginny’s head, causing her to inhale a mouthful of orange juice and earning him a significant glance from both Hermione and Ron, who both knew that he had Ginny had been out.

 

“Don’t gulp, Ginny, you’ll choke!” admonished Mrs. Weasley as Ginny spluttered an incoherent apology.

 

If only she knew what we were doing two hours ago,” sent Ginny

 

She’d think twice about something as innocent as an early morning stroll, anyway,” agreed Harry.

 

Ginny giggled out loud, earning herself a reproachful glance from Mrs. Weasley.

 

Really, Ginny, for a girl who’s getting married in three months, you really need to work on your manners!”

 

“What have manners got to do with getting married?” asked Ron innocently, causing Ginny to descend into another fit of giggles.   Harry was sniggering into his napkin, and even Hermione was smiling broadly, and Mr. Weasley was grinning into his eggs.

 

What is so funny?” said Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly, looking around at them all.

 

When no one answered, her eyes narrowed slightly.  “Then I don’t suppose there will be any argument when I say that I’ll need the four of you today and tomorrow.  Dumbledore has called a meeting of the Order for tomorrow night to welcome back the Longbottoms, and I’ve asked everyone to stay for supper.”

 

Ron groaned.

 

“And no use trying to get out of it by claiming that you have to go to Bill’s!” snapped Mrs. Weasley as Ginny opened her mouth.  “I know perfectly well that he doesn’t have classes on Easter Sunday!”

 

Ginny closed her mouth again. “It was worth a try!” she sent to Harry.

 

“But mum,” began Ron, “cooking supper isn’t going to take us two days!”

 

“Of course not!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.  “Today we’ll clean.  Tomorrow we cook.”

 

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, not with being able to use magic now (or at least Ron, Harry and Hermione were) and nothing like the summer before his fifth year, when the drapes had been full of Doxies and the chest of drawers in the dining room had sported tea-cup sized spiders. They were done by lunchtime, and spent the rest of the afternoon (which was drizzly and wet) in Ron and Harry’s room playing exploding Snap.

By the time the guests started to arrive Monday night, Harry was too tired to argue with Mrs. Weasley’s insistence that the four of them would not be attending the meeting.

 

“You’re still in school!” she’d said when Ron had protested.

 

“Even though it’s because of Ginny that they have anything to celebrate!” Ron had fumed.

 

To Harry’s surprise, when the Longbottoms arrived half an hour before the rest of the guests, they brought Neville with them.

 

“I knew it had to be some sort of set-up like this!” Neville said when they’d been ushered into the hall.  “Gran said that the headquarters before used to be in Godric’s Hollow, and that’s where your parents were, Harry, when Voldemort attacked.”

 

“At Headquarters?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“No, Goddrick’s Hollow.  The headquarters itself was in their barn, it had been converted on the inside or something.  Gran was never too specific about it,” said Neville, shrugging.  “This is nice though,” he added, looking around appreciatively.  “Convenient, too, to be right in London!”

 

“It wasn’t that nice when we first got here!” said Ginny with a shudder.

 

“The house belonged to Sirius Black,” said Harry.

 

“Your Godfather?” asked Neville.  “The one who fell through the arch at the Ministry?”

 

Harry nodded, just thinking about it, even now, he could feel the tears beginning to prickle behind his eyelids.

 

“Nobody had lived here in ten years!” said Ron quickly, shooting a quick, apologetic look at Harry.  “All sorts of nasty stuff had got to breeding; Bandimuns and Spiders and Doxies.”

 

“Don’t forget the Puffskins,” said Hermione with a smile.

 

“Those were dead,” said Ron dismissively.

 

“Well that Ghoul in the upstairs bathroom sure wasn’t!” she said, shivering slightly.

 

“And lets not forget that horrid set of robes that tried to strangle you!” said Ginny, grinning at him.

 

“Sounds like you lot have been busy!” said Neville appreciatively.

 

“So, what did you do with Luna, Neville?” asked Harry curiously.

 

Neville turned crimson.

 

“I think what he meant was, why isn’t she here with you?” said Ginny, smiling slightly.

 

Neville recovered promptly.  “Her dad picked her up at my house this morning,” he said with a sheepish sort of smile.

 

“What did she think of your mum and dad, now that they’re better I mean,” asked Harry curiously.

 

“She and mum hit it off immediately,” said Neville, grinning broadly.  “And dad thinks she is the absolute limit.  He loves to hear all her conspiracy theories, the more ridiculous the better, and they’re always playing these associative word games,” he rubbed his temples, as if he had a headache.  “It makes my head spin.”

 

“She’s not in Ravenclaw for nothing,” said Ginny, smiling slyly.

 

“What was your Gran’s reaction to your parents being back?” asked Hermione tentatively.

 

“She’s in her glory!” said Neville.  “It’s as if she’s a whole new person; friendly and responsive-” he shrugged, looking rather dazed.  “I think that the attack on them must have hit her worse than she ever let on.”

 

“What about you, Neville?” asked Ginny softly.

 

Neville went quiet, considering. “It’s going to take some getting used to,” he said honestly.  “On both sides.  I’ve gotten used to not having my parents available to me, and now that they are. . .” he shrugged.

 

“Now that they are available, you don’t really need them anymore,” finished Harry, nodding in agreement.

 

“Exactly,” said Neville.  “My dad was really cool about it.  He was glad to see me of course, and all of that, but he said right off that it was obvious that I didn’t need a father as such anymore, and that while of course he’ll always be my dad, and that he’ll be there if I need him, that he’d like to be my friend.”

 

Neville glanced appreciatively at the tall, lean man who was leaning casually against the parlor fireplace, talking animatedly to Lupin.

 

“And your mum?” prompted Hermione.

 

Neville’s gaze turned to Alice Longbottom, who was sitting on the sofa beside Professor Dumbledore, talking quietly.

 

“She’s a beautiful person,” said Neville quietly, “But it’s going to take some getting used to for her to realize that her little boy has grow up,” he said, sighing heavily.

 

“She wants to mother you, eh Neville?” said Ron, glancing at his own mother, who had bustled into the room and was now hugging Frank and Alice.  “My mum still does that, mate!  With Charlie, who’s been on his own for years, and Bill, even though he’s married!” said Ron dismissively.  “Its in their nature I think, women” he added.  “Some of them, anyway,” he qualified quickly, intercepting Hermione’s disgusted look at his all-inclusive statement.

 

Dumbledore stood just then, and cleared his throat.  “If you young people would join us for a minute please?” he said, his eyes twinkling.

 

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Harry and Ginny trooped into the parlor and pulled up chairs, all but Harry and Ginny.  Harry remained standing, leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, Ginny in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, both of them looking out at the rest of those assembled.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve met everyone yet,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling at Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom.  “This is my youngest son, Ron,” he said, motioning to where Ron and Hermione were sitting, hand-in-hand.  “And his fiancé, Hermione Granger, they are both in their last year at Hogwarts.

 

Frank and Lice both nodded and smiled.

 

“And my youngest child and only daughter, Ginny, and her-” he paused, glanced at his wife, then continued, “fiancé, Harry Potter.  He’s James and Lily’s son.”

 

His hesitation did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Weasley, who was looking at Mr. Weasley now through narrowed eyes.

 

That is just plain spooky!” said Frank Longbottom at last, looking at Harry and Ginny, where they stood by the fire.  “If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that I was look at James and Lily!”

 

“Except for the eyes,” said Alice softly, looking from Harry to Ginny and back again.  “You’d have to switch the eyes.”

 

“Professor Dumbledore and Neville tell us that we have you to thank for our recovery, Ginny,” said Frank Longbottom as he took both of Ginny’s hand in his.

 

Ginny smiled.  She was embarrassed.  Harry could feel the heat creeping up her neck.  He gave her a nudge.

 

“It’s a gift I didn’t ask for, but one which I can not ignore,” she said softly, meeting their eyes at last.

 

“We are in your debt,” said Frank seriously before leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.  Alice followed, pulling Ginny into her arms.

 

“You’ve given us another chance, Ginny,” she said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes.  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to break down, but you look so much like Lily, it makes my heart hurt!” she whispered then, looking at Harry, nodded and said, “But she lives on in you, I can feel the vibrancy of her sill,” she said, putting one hand on Harry’s face and gazing into his eyes, before turning back to Ginny.  “You two are well matched, I can feel your closeness, your parents would be so proud, Harry!” she smiled then and drew back into the protective circle of her husband’s arm.

 

The doorbell rang then, announcing the first of the Order to arrive.  Members came in a steady stream for the next half hour.  Harry knew, or had seen, many of them before, but there were a number he hadn’t.  Professor’s McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick were there, as well as Hagrid. Charlie and Tonks were sitting in a shadowy corner, their heads together, hair clashing horribly, but obviously too much involved in their conversation to care.

 

Bill arrived with Fleur on his arm.  He caught Harry’s eye and winked broadly.  Next came Fred and Angelina, with George trailing behind and looking rather forlorn.  Kingsley Shaklebolt stood stolid and silent by the fireplace, as unmoving as a carved, teakwood god.  Mundungous Fletcher was trying desperately to engage Lupin in conversation.

 

Mrs. Weasley and Harry’s Aunt Petunia emerged from the kitchen just then.  Mrs. Weasley was directing a long line of plates and platters of food onto the long trestle table in the parlor with her wand.

 

“Please everyone, help yourselves!” she announced to the assembled crowd.  “There is plenty more in the kitchens, so dig in!”

 

“You realize, of course, that mum’s going to throw a fit,” Ron told Harry as he, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny stood in line for the food.

 

“Why’s that?” asked Harry interestedly.

 

“Cause dad says he thinks, and so does Dumbledore, that we should be allowed into the meeting tonight.”

 

“For part of it, anyway,” corrected Hermione.

 

“The innocuous part,” said Ginny, frowning slightly.

 

“The what part?” said Ron, scowling.

 

“The innocuous part, the sanitized news, the bits that aren’t top secret.  Then they’ll shoo us out like a pack of little kids so that they can get down to the meat of the matter,” said Ginny.

 

Harry looked at her.  “A bit tetchy tonight, are we, Ginny?”

 

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“You do know what The Order of the Phoenix is, right Neville?” asked Harry.

 

“More or less, yeah,” said Neville, his forehead creased.  “It’s a secret society spearheaded by Dumbledore, and its sole purpose is to prevent Voldemort’s return to power.”

 

“In a nutshell,” grumbled Ron who had, as usual, flinched when Neville had said Voldemort’s name out loud.

 

“But I thought that the prophecy said it was only you, Harry, who could bring about Voldemort’s defeat.”

 

“Well, they mean to make it difficult for him to get even that far,” said Harry.  “They keep me under tight wraps, let me tell you.”

 

“The purpose being,” said Hermione in a reasonable kind of voice, “to give Harry as much time as possible to prepare for the final confrontation and to keep him alive long enough to get to that point.”

 

Harry grimaced.

 

They dished up platefuls of Mrs. Weasley’s and Aunt Petunia’s fabulous cooking and threaded their way back to the far corner of the parlor where they had drawn up five straight-backed chairs around a small side table.  Harry summoned bottles of butter beer for all of them and they fell to with gusto.

 

“But you’d think,” said Neville, picking up the thread of the conversation where they’d left it in the food line.  “You’d think that Harry, of all people, should be let in on everything there is, everything they know about what is being done.”

 

Harry tried, without success, to suppress a smile.  Two years ago Neville would have forgotten what they’d been talking about in line by the time they’d finished dishing up their plates.  Ginny caught the tail end of his thought and raised her eyebrows at him in agreement.

 

“I think they’re still worried about my mind-link to Voldemort,” said Harry, shrugging.  “They would never admit it, but I think, deep down, they are afraid that if I know what the Order is up to, that Voldemort will gain access to that information through me, or that he’ll attempt to possess me, even if it’s only long enough to gain access to the information in my head.”

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s involuntary shudder, and was suddenly reminded that she, too, knew what it was like to have Voldemort use you for his own ends.

“That’s silly though,” said Neville, shaking his head.  “It’s too obvious.  Voldemort wouldn’t dare, not when half the order expects him to do just that!  Besides, there are plenty of other, less obvious methods of getting the information he needs.”

 

“Such as?” prompted Ron, eyeing Neville with a curious expression on his face.

 

“Well, the primary one being to plant a spy in the heart of the operation,” said Neville promptly.  “Like we’ve done with Snape.  It would have to be someone who Dumbledore trusts, but who has ulterior motives.”

 

“Like Snape!” said Ron with obvious relish.

 

“Not again, Ron!” said Hermione wearily.

 

“Again, too obvious,” said Neville.  “He was a Death Eater, right?  That’s what my parents say.  But you know that too many of the Order aren’t going to trust him.”

 

“They’re the smart ones!” insisted Ron.

 

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

 

“Who would you think would be the spy, Neville?” asked Ginny.  She was watching Neville with an odd, appraising sort of look.

 

He really has a brilliant mind, Harry,” said Ginny sub-vocally.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was quite as talented as his father, if not more so, in spite of what his Grandmother thinks.”

 

“I’d choose someone that no one pays too much attention to,” said Neville.  “Someone who isn’t taken that seriously.  Someone useful, but not indispensable, who is prone to odd behavior.  Someone-”

 

“Like Mundungous!” said Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all together.

 

“Who?” said Neville, looking around curiously.

 

“Mundungous Fletcher,” whispered Ron.  “He’s a petty thief, a pickpocket.  He’s crude and obnoxious and drunk half the time, but he’s useful, he knows every criminal in London and everyone likes him.  He’s supposedly loyal to Dumbledore for something Dumbledore did for Dung ages ago,” said Ron in an undertone.

 

“And, he’s the one that left his post and left me open to the Dementor attack,” said Harry.

 

Noting Neville’s blank look, Harry told him the story of his cousin Dudley and the Dementors in Little Whinging, and how the Ministry had expelled him and then changed it’s mind, and how he’d been tried by the entire Wizengamont.

 

“He’d be worth keeping an eye on, anyway,” said Neville, shaking his head.

 

“I’ll mention it to Dumbledore,” said Harry, nodding emphatically.

 

“Mention what to me?” said Dumbledore’s voice from just behind Harry.  He started and turned quickly, to find Dumbledore smiling down at them over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

 

“We were talking about how Voldemort is getting information about the Order,” said Harry quickly.  “Like where Charlie was going, you said yourself, sir, that only a handful of people knew.”

 

“Indeed yes,” said Dumbledore seriously.  “The attack on the Weasleys, on Charlie, Emmaline and Sturgis, none of these were widely known projects.”

 

“And Neville was saying that it would have to be someone inconspicuous.  Not a brand-new member who isn’t told enough, but an established member, someone you trust, but someone not too obvious, like Professor Snape, or myself.  Someone who’s useful, but not indispensable, someone who is not taken too seriously, who is prone to odd behavior and who is such a part of the surroundings that perhaps you don’t even notice that they are there and perhaps talk about things in front of him.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes snapped immediately onto Mundungous, who was puffing on his pipe by the fire, seemingly uninterested in the conversations going on all around him.  Was it his imagination, thought Harry, or were Dung’s eyes darting back and forth a little too fast?

 

“That is a very interesting assessment, Mr. Longbottom,” said Dumbledore, looking very grave.  “And it will take some investigation.  Now, the reason I came over here, initially, is that it is my wish for all five of you to be present for tonight’s meeting.”

 

“The whole thing?” said Ron incredulously.

 

“Yes, Mr. Weasley, the whole thing,” said Dumbledore, twinkling down at them.

 

“You cleared that with mum yet?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Haven’t even mentioned it to her yet to tell the truth,” admitted Dumbledore.

 

A collective shudder seemed to pass around the group.

 

Dumbledore smiled benignly. “I think I’ll be able to manage to convince her of the necessity of it,” he said comfortably.

 

“Better you than me!” said Ron and Ginny together, and then grinned at each other.

An hour later, when the last remnants of the feast had been whisked away and the parlor had been set back to rights, Dumbledore cleared his throat and called for attention.

 

“If you would all please pull up a seat, we can get this meeting started.”

 

Mrs. Wesley immediately leapt to her feet. “Ginny, Hermione, boys, come on now.  You can all wait upstairs in Ron’s room until we’re finished.”

 

“Actually, Molly, I think they ought to stay for tonight’s meeting,” said Professor Dumbledore serenely.

 

“But-” Mrs. Weasley looked desperately around the room as if for an ally.

 

“They’re of age, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley quietly.

 

“Ginny’s not!” snapped Mrs. Weasley immediately.  “And the rest are still in school!”

“All five of these young people have already dealt with more direct danger than the rest of The Order put together, Molly,” said Dumbledore calmly.  ‘They have a right to know.”

 

“I can’t speak for Neville,” said Mrs. Weasley, glancing pleadingly at the Longbottoms.  “Or for Harry,” she said, looking daggers at Lupin, “Or even Hermione.  But I don’t want my children present.  Ron, Ginny, upstairs please,” she said firmly.

 

“Ron is of age, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley placatingly.

 

“Ginny then.  Upstairs.  Bed.  Now!”

 

Ginny, however, stayed firmly in her seat.

 

“She’s going to hear everything anyway, Molly,” said Dumbledore.

 

“Not if Harry doesn’t tell her!” said Mrs. Weasley, now sounding a touch hysterical.  “And I forbid you to tell her anything, Harry!”

 

“She sees and hears everything I do, Mrs. Weasley,” explained Harry patiently.  “I don’t have to tell her anything.  It’s our bond you see.”

 

“Well, she can block it out or something,” said Mrs. Weasley, sounding desperate.

 

“I can’t block him out, mum,” said Ginny patiently.  “It doesn’t work that way.”

 

“Ginny stays, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley from his chair by the fire.  Mrs. Weasley shut her mouth, which she had opened to protest, and sat down abruptly, her arms crossed, her eyes flashing furiously.

I feel guilty,” sent Ginny.

 

She’s going to have to get used to it, Ginny.”

 

“I know, but it still makes me feel horrible.”

 

“That’s because you’re such a nice person.”

 

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him as Dumbledore began to speak once again.

 

“As you all know, our primary reason for gathering here tonight is to welcome back two members of the Order whom we had assumed were lost to us indefinitely.  Frank, Alice, would you stand please?”

 

The Longbottoms stood, gazing around at the assembled crowd before taking their seats again.

 

“For those of you who aren’t old enough to remember,” continued Dumbledore.  “Frank and Alice Longbottom were both Aurors for the Ministry of Magic and active members of the Order of the Phoenix.  Together they escaped three direct attacks from Lord Voldemort himself.  After Voldemort’s fall sixteen years ago, just as it seemed that he was gone for good and that things could finally get back to normal, a group of Death Eaters led, we now know, by Lucias Malfoy, attacked the Longbottoms in their home. 

“Frank and Alice were both tortured into insanity using the Cruciatus curse.  Their one-year-old son, Neville, who witnessed the entire scene, had his memory wiped clean by the same Mr. Malfoy.”

 

There were mutterings and whispers at this piece of information.   Dumbledore let the muttering die away.

 

“Frank and Alice spent the next fifteen years as residents of the long-term spell-damage ward at St. Mungo’s.  Their son, Neville, was raised by Frank’s mother, Emily.”

 

“Emily?” muttered Harry to Neville, his eyebrows raised.

 

“She doesn’t look like an Emily, does she?” Neville muttered back, grinning broadly.

 

“We owe their recovery to the same young woman whose extraordinary healing abilities cured Remus Lupin of his condition last summer; Arthur and Molly Weasley’s daughter, Ginny.”

 

Ginny went scarlet and scooted down in her chair.

 

“Now, now  Miss Weasley, no need to be shy,” said Dumbledore, smiling widely.  “Stand so that everyone can see you.”

 

Together, Harry and Neville levered Ginny up by her elbows into a standing position.  A round of applause broke out, and Ginny promptly sat back down and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder.

 

“It is this same extraordinary young woman who has also given us four new prophecies regarding the return and ultimate defeat of the Dark Lord,” said Dumbledore smilingly.

 

Four, Dumbledore?” said a wispy blonde witch who was sitting two seats down from Hagrid.  “I only heard of the one.”

 

There were murmurs of agreement.

 

“There have been three others since then,” said Dumbledore.  “They have been recorded and verified by Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries, but I’m afraid that I am not yet at liberty to divulge their contents.”  He paused, looking around at them all.  “And now,” said Dumbledore over the resumed muttering.  “I turn the floor over to Severus.”

 

Professor Snape rose smoothly and came to stand behind the trestle table.  His long-fingered hands with their cracked, yellowish nails rested on the table like albino spiders.

 

“As you know,” he said in his silkiest voice.  “It is my responsibility to report to the order any new plans made by the Dark Lord.”

 

“Notice he doesn’t say how,” muttered Ron into Harry’s ear.

 

Hermione shushed him impatiently, but Harry, staring at Snape as he spoke, was suddenly aware that Voldemort knew.  He knew about Snape’s involvement with the Order! He knew about the meeting tonight!  He knew, and had been feeding Snape disinformation for the last three months!  In fact . . .Harry gave a strangled yell and clapped his hands over his scar even as Snape convulsively grabbed his left forearm with his right hand.

 

“I- I must go,” said Snape, turning as if to leave.

 

“No!” yelled Harry, standing up so suddenly that his chair toppled backwards with a clatter.  “No!  Professor Snape, he knows!”

 

Everyone was staring at Harry now, but Harry, oblivious to their stares had darted to the front of the room and was holding fast to Snape’s arm.

 

“What’s this, Potter?” snarled Snape, making as if to shake Harry off, but Harry clung even tighter, gripping the arm under the fabric with all his strength.

 

“He knows!  Voldemort knows, he knows about you belonging to the Order!  He’s know since Christmas and has been feeding you false information!” said Harry wildly.  He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

“Potter, let go.  I have to leave or it will look strange.”

 

Please, Professor, trust me!  I, his thoughts, they are coming through very clear.  If you go back now, he will kill you!  Someone, someone here has told him!” said Harry looking around the room.

 

“But I-”

 

“Are you sure, Harry?” said Dumbledore sharply.

 

“Positive!  That’s why you lost Aidan Mitchell and Jenn Marchbanks at the end of February when you sent them to alert Madam Bones of an attack on her family, and they were ambushed en route!” said Harry desperately.  He hadn’t known this himself until he said it, but he knew at once, by the many sharp intakes of breath around the room, that he was right.

 

“That’s also why the Fritch family was killed in March,” said Harry with certainty.  “You had someone guarding them, but then new information came that it wasn’t the Fritch’s Voldemort was after at all, but the Floods, and the guards, acting on the new information left, leaving the Fritch’s open to an attack!”

 

Snape sank slowly back into his seat.

 

“How did you know about that?” asked Kingsley Shaklebolt, looking stunned.  “Nobody but Tonks and I knew.  We were the guards.  It was a top secret assignment!”

“I told you!” said Harry, exasperatedly.  “Voldemort knows.  I can see into his mind.  He wanted the Fritch’s out of the way.”  Harry paused, frustrated.  “Who the hell are the Fritches, anyway?” he asked suddenly, looking around.

 

“A Goblin family who asked for our protection,” said Dumbledore sadly.

 

“Ragnock’s cousin,” came Bill’s voice from across the room.

 

Harry felt a sudden lurch in the region of his stomach that he knew at once belonged to Ginny.

 

Oh no!” she said sub-vocally.  “Poor Ragnock!”

 

“If we don’t have a contact in You-Know-Who’s circle, how will we know what’s coming next?” said Professor McGonagall, sounding slightly desperate.

 

What’s coming next is the beginning of the end,” came a quiet voice that nevertheless reverberated around the room.

 

Harry spun around, letting go of Snape’s arm.  Ginny had gone rigid in her chair, her eyes were unfocused, staring at something none of the rest of them could see, her voice had taken on the timbre that Harry had come to think of as the voice of the Power that sometimes chose to speak through her.  The entire room had gone deathly silent.

 

What is coming is the prelude to the final confrontation, when the Sword of Hope shall pierce the Heart of Darkness and bring hope and healing to the world.”

 

Ginny was standing now.  Her white-knuckled hands were gripping the back of the chair in front of her.  Her unseeing eyes were burning with a power not of this world.

 

Bill was on his feet.  All the color had drained from his face.  Harry had taken two steps toward her but then froze again as she took a deep shuddering breath and continued to speak.

 

But if the prelude is not played in its fullness, the confrontation will not come to pass, and darkness will rule.”

 

Ginny’s gaze suddenly snapped into focus.  She was looking directly into Snape’s eyes.  Snape, trembling slightly, looked back at her, what little color there had been in his face had now drained out of it.

 

When he who has the power to conquer the Dark Lord lies as dead, and two minds inhabit one body, know that if the separation can be accomplished, that he will rise again on the third day to bring about that which the Dark Lord fears the most.  Know also that only a Master of the vial, only one who has firsthand knowledge of the Power of Darkness, only you, Severus, can restore him to his body and bring about the final days of hope and healing for the world.”

 

Ginny came to herself with a sharp intake of breath, she was trembling uncontrollably and Harry was moving even as he felt her legs giving out from under her, but it was Neville, sitting beside her, who caught her before she hit the floor.

 

Harry was at Neville’s side in a heartbeat, his chest constricted as he saw Ginny’s pale, clammy face.  Neville handed her to Harry without a word, and Harry cradled her against his chest.

 

Ginny!” screamed Mrs. Weasley from across the room.

 

“Harry, do you have the Meade?” muttered Lupin’s quiet voice in his ear.

 

“On my bedside table.”

 

“Accio flask!” muttered Lupin, pointing his wand over his head.

 

The flask of Goblin Mead soared into Lupin’s outstretched hand.  He uncorked it and held it up to Ginny’s lips.  She gulped it greedily, spluttering as it went down, but welcoming the healing burn.

 

Ginny!”

 

I’m here, Harry.” She sounded very weak.

 

Ginny, come to me. Come to me now!” he demanded, desperate to relieve her of some of the pain.

 

She didn’t have the strength to fight, but opened her mind to his at once.

 

Harry gasped and shuddered, nearly loosing his grip on her as great waves of dark despair and hopelessness washed over him.  Appalled, he watched as a future in which Snape had heeded the call of the Dark Mark and had not been there when the Order needed him most unfolded before his eyes; a future in which he, Harry, had died because Snape had not been there to help, and the hope for the future had died with him.  Snape was this important?  He, Harry, was this indispensable?  It was staggering, awe-inspiring and humbling all at once.

 

“Oh my God, Ginny!” said Harry out loud as the full weight of her vision descended on him.

 

Horrible, isn’t it?” she said sub-vocally, sounding completely drained.

 

How can you stand it?” Harry asked, spluttering slightly as Lupin held the Mead to Harry’s lips in turn.

 

If it wasn’t for you, Harry, and the mead of course, I couldn’t.”

 

“I wish you didn’t have to be subjected to this Ginny,” said Harry, tightening his grip on her as her arms crept around his neck and her head nestled under his chin.

 

“But at least we’re together,” she whispered out loud, smiling up at him.

 

Joined by the power of love,” they said together so no one else could hear.

 

Harry slowly became aware of the noises and conversations breaking out around them.

 

“Was-was that a prophecy, Albus?” asked Mrs. Weasley.  She sounded slightly hysterical.  She also sounded very close.  Harry looked up and saw her standing just a few feet away.  She’s obviously attempted to get to Ginny too, but had been restrained by her husband, who was holding her by both arms.

 

“Yes, Molly,” said Dumbledore quietly.

 

“What was that you gave them, Remus?” asked Kingsley Shaklebolt in his low, rumbling voice from behind them.

“Goblin Meade,” said Lupin quietly.

 

“Meade?” said Shakelbolt, eyeing the flask with interest.

 

“A gift from Ragnock,” said Lupin, “For use only in healing her from the violence of the visions.  We’ve given our word, Harry and I, that it will be used only for that purpose.”

 

“Then why did you give it to Harry too?” asked Tonks curiously.

 

“Because he shares her pain,” said Dumbledore softly.  “They use their ability to merge their minds to lessen the pain that her visions incur.”

 

“She’ll be O.K., then?” asked Mr. Weasley, and Harry could hear the concern in his voice.  He had never directly witnessed one of Ginny’s prophecies before, and he looked severely shaken.

 

Dumbledore glanced at Harry, who gave him a slight nod.

 

“She’s O.K., Arthur,” he said, looking rather relieved himself. 

 

“She’s just very, very tired,” said Harry, tightening his grip on her.

 

The voices around them stopped.  The attention of the entire room seemed to be fixed on Harry again, but Harry was looking at Snape, who was sitting exactly where he had been when Ginny had begun to speak.  He didn’t seem to have moved so much as a muscle.

 

“The power showed her a future in which Professor Snape did not stay tonight, but one in which he heeded the call of the Dark Mark.  Voldemort was waiting to kill you, you know,” Harry said, matter-of-factly to Snape.  “And it turns out that whatever it is that I’m supposed to do can not be done if you are not there to revive me in time to face him,” said Harry softly.  “She was shown a future in which life as we know it has no sanctity, where a promise has now power, and Darkness rules supreme,” said Harry, feeling the words welling up in him like an untapped well.

 

A collective shiver ran through the crowd of witches and wizards around them.

 

Can you take me upstairs, Harry?” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  “I need to lie down I think.”

 

“She needs to rest,” said Harry abruptly, looking down at Ginny’s upturned face.  Her eyes were still closed.  Harry stood, still cradling Ginny to his chest and turned to leave, picking his way carefully across the parlor and up the stairs.

 

“I believe, in light of tonight’s event, we will forgo any more updates-” Dumbledore’s voice drifted up the stairs after them.

 

“Here, Harry, let me get it,” came Hermione’s voice from behind him when he had reached the second floor landing and Ginny’s closed bedroom door.  She slipped around him and opened the door, flicking her wand at the gaslight on the wall, which flickered instantly into light. 

 

Together they helped Ginny out of her clothes and into her nightgown before Harry tucked her into her bed.

 

“Stay with me, Harry,” she whispered out loud.

 

“Now?”

 

“Yes.  I need you to hold me I think.”

 

Harry kicked off his sneakers, slipped out of his jeans, put his wand and glasses on the bedside table and crawled in beside her.  She came instantly into his arms, pillowing her head against his chest, her vibrant hair spilling over his arm and onto the pillow.  With a sigh and a smile, she fell asleep.

 

With tears in her eyes, Hermione covered them with the comforter.

 

“She’s so strong,” whispered Hermione, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Ginny’s ear, “but she needs you so much, Harry.”  She leaned down, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.  “Take care of her, Harry.”

 

“Always,” whispered Harry. 

 

He could hear voices now, down in the hall, excitedly discussing what had just happened.  The front door opened and closed several times, and then there were footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs. Weasley’s voice.

 

“I’m just going to check on Ginny,” she called down.

 

“She’s going to freak!” Harry whispered to Hermione.

 

“Leave it to me!” said Hermione briskly.  She tucked Harry’s jeans under a stack of clean laundry on a nearby chair.  “Now close your eyes.  Pretend you’re asleep.”

 

Harry closed his eyes obediently, tightening his grip on Ginny protectively.  There was a soft knock at the door.

 

“It’s O.K., you can come in,” said Hermione in a whisper. Harry heard the sound of the door opening.  “They’re asleep,” said Hermione’s voice.

 

They?” came what was unmistakably Mrs. Weasley’s voice.

 

Harry heard the floorboards creak and could feel someone looking down at them.

 

“Hermione, he can’t stay with her all night,” said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly.  “Arthur, you’d better wake him.”

 

“Now, Molly” came Mr. Weasley’s voice.  “If you move him you’ll wake her, look how peaceful she is!”

 

“It doesn’t look right, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising.

 

“Now Molly,” said Mr. Weasley, “She’s tired out, I really don’t think-”

 

“I won’t have it, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley curtly. 

 

“Harry’s still dressed, Mrs. Weasley,” lied Hermione quickly.  “Ginny was tired, she asked him to hold her as she fell asleep, their bond you know, and then they both fell asleep.  I covered them up just a few minutes ago.”

 

Harry resisted the urge to smile.  It was the smoothest lie he had ever heard, and coming from Hermione was doubly convincing.

 

“But Arthur, really!”

 

“We might disturb her if we move him,” said Mr. Weasley, and Harry could hear the repressed smile in his voice.

 

“I’ll stay with them, Mrs. Weasley,” volunteered Hermione.  “As chaperone if you like.  My bed’s here, anyway.”

 

“Well, O.K.  That would be best, Hermione.  Yes, thank-you, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley.

 

Harry could feel warm breath on his face and her kiss on his cheek, and then on Ginny’s.

 

“They’re so young,” she whispered, still standing over them.  “How can they possibly be getting married, Arthur, they’re still children!”

 

“Come, Molly, let them sleep,” said Mr. Weasley’s voice.  “Hermione, is there anything I can get you?”

 

“No, thank-you Mr. Weasley,” said Hermione.  “But would you tell Ron goodnight for me?”

 

“Yes dear, yes, we will,” said Mrs. Weasley quickly, and Harry heard the door click shut behind her.  He opened his eyes.

 

“Very smooth, Hermione.  Thank you.”

She grinned at him.

 

“As if you two need a chaperone!” she snorted.  “If you think I’m actually going to stay here all night!” she sniffed loudly.

 

There was a soft pop, and Ron apparated at Hermione’s elbow.  Harry had closed his eyes to mere slits when he’d heard the pop, not knowing who it would be.

 

“How’s Ginny? Ron asked, looking down at the pair on the bed.  “And how on earth did mum ever allow that?” he asked incredulously.

 

“I, uh, talked her into it,” said Hermione, grinning.  “I said I’d stay and chaperone.”

 

“But you’re not going to.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, of course not.”

 

“They look pretty comfortable,” he said softly, obviously assuming that Harry was asleep because his eyes appeared to be closed. “Care to share my bed, Hermione?” he said gruffly.  There was a sudden silence and Harry, through his slitted eyes was able to see Ron and Hermione wrapped in a passionate embrace.  Hermione had lost all her pretenses at decorum and was kissing him with an intensity that Harry found amusing.

 

“Get a room, why don’t you?” he hissed.

 

Ron turned abruptly, his entire face going scarlet.

 

“I thought you were asleep!” he said accusingly.

 

“For all intents and purposes I am,” said Harry, grinning, “At least as far as your mum is concerned, now get, we’ll be fine,” he assured Hermione. 

 

Hermione smiled bemusedly, kissed him again on the cheek, and disapperated with a faint pop, Ron at her heels.

 

Back to index


Chapter 15: OFFICIAL INTERROGATION

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

OFFICIAL INTERROGATION

 

 

Hermione reappeared about 5 a.m. and nudged Harry awake.

 

“Mrs. Weasley’s already up!” she hissed, “She nearly caught Ron and I just now, stuck her head in without warning, I disapperated just in time.  You’d better get dressed Harry!”

 

Hermione turned quite pink when she realized that Harry was now not wearing anything under the bedclothes (Ginny having woken up a few hours earlier, feeling much better).  She turned her back on him quickly as Harry jumped out of bed and into his jeans and t-shirt while Ginny, blushing furiously, pulled her nightgown back on over her head and snuggled back under the covers feigning sleep.

 

“Clear!” Harry hissed as he lay back down beside Ginny, only now fully clothed.

 

Hermione leapt back into her own bed.  Her head had barely touched the pillow when the doorknob squeaked slightly as Mrs. Weasley let herself in.  Harry lay very still, willing his heart to slow its beating to a believably restful state.

 

“Harry dear,” called Mrs. Weasley quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “Harry!”

 

“Hmm?” said Harry, squinting his eyes at her.

 

“I’m going to start breakfast now, Harry.  You might want to go back to your room to change and freshen up, and let the girls dress.”

 

“Yeah, right.  O.K.,” said Harry, willing his voice to sound groggy.

 

He sat up in bed, swung his fully clothed legs out, and heard Mrs. Weasley’s audible sigh of relief, while at the same time feeling Ginny’s concentrated effort to keep from grinning broadly.  He pulled the covers back up around Ginny’s chin and kissed her forehead.

 

Be good, Ginny!” he admonished her sub-vocally.

 

You seemed to think I was!” she shot back.  Harry fought the urge to blush.

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, yawning widely as they exited the room. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, honest!  After Hermione helped her into her night things, Ginny asked me if I’d stay with her until she fell asleep.”  Harry looked sideways at Mrs. Weasley, grinning sheepishly.  “I guess I did too, fall asleep that is.”

 

“It’s quit alright, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, patting his arm.  “Hermione told us what happened and volunteered to stay with you so it wouldn’t look, you know, questionable.”

 

That’s all she knows!” said Harry, who could feel the color threatening to climb his neck again.

 

From the sound of it, Hermione was doing a few questionable things herself,” replied Ginny, giggling.

 

*     *     *

 

 

An hour later, everyone had washed up and was helping themselves to kippers, bacon, eggs and toast in the basement kitchen.

 

“Remus,” said Harry quietly as Mrs. Weasley began frying up a new batch of bacon.  “I was wondering, what sort of condition is the manner house my parents left me in?”

 

“Not bad, actually,” said Lupin, shrugging.  “I stopped in about five years ago to check in on things.  The house elves have been keeping it up nicely.”

 

“House elves?” said Harry, astounded.

 

“Yeah, there are three of them,” said Lupin, shrugging again.  “It’s a family.  Mathias, that’s the father, his wife Shalinda, and their daughter Mia.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of house elves living in families,” said Harry, screwing up his forehead in concentration. 

 

“That’s because they normally don’t,” said Lupin, scowling.  “There’s a regular market in the breeding of house elves.”

 

Breeding them?” said Harry incredulously.

 

“Yes indeed.  Matches are made by design.  The pair remain together until an offspring is produced. If the baby is a female, it is usually kept for breeding purposes, while a male is sold off to another Wizarding family.”

 

“That’s horrible!” said Harry, aghast.

 

“Yes, that’s what your grandparents thought, Harry, and your parents.  With Mathias and Shalinda it was a love match.  Shalinda is descended from generations of house elves that have always been with the Potter family.  Mathias-” Lupin actually snickered.  “Mathias is Dobby’s father.”

 

“Dobby’s father?” said Harry blankly.

“Yes.  Mathias belonged to the Notts.  They rented him out as, well, as a stud,” said Lupin, his lip curling as he pronounced the term.  “The Malfoys had a very old female elf back then, I think her name was Nonnie.  Anyway, she had never been able to produce an offspring.  Well, they hired Mathias as sort of a last result, and Dobby was born.

 

“But they didn’t sell him?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“No, his mother was old and sick.  She died in childbirth so they kept Dobby to replace her.”

 

“And Mathias?”

 

“Met Shalinda when he came to the Potters on an errand.  It was love at first sight for both of them from all accounts.  Normally that would have been the end of it, but your grandparents were very open minded, freethinking individuals. Shalinda had no hesitation in telling them that she’d fallen in love with Mathias, so they bought him off of the Nott’s at three times the going price and set him free.”

 

“Free?” said Harry hopefully.

 

“Yeah, he came immediately to the Potters door and offered his services in exchange for their kindness.  They offered to pay him, but he said that just being able to be with Shalinda would be payment enough.”

 

“Very romantic!” said Harry, grinning.  “So Shalinda is free as well?”

 

“Well, your grandparents freed her when Mathias came to their home because, by the enchantments of their kind, a house elf can not marry while bound to a family.  So, they both wear clothes, but neither one will accept payment, saying that there is no point since they have everything they need, and they might as well be bound, they are that fiercely loyal to the family.”

 

“That is so totally cool!” said Harry, grinning broadly.

 

“It’s beautiful!” sniffed Hermione who had been listening in.  “So they’ve been taking care of the estate?”

 

“Yes,” said Lupin.  “It’s a lovely place in the lake district.”

 

“Because I was wondering,” said Harry, his eyes on his plate.  “Once we’ve had the ceremony, we’ll need a place to live, won’t we?  Ginny and I, I mean.”

 

“I don’t think any of us had thought that far ahead yet,” said Lupin, grinning.  “But you’re right, Harry, you’ll need a place of your own, and it is the most logical choice.  Would you like to see it?” asked Lupin suddenly.  “I’m sure we could arrange a quick jaunt up to look it over.”

 

“I want Ginny to see it too,” said Harry.  “And would you and Ron like to come as well?” he said, turning to Hermione.

 

“I’d love to!” said Hermione quickly.  “I’m sure Ron would want to come too, but how will we get there?”

 

“Well, we four can apparate,” said Harry, indicating Lupin, Ron, himself and Hermione.

 

“Ginny can take the fireplace,” said Lupin quickly.  “The mannor is still hooked up to the flu network, after all.  Don’t want her getting in trouble for apparating without a license,” he muttered so only Harry and Hermione could hear, both of them grinned.  “Besides that, if you don’t mind, I’d like Petunia to come along.”

 

“Of course!” said Harry.  “When do you think we’d be able to go?”

 

“Today, if you want,” said Lupin, grinning.  “I’ve got nothing scheduled.

 

“Go where, Remus?” asked Mrs. Weasley, bustling over with a fresh plate of bacon.

 

“Up to the Potter estate in Devonshire,” said Lupin placidly.  “It’s where they’ll be living after the wedding,” he said casually.

 

“I’d forgotten about the estate,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling broadly.  “Big, beautiful old place, really lovely.”

 

“But so far away!” sighed Mrs. Weasley. 

 

“Now mum,” said Ginny brightly.  “You can pop in to see us whenever you want.”

 

“But you-”

 

“I’ll be taking my apparition test in six weeks,” said Ginny, smiling bemusedly.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly.  “Only six weeks!  There’s still so much to be done!”  She paused, sighed deeply and then added, “I’d come with you, but I’m on duty today.”

 

 

“That’s Okay, Molly, Petunia and I will keep an eye on them,” he said, dropping Harry a broad wink.

 

“Can Muggles travel by Flu powder?” asked Mr. Weasley interestedly,  “I’d never given it much consideration before.”

 

“Oh yes!” said Petunia, laughing softly.  “I’ve traveled by Flu powder and portkey and broomstick, dozens of times when I was younger.  I can’t apparate of course, but the magical methods of transportation work on us too!”

 

“Fascinating!” said Mr. Weasley keenly.  “And there are no odd side effects or-”

 

“Arthur, you’re going to be late!” said Mrs. Weasley, cutting him off.  “And I’ve got to get going myself, Bill will be waiting for me to relieve him.”

 

An hour later, Harry, following the directions he’d been given by Lupin, found himself standing in a large, well-appointed kitchen that was filled with light from a bank of windows running its length.  The kitchen had a scrupulously scrubbed flagstone floor.  Bright copper pots and utensils of every sort as well as assorted baskets, strings of onions, peppers, and bunches of dried herbs hung from hooks in the rough beam ceiling.   Taking up one whole end-wall was a huge, stone fireplace, in front of which stood a trestle table and a collection of mismatched chairs.

 

Lupin was already there, standing by the table, talking to a diminutive figure in neat black pants and a crisp white shirt; a tiny black jacket was hanging on a hook by the door, as were two white linen aprons.

 

Before Harry could comment, Ron and Hermione had apparated beside him with soft pops.  The next moment, Ginny arrived in a burst of green flames, followed quickly by Harry’s Aunt Petunia.  Lupin helped the ladies out of the fireplace, then turned and beckoned Harry to join him.

 

“Mathias, I would like you to meet James and Lily’s son, Harry Potter.

 

“What an honor it is sir!” squeaked the elf.  He was older than Dobby, there were fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but he was not half as old as Kreatcher, and Dobby must have inherited his nose from his mother, because, while Mathias’s nose was long, it did not have Dobby’s pencil shape.  It was Dobby’s tennis-ball sized green eyes looking back at him however, and Harry couldn’t help grinning as he said, “Hello, Mathias, it’s good to meet you.”  The elf beamed at him.

 

“So long I have waited to meet you, Harry Potter, and I must say that the rumors are true, you look just like your father.”

 

“Except for the eyes,” came another, high-pitched voice from Harry’s other side.  This voice, while high-pitched, was far from being squeaky, it was in fact quite musical.  “Those are Miss Lily’s eyes.”

 

Harry looked around quickly.  Another elf, this one in a simple black dress with neat white collar and cuffs stood there looking up at him.  She had black, twinkling eyes that spoke of good humor and intelligence and her bat-like ears poked through a black straw hat with a floppy brim; she was stripping white gloves from her hands as she spoke.

“May I introduce my wife, Shalinda?” said Mathias proudly.

 

“Good to meet you, Shalinda,” said Harry, smiling broadly.

 

“I remember the night you were born, Harry Potter,” said Shalinda and, to Harry’s surprise, he noted that there were tears glistening in her eyes.  “Your parents went into hiding almost immediately.”  She pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.  “I never saw them again.”  She sniffed.  “I never thought I’d see you again!”

 

Harry went down on one knee and, almost without realizing what he did, pulled the little woman into his arms.  She hugged him tightly.

 

“I can’t tell you how much it means to me to see you again!” she said, smiling through her tears.

 

“Shalinda, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” said Harry, beckoning to Ginny.  “My wife, Ginevra Potter.”

 

Shalinda turned to greet her, and clapped both hands over her mouth, stifling a soft scream.  She recovered almost at once! “Please, please forgive me.  I do not mean to be rude,” she gasped, appalled at her manners.

 

Mathias was at her side in a heartbeat, his arms around his wife.

 

“It’s, it’s just that-” Shalinda burst into tears and buried her head on Mathias’s shoulder.

 

“She loved Lily Potter like a daughter,” said Mathias calmly, though he looked rather pale himself.  “And, well, you must know how closely you resemble her,” he said apologetically, looking up at Ginny.

 

Ginny knelt down beside the tiny woman and took both of Shalinda’s hands in her own.

 

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” she said softly.

 

Shalinda looked up, but she was smiling through her tears.

 

“I - I expected him to look like his parents,” she said at last, motioning at Harry, “That I was prepared for, but no one told me-” she paused, looking from Ginny to Harry and back again, her breath catching ever so slightly in her chest.

 

“The resemblance is striking, isn’t it?” asked Lupin from where he stood near the kitchen door with his arm around Petunia’s waist.

 

“I know you!” said Mathias at once, looking at Aunt Petunia.  “You’re Lily’s sister!  There’s a photo of you and Lily in the study.  But, I thought you left, when your parents died, and married a muggle.”

 

“I did,” said Aunt Petunia calmly.  “I’ve left him though.  It was not a love match, and I had to follow my heart,” she said, looking up at Lupin with love in her eyes.

 

“Harry Potter, sir, would you be so kind as to introduce us to your friends?” said Shalinda, wiping her eyes and gesturing towards Ron and Hermione.

 

“I am so sorry,” said Harry quickly.  “These are my best friends, Hermione Granger, and her fiancé and, incidentally, Ginny’s brother, Ron Weasley.”

 

Hands were shaken all around.

 

“We’ll be having a double ceremony this summer, on my birthday, as a matter of fact,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“But you said you were already married!” began Shalinda.

 

“Yes,” interrupted Lupin.  “They’ve been married almost a year.  They exchanged vows and experienced a marriage of souls.  It is all legal, but Ginny does not turn seventeen until June, and while her father is aware of their joining, they have put off telling her mother until they can have a proper ceremony.”

 

“Here?” said Shalinda at once, her eyes lighting up.

 

“Is it big enough?” asked Harry, looking around.

 

Lupin and Mathias both chuckled.

 

“I forgot that you have never been here before, young master,” said Mathias, smiling broadly.  “We must be showing you the house and grounds I think.”

 

“Harry and Ginny are thinking of living here permanently after the wedding,” said Lupin.

 

Shalinda went into ecstasies. “A mistress again!  Oh how wonderful!  I always thought it a shame that this big, beautiful house was so empty and lonely!”

 

Mathias and Shalinda took them all over the house and grounds.  It was a beautiful old estate.  The rambling stone house and outbuildings blended into the landscape as if it had been not so much built as grown.  While large and airy, the house did not put on airs, it had a casual elegance that Harry found himself drawn to instinctively.

 

Downstairs there was the large, neatly appointed kitchen they had arrived in, whose windows looked out over the herb and vegetable gardens and orchards, a dining room with a table that could easily seat twenty and whose picture windows looked out over a tangled rose garden.  There was a large parlor with a grand piano in a an alcove of windows at one end, and lots of comfortable chairs and tables of carved teakwood and mahogany in likely looking places as well as a library with floor to ceiling shelves filled with books of all descriptions.

 

On the second floor there were six principal bedrooms, each with its own private bath and a spectacular view of the surrounding the countryside (Harry and Ginny took a definite interest in the Master bedroom whose banks of windows looked out over the rolling hillsides and it’s huge, king-sized bed hung with white muslin hangings).The third floor was a hive of small rooms that Shalinda said had used to belong to servants and house elves, but were now used mainly for storage.

 

There were extensive stables in a low, stone building behind the vegetable gardens, empty now, as well as several stone storage sheds and a small guest cottage tucked in the center of the apple orchard.  The guest cottage was a charming, one-story structure with a spacious living area, small kitchen, two bedrooms and two full sized baths as well as a wrap-around porch.

 

“But where do you stay?” asked Hermione when the tour was finished.

 

“The gatekeeper’s cottage,” said Shalinda promptly.  “It is small, like this,” she said, indicating the guest cottage, “But large enough for our small family.”

 

“Would you like to see it?” asked Mathias, his eyes lighting up.

 

It was hidden around a bend in the gravel drive that led up to the big house, and was situated in a small copse of trees right beside a large, sturdy-looking wrought iron fence that ran the length of the two lane, paved road outside it.

 

The gatekeeper’s cottage, too, was made of stone, with white trim and a wide, wrap-around porch.  A stunning rock garden was sprawled around the house and here it was that they found Mathias and Shalinda’s daughter, Mia.

 

She was still young, put quite poised.  She had inherited her mother’s nearly normal nose and her father’s green eyes.  With the floppy straw hat she wore, she looked very much like a small, human girl working in her garden.  Her voice was lower pitched than any elf Harry had ever talked to and, like her mother’s was almost musical.  She laughed often and greeted them all happily, showing them around her garden with obvious pride before they went back up to the big house for lunch.

 

“It would be a perfect place for the wedding!” said Hermione, looking around the grounds appreciatively. “What do you think, Ginny, we could have the ceremony right down there overlooking the river!”

 

“And you don’t mind that there will be house elves doing the work?” said Harry slyly. 

 

Ron sniggered appreciatively.

 

“They aren’t slaves, Harry,” said Hermione in a dignified tone of voice.  “They could stop work tomorrow if they wanted to, but it’s obvious that they love their work and their family.”

 

Shalinda and Mia put together a fabulous meal of creamy potato soup and savory cucumber sandwiches in just a few minutes and would have served it in the dining room, but Harry insisted that they all eat together in the kitchen.

 

“Is there anything we can do to prepare for your arrival?” asked Mathias, “Other than the usual I mean, clean sheets and linens, that sort of thing.”

 

“Well,” said Harry slowly, “Ginny dances, she’ll need a place to practice with a barre and mirrors maybe,”

 

“Consider it done sir!” said Mathias happily.  “Ill just knock out the walls between a few of those tiny rooms upstairs, it’ll be perfect.”

 

“I’m sure that we’ll have more for you, flowers and food and such as we get closer to the actual date,” said Ginny, smiling and glancing at Hermione who was beaming.

 

“I haven’t been this excited in years!” breathed Shalinda, clapping her hands together excitedly.  “A wedding!  A new master and mistress!  We’ll be a whole family again!” She sighed rapturously.

 

“What an adorable family!” said Petunia when they had arrived back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

 

“If only Winky could see them, eh?” said Ron, nudging Hermione.

 

Hermione was grinning broadly.

 

“Perhaps we can convince her to come to the wedding, her and Dobby, that way she could see for herself.  That’s the way it should be,” she added, her eyes glowing.  “Oh Harry!  I’m so glad that they are free and happy!”  Hermione was practically crying with happiness herself.

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny spent most of Wednesday and Thursday putting together a guest list for the invitations, and menu for the reception and coming up with a general idea of how they wanted their ceremony to proceed.  When it got down to the colors of the gowns and flowers, Harry and Ron left the decisions in Ginny and Hermione’s capable hands, retreating to their parlor for a game of Wizard’s chess.

 

“I told you mum would be in her glory with a wedding to plan!” said Ron, as Mrs. Weasley bustled in to get the measurements for their suits (Harry had put his foot down at wearing dress robes for his wedding.  He’d like the effect of the tux he’d worn to the dance competition and had compromised by having a white one made up.  Ron had merely shrugged and said that whatever Harry was going to wear was good enough for him).

 

“So, you nervous about tomorrow?” said Ron as his queen bagged one of Harry’s knights.

 

Harry felt his insides clench painfully.  He’d managed to forget all about his appointment with the Department of Magical Safety and Home Protection.

 

“I’m trying not to think about it,” he tempered.

 

“How are you getting there?”

 

“Apparating,” said Harry, lining his bishop up with an unguarded castle. 

 

“Bill’s taking you?”

 

“Dumbledore too,” said Harry, watching with interest as his bishop violently destroyed Ron’s castle.  “But I’ve already been told that they won’t be able to be there during the interrogation.  Lupin went over their by laws with a fine toothed comb.  He couldn’t find any loopholes.”

 

“What if they get nasty?” said Ron, looking worried.

 

“I think I can handle it,” said Harry with a grim smile.  “You’d have been a gonner when they questioned me in McGonagall’s office though,” said Harry, grinning.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“One of the interrogators was a Veela.”

 

Ron swallowed and grinned sheepishly, positioning his knight strategically.

 

“You’re right,” he said, grinning broadly.  “Checkmate, Harry.”

 

 

“I wish that I could come with you, Harry,” Ginny whispered later that night as they lay entwined on their comforter in Ginny’s rock garden.

 

“I would feel better if your were with me too,” said Harry, pulling her tighter against him and luxuriating in the feeling of her slim, supple body against his.

 

“I just don’t like the idea of you going in there alone,” fumed Ginny, leaning on one elbow and looking down at him.  “No witnesses for the person being interrogated?  I’ve never heard of such a thing!  What can they possibly mean by it?”

 

“They mean to charge me with being a practitioner of the Dark Arts,” said Harry heavily.

 

Ridiculous!” said Ginny furiously.

 

“Technically they’d be right,” said Harry, shrugging.  “Half of what I do with Dumbledore is considered to be Dark Magic by the Ministry.

 

“But why you?” said Ginny, her forehead creasing.  “There are dozens of known, documented Dark Arts practitioners out there.  Why don’t they go after some of them?”

 

“Why me?” said Harry.  He sat up abruptly.  “I’ll tell you why me.  Andrew Crofton is in league with Voldemort, that’s why.  He has to be.  He goes on about Magical security and Home Protection, but there have been more deaths and attacks since his office opened than before.”  Harry was standing now, pacing back and forth across the eight-foot square of grass that the privacy screens enclosed. 

 

Ginny was sitting up now, her knees pulled up to her chin under the comforter.  She was watching Harry with a amused sort of expression.

 

“And after the attack on Hogsmeade, what did he do?  He denied the whole damn thing!  More dark creatures loose, did you hear about that dragon attack in Whales?” asked Harry.

 

Ginny nodded, her eyebrows raised.

 

“I’m the one who showed you the article,” she said, her lips twitching.

 

Harry didn’t appear to have heard her.

 

“There are security trolls all over Diagon Alley, and those four children are snatched right out from under their parents noses, and those Vampires in Glasgow!” he shivered and stopped pacing abruptly when he saw Ginny’s broad grin.

 

“And what the devil is so funny!” he growled, glaring at her.

 

Ginny dissolved into giggles.

 

“Oh Harry!” she chortled, “It’s not what you’re saying, I agree with you, really I do, it’s just, well, pacing around like that, so, so furiously, with - with nothing on!”  She broke into peals of laughter and, Harry found himself grateful (and not for the first time) that the privacy screens were also sound proof from the outside.  He glanced down.  She had a point.  He probably did look incredibly silly stalking about.

 

“But Harry,” said Ginny, finally brining her giggles under control.  “What can you do if he is in league with Voldemort, or being controlled by him?  What if they try to kill you?  They could say you’d gone berserk and attacked them or something.”

 

“I’ll be wearing the phial.”

 

“But they may search you, they’d know what that phial is!”

 

“The elementals then.”

 

“But what if they decide on something more subtle?” Ginny insisted.  “Something not necessarily that would kill you, or even harm you but, oh, I don’t know, track you maybe, or soften you up or something?”

 

“Like what?” said Harry, staring at her.

 

“I don’t know what, Harry, I just have this feeling, like I did before Voldemort destroyed our house.  Something’s about to happen.”

 

“I know,” said Harry quietly, still staring at her.  “I feel it too, Ginny, but what can we do?”

 

“I’d just feel better if you didn’t have to do this alone, Harry.”

 

“But I won’t be alone,” said Harry slowly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  “I’ll never be alone again, remember?” he said, lifting her chin with his finger so that she was looking into his eyes.  “We’re always together, Ginny, even if it’s only in here,” he said, pointing to his temple while still holding her gaze with his own.

 

“Joined by the power of love,” they whispered in unison.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Weasley had prepared a huge breakfast since Bill, Kingsley, Mr. Weasley and Professor Dumbledore had come early to escort Harry to his appointment.  Even Ron and Hermione were up early (both of them looking extremely nervous) to see him off.  They all sat around the table eating in silence or, in Harry’s case, attempting to eat.

 

“Well, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley finally.  “We still have to go through security and all.  We might as well head out, even if you’re apparating.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” said Ginny in a quiet voice.

 

“Now Ginny, I’ve told you,” said Mr. Weasley kindly.  “There’s no point!  None of us can be present during the interrogation.”

 

I can,” she said simply, looking at Dumbledore now.  “Professor, I know you have ways of making sure he isn’t physically harmed, but what if they try, something else?”

 

“Like what, Ginny?” asked Lupin curiously.

 

“I don’t know what!” said Ginny, her voice tinged with exasperation.  “I just have a bad feeling about this and maybe, maybe if Harry and I maintain a mind-merge and I am experiencing everything he is, only from an objective point of view-” she shrugged, giving Lupin a small smile.

 

“Then you’d know immediately if something odd was going on,” finished Dumbledore, looking at Ginny appreciatively.  “It is a solution I hadn’t considered,” he said contemplatively.

 

“Me either,” said Harry, staring at her.  “But Ginny, it could be dangerous.  What if they try to break into my mind, like they did with Charlie?  You could be hurt as well.”

 

“Then we’d definitely need to know immediately,” said Dumbledore at once.

 

“But everyone else is apparating,” said Mrs. Weasley faintly.  She hadn’t offered a word of protest so far.  It was if she intuited the importance of what was happening.

 

“You have to submit yourself for a search and all that anyway, right?” said Ginny.  “So I’ll meet you in the Atrium.  I’ll go by Floo powder.”

 

Nine O’clock found Harry, Ginny, Kingsley, Bill and Dumbledore all standing outside the security desk, waiting for Harry, Ginny and Bill to get checked through.

 

“My son and daughter,” he told Eric, the security guard, pointing at Bill and Ginny.  “They’re coming to work with me today.”

Eric processed them through, giving them generic visitor badges imprinted with their names.

 

“And you?” he said to Harry.

 

Harry handed him the slip of parchment Ms. Shipton had given him.

 

“My name is Harry Potter.  I’m supposed to present myself for an official interrogation with the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection at 10 a.m.”

 

Eric blanched, swallowed hard and then handed Harry a badge that had the initials D.M.S.A.H.P. (Department of Magical Security and Home Protection) on it.

 

“What, I don’t get my name on mine?” said Harry curiously, his eyebrows raised.

 

Eric shook his head and motioned Harry through the gate.

 

“Regulations,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

 

“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” Harry muttered to Bill as they made their way to the lifts.

 

“What floor?” asked Harry as they all piled in.

 

“We’re early yet,” said Mr. Weasley, glancing at his watch.  “Let’s go up to my office and then, when it gets closer to your appointment, you can go on up from there,” he said, looking slightly nervous, though not nearly as nervous as Harry felt.

 

“You might as well leave your wand with one of us,” he said, once they’d all squeezed into his office (Bill was actually perched on top of one of the filing cabinets).  “You’ll be required to check it when you go in anyway.”

 

“Why?” asked Harry blankly.

 

“Security issues,” said Mr. Weasley, his lip curling.

 

“You get off the lift in their posh new waiting area, and then there’s a reception desk and a wand-check station.”

 

“Like the coat-check at the theatre,” muttered Bill. 

 

“They won’t allow any wands except those belonging to members of the department,” said Mr. Weasley.  “And while they claim that it is a secure station and that no one will have access to your wand, I have my suspicions,” he said darkly.  “I checked mine once, then, out of curiosity, did a Priori Incatatum spell on it and guess what?”

 

“The last incantation was a Priori Incatatum,” said Harry, knowing he was right.

 

“Right in one,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding.

 

“So, are you all coming up with me?” asked Harry nervously, watching as the hands on the clock on the wall ticked closer to ten.

 

“I am,” said Bill.  “It might look odd for all of us to hang around, and if Ginny’s going to be relaying the proceedings, it might be better if she stayed out of sight.”

 

“Perkins isn’t coming in today,” said Mr. Weasley.  “So we’ll be fine here.”

 

“Well, Harry, it’s almost time,” said Bill.

 

“Stay calm, Harry, don’t let them get to you,” said Mr. Weasley, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and smiling down at him.

 

Mr. Weasley’s thoughts (which Harry picked up on without even really trying to) were anything but calm though.  He was thinking of the man he’d seen being removed from the department on a gurney, how he’d been all limp and pallid, though he’d been drooling and twitching slightly.

 

“Remember what we’ve practiced, Harry,” said Dumbledore’s soothing voice.  “Stay alert.  Don’t give in, no matter what they say or threaten.  You’ll do fine,” he said confidently.  “I know you will.”

 

Harry nodded wordlessly and handed his wand over to Dumbledore for safekeeping.  He turned to Ginny then. 

 

“Ready, Ginny?”

 

She held out her arms, and he came into them willingly, holding her close, luxuriating in the feel and scent of her.

 

God I love you Ginny Potter!”                                                              

 

And I love you!”

 

You ready?”

 

Ready as I’ll ever be!” she said, smiling.

 

I’m scared,” he admitted, smiling down at her.

 

I’ll be with you,” she promised.  “I won’t let anything happen to you. Come to me, Harry,” she whispered out loud.

Harry bent his head, catching her lips in a kiss, opening his mind to hers even as their embrace intensified, and then he could feel himself in her mind, and her vibrant, soothing awareness in his.

 

Don’t leave me, Ginny,”

 

“I won’t,” she promised, “no matter what happens Harry, we’ll always be together.”

 

Joined by the power of love,” they said in unison.

 

*     *     *

 

The lift clattered to a stop.

 

“Level 1-A,” said the cool, female voice.  “Department of Magical Security and Home Protection.  Visitors, please proceed to the reception desk.”

 

The golden grill opened.  Harry and Bill stepped out.  Bill whistled appreciatively.

 

“Dad wasn’t kidding, was he?”

 

“Impressive!” said Harry, his mouth now very dry.

 

They had stepped into a very elegant waiting area.  The floor was covered in thick, blue wall-to-wall carpeting and the creamy white walls were hung with gilt-edged prints and paintings.  Several deep, comfortable looking sofas stood about, grouped with plush armchairs and tables strewn with glossy magazines.

 

“Current!” said Bill appreciatively, his eyebrows raised.

 

Harry sniggered.

 

They made their way across the waiting area to a dark wooden reception desk where an attractive young witch with blonde ringlets and the figure of a super model sat thumbing through a copy of Witch Weekly.

 

“May I help you?” she said, smiling toothily at them.

 

“Uh, yeah, my name is Harry Potter.  I’m supposed to present myself for a formal inquiry at ten O’clock this morning.

 

The reception witch consulted a list.

 

“Yes, yes indeed.  Well, Mr. Potter, if you could step over to our wand-check station, Agent Saunders will check your wand for you.”

“Actually,” Harry cut in, “having been informed of your wand-checking policy, I opted not to bring mine with me.”

 

“But according to security records, Mr. Potter,” said the witch, a slight crease between her perfectly shaped eyebrows now, “a wand identified as belonging to one Harry James Potter was checked through security 45 minutes ago.”

 

Harry stared at her.  Interesting way they had of keeping tabs on who was in the building.

 

“I opted not to bring it here,” Harry clarified as the witch tapped her list.  “I left it with a friend downstairs,” he said casually, purposefully being non-specific.

 

“The reception witch pursed her lips and made a notation on her list.

 

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” she said coolly.  Her smile had disappeared altogether.  “And who are you?” she said, eyeing Bill with interest.

 

“William Weasley,” said Bill distinctly.  “I am escorting Mr. Potter to his inquiry.”

 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Weasley, that due to security issues, if you are not on the appointment list you can not enter the offices.  However,” she said, her smile turning back on like a light bulb as she motioned to the waiting area, “You are more than welcome to wait here for your friend.  Feel free to help yourself to refreshments while you wait,” she said, indicating a table where a pitcher of water, several goblets and assorted bottles of butter beer sat, sweating slightly.  “And Mr. Potter, if you would please step through here.”  She pushed a button and a door in the wall beside her desk swung open with a smooth, well-oiled click.

 

“Don’t drink anything,” Harry muttered to Bill as he turned to go.  “They’ve put truth serums in their drinks, the kind that make you not able to tell a lie.”

 

“Thanks!” whispered Bill.  “And good luck, Harry.”  He gave Harry a brief hug, and Harry stepped through the doorway and into the Department for Magical Security and Home Protection.

 

Mr. Potter, if you will please follow me,” it was another young witch.  This one too was very attractive, her short, chin-length brown hair was cut so that a lock fell alluringly over one eye.

 

Boy, they sure know how to pick them!” Harry shot to Ginny, and was rewarded by hearing her giggle.

 

Probably just trying to soften you up,” she shot back.  “If you were a woman, they’d probably have you escorted by handsome men.

 

The witch stopped outside of an unmarked door.

 

“If you will please step in here, Mr. Potter,” she said, giving him a beguiling smile.  “An agent will be right with you.”

 

She opened the door and motioned him inside.

 

Harry stepped across the threshold.  It was a small room, about ten feet square at the largest.  It was carpeted with the same plush, blue carpeting as the waiting area, except that in this room not just the floor, but the walls and ceiling were carpeted too.  The room was dimly lit, although Harry could not immediately locate the source of the illumination.

 

“Just have a seat, Mr. Potter, and make yourself comfortable,” said the witch pleasantly.

Still smiling, the witch discreetly withdrew, closing the door behind her.

 

Harry looked around the room again.  It was completely empty except for the carpeting and the dull glow.  The only way out was the door he’d just been ushered through.

 

Carpeted walls and ceiling?” Harry said to Ginny questioningly.

 

Professor Dumbledore says that it’s probably sound proofing, or for the concealment of listening devices or something similar.”

 

“Well that certainly makes me feel comfortable,” said Harry sarcastically.  “And why does he think she asked me to have a seat if there is nothing to sit on?” he added.

 

Shakelbolt says that he bets that it is some sort of psychological test.  They may want to see you react when they ask you to do something impossible.”

 

So they’re observing me right now?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked around the room.

 

Dumbledore and Kingsley both say it’s a safe assumption.”

 

Harry grimaced.

 

Too bad I can’t give them something to observe,” said Harry nastily.  He could feel Ginny’s blush as she read his thought.  “How long do you think they’ll keep me in this room?”

 

Shakelbolt says it depends on your reactions, or at least that’s the general theory.”

 

Harry gave a mental shrug, walked over to the wall farthest away from the door and sat down facing it, cross-legged, his back against the wall, prepared to wait.

 

Does any of them have any other last minute advice?” Harry asked Ginny as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Only to keep your temper.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Dumbledore says to keep in mind that some of the agents are bound to be Ligilimens, so remember to keep your Occlumency defenses up.”

 

“Thanks,” said Harry dryly.  “Anything else?”

 

Is the carpet soft?”

 

Ginny, what?”

 

I just thought if the carpet was soft enough I could sneak in somehow and, well-”  her voice trailed off as she sent him a very clear picture of what she’d like to be doing with him at that precise moment.  Harry could feel his color rising.

 

It’s going to look real suspicious if I start blushing for no reason!” he hissed at Ginny.  He could feel her grin at his discomposure.

 

Tell you what, Harry,” she said demurely.  “How about I leave you alone so you can empty your mind properly?”

 

“Just don’t go too far, O.K.?”

 

He could feel Ginny’s smile. “I’ll never be more than a thought away.

 

Harry settled himself more comfortably against the wall, took several deep breaths and began the process which would relax his mind. What might have been minutes or days later the door finally slipped open, admitting a slice of very bright illumination from the corridor outside.

 

How long have I been in here, Ginny?” he asked, squinting against the sudden influx of light.

 

Almost two hours.”

 

“Damn!”

 

“My dear Mr. Potter, I am so sorry!” said a smooth male voice.

 

Harry got to his feet, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the increase in light.

 

“I got stuck in the middle of a very important meeting and simply couldn’t get away.”

 

“Quite alright.  It’s a very comfortable room.  I like the carpet!” Harry said brightly.

The man in the doorway looked at him oddly.

 

“You must be furious with me for keeping you so long.”

 

“I have nowhere else to be today,” said Harry, shrugging.  “Spring break, you know? You must be the agent that the reception witch said would be coming.”

 

“Yes, yes.  Agent Myers,” said the wizard, holding out his hand for Harry to shake.  “Now, Mr. Potter, if you will please come with me, we can get this inquiry underway.”

Harry followed the man down the hall to another unmarked door.

 

“Now, Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers as he opened the door and motioned Harry inside.  “If you’ll please have a seat.”

 

“On what?” asked Harry, glancing around the room.  This one was round and carpeted in a creamy beige (again floor, walls and ceiling).  Ranged around the perimeter of the room were curved two-way mirrors.

 

Why doesn’t this set up make me feel any better?” Harry asked, eyeing the mirrors warily.

 

“I am so sorry!” said agent Myers.  He walked to the center of the room and gave his wand a complicated little wave.  Two squashy armchairs appeared out of thin air; revolved slowly in mid-air for a moment, before falling noiselessly to the floor.

 

“Please Mr. Potter, make yourself comfortable.”

 

Harry sat down, allowing himself to settle back as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

 

“Now, Mr. Potter, you do realize why you are here, do you not?” asked agent Myers, his eyebrows raised.

 

“I know that agents from this department, a Mr. Peters and a Ms. Shipton, came to my school to run an investigation on me.  I was informed that the results of the investigation were inconclusive and that I would be required to present myself for a formal interrogation here, today.”

 

“And were you informed as to why the results of the investigation were deemed to be inconclusive?”

 

“Probably because they didn’t find whatever it was they were looking for.”

 

“Which would be?” prompted agent Myers.

 

Careful Harry!” interjected Ginny.

 

“Well, Mr. Myers, from the sorts of questions they were asking me, I assume that they were looking for evidence, or at least a confession from me, stating that I am a practitioner of the Dark Arts.  When they first arrived that is exactly what they told me had been reported to your department.”

 

“Yes Mr. Potter.  You are aware, of course, of the list put out by the Ministry that names all the ways by which one might identify a practitioner of the Dark Arts.”

 

“I read it, yes.”

 

“And so you are aware that the ability to speak Parsletounge is considered a Dark Art?”

 

“So I’ve been told,” said Harry shortly.

 

“And we have been informed by multiple reliable witnesses, that you are indeed a parslemouth.”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“You don’t know?” said agent Myers incredulously.

 

“Mr. Myers, I never learned Parsletounge.  I never studied it.  If you’ve gone over, as I’m sure you have, the record of the informal inquiry conducted by agents Peters and Shipton, you’ll see that I explained it all to them in considerable detail.”

 

“Yes, indeed you did.  Now Mr. Potter, can you tell me any more about the claims you have received which state that you have had and continue to have contact with non or part humans?”

 

“Rubeus Hagrid is a part-giant, yes, but he is an instructor at Hogwarts.  Mr. Frienze is a Centaur and he is also an instructor.  I can’t very well avoid either of them.”

 

“Of course not, Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers smoothly.  “Both of the individuals you have named have been registered and licensed according to Ministry regulations.  But have you not also had contact with a werewolf? One Remus Lupin?”

 

“Remus Lupin was my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher during my 3rd year,” said Harry.

 

“And are you still in contact with him?”

 

“No,” said Harry promptly.  “I am not currently in contact with any werewolves.”

 

“Or Goblins?” added agent Myers smoothly.

“Goblins?” said Harry blankly.  “Goblins?” said Harry again, attempting to look completely nonplussed.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, Goblins.”

 

“No sir,” said Harry slowly, shaking his head.  “Well actually, I do deal with them when I go into Gringotts of course.”

 

“Of course,” echoed agent Myers.  “And regarding your Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts-”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Myers,” interrupted Harry, “But may I ask why everyone is dwelling on my Outstanding O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts and ignoring the fact that I also received an Outstanding O.W.L. in Care of Magical Creatures?  What is so incredible about an Outstanding O.W.L.?  Isn’t that point of our education?  To get the best grades possible?  To learn as much as we can?”

 

“Because Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers, standing abruptly and vanishing his chair with a flick of his wand.  “Your formal education in Defense Against the Dark Arts has been very patchy up until your fifth year,” he said distinctly.  “And you are known to be able to do spells of a strength and magnitude that do not correlate with your expected ability.”  His voice had turned icy.  He was leaning into Harry’s face now, his hands on the arms of Harry’s chair.

 

Harry remained silent, looking directly back into agent Myers’s eyes, waiting for the spill of thought that normally came when he made eye contact.  There was nothing.  Harry extended his awareness, not probing, just looking.  There!  He was shielded!  The man was an Occulumens, and he must know about Harry’s Legilimency ability or he wouldn’t have had his defenses up.  Was he a Ligilimens, too?  Just in case, Harry raised his own minds defenses a notch, just in time to feel the tingling tickle that indicated an attempted mind probe.

 

“You are being most unhelpful, Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers silkily.  He waved his wand again, and Harry suddenly found that his forearms had sunk into the chair’s arms’ upholstery, his ankles too now seemed to be a part of the chair’s lower half, binding him as tightly as any robes, but without any of the discomfort.

 

“You will tell us what we want to know Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers, a small smile on his face.  “We have ways, you see, perfectly legal ways of getting information out of our witnesses.  And you, Mr. Potter, you have much information that we need.”

 

Ginny!” Harry called desperately.

 

Dad is on his way up, Harry.  He’s going to try and talk his way in.  Professor Dumbledore says to keep alert.  They are probably going to find an ingenious way of administering Viritaserum so you don’t realize that it’s been given to you.”

 

Great.  The chair!” Harry added as a warm, tingling sensation began to spread up his arms from his fingertips.  “Something in the chair!”

 

Relax, Harry!” came Ginny’s voice in his head. “Take a deep breath.  Don’t fight it.  Professor Dumbledore says to remember your training.  Answer their questions but don’t give them the answers they’re looking for.”

 

Warm waves of drowsiness were washing over him now.  Agent Myers’s voice was in his head now, cool and measured.  But Ginny was there too and he clung to her voice like a drowning man to a life buoy.

 

Stay with me Ginny!”

 

“I’m here, Harry.”

 

“Don’t leave me!”

 

“I couldn’t if I tried, Harry, you’re a part of me now, remember?”

 

Yes.  Yes, he remembered.  She was there, in his mind, a bright beacon of reality in the sleepy darkness that was threatening to take over his mind.

 

This isn’t just Viritaserum!” said Harry as odd, disjointed, bizarrely colored shapes and distorted sounds began filtering through to his consciousness.  He could hear Harry explaining what he was seeing and hearing to the group in Mr. Weasley’s office.

 

Kingsley says it’s a hallucinogen, Harry.  Ignore it.  Ignore everything but the sound of my voice.”

 

“But I’m supposed to answer them!”

 

“Of course, but don’t let it trick you, Harry!”  She sounded slightly desperate.

 

“Now, Mr. Potter,” came agent Myers’s silkily smooth voice.  “Are you in contact with the werewolf Remus Lupin?”

 

“No,” said Harry immediately.  It wasn’t a lie either, not really.  Not if Remus wasn’t a werewolf anymore.

“Do you know his whereabouts?”

 

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the glinting, flying creature that had just landed on his nose.  Were those teeth?”

 

“And the criminal, Sirius Black?” said the voice.

 

“Dead,” said Harry flatly.

 

Harry!” said Ginny, sounding worried.

 

No, listen Ginny, it’s O.K.  I’ve got a cover story.”

 

“How do you know he’s dead?”

 

“I got a letter from his lawyer stating that I had been named his heir, seeing as that I was his godson.”

 

“How did he die?”

 

“I - I don’t know,” said Harry.  “And I don’t care!  He killed my parents.  He betrayed them.  I’m surprised he didn’t change his will a long time ago.”

 

“Being in Azkaban, and then on the run, he probably didn’t have a chance,” agreed the voice.  “You’re doing very well Mr. Potter,” said the voice through the haze of odd shapes and bizarre sounds. “So well in fact, that I think we should take a little break.  There’s someone here who would like to see you.”

 

“Bill?” asked Harry groggily, looking around.

 

“It’s me, Harry,” said a voice that sounded very much like Ginny’s but couldn’t possibly be.

 

It’s not me, Harry!” said Ginny firmly in his head.  “I’m still down here in Dad’s office with Dumbledore.”

 

A face was floating towards him out of the fog, coming closer, and closer. There was a scent of Sandalwood in the air now.

 

“Ginny?” he asked blearily.

 

It’s that Shipton woman!” said Ginny’s voice in his head.  “She’s used the same shampoo as me, but think, Harry, I make my own citrus soap, there is no way she can duplicate it.”

 

You’re right,” Harry told her, his head clearing a bit.  She’s tried, but it’s all wrong.

 

“Oh, Harry,” said Ms. Shipton in a near perfect match of Ginny’s voice.  “Just tell them what they want to know and I can get you out of here.”

 

Through the haze of drugs and potions Harry could see agent Shipton’s red hair and amber eyes now very close to him indeed.

 

Clever,” said Ginny with a snort of amusement.  “Look closely, Harry, she’s wearing colored contact lenses.”

 

She was, he could see the edge of the lens when he focused.  It was just a shadow, but it was there.  Suddenly a new tingling had begun creeping upwards from his fingertips, which were still embedded in the arms of the easy chair.

 

What now?” he shot to Ginny, slightly desperately.  The hallucinogens affect was fading.  The warm drowsiness was back; more Viritaserum, yes, but also an odd heat that was making his very skin feel as if it were on fire.  He could feel Angela Shipton’s cool, smooth fingers against his face and chest and — he was naked.  How had they done that?  He fumbled at his neck.  The phial and ring on their chain were still there, but his clothes were gone.  He was no longer in the armchair, but flat on his back on a sort of dais.  He was bound so tightly that he couldn’t move an inch.

 

Ginny, what?” he asked, desperately afraid now.

 

Oh, Harry,” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  She seemed on the verge of tears.

 

Ginny, what are they doing to me?” asked Harry.  But he knew.  He knew exactly what Angela Shipton was doing to him, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

 

It’s a stimulant, Harry,” said Ginny.  Her voice was sad but determined.  “Kingsley says it’s a hormone cocktail that jumpstarts, well, everything.

 

Harry groaned.

 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” came Angela Shipton’s Ginny voice.  “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” she asked.

 

Oh god no.  If she did stop he was going to scream in agony.  Perhaps if he just closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations he could pretend that he was with Ginny. But then the Ginny voice said something that made pretending she was the real Ginny impossible.

 

“Tell me where the headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix is located, Harry, and I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before,” purred the Ginny voice in his ear.

 

Ignore the physical sensations Harry!” came Ginny’s voice like a slap in the face.  “Concentrate on what she’s saying!”

 

It was very difficult to ignore whatever it was that she was doing and ignore the prompting of the Viritaserum to tell the truth, but keeping himself concentrated solely on the Ginny in his mind he gathered his thoughts enough to form a coherent lie.

 

“Oh god, I wish I couldBut I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he bellowed.  “What is The Order of the Phoenix?”

 

There were voices now, other voices that he could hear with perfect clarity.

 

“Either he is extremely gifted in resisting the serum or he really doesn’t know.”

 

No one could have resisted that particular combination!” said Ms. Shipton’s voice, sounding sulky.  “It was five times stronger than we’ve ever tested!  You saw the physical condition he was in.

 

“I did indeed!” said Mr. Peter’s voice, sounding amused.  “And yet, even with that sort of pressure, physical and mental, he still didn’t give.”

 

“If he had anything to give,” said agent Myers’s voice.

 

“Dry him out at once, Myers, and replace that vial at once,” came a new voice.  It sounded slightly raspy and as dry as parchment.  “We’ll have to use an alternative method.”

 

“I thought that was our alternative method,” said Ms. Shipton.  “If’ you’d just let me finish-”

 

“I’m glad you enjoy your work, Angela,” said the new voice, “but I said dry him out.”

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Crofton,” came Myers voice.  “Sir?” he said again, more tentatively this time.  “The Viritaserum is easily reversed, but the energizing potion will need to wear off on it’s own.”

 

“No matter, let him think what he will.  It is doubtful he’ll remember anything that happened here this afternoon.”

 

There was a piercing cold making its way up from Harry’s fingertips now, as if someone had shot liquid ice into his bloodstream.  By the time it had spread to his head, he found himself once more fully dressed, sitting unbound in the armchair with Myers leaning over him, as if the entire bit about being bound and the Viritaserum, and Ms. Shipton’s alternative method had never happened.

 

“You’re being most unhelpful, Mr. Potter,” he said smoothly, picking up the conversation exactly where it had left off.  “But I’m afraid that there is a limit to how far the Ministry will allow me to go in questioning you.”

 

Harry blinked.  The room came into focus.  The curved walls with their two-way mirrors were now sharply defined.  He fought the urge to blush.  Who all had witnessed what had just happened?

 

“You’re free to go, Mr. Potter,” said agent Myers.

 

Harry stood quickly, nearly passing out as he did so.

 

“Drink this, please, Mr. Potter, we can’t have you passing out on us,” said agent Myers.  He held a goblet up to Harry’s parched lips.  Harry gulped.  It was butter beer.  Nothing had ever tasted so good.  He drained the goblet in three swallows.

 

“Now then, agent Shipton will see you to the lobby.”

 

Angela Shipton took Harry by the arm and steered him down the hall and back past the reception desk.  Harry fought the urge to shake off her grip.

 

“You’ve been most helpful, Mr. Potter,” she said creamily.  “But we’ve taken up enough of your time today.”  Her dazzling smile was oddly smug.

 

Bill and Mr. Weasley were both standing at the receptionist’s desk when he emerged.  They each grabbed him by an arm and steered him to the lifts.

 

“Harry, are you O.K.?” asked Mr. Weasley.

 

“You look dreadful!” said Bill, looking concerned.  “What did they do to you?”

 

Harry shook his head.  He felt light-headed and slightly nauseated and a throbbing ache from another region told him that the bit about the energizing hormone potion had been all too real.

 

By the time they had gotten back to Mr. Weasley’s office, Harry’s face was burning in embarrassment.  The after effects of the energizing potion could not be disguised.

 

It took Professor Dumbledore only a few minutes to tell Bill and Mr. Weasley the whole story, as it had been related to him by Ginny.

 

“What can we do for him?” said Bill, looking as angry as Harry had ever seen him.  “The nerve of them, trying to trick him like that!”

 

“They didn’t trick me!” Harry rasped.  “They tricked my body.”

 

“That’s right, Harry,” said Ginny’s soft voice in his ear as she pulled him into her arms.  “I had you right here with me the entire time.” Harry buried his burning face in her soft, silky hair.

 

“God, Ginny, I’m so sorry!”  He was near tears, he could feel them prickling at the back of his eyelids.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Harry!  You didn’t willingly do anything!”

 

“The effects of the Viritaserum should have dissipated when they dried him out,” Kingsley was saying.  “As for the other condition, I’m afraid there is only one thing that will help.”  He cleared his throat and turned to look at Ginny, who went scarlet, but met his gaze unflinchingly.

 

“If you gentlemen could all wait outside for a bit,” she said firmly, holding tightly to Harry’s arm.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“By all means,” said Dumbledore, his moustache twitching.  “Kingsley?”

 

“We’ll be right outside,” said Kingsley.

 

“Come on, Dad,” said Bill, taking Mr. Weasley by the elbow and steering him out of the office.

 

When the door had swung shut behind Bill, Harry finally spoke.

 

“Ginny,” he croaked.  “What - what was that all about?”

“The energizing potion they gave you, Harry,” said Ginny in a brisk, matter-of-fact sort of voice.  “It dumped a load of hormones and stimulants into your system.

 

“I caught that part,” said Harry, suppressing another groan.  The throbbing ache was getting, if anything, worse.

 

“Well, the overall effect was to stimulate, actually over-stimulate you, physically.”

 

“I sort of figured that out,” muttered Harry, wincing.

 

“Well, you’re carrying a load of hormones around in your system, and there is only one way to dump them without pumping you full of depressants, which could be extremely dangerous.”

 

Harry stared at her, his mouth slightly open as the realization of what she was saying dawned upon him.

 

“So, unless you want to, um, take matters in hand,” said Ginny dryly, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hair, “It falls to me to finish what Angela Shipton started.

 

Harry could feel the heat burning in his face now as he thought of Bill and Mr. Weasley, Moody and Dumbledore all standing around outside, knowing what Ginny had to do for him.

 

Harry James Potter!” said Ginny, her temper and voice rising together as she took a step back from him, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes snapping with fury.  “I don’t have to do anything, but not only am I the only healer in the immediate vicinity, I’m you’re wifeThey understand this,” she said, gesturing to the closed door.  “Why can’t you?”

 

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open.  The spirit and power he loved so much about this woman were radiating out from her in palpable waves.

 

“Besides, you know you want me,” whispered Ginny, changing tacks with a suddenness that unnerved him.  “I felt what you felt in that room with that woman, Harry.  I know that it was me you wanted to be with.”

 

God yes!” breathed Harry, loosing himself in the depths of her eyes.  And then she was kissing him, her body pressed against his, the scent of her, the taste of her, was filling his head, driving out all rational thought.  He had to have her.  He had to have her now!

 

*     *     *

 

“Feeling better, Harry?” asked Mr. Weasley kindly when they emerged from his office half an hour later.

 

“Much better, thanks,” muttered Harry, fighting the sudden urge to blush.  Instead he pulled Ginny to him and kissed her soundly.

 

The four men exchanged smiles.

 

“Are you ready to go home now?” asked Dumbledore bemusedly.

 

“Yeah, but Professor,” said Harry, feeling his still trembling knees and residual light-headedness.  “I don’t know if I’m up to apparating, I’m still a little shaky.”

 

“You can go by Floo powder,” said Dumbledore decidedly.  “You and Ginny both.  I’ll see you off then meet you back at headquarters.”

 

Harry nodded and the whole group made their way back down the lift to the Atrium.

 

“All right there, Mr. Potter?” said Eric, looking stunned when Harry handed him back his badge.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to do it again anytime soon, Eric, but yeah, I’m O.K.,” he said, managing a small smile.

 

You wouldn’t?” shot Ginny, teasingly.

 

Harry went scarlet.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

By mutual agreement, they decided to only include the bit about the Viritaserum and Hallucinogens to the bulk of the Order, including Mrs. Wesley.

 

“No use in getting Molly all worked up,” said Dumbledore bemusedly before Harry and Ginny stepped into the next available Ministry fireplace.

 

She fussed enough as it was, thought Harry, watching her look of horror as Dumbledore went through the story for her, Tonks, Charlie, Kingsley, Ron, Hermione, Lupin and Petunia.

 

“Needless to say, he’s not feeling so well, Molly,” said Dumbledore soothingly.  “But he outdid himself, I must say,” he said, smiling warmly at Harry.”

 

I’ll say!” giggled Ginny sub-vocally.

 

Harry shot her a quelling look.

 

Well?” she shot back, completely unperturbed.  “You have to admit that the potion did make you a bit . . . erm . . . assertive,” she said with a wide grin.  “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

 

She edged a bit closer to him on her chair until their knees were just touching.

 

Keep that up, Ginny, and tired as I am, you’ll find out just how assertive I can be!” he said fiercely.

 

It’s a strong potion,” said Ginny, putting a hand on his knee under the table.  “Your system probably needs purging.”

 

Purging,is it?” Harry shot back as they climbed the steps to their bedrooms.  “Meet me upstairs as soon as your mum’s checked on you,” growled Harry in her ear as they parted outside Ginny’s door, kissing her deeply in spite of her mother, who was waiting to see him to his room.

 

*     *     *

 

 

He was back in his own bed by midnight, finally more tired than driven, but he could still hear voices down in the parlor, Dumbledore, from the sound of it, and Lupin. Dumbledore was probably telling Lupin what had really happened.  Interestingly enough, Harry found that he didn’t particularly mind if Lupin knew.  He wouldn’t laugh or fuss.

 

I love you, Ginny,” he shot sub vocally.

 

I love you too, Harry!” she said, sounding so very sleepy and content that he was surprised that she wasn’t purring.

 

It’s very satisfying actually, to purr,” she said even as she drifted off to sleep.

 

What an amazing person she was, thought Harry to himself.  He checked on the wind sprite he had set to guard her.  It was still there.  He still had a single salamander guarding himself as well.  Was one enough?  Of course it was.  He was at headquarters after all.  What could possibly happen to him here, with all the protection charms that had been put on this place . . .?  Before he could finish his thought, he had fallen sound asleep.

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry!  Harry watch out!”  The voice, Ginny’s voice in his head had screamed so loudly that it was like a slap in the face.  Harry sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake, just in time to see a dozen blurred (he didn’t have his glasses on), shadowy forms converging on his bed, and then his scar had split open, spilling molten pain into his brain, paralyzing him completely.  The tallest robbed figure lowered its hood and raised a wand in its skeletal hand.

 

“You’re dead, Harry Potter!” said Lord Voldemort, his wide, red eyes staring mercilessly into Harry’s own.  “And not even Dumbledore can save you now!”

 

From behind him, Harry felt a rough hand grab the chain that held the phial from around his neck and yank it free.

 

Harry!” it was Ginny’s voice, again in his head. 

 

“Avada-”

 

It was as if time had obligingly slowed down to allow Harry to come to grips with his own inevitable death.  For one moment everything was crystal clear.  He could see the demonic glow of Voldemort’s vertically slit red eyes, the luminescent glow of his watch dial on his bedside table, and even the outline of Hedwig, perched on the wardrobe, her wings spread, ready to attack the intruders.  Where were his elementals?  He realized with a start that he’d only left one salamander on duty, and it had probably been overcome by Voldemort’s water Demons. His elemental was gone, and his phial had been removed.  There was nothing standing between him and death.

 

Harry’s hearing, too, had suddenly been amplified a hundred times.  He could hear Ron’s sharp intake of breath as he awoke with a start, the swishing of Voldemort’s sleeve as it came swishing down and, from the hallway, the creaking of floorboards.

 

Harry!  Harry, come to me now!” commanded Ginny.

 

“Kedavra!” cried Voldemort triumphantly.

The last thing Harry saw before he closed his eyes and jumped ship to Ginny’s mind, was Albus Dumbledore.  He was standing in the hallway just outside Harry’s open door, his wand outstretched and murder in his eyes.

 

~*~

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

 

Please!  To all all you detail oriented fans out there — I know that number twelve Grimmauld Place is under the Fideleus charm, I will explain how it was that Voldemort was able to find their location in the next chapter, so please, don’t freak out on me!

 

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 16: THE ORDER ALERTED

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The events in chapters 15 and 16 happen simultaneously, but needed to be kept separate in order to maintain the integrity of the story since they are told from separate points of view.   Both Chapters 16 and 17 are shorter than usual, but need to be separate in order to lay the foundation for chapter 18, which incorporates both points of view.

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE ORDER ALERTED

 

 

 

It was his Wind Sprite that alerted Albus Dumbledore to the danger.  He’d been talking to Lupin, explaining the day’s events to him in detail when the Wind Sprite he had assigned to Harry appeared in front of him.  Dumbledore was moving even as it spoke.

 

“Water Demons!” it chimed anxiously.  “Too many!”

 

“How many?”

 

“Four!  They put out the boy’s Fire Dweller.  They logged me down!  I couldn’t move against it.  Came to alert you instead.”

 

Dumbledore was halfway up the steps, Lupin at his heels when he heard Ginny scream.

 

“Harry!  Harry watch out!”

 

Dumbledore hesitated for only the briefest of seconds.

 

“Where is he?” he demanded of the Sprite.

 

“In his room, but she sees.”

 

“Their mind link,” panted Lupin.

 

The door to the boy’s bedroom stood open . . .just a few steps more.

 

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” came Tom Riddle’s high, cold voice.  “And not even Dumbledore can save you now!  Avada-”

 

“Harry!  Harry, come to me now!” screamed Ginny’s voice.

 

“Kadavra!”

 

Dumbledore was in the doorway, wand drawn, moth open to cast a spell, when he saw the jet of green light leave Voldemort’s wand, heard the rushing sound of death speeding it’s way toward the figure on the bed.  His gaze met Harry’s direct, emerald-green one and in that second Harry saw him, knew him, winked, and was gone, his eyes going blank an instant before his body was hit by the killing curse and crumpled, lifeless, onto the bed.

 

“Harry!” came a shout from Ron’s bed.  As one, the robed and masked Death Eaters turned toward the sound of Ron’s voice.

 

“Protego!” shouted Dumbledore, pointing his wand at Ron.

 

“Stupefy!” shouted half a dozen voices in unison, but their curses ricocheted wildly off of the shield Dumbledore had put up around Ron.

 

Tom Riddle spun on his heels at the sound of Dumbledore’s voice.

 

“You’ve lost, Dumbledore,” he said, his red, snakelike eyes glittering malevolently.  “The one with the power to conquer me lies dead.  I’ve won!

 

“How did you find us?” asked Dumbledore, fighting to keep his voice calm.

 

“Floo tracker of course.  It was in the butter beer.”

 

“So Crofton is working for you,” said Dumbledore conversationally.

 

“I don’t think he realizes that he is,” said Voldemort with a sneer.  “But yes, he has been most helpful.”

 

“I’d leave while you can, Tom,” said Dumbledore, cold fury etched in every line of his ancient face.

 

“Or what?  You’re outnumbered twelve to one.”

 

“Six to one,” said Lupin, entering the room with his wand drawn.  His face was a hard mask.

 

“Make that three to one!” growled Moody, stumping in, both his eyes fixed on the group by the bed.

 

“There are others on their way, Tom,” said Dumbledore.

 

As if on cue, Mr. Weasley stumbled into the room, still putting on his glasses, Mrs. Weasley at his heels.

 

Merlin’s beard!” gasped Mr. Weasley as he took in the scene

 

Voldemort eyed the gathering number of Order members warily.

 

“I’m going then,” he said finally.  “But I’ll be back, oh yes, to finish you off.  Come!” he said to his Death Eaters.  “Our mission is accomplished.  We leave, now.”

 

There were a dozen sharp pops, and they were gone.

 

“My god, Albus, he’s dead!” said Lupin, who had dashed to Harry’s side the moment the figures had gone.

 

“I don’t think so, Remus.”

 

“Harry?” whispered Ron.  His eyes were huge and focused on the prone figure lying on the bed.

 

“He’s dead Dumbledore!” insisted Lupin.

 

No!” shouted Ron, scrambling out of his covers.  “Not Harry!”

 

“The prophecy!” said Dumbledore, taking Lupin by the shoulders and shaking him slightly.  “Remember what the prophecy said, Remus!”

 

“When, when he who has the power to conquer the Dark Lord lies as dead,” began Lupin.  “But how-” he stared down at Harry’s body.

 

“He left,” said Dumbledore, staring down into Harry’s now vacant eyes.  “He saw me, Remus, just before the curse hit.  He saw me, and his eyes, they went blank a second before it hit.  He winked!”

 

“Then where did he go?” asked Lupin, looking around the room as if he expected to see Harry lurking in a corner.  Then his eyes met Dumbledore’s, and both sets widened with comprehension.

 

“Ginny!” they said in unison, and bolted out of the room, nearly bowling over Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as they went.

 

“Stay with the body, Arthur!” Dumbledore called over his shoulder.

 

Lupin and Dumbledore burst into the girls’ bedroom without bothering to knock.  Ginny was sitting bolt upright in her bed.  Her eyes were glazed and staring blankly at the wall, her mouth was hanging slightly open.

 

Hermione, her eyes huge and frightened, was sitting beside her, chaffing both of Ginny’s hands in her own, nearly screaming in frustration.

 

“Ginny!  Ginny, can you hear me?” she said loudly.

 

“What happened?” asked Dumbledore, looking at Tonks, who was holding Ginny by the shoulders.  “What happened?”

 

“She just sat up and started screaming for Harry, Albus,” said Tonks, her voice shaking.  “Then she screamed for him to come to her, and then she sort of spasmed and now she’s not responding at all.”

“What’s happened, Professor?” asked Hermione in a very small voice.

 

“Harry!” bellowed Ron’s voice from the next room.

 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Hermione in a very small voice.

 

“Yes,” said Lupin. 

 

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.

 

“And no,” Lupin added, glancing at Dumbledore.

 

“I - I don’t understand,” said Hermione, looking from Lupin to Ginny and back to Dumbledore.  “You, you don’t think-” she looked back at Ginny.

 

“His consciousness left a second before the curse hit,” said Dumbledore, his voice trembling slightly.  “Stay with her, Hermione, Tonks, Lupin you too.”

 

He strode quickly back to the boy’s bedroom where Mrs. Weasley now held Harry’s limp form in her arms and was sobbing uncontrollably.

 

“Arthur, Molly, please, there’s work to be done.”

 

Work!” screamed Mrs. Weasley, tears streaming down her face.  “He’s dead Albus.”

 

“Just his body, Molly.”

 

“You mean,” began Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening in surprise.  “He used their mind link?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Albus, what?” said Mr. Weasley weakly.

 

“I walked in just as the curse left Riddle’s wand,” said Dumbledore.  “Harry saw me, he winked, Arthur, and then his eyes went blank.  They went blank before the curse hit him, Arthur.  It is my belief that he used the mind link he shares with your daughter and is even now in her mind, she’s unresponsive.”

 

“Ginny?” said Mrs. Weasley, looking up, her eyes still streaming.

 

“She was screaming for Harry before the curse hit,” said Dumbledore calmly.  “Evidently she saw the danger a moment before it happened, she warned him, and called him to come to her.  Now she’s gone catatonic. Tonks and Lupin are with her.”

 

“Arthur,” said Dumbledore,  “Could you please bring Harry’s body to the girls’ bedroom?”

 

“What are you going to do?” whispered Mr. Weasley, prizing his wife’s arms from around Harry’s neck so he could pick him up.

 

“I need to petrify Harry’s body to start with, then I need you to use the mirror, Arthur.  I need Severus at once, Bill too, Kinglsey, Minerva, the Longbottoms, all three of them, Hagrid and, if she’ll consent, Professor Sprout.  Tell her she’ll need to bring some Mandrakes.”

 

“Harry?” came Ron’s horse whisper from behind him.

 

Dumbledore turned.  He’d forgotten Ron was even there.  Ron was staring at Harry’s limp form, which was now slung over his father’s shoulder.

 

“Come with me, Mr. Weasley,” he said, taking Ron by the arm.  “I want you to see a wondrous thing.”

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 17: TWO MINDS IN ONE BODY

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  This chapter is by far shorter than usual, but needed to be kept separate from the others in order to maintain the integrity of the story line.

~*~

 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TWO MINDS IN ONE BODY

 

 

 

She was four years old again and the steps a thirteen year old Bill was teaching her were just too hard and her toes throbbed he’d stepped on them so often.

 

“I can’t do it, Bill!  I just can’t!” she said, flopping onto the floor.

 

“Come on, Gin!” he said, don’t you like to dance?”

 

“Use a broom!” she said furiously.  “It doesn’t have any feet to step on!”

 

“Did I step on you again?”

 

She nodded, bursting into furious tears and cradling her toes.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you Ginny, honest,” he whispered, pulling her onto his lap and rocking her back and forth like a baby.  “You’re right, I’ll use a broom.  I shouldn’t have asked you.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, drying her eyes on his shirt and clambering out of his lap.  “Ill dance with you, but you’ve got to teach me to dance by myself, too.”

 

“Deal!”

 

~*~

 

He was three, and Dudley had stolen his cubbie.

 

“My cubbie!” yelled Harry, snatching at the bedraggled bear that Dudley was holding over his head.  “Give me back my cubbie!”

 

But Dudley’s fat fingers were busy with the stitches in the back, and soon cubbie was a heap of scraps and stuffing, a bedraggled blue ribbon and two black button eyes.

 

He’d killed him!  Dudley had killed his cubbie!  Harry scooped the pitiful pile of scraps into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably at the fate of his only friend.

 

~*~

 

She was six, and had figured out how to pick the lock on the broom shed in the yard.  No one would know.  She selected a broom at random and straddled it, wondering vaguely if she would be in a lot of trouble if her mum or dad ever found out, but then she had kicked off and the ground was dropping away below her, and every other thought had gone clean out of her head.  This was easy!  This was wonderful! She’d known she’d be good at flying!  This would show old Fred and George and Charlie too, it would, teasing her about being too little to fly.

 

~*~

 

And he was six.  It was his first day of school. He had new jeans and sneakers too!  The first time he could ever remember wearing something that Dudley hadn’t worn first. How pretty their teacher was!  Such big blue eyes and pretty, dark brown hair.  She’d shown him his desk and then told him he could put his things in it.

 

“What things?” he’d asked innocently.

 

“Well, you know, crayons, glue, pencils.”

 

“I’m going to get crayons?” Harry had asked excitedly.

 

“Didn’t you get a list?” asked the teacher.

 

Harry’s heart had sunk.

 

“I’m supposed to bring those things from home?” he’d said, his heart now seeming to be in the soles of his shoes.

 

“You know what, Harry?” said the pretty teaching, glaring at Dudley, whose knapsack had been bulging with new things.  “I think I may just have some extras here.”

 

And sure enough, she’d found him some crayons and glue, a ruler, some pencils, and even a pair of scissors and had helped him put his name on everything.  He’d been so happy he could have cried.  Funny, Ms. Lauder had looked as if she were going to cry too.

 

~*~

And she was just twelve, and watching in horror as Tom Riddle came out of the diary, his eyes boring into hers, driving her back and back until she was in a very small space inside her own head, watching in horror as her own hand wrote messages in blood on the walls.

 

~*~

And there was Ripper, chasing him up and tree, and she’d figured out how to sneak into Fred and George’s bedroom, she knew their firecrackers had to be stored around here somewhere, but Dudley was chasing him, he had to hide, and how on earth had he ended up on the kitchen roof?  He’d only meant to jump behind the dustbins, maybe the wind had caught him.

 

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind her

She turned around and saw a small, skinny, black-haired boy with taped glasses pushing a trolley with a trunk and a gorgeous snowy owl in a cage.  His gaze met hers for an instant that seemed to last an eternity; emerald-green eyes, eyes that seemed to look into her very soul.  Her breath caught in her chest and in that instant she realized two things.  First, she had known this boy before.  Second, that in that brief exchange of glances he had, however unwittingly, stolen away her heart.

 

But then the python was hissing it’s thanks, slithering out the door of the reptile house into the room where she was crying in pain as she soaked her toes in a bowl of essence of murtlap.  No one had ever told her how much Pointe shoes would hurt!  It had to get easier, it just had to!  And as the last of Quirrel’s turban unwound, Voldemort’s face emerged from the back of his head.

 

“You can’t even afford new robes?” laughed a Slytherin girl, tugging at her frayed sleeves, but the snitch was caught in his throat!  He’d almost swallowed it, or was that the bird she was holding in her hands, the one with the broken wing, her tears falling silently on it’s glossy feathers, his tears in her hair as she held him, lending him the strength to finally feel the enormity of his loss, the scent of her filling his head, the power of him in her arms, the vivid directness of his gaze, the spirit of her crackling about him and a voice, joining them together by the power of love.

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

The silence was deafening. Harry opened his eyes slowly, trying to get his bearings. Nothing.  He shut them quickly; tried opening them again.  Still nothing.  Not darkness, not light, not sound, just nothingness, and silence. 

 

If he was dead, why hadn’t he gone on into the roiling mists that he’d visited twice with Ginny, the place where the Yeti lived? Why wasn’t he with his parents and Sirius right now?

 

“Because you’re not dead, you great prat!”

 

It was Ginny’s voice in his head.  He couldn’t hear her so much as intuit what she was saying.

 

“Where am I then?” he asked finally, disturbed to find that he didn’t seem to have a mouth, or a body at all for that matter.

 

“With me, in my mind I think,” came Ginny’s voice hesitantly.

 

“You think?”

 

“Well, when you jumped ship, everything just sort of went haywire,” said Ginny.

 

“Yeah, I felt that,” said Harry.   “It was as if I was suddenly inundated with every feeling and emotion, every memory you’ve ever had.  No,” he corrected himself.  “That we’ve ever had.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Ginny.  “I think what we experienced was a total mind merge.”

 

“We’ve merged our minds before, Ginny.”

 

“But not like this,” said Ginny quickly.  “Always before our thoughts were entwined, they were never blended together like these seemed to be.  I’m not even sure which ones were yours and which ones were mine.”

 

Harry remained quiet for a few moments. “So we are now two minds in one body?”

 

“Yes, the prophecy, I thought of that too.”

 

“So that means that right now, my body-”

“Is lying as one dead, yes,” Ginny finished for him.

 

“But I’m not.”

 

“Your body is.”

 

Harry shivered, or rather, Ginny shivered for him.

 

“You don’t think they’ll-”

 

“Burry you?” Ginny preempted him.  “No,” she said decisively.  “According to the prophecy there is a way to reverse this.”

 

“But Dumbledore said that no spell can bring back the dead,” said Harry, fighting the wave of panic that was threatening to wash over him.

 

“But you’re not dead, are you?” said Ginny, sounding slightly bemused.  “Just your body.”

 

“So a body can be brought back to life?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Without a mind in it, yes,” said Ginny.  “That’s what zombies are.” It was her turn to shiver.

 

“So right now, out there somewhere, Dumbledore and the rest are trying to put us to rights?” asked Harry.

 

Harry received the impression of Ginny shrugging.

 

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

“Well, do you think there is something we’re supposed to be doing?” Harry asked.  “To help with the separation I mean.”

 

“I - I don’t know,” said Ginny, sounding worried.  “To be perfectly honest, I’m not so certain as to who I am at the moment.”  She paused and then laughed.  “I mean, I know who I am.  I know I’m Ginny and that you’re Harry, and that we’re married but that we haven’t had a ceremony yet.  There’s other bits though, people and places and things, memories I guess, pieces of them, and I know that they can’t all be mine, but how can I tell which are which?” she said, sounding slightly desperate now.

 

“I think we need help,” said Harry.

 

They fell into a contemplative sort of silence.

 

“Harry,” said Ginny quietly, a few moments later.  “I remember a bit in the prophecy about this.  I remember something the Power showed me — was it you who was making the prophecies or me?”

 

“You were, and you’re talking about the garden,” said Harry promptly.  “Your old garden at the Burrow, I remember seeing it too!”

 

“But we can’t actually go there, not like this,” said Ginny with some confusion.  “I mean, I can feel my body.  I’m laying down, people keep covering me up and spooning stuff into my mouth, but I can’t respond to them.  I can’t even hear them properly.  It’s as if all my senses are now focused inward somehow.  And you, Harry, you don’t even have a body, not at the moment, anyway.”

 

“So we can’t go there physically,” said Harry, “But I don’t see why we can’t go in our minds,” he said, feeling a bit calmer now.

 

“You mean pretend?”

 

“No, we’ll really go, to the land of mists, where we saw my parents and Sirius. We went there before, Ginny.”

 

“But we went there physically..”

 

“Yeah, but I bet we can go there in just our minds, too, that’s what happens when you die after all.  Perhaps there’s someone there who can help us.”

 

“But Harry,” began Ginny worriedly. “Your body is dead.  What if you can’t get back when Dumbledore and the rest find a way to revive you?”

 

“I’m bound to your body, Ginny, to you, don’t you remember?  Body, mind and soul, I’m yours.  So as long as part of me is alive, and you are alive, I can’t truly die, not altogether.”

 

“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” said Ginny hopefully.  “Perhaps if we can actually see each other gain it will help us to sort everything out.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But how will we get there, Harry?  We’ve always touched physically when we’ve gone before.”

 

“Concentrate on your center, Ginny, on feeling the power filling you, like it does when you generate your mage-fire.”

“What about you?”

 

“It’s the stuff I’m made of, right?” said Harry brightly.  “And I’m still here, right?”

 

Ginny giggled. He could feel the power welling up in them, the tingling of the mage-fire filling them and then-

 

Harry blinked.  He was sitting on a blanket under the tree in Ginny’s garden, beneath which he had opened his mum’s box two summers ago.  Ginny was standing by the emerald-eyed cupid, one hand on its head, and she was wearing the pink outfit he had admired her in so much that day.

 

“Hey Ginny,” he said, standing up and opening his arms to her.  She came into them, burying her head against his chest.

 

“Hey yourself,” she said, grinning up at him.

 

“You look great!” he told her.  “Nice choice.”

 

“You don’t look bad yourself,” she said, looking him up and down.  “Not bad at all Mr. Potter, especially for a figment of my imagination!”

 

He bent down, catching her lips in a kiss.  It was a slow, lingering kiss, deep and completely satisfying.

 

“Does that feel like a figment of your imagination?” he said softly, tracing the freckles across her nose with one finger.

 

“You know what I mean!” she said, giggling.  “So we’re here,” she added, looking around.  “But it’s different somehow.”

 

“That’s because it’s not really your garden,” said Harry, holding her tightly against him as if she might melt away.  “Look up.”

 

She did.  The sky, instead of being blue, was made up of all white roiling mist.  There were also wisps of it just behind the edge of the trees surrounding the clearing.  The wisps wove sinuously between the trunks and tree branches like so many lost souls.

 

“We’ve gone beyond!” breathed Ginny.  She tightened her grip on Harry’s hand.  “But Harry, if I concentrate, I can still feel my body laying on my bed in Grimmauld Place!”

 

“That’s because it’s only our minds that have gone beyond,” said Harry softly.

 

“So what are we doing here?” asked Ginny, looking around at all the beds and arrangements as though itching to get her hands dirty.

 

“We thought that maybe seeing each other would help us to be able to sort out our memories,” said Harry.

 

“And that, perhaps, is where I can be of service,” said a new voice. 

 

Harry and Ginny started and spun on their heels.  Two things had appeared on the blanket where Harry had been sitting that hadn’t been there when they had first arrived.  One was a huge wooden crate that seemed to be trembling slightly, as if there were something inside that desperately wanted to get out.  The other was a floppy, pointed black wizard’s hat.

 

“Who said that?” said Harry and Ginny in unison, looking around wildly.

 

“I did.”

 

The voice was issuing from a rip near the brim of the hat.

 

“Ginny!” breathed Harry.  “It’s the sorting hat!”

 

Oh very good, Potter,” said the hat sarcastically.  “Looks like you two have gotten yourselves into a pretty pickle!  Two minds in one body?  Thrown together that violently?  I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pretty pickle,” said Ginny faintly.  “They all look rather cucumberish to me.”

 

The hat snorted.

 

“But you, you disintegrated!” said Harry finally, still staring at the hat.  “I saw you!”

 

“Your lady was right though, Mr. Potter, in saying that I was alive,” replied the hat.  “And what happens to things that are alive when their material bodies die?”

 

“They go beyond,” whispered Ginny.

 

“Precisely!” said the hat.  “And it’s not such a bad thing, being a hat for eternity.  People tend to listen to what you have to say for one thing, and you’d be surprised as to how many witches and wizards who have gone beyond recognized me from their own sorting at Hogwarts!”

 

“So you’re happy then?” asked Harry tentatively.

 

“Oh yes, but I’m still primarily a sorting hat, and there’s not a whole lot to sort here,” he gave the impression of a shrug.  “And that is where I can be of service to you.”

 

“How?” asked Harry and Ginny, again in unison.

 

“In this crate, I believe you will find your collected memories, or rather, the manifestation of your collected memories.  From what I understand, when threatened by death, Mr. Potter, your consciousness jumped completely to Ms. Weasley’s body?”

 

“At my invitation,” said Ginny quickly.

 

“Of course, but when your minds merged, instead of maintaining your individual thoughts, the abruptness of the merge broke down all the barriers between your individual memories, so now you two are like homogenized milk.”

 

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

 

“So what happens now?” asked Ginny curiously.  “How can you help us?”

 

“You’ll have to take turns reaching into the crate and pulling out your memories.  I’ll take a look at each and tell you whose it is.  It may take awhile, but there you are.”

 

“And when you are done?” asked Harry.

 

“You’ll have your individual memories back again,” said the hat.  “Although,” it added, “It is very likely that even when they get you sorted back to your own bodies, from then on while you’ll retain your sense of individuality, that you will be forever joined in your minds.  One mind in two bodies if you will.”

 

“I can think of worse things,” said Harry, nuzzling Ginny’s neck.

 

“Yeah, like what will happen if we can’t get you two sorted out by the time they attempt to separate you,” said the hat with a shiver.  “So lets get sorting, shall we?”

 

“Who is “they”?” asked Harry.

 

“Dumbledore and the rest, they’re working on the problem now.”

 

Harry gave a shrug, opened the crate and extracted a memory.  It appeared, in this place, as a small, spun glass sphere, very similar to the ones in which the prophecies were housed in the Department of Mysteries.  He could just make out misty figures and objects swirling about in their depths.

 

“What do I do with it?” Harry asked.

 

“Put it in my mouth,” said the hat.

 

Harry tucked the sphere into the hat’s slit and waited.

 

“Harry’s,” it said finally, spitting the sphere out again through the slit.

 

“So what do I do with it?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Absorb it,” directed the hat.  “None of this is real you see.  The body you occupy right now is a mental projection of what you see as your self.  Just let it melt into you, or eat it, whatever.”

 

Harry popped the sphere into his mouth.  It dissolved instantly on his tongue.  He closed his eyes and was suddenly aware of his Uncle Vernon yelling at him for breaking his glasses.  He’d been only eight.  He shivered and then opened his eyes.

 

Ginny had already tucked another sphere into the hat’s mouth.

 

This could take awhile,” muttered Harry.

 

Ginny shrugged.  What choice did they have?

 

Back to index


Chapter 18: THE SORTING

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE  SORTING

 

“I, I think it’s working,” said Ginny, looking into the crate.  It was now halfway empty, and the sorting hat had picked up it’s pace.

 

“The more I sort, the easier it is to tell which memory belongs to who,” it said cheerfully, spitting out another two spheres for Ginny and taking four more from Harry’s hand.

 

“What kind of time frame are we working in here?”  Harry asked as the Hat spit out three for him and another one for Ginny.

 

“Well, according to the prophecy, we have three days, said Ginny.  If the separation can be accomplished by the end of the third day, the one who has the power to conquer the Dark Lord — that’s you, Harry — will rise more powerful than before, and will bring about that which the Dark Lord fears the most.”

 

“Death,” said Harry, grimly.

 

“Non-existence,” contradicted the hat promptly, spitting out three more spheres, all for Harry, and swallowing another half dozen that Ginny fed it.

 

“I thought the thing he fears the most is death?” said Harry curiously, absorbing his spheres, he winced.  All three were bitter, interlocked memories of Dudley and his gang running him to ground and using him as a punching bag.

 

“He’s convinced himself that it is death that he fears,” said the hat, “But I sorted him into Slytherin.  I’ve seen inside his head.  He is really afraid of non-existence.  He’s decided that this is synonymous with death.  He does not accept the idea of going beyond.  He thinks that his physical existence is all there is.”

 

The hat spit out two more spheres for Ginny.  “But we know better, don’t we?”

 

“But the sword of hope,” began Ginny.

 

“Will pierce his heart, yes,” said the hat sagely, “But that will only kill his physical body.  You’ve seen how things are beyond.  It’s not so very different here.  He’ll still retain his desires and ambitions.”

 

Harry and Ginny both shivered.

 

“So how-” began Harry.

 

“First you must kill him, then you must absorb his energy.”

 

“Absorb?”

 

“Absorb, ingest, just like you’ve been doing with your spheres.  “It is the only way to negate what he is.  If you only kill his body, he will find a way to come back.’

 

“But if I absorb him, won’t he become a part of me?”

 

“Hasn’t he always been a part of you, Mr. Potter?” asked the Hat slyly as it swallowed another six spheres.

 

Harry remained quiet for a few moments.

 

“But if I absorb his energy, if he becomes a part of me, I won’t be me anymore!”

“And who are you, Mr. Potter?”

 

Harry went silent again.

 

“What makes you, you?  Absorbing Tom Riddle’s energy will not turn you into Tom Riddle, just as absorbing Ginny’s memories did not turn you into Ginny.  She may be a part of you now, you may understand each other completely, but you are still you.  And so, when you absorb Tom Riddle’s energy, you will come to understand him.  That doesn’t mean that you will become him, like him, or be able to excuse him, but you will understand him, and understanding is the first step to acceptance.”

 

“What is there to accept?” said Harry faintly, now staring at the hat in disbelief.

 

“It comes down to this, Harry Potter,” said the hat, pausing in it’s sorting to contemplate him.  “What you must understand, what you must accept, is that there is no such thing as good or evil.  Each of us views reality from our own personal viewpoint.  From that viewpoint we are right, and everyone else is wrong.  You see Voldemort as evil and, from your point of view, he is, but in his own eyes he is in the right, and always has been.  And this, Harry, this is exactly as it should be.”

 

Harry gaped at the hat, trying desperately to come to grips with what it was saying.

 

“The only evil, Harry, is in forcing others to see the world from your point of view, to not allow them to stand at the center of their own truth, which is created by their own personal experiences, and no two people, except you two perhaps, will ever be able to see things from another’s point of view.  Impossible.  Once you understand this, only once you have seen the world through Tom Riddle’s eyes, only then, Mr. Potter, will you be able to undo the wrongs that have been done in his desperate attempt to remake the world in his image.”

 

“But what if-” began Harry.

 

“You will prevail, Mr. Potter.  In your deepest heart you know that what I speak is true.  When you absorb his energy, you will understand why, and only then you can subdue the negative, meld his positive energy to your own, becoming in the process, not only the most powerful sorcerer the planet has ever seen, but the catalyst to heal our world of the wounds that threaten to destroy it.”

 

The hat swallowed eight more spheres.

 

“But first, we must return your memories to their proper places.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

Dumbledore looked around at the witches and wizards assembled in the parlor of #12 Grimmauld Place.  It was the evening after Voldemort’s attack on Harry.  It was a sign of their loyalty, thought Dumbledore, that so many had dropped everything in order to be here on such very short notice.

It wasn’t a full meeting of the order. Only those he most trusted had been called to this meeting. He had just finished telling them the story of the attack and how it seemed likely, in his opinion that Harry and Ginny were even now in a desperate race to restructure their individual memories.

 

“According to the prophecy, they have three days,” said Dumbledore, addressing the pale, frightened faces before him.  “Three days in which to separate their minds before it is too late to separate them into their respective bodies.”

 

“That’s impossible!” growled Moody.

 

“The two of them are working on it even as we speak,” said Dumbledore, raising his voice slightly.  “It isn’t our job to separate their memories.  That is up to them.  My point is, that we must be ready for the transfer when, and if they complete their separation.”

 

“What all is involved in this, er, transfer?” said Mr. Weasley nervously.

 

“It is an ancient and powerful piece of magic,” said Snape smoothly. “Which, if correctly performed, will return Mr. Potter’s spirit, his mind, to his body, leaving Ms. Weasley’s spirit intact in her own body.”

 

“But from what ye’ve said, his body’s dead!” interjected Hagrid.  His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

 

“Yes, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore calmly.  “Harry’s body is dead.  We petrified it almost immediately however, so that part of the process should not run into any snags.”

 

“How does petrifyin it help?” said Hagrid gruffly, snuffing into his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

 

“It will keep it from decomposing until it can be revived,” said Dumbledore as matter-of-factly as if he were commenting on the weather.

 

“But I thought there wasn’t no spell that could bring back the dead!” said Hagrid, sounding slightly desperate.

 

“In normal circumstances, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, his voice sounding suddenly very tired and old, “Where the witch or wizard died and their spirit went on, that would be true, But Harry’s spirit, his mind, is still here, although it is currently sharing Ms. Weasley’s body.”

 

“But there are ways to revive a deceased body, even without a mind in residence,” came Neville’s quiet voice from the back of the room, where he and Ron were sitting on either side of Hermione (who was trembling slightly) each of them holding one of her hands in theirs.

 

Everyone turned to look at Neville, including his parents.

 

“You’re going to use the Zombiac curse to revive his body, and then this ancient transfer spell to siphon his mind from Ginny’s and direct it back into his body.”

“In a nutshell, yes,” said Dumbledore, his lips twitching.  “And where, Mr. Longbottom, did you learn about the Zombiac curse?  I trust it wasn’t in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class?”

 

Neville shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

 

  “Careful Neville, or they’ll be investigating you next!” muttered Ron.

 

“But how does the mind transfer work, exactly?” asked Lupin curiously, turning back to Dumbledore.

“Well, in theory, an intermediary acts as a sort of transfer station, siphoning the mind to be moved out of the host body and then transferring it to the body in which it is to reside,” said Petunia quietly.

 

It was her turn to be looked at.  She shrugged.

 

“I used to read all of Lily’s books and wish that I had the ability to work the spells.”

 

“Lily had books that mentioned mind transfers?” said Lupin incredulously.

 

“Only the theory,” said Petunia.  “It never mentioned the specific spells that would be needed to complete such a task.”

“And there are several,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.  “And as you might suspect, they are all incredibly complicated.”

 

“The complexity is not what concerns me!” growled Moody.  “What concerns me is the fact that there is no record of a mind transfer ever having been attempted, let alone being successful!”

 

“But of course, Alastor, there hasn’t been an occasion where it was actually needed.  You have to admit that this is a unique situation,” said Dumbledore conversationally.

 

“Uniquely dangerous!” said Moody tetchily.

 

“Dangerous?” said Mrs. Weasley nervously.  “Dangerous for who, Albus?”

 

“For everyone involved, Molly,” said Professor Dumbledore heavily.  “It is dangerous for the host, in this case Ginny, because if it is not done correctly, the spell could permanently damage her mind, but then so could having two minds melded together for any great length of time.  It is dangerous for the mind being transferred, in this case Harry, for if the intermediary slips up at all, his mind could be lost forever or damaged beyond repair.  Most of all, however, it is dangerous for the intermediary because of the strain and stress involved in mentally projecting an entire consciousness from one point to another.”

 

“And who is going to be the intermediary?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

 

‘I am,” said Dumbledore, looking at her over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

The room drew in a collective breath.

 

“But Alastor says it has never been done,” said Mrs. Weasley, sounding scared.

“Remember, Molly, this has been foreseen,” said Dumbledore.  “It is the only way we can get them both back.”

 

“But if it goes wrong, we could loose all three of you,” said Frank Longbottom quietly.

‘It is a risk I’m afraid we’ll have to take,” said Dumbledore heavily.

 

 

*     *     *

 

“Nearly there!” said the hat.

 

It was ingesting and spitting out spheres at a furious rate now.  Harry and Ginny were becoming hard pressed to keep up with it.  The crate was nearly empty now.  Only a few dozen spheres remained, rattling around on the bottom.  Harry had given Ginny a leg up and she was now inside the crate, handing out spheres as fast as she could collect them.

“Feel more like yourself, Ginny?” asked Harry, grinning as he tucked another sphere into her mouth.  Her eyes lit up.

 

“Nice one, Harry!”

 

“What was it?”

 

“How it felt to see Malfoy covered in bat bogeys!” she said, grinning.  “That’s the lot!” she added, tucking another half-dozen spheres into Harry’s arms.

 

“How are we doing for time?” Harry asked the hat as he fed it the last six spheres.

 

“Almost two days have passed,” it said after a pause.  “And if I am not mistaken, the ritual to separate you will need almost a full day to complete, so we need to get these processed, and you two back into her body.”

 

It was an even split, three spheres for each of them.

“How can we ever thank you?” Harry asked the hat as they prepared to return.

 

“We couldn’t have done it without you!” said Ginny fervently.

 

“Certainly you could have!” said the hat breezily.  “But it would have taken you twice as long to do it, and, according to the prophecy, you’ve got a schedule to keep!” The rip broadened and turned up at the corners in what was an unmistakable grin.  “It has been a pleasure sorting you-again!”

 

“Before you go,” said Harry, frankly curious.  “Do you have a name?”

 

“I was never actually named as such,” said the hat, raising its nonexistent eyebrows, “but I was always partial to the name Tristian.  That was Goddric Gryffindor’s son-in-law’s name you know. Fine fellow, he and I had some right interesting conversations once upon a time.”

 

“So I’d heard,” said Harry, exchanging bemused glances with Ginny.

Tristian Potter had married Godric Gryffindor’s only child, a daughter, Nymphadora, making Harry the direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor, just as Tom Riddle was the last direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin.

 

“But of course you would know!” chuckled the hat.  Trust me, Harry, your multi-great grandfather would be proud if he could see you now!”

 

*     *     *

 

“Everything is ready, Professor,” said Lupin quietly.

It was nearing midnight of the second day, and they were hoping at any moment to receive some sign from Ginny that she and Harry were back to themselves.

Dumbledore raised his head slowly and met Lupin’s gaze.

 

“The potion is ready?”

 

“Both of them.  Severus and Sprout are keeping them at a simmer.”

 

“And the room?”

 

“Has been arranged as you requested.  All we’re waiting for now is a sign from Ginny.”

 

At that precise moment Neville apparated at Lupin’s elbow with a faint pop.

 

“She’s coming around Professor!” he said, his round face shining with excitement.

“Then it is time,” said Dumbledore.

 

*     *     *

 

“Thank you, Tristian,” said Harry, putting a hand on the hat’s brim.  Ginny kissed it on the rip, and it grinned at her.

 

“My pleasure, now get going, both of you.  Time to save the world.”

 

And it was gone, back into the roiling mists, and Ginny’s garden was gone, and they were holding each other tightly, spinning sickeningly until, with a jolt, they were back.

 

Ginny blinked.

 

Through his awareness of her, Harry could see the room as it came into focus.  They were in Ginny’s room.  Ginny’s bedroom at Grimmauld Place.  There was a face bending over her, Hermione.  Hermione’s mouth was moving.  Why couldn’t they hear?”

 

Ginny blinked again and suddenly a torrent of sounds and smells assaulted her senses.  Someone was holding eucalyptus cream under her nose.  She wrinkled it in distaste.

 

It always reminded me of being ill when I was little,” Ginny told Harry.

 

There was a steady murmur of voices now.  Many voices, and a clanking from downstairs, as if pots were being banged about.

 

“I think she’s coming around!” said Hermione excitedly, and audibly this time.  “Neville, can you go get Professor Dumbledore?”

 

There was a sharp crack.

 

“When did Neville learn to apparate?” whispered Ginny in a hoarse, scratchy voice.

 

“Ginny!” shrieked Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny winced at the sound.  Suddenly Mrs. Weasley’s face was visible above them, concern etched in every line of her face.

 

She really loves you, Gin.”

 

“Yes, I see that now,” said Ginny softly.  “Somehow I always thought that the boys meant more to her.”

 

Hermione was laughing and Ron, grinning widely was saying, “we were getting worried!”

 

“Up to a tango, Sis?” came Bill’s quiet voice.  His face swam into view above her, his heavily shadowed eyes belying how worried he’d been.

 

“Hey, Bill,” said Ginny, grinning up at him.  “Can you help me up?”

 

Bill’s arms were around her them, guiding her into a sitting position.  Harry could feel the trust that his touch engendered in her and felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward Bill.

 

“I, I missed my classes, didn’t I?” Ginny croaked.

 

Bill laughed.  “Don’t you worry about it!  Michelle covered for you.  Rich has been covering for me. I couldn’t very well leave my favorite sister when she needed me!”

 

“Your only sister you great prat!”  Ginny winced as Bill sat her upright.  “Why am I so stiff?”

 

“You’ve been nearly catatonic for two days!” said Bill, pulling her onto his lap as he had done when she’d been a very little girl.  “You had us all worried sick!”

 

“I was — we — were, we were sorting,” said Ginny, trying to form a syntax that would include she and Harry both.

 

“Is Harry there with you, Ginny?” asked Bill, lifting her chin so that she was looking into his eyes.  “Did his consciousness jump ship like Dumbledore thought it did?”

 

“He’s here,” said Ginny smiling slightly, and she could hear the collective sigh of relief and Ron’s whoop of joy.

 

“Gland to have you back with us, Miss Weasley,” came Dumbledore’s soothing voice from the doorway.  He was looking at her with real concern in his eyes.

 

“It’s good to be back,” she said, attempting a smile.

 

“And Harry came back with you?”

 

“Yes sir, he’s here.  Would you like to speak to him?”

 

“If you don’t mind.”

 

Can I do that?” asked Harry.

 

“I don’t see why not, you just come forward I guess.”

 

“But I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“But the Power does, when it speaks through you.”

 

“It doesn’t ask permission, Harry.  It gives me no warning.  I’m letting you.  I know you’ll be careful, but tell you what, if it starts to hurt, I’ll give you a swift kick in the synapse.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Ginny out loud.

 

“Harry!  Harry Potter, are you there?  Can you hear me?” asked Dumbledore loudly.

 

“You don’t have to shout, Professor, I can hear you as well as Ginny can,” said Harry in a rather amused sort of tone.  “In fact, I can hear you even when she’s in control of the senses.”  It was odd, he thought, that while it was he, Harry, that was doing the speaking, it was Ginny’s voice, only slightly modified, that was speaking his words.

 

“Good to have you back, Harry.”

 

“Tristian said you’ll be needing to start the ritual,” said Harry.  “Do you have everything ready?”

 

“Yes, it’s all arranged, but I wanted to warn you and Ginny both that this could be very dangerous, for all of us.”

 

“Us?” said Harry.

 

“”I’m going to act as intermediary, Harry, to transfer your consciousness back into your body.”

 

“But my body’s dead.”

 

“We petrified it,” said Dumbledore.  “Madam Sprout is helping us with her Mandrakes to un-petrify you, then Professor Snape will reanimate your body using a combined potion and the Zombiac curse, and then I will channel your consciousness back into your body.  If any part of this goes wrong, it could permanently damage any or all of our minds.  Are you willing to take this risk, Harry?”

 

“I don’t see as that I have much of a choice,” said Harry.  “So yes, I’m willing.”

 

“And you, Ginny?”

 

“Well, sir, I’ve heard about togetherness, but this state we’re in right now is taking it a bit far, wouldn’t you say?”

 

There were several chuckles from around the room.

 

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” said Dumbledore.  “Someone tell Severus we’re ready to begin.”

 

“I’ll do it,” came a familiar voice.  An instant later, Ron had clattered off down the stairs.

 

“Who’s Tristian?” muttered Dumbledore to Ginny in a low voice.

 

“That’s what the sorting hat calls itself,” giggled Ginny.

 

“Indeed?”

 

“Yeah, interjected Harry, “He was helping us sort out our memories. Quite the character, Tristian.”

 

“I take it you went beyond again,” said Dumbledore quietly.

 

“In our minds only this time,” said Ginny, smiling slightly.

 

“And he was there?  The Hat?  Tristian?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry.  “As alive as you are me, Professor, he looked great, too, as if he’d just been sewn.”

 

Dumbledore was grinning broadly.

 

“I always knew he was a damned decent sort!”

 

They were ready in minutes.  Harry and Ginny watched at the beds were stripped down to their sheets and pushed very close together and a circle drawn around them in white chalk. A table and two chairs were placed between the two beds. 

Harry’s stiff, lifeless body was positioned on one of the beds, and Ginny was instructed to lie down on the other. On the table Snape placed two smoking goblets, Dumbledore’s wand, and a very old and crumbly looking leather-bound book which Harry recognized as one of the many Dumbledore kept in the special glass-fronted case behind his desk, then he proceeded to sit down on the bed next to Harry’s body.

 

“I’ll need one of you to keep Potter’s body from wandering off once I’ve reanimated it,” said Snape in an oily voice.  He was looking at Harry’s body with an odd sort of loathing, his lip curled in disdain.

 

“He has a first name you know!” said Harry and Ginny in one voice which created an odd sort of harmonic.

 

“A point of which I am well aware of,” said Snape, his lip now twitching slightly.  “Now, who is going to hold the body?”

 

Lupin volunteered, sitting himself on the other side of Harry’s bed.

 

“And someone should stay with Ginny in case she needs anything,” added Dumbledore.”

 

“That would be me,” said Bill at once.  He gave Fleur a swift kiss before sitting down on the bed next to Ginny.

 

“Neville,” said Dumbledore gravely, “If you would be so kind as to sit here with me in case I need anything.

 

Neville, looking startled, did as Dumbledore had requested.

 

“As you can see, we’ve put everything we could think of that we might need here,

in this circle,” said Dumbledore, motioning at the items collected at his feet.

 

Indeed, there were several jugs of water, several trays of food, even a chamber pot and a few changes of clothes.

 

“Once I have invoked the Powers and have cast the circle, we can’t break the circle for anything until the ritual has been completed,” said Dumbledore gravely, looking around at the others outside of the circle.

 

“Are you going to use your elementals to cast the circle?” Harry asked through Ginny.

 

“It would help to concentrate the energy,” said Dumbledore quietly.  “But they’d have to be Fire Dwellers for this spell,” he added, “And I’m not sure that four is enough.”

 

“Do they need to be individual manifestations?” asked Ginny curiously, “because if it is simply the power, I can call mine in an instant.”

 

“I’m afraid that this particular spell calls for individuals,” said Dumbledore, laying a kindly hand on Ginny’s shoulder.  “But we could certainly use yours for reinforcement. A sort of extra shield, if you will. I am assuming that you can call them by type?”

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“Could I call mine through Ginny?  That would give you ten,” suggested Harry.

 

“You could try.”

 

“And I’ll call mine at the same time,” said Ginny, nodding.  But I’ll have to know what you want of them before they dissipate.”

 

“When yours come, Miss Weasley, instruct them to stand guard inside of the circle we have drawn here on the floor.  Have them face inwards.  There will be great amounts of energy at work here, make certain that they reflect it back into the circle.  I’ll put my own and Mr. Potter’s elementals facing outwards to block any negative energy.

 

“Which way is North?” asked Harry.

 

Dumbledore pointed.

 

“I call forth fire!” cried Ginny’s voice.  They came at once, Ginny’s unindividuated fire power swirling forth in a vortex of dry heat and the slight smell of wood smoke even as Harry’s six salamanders popped into view.

 

There were gasps and expletives from the others in the room.

 

“My god!” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, “Arthur, what in heaven’s name is going on here?”

 

As if from a great distance, Harry could hear Mr. Weasley as he quietly explained to his wife what it was that she was seeing.

 

The nearest manifested salamander squinted at Ginny quizzically.

 

“The master is in you, mistress?”

 

“Temporarily,” said Ginny.  “We’re trying to rectify that.  I need you to station yourselves around these two beds, keep the energy inside the circle you seen drawn on the floor.  Keep any negative energy out, got it?”  Mentally, she instructed her own fire powers to form an inner ring, reflecting the power of Dumbledore’s magic back into the circle.

 

“Yes sir, er, ma’am,” said the Salamanders in their smoky voices, looking rather confused, but recognizing Harry’s presence all the same.

Dumbledore then called up his own four salamanders and positioned them between Harry’s.

 

“O.K., first, the Mandrake restorative draught,” said Dumbledore.

 

Snape held one of the smoking goblets up to Harry’s body’s lifeless lips.  Several drops of orangish liquid dribbled into his mouth and instantly the rock-hard, lifeless body became once again pliant and flexible and warm, but still, unmistakably dead.

 

“Alright then, Severus,” said Dumbledore, nodding at Snape.

 

Professor Snape took a deep breath and began the incantation.

 

“Mindless Body” he intoned, placing both his hands on Harry’s head.  “Hear my cry, come back to life alive as I!” even as he spoke, he dribbled another liquid into Harry’s mouth from a small vial, and Harry’s body’s eyes blinked, the body attempted to sit up.

 

“Hold it, Remus!” cried Dumbledore.

 

“I may need your help, Severus,” said Lupin, panting as the body kicked and flailed wildly on the bed.  “I didn’t realize that he was this strong.” 

 

Snape lent his weight to Harry’s body, and while it still shook and spasmed, it was clear that it wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere.

 

“O.K. then Mr. Longbottom,” said Dumbledore.  “Hold that book up where I can see it and turn the page when I nod.”

 

And, ignoring the struggles from Harry’s bed, Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers of his right hand on Ginny’s forehead and then reached across and placed the fingertips of his left hand on Harry’s body’s head.  Only then did he begin to invoke the elements.

 

Ginny was clinging very tightly to Bill’s hand.  She flinched slightly as she felt the cool tingling of Dumbledore’s mind probing hers.

 

Harry!” she called

 

I’m here Ginny.”

 

“I’m scared!”

 

“Don’t worry, Ginny, we’ll be O.K.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“No, but at least we’ll be together!” said Harry brightly.  “See you in a bit, Ginny.”

She closed her eyes then, relaxing her mind, accepting Dumbledore’s probing, opening her mind to his.

 

Harry was suddenly aware of Dumbledore’s presence with them in Ginny’s mind.

 

Professor?”

 

Yes, Harry, it’s me.”

 

“Professor, I think we’re both a little nervous,” said Harry honestly.

 

Of course you are,” said Dumbledore reassuringly.  “Now Harry, Ginny, I want you both to listen to me.  Only by doing exactly as I say can we get through this.  Now Ginny, I want you to completely clear your mind.  Relax as much as you can.  Try not to resist anything you may feel and ignore any emotions you know are not yours.  Harry, I want you to follow my voice.  I’ll tell you when we’re in my mind and then we’ll stop and I’ll break the connection with Ginny and project you back to your own body.”

 

“I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing!” said Harry, attempting a grin.

 

It was slow going.  Harry kept running into tendrils of thought, Ginny’s thought, that, like Devil’s snare, were intent on keeping him there in her mind.

 

I’m not doing it intentionally!” said Ginny indignantly as Harry stumbled once again over another thought.

 

Both Harry and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

 

Of course you’re not, Ginny!” said Dumbledore soothingly.  “This is one of the dangers of two minds melding as completely as yours and Harry’s have.”

 

Tristian said that we’d homogenized,” laughed Ginny.  She gave a deep sigh, mentally relaxing her thoughts.  “Any better?”

 

Perfect, thanks!” Laughed Harry, shrugging free of the now relaxed tendril.  “You’re an angel, Ginny.”

 

Devil incarnate.”

 

God I love you!” whispered Harry.

 

Yes, I know, now get going you great prat!”

 

Harry could feel Dumbledore smile as he gave a last tug, and found himself free at last.  Now he became aware of a deep, textured consciousness laying alongside his.

 

You have arrived in my mind, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly.  “I’m now severing the connection with Ginny.”

 

It was as if a door behind Harry had slammed shut.  For the first time in two years Harry had no secondary awareness of Ginny in his mind.  He felt suddenly lost and very much alone.

 

Ginny?”

 

“You’ll be with her again shortly, Harry,” came Dumbledore’s calm, soothing voice.  “We’re almost done now, Harry, but you need to concentrate.  O.K.  In front of you, there should be a long, dark hallway.”

 

“Oh god, not another one!” said Harry, remembering the dreams he’d had of the corridor to the department of mysteries.

 

Dumbledore chuckled.

 

This isn’t a dream, Harry.  This is real.  Now listen to me carefully.  I need you to walk down the hallway without slowing down or stopping for any reason.”

 

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

 

“I can’t, Harry, this is how I project you back into your own body.  If I come with you, you’ll be in the same state you were before, only with me in your head instead of Ginny,” said Dumbledore, sounding amused.  “Just keep walking, don’t stop, no matter what happens.”

 

Harry began walking.  His step was firm, but he couldn’t help but tremble slightly as he wondered what it would feel like to be projected back into a reanimated body that had been dead for nearly three days. From behind him, in the hall down which he had been walking, a door clanged shut.  Dumbledore had just severed his own connection with Harry.  Now he was very much alone.  He had to force himself to keep walking, even when he received the impression of a large, cavernous space just before him and, simultaneously, his foot came down on empty space. He was falling, falling into an abyss of eternal emptiness until —

 

Harry!” it was Ginny’s voice, her voice in his head.  He blinked, and a film seemed to recede from his vision.  The room was coming into focus.

 

Harry, say something or they’ll think it hasn’t worked!”

 

Did it work?” croaked Harry, struggling to sit up.  He felt incredibly stiff and sore and his voice was raspy.  His throat felt parched and raw.

 

“It worked, Harry,” said Lupin, smiling down at him and blinking back tears. “Thank god it worked!” he added, brushing Harry’s hair back from his face and kissing him roughly on the forehead.

 

“How, how’s Dumbledore?” Harry managed.  His throat felt as if it had been swallowing ground glass while he’d been gone.

 

“Dumbledore is very tired,” said Dumbledore’s voice.  “And I’m assuming, since you didn’t ask about her, that you know that Ginny is fine as well.”

 

“Of course,” said Harry, smiling.  “I feel her here,” he tapped his head.  “Tristian was right.  I think we’ve upgraded from a permanent mind link to a permanent mind merge.”

 

Only this time with a separate sense of self,” came Ginny’s voice in his ear and in his head at the same time.  He felt her hand slip into his and turned to look down into her clear, amber eyes.

 

“Hey stranger!” she said, grinning up at him.

 

Harry stared at her in amazement.  Every detail of her was crystal clear.  He could see every freckle on her nose and each individual eyelash.  He could see the satiny smoothness of her skin, so rich in its tones of creams and pinks.

 

“Ginny, what’s happening to me?” he whispered, reaching out a hand and running it through her vibrantly red hair.  It was so soft, so silky.  It was as if he could feel not only the hair itself, but the essence of Ginny in her hair. Ginny closed her eyes, turning her face into his hand and letting her lips linger on his palm. 

 

Harry went very still as a complex series of emotions and sensations made their way thorough his body, igniting nerve endings, triggering brain synapses.  He could sense it all!  He could see it all!  But most wondrous of all, he could feel her, Ginny, so vibrant, so alive, inside of him, holding him in her heart, loving him.  It was the most incredible sensation he had ever experienced, bar none.  His breath caught in his chest as he folded Ginny in his arms.  Their kiss was deep and lingering and utterly satisfying.

 

“I was afraid I’d lost you!” she whispered, reaching up and tracing his lightning bolt scar. “When that door closed — and I couldn’t feel you any more . . .”

 

“I felt lost without you,” breathed Harry, unable to stop touching her.  “It was so dark, and, and you weren’t there!  I didn’t realize just how much I’d come to rely on your being there, in my mind.” Harry kissed her again, and this time their embrace was intensely passionate. Neither of them seemed to notice, nor care that they had an audience.

 

“Thank you, Ginny!” Harry whispered, luxuriating in the feel of her body in his arms and the vividness of her spirit in his mind.

 

“For what?” But she knew what, she was just waiting for him to say it.

 

“For sharing your mind with me,” he said, smiling. “But you knew that,”

 

“Of course I did,” she said, and her words were like a caress in his mind. “I’d do it again Harry.”  But he knew that too.  It was odd, he thought, they didn’t really seem to need words anymore, he and Ginny.

 

“One mind in two bodies,” said Ginny softly.

 

“Yes,” said Harry.  “One mind in two bodies, together forever.”

 

“Joined by the power of love,” they thought together.

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 19: FIANCE OF THE DECEASED

CHAPTER NINETEEN

FINANCE OF THE DECEASED

 

 

 

 

It was, Harry thought oddly as he looked at the familiar faces ringing the pair of beds set in the center, as if he had been looking through a distorted mirror all of his life.  This, he thought, this was real!

 

The way the light from wall-mounted gas lamps fell across Mrs. Weasley’s still vivid hair, picking out the individual strands of silver.  The way it shone — glinted — off of Mr. Weasley’s glasses and the lone tear that was trickling down his cheek.  It was in the way that Hermione’s eyes shone with rapture, and at the glance, so full of love and trust and understanding that passed between her and Ron.  It was in the way that Bill threw his head back, laughing delightedly, the fang and small, heart-shaped opal on his earring tinkling against each other as he moved.  The way the sheets were bunched up against each other, casting odd shadows in the creases and folds that their bunching had produced.

 

“And look at Neville!” Ginny directed, sounding awestruck. 

 

Harry turned, the light had cast half of his face into shadow and was kissing the other half of his face with a burnished golden light that made him look as if he’d been dipped in some sort of magical potion that brought out every good and decent thing inside him, offering them up as a sort of offering for the whole world to see.

 

“I think I’ve finally found Neville’s look!”  Ginny whispered, a smile in her voice.

 

“How could we have missed this all these years?”  Harry wondered.

 

As if he had heard them, Neville turned, found them looking at him, and broke into a broad grin.

 

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again!” said Neville brightly and folded Harry into a bone-shaking hug.

 

*     *     *

 

Though stiff and sore, Harry found that, when all was said and done, he was actually more hungry than tired.

 

“Well of course you are!” Mrs. Weasley said when he told her.  “It’s been three days since you’ve eaten after all!  Either of you!” she said, addressing Ginny, and then she steered them down to the kitchen so she could feed them, apologizing profusely all the while that she had nothing but leftovers.

 

Harry didn’t care.   He’d never tasted anything so good in his life and told her so.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry, it’s just meatloaf!” she said, going pink when he raved over the food.  But it wasn’t just meatloaf.  Harry ate slowly, savoring every bite, letting the textures and flavors sit on his tongue.  When he closed his eyes and concentrated he could see the herb bed from which Mrs. Weasley had picked the sage and rosemary that she had put in the loaf, he could even feel the sunshine on it’s leaves.

 

He knew what it was to be the herb, to have his roots extend deep into the earth, pulling sustenance into himself, absorbing the sun and converting it into energy.  He was the cow from which the beef had come.  This was a little more disturbing.  He could feel the ground beneath his hoofs and taste the clover he had just taken a bite of.  He looked about him, his eye coming to rest on the rest of the herd.  He knew them all, had grazed with them for years and knew his time was almost up.  He would be leaving soon.  The farmer had said so, not in so many words perhaps, but he’d known all the same.  And that was alright too.  He’d had a good life, a full life.  It was time for him to provide life for others.  That was the way things were.

 

“It’s almost enough to make me a vegetarian!” Harry told Ginny, still savoring the food.

Ginny grinned at him, having seen and felt what he had.

 

At least wizards treat their animals with respect,” she said quietly.  “Can you imagine feeling how Muggle animals feel when they are so badly mistreated?  I’ve read about it.”  She shivered.  Harry placed his free arm about her shoulders and drew her close to him.  Her shivering stopped almost instantly.

 

When he and Ginny had finally finished their supper Dumbledore asked that they join him and the others in the parlor.  When everyone had pulled up seats Dumbledore stood, cleared his throat and began to speak.

 

“Headquarters is no longer safe,” he began, looking very grave.  “I’ve stationed Fawkes as a guard, and I do not think that Voldemort will return so soon, but we must relocate as soon as possible.”

 

“Where will we go, Albus?” said Professor McGonagall.”

 

“There is, at this point, only one logical choice,” said Dumbledore.  “Hogwarts.”

 

“But Albus!” began Professor McGonagall.  “The students!”

 

“It is only a temporary arrangement, Minerva,” said Dumbledore reasonably.  “If the prophecy is correct, we will not have the need to hide for much longer,” he glanced meaningfully at Harry.

“The prophecy was right about this,” said Tonks, motioning towards where Ginny and Harry stood in their old place beside the fire, Ginny in Harry’s arms, both facing in towards the room.

 

“Indeed it was,” said Dumbledore wearily.  “And this is another problem. You realize, of course, that the rumor is already spreading that Harry is dead.”

 

Boy are there gonna be some startled people when they learn the truth!” crowed Ron.

 

“Not yet!” said Neville abruptly. 

 

Everyone turned to look at him.  “We have to let them think he’s dead!” he insisted.

 

“In heaven’s name why, Neville?” asked Ron, looking taken aback.

 

“It’s a tactical advantage,” said Neville, Dumbledore, Lupin and Frank Longbottom in unison.  They all looked around at each other.

 

“But he’s not dead,” said Charlie bemusedly.  “Surely that news is going to get out when people see him walking around Hogwarts.”

 

“Voldemort thinks I’m dead,” said Harry quietly, and the room fell silent as everyone turned their eyes to him.  “If I stay out of sight it will seem to confirm the rumor and he’ll become bolder, he’ll assume that he has fulfilled the prophecy at last.”

 

“But your classes, Harry!” began Hermione.

 

“And Quidditch!” interjected Ron.

 

“This is more important than either!” said Harry firmly.  “But where could I stay if headquarters is no longer safe?” he asked, looking around.

 

“The guestroom at Hogwarts,” said Ginny quietly.

 

McGonagall and Dumbledore both turned to look at her.

 

“Excellent idea, Ms. Weasley!” said McGonagall.

 

“There are guest quarters at Hogwarts,” explained Dumbledore, to the rest of the people in the room who looked politely puzzled.  “Available for visiting guests.  Each one is perfectly secure and the existence of them are not widely known.”

 

“Then how did Ginny know?” asked Mrs. Weasley warily.

 

“Winky the house elf told me,” shrugged Ginny, the lie coming to her lips with an easiness Harry found unnerving.

 

Don’t you recognize your own technique?” Ginny shot back, laughing, “you used to do it all the time to your aunt and uncle. Granted I learned how to lie from the master of lies himself, but there you are.”

 

“She and Dobby take it in turns to clean Gryffindor tower because the other elves are wary of Hermione’s hats.  Well, I was up late one night when she came in.  She was in a real rush.  When I asked her what her hurry was, she said that she had to get the guestrooms clean since company was expected.  I was curious and asked her to explain, and she did,” Ginny finished, smiling slightly.

 

Nice save!” said Harry sub-vocally.

 

Ginny squeezed his hand.

 

“But if Winky told Ginny,” began Mrs. Weasley, “What’s to keep her from telling others?”

 

“The house elves can be instructed not to divulge that information,” said Dumbledore. It would make sense for Harry to stay at Hogwarts, especially if that is where the order will be headquartered.  He can continue his lessons with me and his other instructors, privately of course,” said Dumbledore, preempting Mrs. Weasley who had opened her mouth to protest again.  “He has his invisibility cloak, so he’ll be able to get out of doors occasionally, and if discretion is used, there is no reason why anyone should find out that he is still alive.”

 

Harry shivered.  He was trembling slightly.  The enormity of everything that had happened was beginning to catch up with his brain.

 

“I almost wasn’t,” he whispered in Ginny’s ear.

 

Ginny turned at the sound of his voice, wrapped her arms around him and tucked her head under his chin.

 

“Don’t think about it right now,” she whispered against his chest.

 

Harry could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, her soft cool hands were on his face, his neck, her clear, soothing presence in his mind, tucking in the corners of his fears and smoothing out the wrinkles of his worries.  He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the unique combination of citrus and sandalwood scents that no fake Ginny could ever duplicate.

 

I love you Ginevra Potter!”

 

She smiled against his chest.

 

“I am trusting each of you in this room to have the utmost discretion, Dumbledore was saying as he looked around at the assembled witches and wizards.  “We, in this room, are the only ones who know the truth,” he said sternly.  “I will personally be informing Mr. Ragnock and Neville, you have my permission to speak to Ms. Lovegood, other than that no one, I repeat, NO ONE ELSE is to be told the truth.”

 

“Oh, Malfoy’s going to be insufferable!” said Ron with a groan.  Hermione nudged him in the ribs, but Harry couldn’t help grinning.  He thought Ron had a point.

 

“Now Harry, Ginny,” said Dumbledore, looking at the pair of them where they stood.  “I want you two to get some rest.  Your bodies and minds have just been through a very traumatic experience.  Have the beds been remade, Petunia?” he asked Harry’s aunt, looking around at her.

 

She nodded.  She was standing behind Lupin’s armchair, her hands on his shoulders, Lupin’s hands covering hers.  She looked very pale and scared.

 

“If you and Remus would take them up to the girls’ room,” said Dumbledore kindly, “If I’m not much mistaken, they will want to stay together.”

 

“Dumbledore, really!” said Mrs. Weasley, getting quickly to her feet.

 

“We’ll put Hermione and Tonks up in the boys’ room,” said Mr. Weasley quickly.  “There’s plenty of room for two more beds, and there’s screens to go between them in the attic,” he finished.

 

Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley, reproachfully.  “Are you telling me that you’re going to allow them to, to . . .”

 

“Molly,” said Dumbledore in a voice tinged with impatience.  “Harry and Ginny have just spent three days with their minds melded together in one body.  For all practical purposes they were, for those three days, one entity.  There is an after-effect to this sort of bonding, Molly.  From now on they will be one mind with two bodies.  There is no keeping them apart.”

 

“But, but the wedding isn’t for another three months!” said Mrs. Weasley in a very small voice.

 

“It’s just a formality now, Molly,” said Dumbledore, waving dismissively.

 

“Who are we to say that it’s O.K. for them to share their minds but not their bodies?” said Mr. Weasley soothingly.  “Look at them!” he said, motioning toward where Harry and Ginny still stood, wrapped in each other’s arms.  “They belong to each other now, Molly, don’t make this difficult for them.”

 

“You realize of course, what tomorrow is,” said Ginny sleepily as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms some time later.

 

Harry actually had to think for a moment.

 

“April 17th!” he said, fingering the bracelet on Ginny’s wrist.

 

“Our one year anniversary,” murmured Ginny against his chest. “And you know what they say about the first year anniversary!” She sniggered.

 

“What?”

 

“That it marks the end of the honeymoon.”

 

“Oh that’s what they say, is it?” growled Harry in her ear, suddenly not very tired at all.

 

Ginny giggled and turned over so that she was facing him.

 

“I suppose you have a different opinion Mr. Wizard?” she said, her perfect eyebrows raised.

 

“Yep,” said Harry, running his hands down her body until she shivered in anticipation.  “I say it’s just the beginning.”

 

*     *     *

 

“Did they really delay the start of term because of me?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Right on mate!” said Ron with a wide grin as he demolished a mountain of scrambled eggs the next morning.

 

“Technically speaking, term should have started yesterday,” said Hermione, helping herself to a second cup of coffee.

 

“Yeah, but you bit the big one,” said Ron, prodding Harry in the ribs, “so we get two more days off!”

 

“It’s not funny, Ron!” said Hermione in a reproving sort of tone.

 

“Yeah, well, if he really had died I wouldn’t be laughing, would I?” retorted Ron.

 

“Well, in a way I did die, didn’t I?” Harry pointed out. That shut Ron up.

 

“You know,” said Ron after a moment’s contemplation.  “I was really scared Harry, when I saw you there, for all I knew you were dead.  My brain wouldn’t work.  I could see the Death Eaters standing there, but the only thing that seemed to register was the fact that you were dead, or seemed to be,” he added quietly.  “And that’s going to be the hard part.”

 

“What is?” asked Harry.

 

“Trying to pretend that we’re all devastated by grief,” said Ron, throwing Harry a sheepish grin, “Especially you, Gin,” he said, throwing a corner of toast at her. Ginny retaliated by lobbing a hardboiled egg at Ron, hitting him squarely between the eyes.

 

“I take it you’re feeling better then,” said Hermione, grinning at her.

 

“Must be the new sleeping arrangements,” said Ron, grinning broadly and massaging the spot where the egg had hit.

 

“You two are impossible,” said Ginny, shaking her head slightly.

 

“Sexual frustration,” agreed Harry, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Is that what it would take for mum to give us a room to ourselves?” said Ron to Hermione, catching her about the waist and kissing her soundly as she got up to put her plate in the sink.  “Us having to share a body for three straight days?”

 

Hermione went pink, but kissed him back without hesitation. “I think I’d rather share your body in the more traditional way,” she said boldly, causing Ron to gape at her, then throw his head back in thrilled laughter.

 

“Damn, Hermione, I wish I could take you up on that without mum having a cow!”

 

“Actually,” said Harry, glancing at Ginny who caught his eye and gave a slight nod.  “Speaking of sleeping arrangements,” he said, looking at Ron and Hermione with a wide grin.

 

“Now that we’re sharing a room, we don’t really need it anymore,” said Ginny with a shrug.

 

“Need what?” said Ron curiously.

 

“You know my rock garden?” said Ginny, after glancing over her shoulder to make sure that her mother was occupied.

 

“I’ve never gotten a really good look at it,” said Ron, shrugging.

 

“That’s because it’s not really a rock garden,” said Ginny, grinning.

 

“What?” said Ron and Hermione together.

 

“Those are privacy screens.  They’ve been treated with an undisturbable charm,” said Harry in a low voice. He watched bemusedly as comprehension dawned on Ron and Hermione’s faces.  Both of them went scarlet.

 

“Just ignore the urge to go do something else when you approach them,” said Ginny with a shrug.  “Just walk right through.  It’s not large, but it is private.”

 

“And we bequeath it to you,” said Harry with a broad grin.  “Come on Ginny,” he said, pulling her after him. “We really should be packing.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

“Has anyone seen Ron or Hermione?” asked Mrs. Weasley at lunchtime. “Their trunks aren’t down yet, and you lot need to leave by four in order to get back to Hogwarts on time.  Harry, Dumbledore has left you a portkey, so you can get back with your stuff and no one will see you.  It’ll take you directly to the guest room you’re to stay in, at least that’s what he said.”

 

“When is it scheduled to leave?” asked Harry around a mouthful of ham sandwich.

“4:30,” said Mrs. Weasley briskly.  “Are you two packed?” she asked, looking around at Ginny.

 

“My trunk’s in the hall,” said Ginny.

 

“Mine’s packed too,” said Harry, “But it’s still in my room.”

 

“Well, that’s O.K.,” said Mrs. Weasley.  “You can take the portkey from there.  If you see them, send them down, O.K.?”

 

“See who?” asked Harry stupidly.  It still amazed him that Mrs. Weasley’s mind could jump from one topic to another with such rapidity.

 

“Ron or Hermione.”

 

“Oh yeah, right, I’ll do that,” said Harry, glancing sideways at Ginny who was smiling into her mug of butter beer.

 

“We’ll be up in the garden if you need us, mum,” said Ginny.  “I’ve got to check on the plants before I go.”

 

“Yes dear, that’s nice,” said Mrs. Weasley absently.

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

“Ron!” hissed Harry ten minutes later.  He felt a bit stupid standing on the edge of the rock garden and muttering at buttercups, but there it was.

 

Ron!”

 

The screens were soundproof in only one direction.  Noises from behind them could not be heard by those outside, but whoever was on the inside could hear noises from the outside perfectly well.

 

“What’s up Harry?” said Ron, his rather tousled head and bare shoulders poking suddenly out of the screen, making it appear as if he had primroses growing out of his naval.  Harry suppressed a grin.

 

“Your mum’s asking where you two have got to,” Harry whispered. “I think she’s more worried about you being packed than anything but,” he shrugged.  “Just thought you should know.  “Ginny’s just gone downstairs to start packing your guys’ trunks.”

 

“Thanks!” said Ron, grinning broadly and dropping Harry a wink.  “For everything!”  He withdrew his head.

 

Still smiling, Harry headed downstairs to help Ginny with the trunks.

 

After he’d seen the others onto the Knight Bus, Harry headed up to his room to take the portkey back to Hogwarts.

 

“Tonks said to say goodbye to you, Harry!” said Charlie, grinning broadly as he stepped into the room to see Harry off.

 

“Arthur said to tell you goodbye too,” said Mrs. Weasley, bustling in with several of Harry’s books that she’d found downstairs.

 

Harry slipped the books into his bag, which was slung over his shoulder.  He picked up Hedwig in her cage, slipped his arm through the strap of his trunk and took the chipped clay pitcher that Lupin handed him.

 

“Five minutes to go, Harry,” said Lupin, looking at his watch.  “Do you have everything?”

 

“I hope so,” said Harry.  He pulled Mrs. Weasley into a hug, and then Aunt Petunia.  “Here,” he said, handing his aunt an old fashioned brass key.  “I know you two will have to find another place to live, what with headquarters being disassembled.”

 

“What’s this, Harry?” said Lupin, taking the key from Petunia and looking at it curiously.

 

“It’s the key to the guest cottage on the Potter estate,” said Harry grinning at him.  “I want you two to have it.”

 

“But Harry!” said his aunt.  “We can’t accept this!  You’ll be living there after this summer, what if you have guests?”

 

“We’ve got five extra bedrooms in the big house,” said Harry with a shrug.  “And it’ll be a long time before we have enough kids to fill them up

Mrs. Weasley shot him an odd look, but when he turned to her, she was looking at the floor.

 

Aunt Petunia hugged him again, smoothing his hair as she let him go.  “Thank you, Harry,” she said softly.

 

“And good luck!” said Lupin, clapping Harry on the shoulder and glancing again at his watch.  “And three. . .” he let go of Harry’s shoulder.  “Two. . .”

 

“Bye Harry!” called Mrs. Weasley.

 

“One.”

 

And he was gone in a rush of swirling color and sound.

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

 

“Harry Potter, Sir!” squeaked Dobby’s voice from somewhere by Harry’s left knee.  He looked down.  Dobby the house elf was looking up at him with adoring eyes, his arms full of Hogwarts robes.

 

“You is not dead sir, just as Professor Dumbledore said!”

 

“Not quite, Dobby,” said Harry grinning down at the elf.  He looked around.  He was in his and Ginny’s guest room.

 

“Did you bring all of my things down?” asked Harry curiously.  He’d noticed that his Firebolt was propped in a corner by the fireplace.  All of his books, quills and parchment rolls had been carefully arranged on a long, low table against one wall.  His cauldron and potion-making kit had been set up on the hearth beside the fire.  The photo album with the pictures of his parents in it was lying on the low wooden table in front of the sofa, and the pictures he’d found in his mum’s box had been arranged across the mantle.  A closer inspection showed his journals on his bedside table and his clothes hung up in the wardrobe.

 

“I arranged them too, Harry Potter,” said Dobby.  “Is it as Harry Potter would like, sir?”

 

“Yes Dobby, thank you,” said Harry.  “Have the others arrived yet?” he asked curiously as Dobby hung his remaining robes in the wardrobe and began unpacking his trunk.

 

“About ten minutes ago, Harry Potter,” said Dobby, his tennis-ball sized eyes twinkling.  “And they is being greeted with much sympathy sir, and they is doing a very good job of pretending to be sad over loosing Harry Potter.  And Professor Dumbledore says, sir, that they can all come to visit Harry Potter after supper, sir!” said Dobby squeaking in excitement.

 

“Supper?” said Harry interestedly.

 

Dobby snapped his long fingers.  In the next instant Winky stood beside him, balancing a supper try on one hand.

 

“Hello Winky!” said Harry.

“Hello Harry Potter,” she said softly.  “Winky is gland to see Harry Potter safe and whole, even if she can not say it to others.”

 

“Thank you, Winky,” said Harry, smiling down at her.  She smiled back and bowed, then took Dobby’s hand and they both disapperated with a crack like a whip.

 

It was nearly nine before the others were able to excuse themselves from the rest and make their way down to Harry’s hideout.

 

“We can’t stay long,” Hermione told Harry anxiously as they slipped in past the landscape behind Ginny, Neville and Luna.  “Ron and I, we’ve got head duties.”

 

“But we’ll stop in whenever we can,” said Ron.

 

“And if you need anything, Harry, anything at all, let us know!” said Neville quietly.

 

Luna hugged Harry tightly.  “This is just the kind of thing Daddy would absolutely adore writing about! She said, her protruding eyes popping slightly.  “Maybe when everything’s over you’ll let him do an interview?”

 

Harry winced as Ginny’s fingernails dug into his palm warningly.

 

“That’s an idea, Luna,” said Harry, attempting to maintain a straight face.

 

Luna, Neville, Ron and Hermione stayed only long enough to have some hot chocolate and scones that Winky had sent up before heading back up to their dormitories.

 

“Don’t go,” said Harry gruffly, grabbing Ginny by the arm as she made to follow Ron through the landscape.  “Not yet, stay with me a while.”

 

“It’ll look suspicious, Harry,” said Ginny gently as the landscape swung shut behind Ron.  “I’m the fiancé of the deceased after all.  People will notice if I’m not around.”

 

“But I’m not deceased,” said Harry softly, taking her other hand in his and holding both of them down by their sides so that their bodies were just touching.

 

“Yeah, I’d noticed,” said Ginny with amusement.

 

“It’s only my second night back in this body, Ginny,” he said, grinning down at her.  “I really don’t think I should be left alone with it just yet.”

 

His arms were around her now, his hands running up and down her back, pressing her close to him.  He kissed her then and heard Ginny’s sharp intake of breath at the touch of his lips, felt her shiver of pleasure as his hands slipped under her robes, and then her arms had slipped up behind his shoulders beneath his shirt, and her kiss intensified even as her body went fluid in his arms.  Harry was suddenly very aware of every curve and contour of her pressed against him, of the coolness of her fingers against his skin and the languid way in which she was using her tongue to tempt him deeper, and deeper, and the smoothness of her skin under his hands.

 

“The things you do to me, Harry,” she whispered breathlessly, her eyes very wide and inviting.

 

“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” promised Harry. “And it might take me a lifetime to finish,” he warned.

 

There was no argument.

 

Back to index


Chapter 20: FAWKES' GIFT

CHAPTER TWENTY

FAWKES’ GIFT

 

 

 

 

The next day, which was Wednesday, classes reconvened.  Harry found it quite the unique experience to sit quietly in his room and experience his classes through Ginny’s eyes.

 

I could stay in my pajamas all day if I really wanted to!” he joked as Ginny left Care of Magical Creatures and headed up to the castle for Charms.  “What was up with Malfoy, anyway?” Harry asked.

 

What do you mean?” said Ginny distractedly, attempting to answer Parvati’s question about whether or not Ginny was okay while listening to Harry at the same time.

 

You know, I expected him to be ecstatic about my, erm, demise,” said Harry.

It was true, too.  Malfoy had been unusually sedate, even by normal class standards, not making even one disparaging or sarcastic comment during the entire lesson.

 

Yeah, I guess he was rather subdued,” said Ginny thoughtfully.

 

You don’t think that my, uh, death actually affected him, do you?”

 

Ginny shrugged.  “It’s possible I suppose, but it doesn’t seem likely.  Maybe there’s something else. . .” her voice trailed off as Malfoy, who had been trailing behind, pulled even with her as they headed up the final slope toward the castle.  They walked in silence together for a couple minutes.  Finally, just as they reached the castle doors, Malfoy spoke.

 

“Ginny,” he said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.

 

Ginny stopped, looking around at him curiously startled.  He had never called her by her first name before and his tone had been neither malevolent or sarcastic, but almost apologetic.

 

“I just wanted to say that I really am sorry. . .” Malfoy broke off, looking rather chagrined.  “We may not have liked each other much, Potter and me I mean, but, well. ..”

he shrugged, at a loss for words.

 

“Look him in the eye, Ginny,” Harry directed, curious now.

 

She did.  And through his awareness of her, Harry caught the outpouring of Malfoy’s thoughts. 

 

No, it’s true, I never did like Potter much, but an enemy for almost seven years is practically a friend.  We could have been friends.  We were a lot alike, Potter and I, even though I could never say that to anyone.  Never.  But my dad . . . he expected me to be at odds with Potter.  I don’t think that I could live like that though, like he does, taking orders from anyone, even someone as powerful as The Dark Lord. 

 

“It’s okay, Draco,” said Ginny softly, butting her hand over his.  Malfoy’s eyes went wide at the sound of his own name on her lips. “I’m sure that he would have appreciated knowing that you didn’t hate him altogether.”

 

Startled by it more like!” interjected Harry.  He could feel Ginny’s desperate attempt to keep a straight face.

 

Malfoy startled, as if someone had poked him, and looked at Ginny in amazement.

 

“It’s true then?  You really are a Seer?” said Malfoy in a barely audible whisper.

Ginny nodded. There was no point in telling him that a Seer’s powers didn’t necessarily include being able to read minds.

 

“My dad said something about that, but I, I didn’t really believe it.”

 

“It’s not by my own choice,” said Ginny tiredly, she rarely talked about her ability to anyone other than Harry, and then only when she had to.  “It speaks through me, it uses me, Draco, without my consent or permission.”  She shivered.

 

“I know you can’t tell me about in specific prophecies,” said Malfoy quietly, after a moment’s pause.  “Technically speaking, I’m in the enemy camp after all, but can you at least tell me if this is part of, of -” he swallowed, looked away, then back at her, an odd, determined look on his face. “Part of the, the Power’s plan?  Potter being killed and all?”

Harry could feel Ginny’s stab of sympathy as she felt his genuine concern and fear for what the future held in store.

 

“I can tell you this, Draco,” she said softly, “The Power that speaks through me has shown me two futures, one with Harry and one without, and I don’t think either of us would really want to live in the one without him.”  She smiled at him then, noting the look of hopelessness that was stealing across his face.

 

“So it’s too late?” he said, his voice shaking slightly.  “The future you saw, with Potter in it - it’s gone?”

 

“Draco, the only thing I can tell you for certain is that not everything is as it seems.”

Malfoy’s eyes locked onto her own, an odd, hopeful look in them now.

 

“Thank you, Ginny,” he said quietly and, putting his other hand on top of hers, gave her a real smile that actually reached his eyes before pulling free and following her into the castle.

 

 

 

Hagrid wants you to come see him later tonight,” Ginny sent sub-vocally a few minutes later as she entered the Great Hall and headed up to the Charms classroom.

 

I have Quidditch practice,” Harry started to say, but caught himself.  “Are they going to replace me?” Harry wondered as Ginny slid into a seat between Ron and Dean.  They had done it before, when he’d been given a supposed lifetime Quidditch ban by Professor Umbridge as a punishment for beating up Draco Malfoy after he’d insulted Harry’s and George’s parents after the Quidditch final Harry’s 5th year.

 

Dean shot Ginny an odd, appraising sort of look, as if wondering how she were taking Harry’s death.

 

“You all right, Ginny?” he asked tentatively as Professor Flitwick began writing their homework assignment on the blackboard.

 

Ginny shrugged.  “I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” she tempered.

 

“It doesn’t feel like he’s dead, does it?” asked Dean quietly.

 

Ginny looked at him.

 

“He’s got a distinct, well, I guess you could call it an energy about him.  You’d think that if he was really gone we’d be able to feel the difference.”

 

Dean subsided into silence as Professor Flitwick began lecturing them on long-lasting human enchantments, which was just as well, as Harry could feel Ginny’s complete inability to think of anything she could have said in response to Dean’s comment.

 

Do I have a distinctive energy?” Harry wondered idly as Professor Flitwick began pairing the students up to practice their enchantment charms.

 

Well, there’s certainly something about you that makes me feel the difference when you’re around!” Ginny responded, grinning, as Neville, whom she’d been partnered with, practiced his wand movement studiously a few feet away.

 

Harry felt himself go pink.

 

Ginny broached the subject of Quidditch with Ron on their way down to Lunch.

 

“I guess we’ll have to replace him,” said Ron resignedly.

 

“Too bad we don’t have any Polyjuice potion,” said Hermione, frowning slightly.  “We could turn him into, say, Neville — since he knows — and let him play that way.”

“That would freak people out, that would!” said Ron, grinning manically.  “Neville suddenly being a brilliant Quidditch player.”

 

“Probably land him an inquiry,” said Ginny, smiling slightly.

 

Good luck getting an agent they could try to pass off as Luna!” sent Harry.

 

Ginny sniggered.

 

“Polyjuice potion would take too long,” said Hermione reasonably.  “We could probably have some ready in time for the Quidditch final, but what about practices?”

 

“What about a Glamoury charm?” asked Ron.   “Like Harry did with Gabrielle, that was excellent!”

 

“Or maybe some sort of enchantment,” said Hermione slowly.  “I’ll talk to Flitwick, maybe he can help us out.”

 

“Regardless, Harry, you’ll miss tonight’s practice,” Ginny told him as she and Ron waited for Hermione, who had cornered tiny Professor Flitwick as he left the staff table after lunch.  “So you might as well go down and see what Hagrid wants.

 

*    *     *

 

 

After Supper, (which Harry had on a tray in his room, sent up by Dobby), Harry called up his elementals for protection, then slipped on his invisibility cloak.  It only took him a few minutes to walk down to Hagrid’s hut.  He could just make out the Gryffindor Quidditch team zooming about the pitch.  Through his awareness of Ginny he could sense the wind rushing past her as she flew and the rush of adrenaline as she stole the Quaffle from Gabrielle.  He wanted very badly to be out there with them, but he resisted the urge to at least go watch the practice session with some difficulty, and forced himself instead, to go down to Hagrid’s.

 

Hagrid answered the door immediately, and Harry slipped inside, throwing off the cloak as he did so.

 

“Leave it on,” said Hagrid before Harry could make himself comfortable.  “I know ye’d rather be playin,” said Hagrid, grinning broadly.  “So why don’t we go watch?  We can talk just as well out there.”

 

Harry grinned his appreciation. “Is it that obvious, Hagrid?”

 

“I know ye, Harry, and ye look itchy,” Hagrid said fairly.

 

Harry slipped back under the cloak and walked with Hagrid over to the Quidditch pitch where Ron was putting the rest of the team through their paces.

 

“Feel better?” muttered Hagrid as they climbed to the top of a deserted section of stands.

 

“A bit,” said Harry, watching the rest of the team enviously.

 

“Just remember why yer doin this, Harry,” Hagrid said sagely.  “Just remember what’s at stake.”  He gestured broadly at the view of the temporary village across the lake.  Harry could just make out the tiny figures of the villagers going about their daily activities.

 

“It’s sort of hard to forget,” said Harry honestly, “When your body gets killed.”

 

“I’m still tryin to figure that one out,” said Hagrid, shaking his massive shaggy head.  “Bloody miracle is what it was.”

 

“Well, if I hadn’t been able to jump to Ginny’s mind, it would have been pointless,” said Harry, shrugging, then feeling stupid since Hagrid couldn’t see him.

 

“What was it like, Harry,” asked Hagrid in a quiet, tentative voice.  “Both of ya bein in one body like that?”

 

“It was a unique experience, I’ll say that much!” said Harry.  “My consciousness jumping to hers that suddenly sort of, oh, I don’t know, mixed us I guess,” said Harry.  “Our memories and thoughts got all tangled until we hardly knew if we were one person or two people.”

 

“So how did you get untangled?” asked Hagrid, and Harry told him about their minds stepping beyond and about the Sorting Hat helping them reestablish their individual selves.

 

Hagrid shivered. “Can’t say as I envy you, Harry.  Sounds like it was pretty intense.”

 

“That’s one way to put it,” agreed Harry.

  “An just think, Harry, if ye hadn’t saved Ginny’s life in the Chamber of Secrets, no, scratch that, if Lucias Malfoy hadn’t put that diary in Ginny’s cauldron, and if Ginny hadn’t written in it and ended up bein possessed by You-Know-Who, if you hadn’t saved her life, you wouldn’t have had that mind link, and you’d be beyond for real!”

 

It was Harry’s turn to shiver.

 

“So in a way,” said Hagrid carefully, “It’s thanks to You-Know-Who that you’ll be around to fight him when the time comes.”

 

Harry sat in silence for several minutes, trying to wrap his mind around that concept, but ended up with nothing but a splitting headache for his troubles.

 

Is that what is meant by the saying that Evil carries the seeds of it’s own destruction?” asked Ginny.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“Ye okay, Harry?” asked Hagrid concernedly.

 

“Yeah, Ginny was just responding to what you said.”

 

“That has got to be so weird!” said Hagrid, looking from Harry’s voice to Ginny, who was zooming down the field with the Quaffle.  “I mean, I know ye could do it before, Ginny explained it like a radio being on all the time, but from what Dumbledore told us after you two separated, you two are now totally aware of each other at all times, and not just aware of each other, but that you share thoughts, minds even, almost as if ye were one mind with two bodies now.”

 

“That’s about the extent of it,” agreed Harry “Who all did he tell that to, Hagrid?” Harry added curiously.

 

“Just the teachers, your teachers, so they’d know to be able to grade you and all,” said Hagrid, shrugging.  “Speakin of which, how are ye comin on yer presentations?” asked Hagrid after a few minutes during which they watched Ginny score a spectacular goal.

 

“Dumbledore’s working with me on Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms,” said Harry.  “He’s helping me put together some way cool presentations.”

 

“Usin some of your Apprenticeship learnin I expect,” said Hagrid, nodding.  It was a statement, not a question.  “I wish I could see it!”

 

“Maybe I’ll practice it on you, Hagrid, so I won’t be nervous about doing it in front of people.”

 

You, nervous?” grunted Hagrid, sounding amused.

 

“But-”

 

“Harry,” said Hagrid, speaking over him.  “You’ve changed so much in seven years it’s almost unbelievable!   I remember telling your Aunt and Uncle that by the end of your schoolin you wouldn’t know yourself.”  Hagrid chuckled.  “But I was wrong. Ye’ve come into yer own, Harry,” he said, looking very proud.  “It’s others as wouldn’t recognize ye.  Ye’ve gone from bein a shy, skinny runt of a kid, unsure of himself and full of questions, to a self-confident, good-lookin man who went and landed himself the best looking girl in the school and is apprenticing with Dumbledore.”  Hagrid cleared his throat.  “It makes me curious to see what kind of a future ye’ve got in store.”

 

“If I have a future,” Harry said before he could help himself.

 

“Don’t ye go talking like that, Harry!” said Hagrid warningly.  “Put yer faith in Ginny’s prophecies.  You will destroy him!  You will survive!  And you’ll go on to do great things Harry, I can feel it!”

 

“So, Hagrid,” said Harry as Ron called a halt to the practice and his teammates began to head off to the locker rooms.  “Did you just want to talk, or was there something specific you wanted to see me about?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” said Hagrid, chuckling.  “I’ve got ye an animal for yer presentation.

“Really?” said Harry curiously.  “What kind of animal?”

 

Harry had been at a loss for what to do for a Care of Magical Creatures presentation.  He’d considered going Ron’s route and sticking with something like showing his ability to tame and mount a Hippogriff, which was a perfectly acceptable N.E.W.T. presentation for Care of Magical Creatures, but he was apprenticing with Dumbledore; the proctors would most likely expect something quite impressive.  Harry had spent a good bit of time explaining to Hagrid that he didn’t want a monster as such, but something difficult to handle, something most wizards would balk at, but that wasn’t unheard of.

 

“Yeah, I’ve got ye an animal, or it will be soon.”

 

“Hagrid, what?”

 

Hagrid stuck his hand in the pocket of his moleskin overcoat and withdrew a shimmering, luminescent egg.

 

“It’s beautiful, Hagid!” breathed Harry as he took the egg in both hands.  It was warm to the touch, about the size of a turkey egg, and the colors in it seemed to gather in whorls and swirls wherever he touched it.  It reminded him of the LCD screen on Bill’s new computer.  In fact, it even felt rather pliable, almost rubbery to the touch.

 

“What is it Hagrid?” asked Harry curiously. “Is it legal?” he added warily.

 

“It’s an egg of course!” chuckled Hagrid. “And it’s rare, sure enough, but perfectly legal.”

 

“I can see it’s an egg,” said Harry testily.  “But what sort of egg?  What is it going to be?”

 

“A phoenix.” Said Hagrid.  “It’s a gift from Professor Dumbledore, and Fawkes.”

 

“This is Fawkes’s egg?” asked Harry, astounded.

 

“Yeah, during their many lifetimes each phoenix only ever lays one egg.  They’re really rare, phoenix eggs.”

 

“But isn’t Fawkes a male?” asked Harry, feeling stupid.

 

“There’s no such thing as male or female when it comes to a phoenix, Harry.  They are complete in and of themselves.  Each phoenix not only lays its solitary egg, but fertilizes it too,” said Hagrid.  “Sounds a bit lonely to me, but then I’m not a phoenix.”  He shrugged.  “Anyway, we was talking about what you could do as a Care of Magical Creatures project, Dumbledore an me,” said Hagrid.  “And suddenly Fawkes flutters over to land on Dumbledore’s knee, only he’s got something gripped in his talons.”

Hagrid held up the egg.

 

“For Harry?” says Dumbledore, and Fawkes nodded Harry, I swear he did!  He dipped his head and blinked his eyes.  He wants you to have it.”

 

Harry stared at the luminescent egg in awe.

 

“I, I’m honored!” he said honestly.  “Wow, I, Hagrid, what do I have to do to raise a phoenix?”

 

“That’s your project!  It’ll take at least a week to hatch, so ye can look up its diet, make extensive notes to show the examiners, maybe even pictures. I’ll tell ye this much, Harry, keep it warm.  Not hot, like a dragon egg, but warm, until it hatches.  And talk to it, treat it as if it were already out of its shell.”

 

Harry held the egg carefully in both hands, staring at it in awe.

 

“Why so quiet, Harry?” asked Hagrid after several minutes of silence.

 

“I, I don’t know what to say!” Harry managed.

 

“Well, ye must’ve made a right good impression on Fawkes if he’s gonna be givin you his egg.  They’re normally fiercely protective of their offspring, phoenixes.”

 

“Thanks Hagrid,” said Harry, his voice slightly breathless, still staring at the egg.

“No problem, Harry,” said Hagrid, smiling slightly.  “But it’s Fawkes you should be thanking.”

 

*    *    *

 

 

“A phoenix egg?” said Hermione in amazement.

 

It was Thursday morning.  She, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna were having breakfast in the guest room with Harry.

 

Harry went over to the hearth and brought back a shallow, copper bowl in which he’d put some lambs wool that Dobby had found for him as a nest for the egg.

 

“It’s beautiful!” breathed Ginny, reaching out a finger and touching the luminescent egg.  It’s colors swirled and shimmered.

 

“You can hold it,” Harry told her.  “They’re very sturdy, phoenix eggs.”

 

“It almost feels rubbery!” said Ginny in amazement, holding the egg in both hands.

 

“Why a copper bowl?” asked Luna curiously.

 

“When a phoenix hatches it burns it’s way out of its shell, the whole bit bursts into flames,” Harry told her.

 

Ginny passed the egg off to Hermione, who prodded it curiously.

 

“It looks like a computer screen!” she said at last, grinning at Harry.

 

“Yeah, I thought so took,” said Harry, tucking the egg back into its next.

 

Hedwig fluttered down off of her perch beside the fireplace and busied herself with tucking the egg in tightly amongst it’s lambs wool scraps, scraping pieces of it together in order to cover it, hooting gently all the while.

 

“What’s with Hedwig?” asked Neville curiously, watching her with interest.

 

“She’s taken to mothering it,” said Harry with a laugh.  “Makes me wonder why she’s never laid eggs of her own.”

 

Neville chuckled.

 

“Look, Harry, she’s sitting on it!”

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning.  “She’s become downright protective.”

 

“And Fawkes just gave it to you, Harry, the phoenix egg?” asked Ron incredulously.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sweet!”

 

“Well, come on you lot,” said Neville finally.  “Time for transfiguration.”

“Wish I could stay in my room and go to class at the same time!” sighed Ron as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

 

“Your attention would wander,” said Hermione dismissively, and they departed, leaving Harry alone with his egg.

 

*     *     *

 

 

It took some doing to make it up to Dumbledore’s office that afternoon without running into one of the dozens of students heading to lunch. In the office all of the portraits had been covered with red velvet coverings.

 

“To keep them from hearing or seeing anything,” said Dumbledore heavily when Harry asked.  He wasn’t himself as they worked on their projects for the day.  In fact, he seemed very tired, as if he hadn’t quite recovered from having been Harry and Ginny’s intermediary and actually cut their session short.

 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to excuse me, Harry,” said Dumbledore at about six O’clock.”

 

“Are you O.K. Professor?” asked Harry concernedly as they climbed the stone ramp back to Dumbledore’s office.

 

“I’m just tired I think,” said Dumbledore heavily.  He suddenly seemed very old to Harry.  “It has taken me longer to recover than I thought.”

 

“Is there anything I can do?  Anything you need?”

 

“Well, yes, if you could have the kitchens send up a supper try, I’d appreciate it.  I don’t fee up to joining the rest.”

 

Harry called an Earth Spirit and had it bring up a tray.

 

“Yes, yes, thank you, Harry.”  Dumbledore sighed again and settled himself comfortably into an easy chair, the tray on his lap.

 

Dumbledore’s hands, Harry noticed with his heightened perception, the gnarled, long-fingered hands, were trembling slightly, and his finely creased eyes were glazed, staring at the tray in his lap as he toyed with the food on it, taking a few bites, but not seeming to actually realize that he had eaten any.  Harry found himself loath to leave.

 

“What you need,” said Harry firmly,” is a good night’s rest.”

 

“You have no idea,” muttered Dumbledore, almost inaudibly.

 

“What was that?”

 

“They’re all gone, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sighing heavily.  “Nicholas and Perenelle, Armando Dippett, Marvin Longbottom and Michael and Andrea Potter.  They all died years ago.  They left us alone, didn’t they, Fawkes?” he said, addressing the phoenix.

Fawkes, who had fluttered over to sit on  Dumbledore’s knee, chirruped gently.

 

“Professor?”

 

Professor Dumbledore looked up blearily.

 

Just then there was a knock at the door.  It was Ginny.  She made a beeline for the chair by the fire.

 

“Professor?” she said softly.

 

He looked up at her, blinking rapidly.

 

Ginny laid both hands gently on his head and closed her eyes until she was speaking directly to his mind.

 

Please, Ginny,” he said quietly.  “I’m so tired!”

 

Not yet, Professor, we need you!  Harry needs you!”

 

“Harry, yes.”

 

“He’s going to need your help.”

 

“Help, yes.”

 

“May I help you?”

 

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh.

 

Yes,” he said finally.

 

Through his awareness of her, Harry watched as Ginny saw and understood the damage inflicted to a body over nearly 200 years of life.  In minutes the heart was pumping more efficiently, the other organs had been fine-tuned, and the energy paths had been cleared.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and took Ginny’s hands in his own.

 

“Thank you, Ginny,” he said quietly.

 

There was another knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey bustled in.

 

“I got your message, Mr. Potter,” she said, holding up the scrap of parchment Harry had sent with one of his Wind Sprites.  “I must confess that I am at a loss as to how you delivered it . . .”

 

“Message?” said Dumbledore, looking at Harry suspiciously.

 

“Thank you,” said Harry, addressing the empty air above Dumbledore’s left shoulder.  “You may go.”

 

“Harry?”

 

“I called her while Ginny was helping you,” said Harry with a shrug.  “Ginny’s patched him up for now,” Harry told Madam Pomfrey.  “But I think he still needs looking after.

 

“I do not need looking after!” began Dumbledore heatedly.

 

“Sit down, Albus,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly.  “I’ll be having a look at you and you will be taking it easy from now on.  We can’t be taking risks with your health.”

Dumbledore subsided, but he shot a very nasty look at Harry as he left.

 

“It’s for your own good Professor,” said Ginny coolly.

 

“See you Sunday?” Harry asked, grinning.

 

*    *     *

“He’s not going to forgive either one of us for that anytime soon,” muttered Harry as he pulled on the invisibility cloak outside of Dumbledore’s office.

 

“I suppose he thinks we should just have let nature take its course,” said Ginny, frowning slightly.  “No can do, Harry.  He’s too important to The Order.  He’s the glue that holds it together.”  She paused and looked sideways at him.  “Perhaps one day, after, well, after everything . . .” she broke off, uncertain how to continue.

 

Harry could see exactly what she’d been thinking.  Dumbledore was The Order of the Phoenix.  Perhaps once the need for an alert and functioning order had waned, perhaps then he could be allowed to join his comrades who had stepped beyond.

 

Allowed, Ginny?” asked Harry.

 

“You know what I mean, Harry!  Until Voldemort has been neutralized, until you work has begun in earnest, we can’t afford to loose Dumbledore!”

 

“It just doesn’t seem fair, Ginny, if he really wants to go. . .”

 

“He understands his responsibility, Harry, and don’t get too emotional.  He is the one that, in the name of the future, subjected you to ten years with the Dursley’s and, in the name of security, denied you the information which, if you’d had it, would have made it unnecessary for Sirius to die.”

 

“But Ginny!”

 

“He’s a great man, Harry, but he is shrewd.  He’s not above using people to achieve his own ends.  He’s calculating.”  Ginny paused, looking shocked at her own words, but certain of their truth nonetheless.  “Everything he does Harry, everything, is for the greater good and will be in our own and wizard kind’s best interest, but he still uses people,” she shuddered.  “And in the end, is it the results or the methods used to achieve them that truly matter?” she whispered, sounding uncertain.

 

Harry stared at her.  She wasn’t prophesying.  Her tone did not carry the tone and timber he’d come to equate with the Power that occasionally spoke through her.  But there was a knowing in her voice that made him wonder all the same.  He remembered a conversation he’d had with Dumbledore when they’d discussed his Apprenticeship, and how Dumbledore had admitted to using him.  Harry had assumed that it had been an act, but had it been?  How could he be sure that he wasn’t being manipulated, even by Dumbledore, even for a ‘greater good?’  The idea of being used, regardless of the intentions, repelled and revolted him and he suddenly understood what Ginny had meant.

 

“Am I being used, do you think?”

 

“I don’t know, Harry,” whispered Ginny sadly.  “I just don’t know.”  She heaved a great sigh and slipped under the invisibility cloak, taking him in her arms.  “The only way to be certain is to stay true to your heart, Harry,” she whispered, tracking his lightning scar with one finger.  “Listen to your heart.  Listen to you core.  The power that comes from inside you will never steer you wrong.”  Her fingers strayed to the hilt of the Sword of Hope that Harry had been wearing beneath his robes ever since he’d been returned to his own body.

 

You will know when it’s time has come, Harry,” she whispered, placing her hand over his which was gripping the hilt.  And now her voice was once again tinged with the voice of prophecy, (although Harry truly doubted if he would ever report this particular one to anyone).  “And you will know whose heart to pierce, and though all will seem lost, hope, indeed, will spring eternal.”

 

 

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Chapter 21: PROMETHEUS

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  Prometheus is NOT patterned after Eragon (the dragon story).  The blood bond is an old myth relating to many different creatures and portrayed in a variety of instances throughout folk-lore and legend.

 

I apologize for the ‘briefness’ of this chapter, but I couldn’t rightly connect it to the following chapter, it would have destroyed the integrity of the story.

 

For all of those who are concerned about Moody putting in a post-humus appearance in an earlier chapter, forgive me, I thought I had deleted all references to him.  As soon as I can pinpoint it I will upload a corrected chapter!

 

Thank you again to all who have read and reviewed! 

 

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PROMETHEUS

 

 

 

If Harry thought he’d been working hard before Easter it was nothing compared to the renewed energy with which Dumbledore resumed their lessons afterwards.  They were working all day on Sundays; starting just after breakfast and almost always working until past midnight.  He was up past midnight every night now, either working with Dumbledore or brushing up on his presentations.  But he wasn’t tired.  He was euphoric!  It was almost as if he didn’t need much rest anymore.  He had gone beyond the need for more than a few hours of sleep a night. 

 

The spells, charms and enchantments Harry was learning now were so intensely complex that he marveled that he was able to comprehend them at all, let alone reproduce them. Some, such as Double Disapperation (or the ability to disapperate while holding onto another person which was incredibly difficult, as it entailed the strictest concentration in order to keep yourself and the person you were taking with you from ending up fused in one body), Vocal Manipulation (the ability to infuse one’s voice with just the right tone and timbre that caused others to obey you without argument) or the Doppelganger Effect (which cast a double of your self in a location far from your own location in order to throw an enemy off your trail) were part of the twelve Dark Spells that he had begun learning in his sixth year and, being considered as Dark Magic of the highest order, they therefore fell under the bonds of secrecy that Harry’s apprenticeship work fell under. 

 

But there were other spells he was learning that were simply categorized as highly advanced magic.  He’d mastered the Angler curse, a sort of invisible lasso that would hook the victim allowing the one casting the curse to reel them in like a fish on a line.  And then there was they Fly-Eye jinx which caused the victim to see eight of everything, causing distinct befuddlement to the victim as they tried to work out which of the eight attackers to react to.  Most of them even Hermione had never heard of, although she would listen intently when he would explain or demonstrate how they worked.

 

“That’s amazing, Harry!” she said as he demonstrated a Reverse Curse Transformation Spell (a sort of temporary shield that would turn the curse aimed at a person into something innocuous, like a cup of tea, or a pot of pansies). 

 

That’s considered defense?” asked Ron, sniggering as he bent to pick up a scone that had appeared in place of the jelly legs jinx he’d aimed at Harry.

 

“Don’t touch it!” said Harry loudly, but too late.

 

Ron, who had picked up the scone while throwing a scathing look at Harry, suddenly collapsed to the floor, his legs having gone all wobbly.

 

That’s the defense part!” said Harry, performing the counter-jinx with a grin and then helping Ron to his feet.  “The spell turns the curse into an object no one could possibly consider harmful.  They pick up the item, wondering what happened to it, and there you are.”

 

“Does it work on the more powerful curses too?” asked Hermione interestedly, watching as the plate of scones melted away into nothingness after just a few minutes.

 

“Supposedly.  Dumbledore told me about a time when Nicholas Flammel used it against Grinderwold, that dark wizard that Dumbledore defeated way back?  Anyway, I guess he’d been aiming the Cruciatus curse at Nicholas, and ended up picking up a kitten produced by the reverse curse transformation charm.  Grinderwold ended up screaming on the floor for half an hour.”

 

“So why didn’t Nicholas finish him off right then?” asked Ron curiously.

 

“According to Dumbledore, Nicholas didn’t realize who Grinderwold was, or he would have.”

 

Harry got up and opened the landscape door, admitting Ginny, who was already dressed in her Quidditch robes and was being followed by Neville, Luna, and Professor Flitwick.

 

“Ready for practice, Harry?” she asked, Grinning at him as he looked from Flitwick to Neville to Luna with not a little incomprehension.

 

“What are you on about, Ginny?” Harry asked suspiciously.

 

“We believe, Mr. Longbottom and I,” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, “That there is a way we can enchant you to look convincingly enough like someone else that you will be able to take part in regular Quidditch practice.”

 

Harry stared at him.

 

“You think-” began Harry.

 

“It’ll be a bit tricky,” said Neville, glancing at Professor Flitwick.  “But there is a way to combine an advanced Glamoury charm with a temporary enchantment that just might work.”

 

“And whose idea was this?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“McGonagall’s,” said Neville, Flitwick and Ginny at the same exact time.

 

“I went to her just after Easter,” said Ron, smirking slightly.  “She went to Professor Flitwick.  Neither one could think of a way to make a regular Glamoury charm convincing enough to be effective, but then Neville suggested-”

 

Neville suggested?” said Harry incredulously.

 

Neville turned to look at Harry with a rather appraising look.

 

“Sorry,” said Harry quickly, feeling the heat creeping up his neck.  “It’s just that-”

 

“Don’t apologize,” said Neville, clapping Harry on the back.  “I’m still getting used to this business myself!” he said jovially, tapping his head with his wand and giving a shrug. “Now then,” he said, motioning toward Flitwick.  “Professor Flitwick is going to perform a tricky little combination of spells and you will look like me.”

 

Oddly enough, it worked.  Harry found it very strange to look in the mirror and find Neville’s reflection looking back at him.

 

“But it’s still me,” said Harry, running his hands down his chest and over his face.  “I still feel my own face, my glasses, my own hands, my scar . . .”

 

“That would be because you are, technically, still you,” said Professor Flitwick matter-of-factly.   “You just look like Neville to all but the closest of observers.”

 

“You certainly look like Neville to me!” said Luna interestedly, looking Harry up and down.

 

“And to me!” said Ginny faintly, looking at Harry with a bemused sort of look.

 

“Talk about an out of body experience!” muttered Neville, looking at Harry appraisingly.

 

Ginny sniggered.

 

“You said that I’ll look like Neville to all but the closest of observers,” said Harry warily.  “How close, exactly, are we talking about?”

 

“You will look like Neville to anyone looking at you from any angle,” said Flitwick patiently.  “If they touch you however, and if they are ever remotely intelligent, they will realize that it’s not Neville.  You’re a bit taller for one, Harry, and of course, your general build and carriage, all of that is markedly different and will be obvious to anyone who touches you.”

 

“Shall I test your theory?” asked Ginny, coming up behind Neville-Harry and wrapping her arms about his waist.  She then ran her hands up and down his arms, back and neck.

 

Harry shivered.

 

“You’re right,” she told Professor Flitwick, “He looks like Neville, but when you touch him, everything’s just a little, off.”

 

“I’ll show you how off I am,” growled Neville-Harry, he turned quickly, catching Ginny’s lips in a kiss.

 

Ron sniggered.  “That is too weird to watch.”

 

Neville threw him an appraising look, one eyebrow raised.

 

“I didn’t mean-” said Ron hurriedly.

 

“There was a time,” said Neville quietly, looking again at what appeared to be himself and Ginny, who were still going at it.  He glanced at Luna then, who was also watching Neville-Harry and Ginny’s embrace with a curious sort of expression.

 

“What does it feel like, Ginny?” she asked interestedly.

 

Ginny pulled away from Neville-Harry and said, in a rather breathless voice.  “If I close my eyes, I can’t tell the difference.”

 

“So I’ve got to keep anyone from touching me, said Neville-Harry, coming to himself and straightening his glasses, which seemed to be invisible to everyone but him.

 

 “Yes, also, your voice,” said Flitwick.  He gave his wand a complicated little wave and Harry suddenly felt as if he had a frog in his throat.

 

“What did you do?” he croaked, and found, to his surprise, that he now sounded like Neville besides looking like him.

 

“How long will it last?” asked Ron, looking at Neville-Harry critically.

 

“Three hours,” said Flitwick, smiling slightly. 

 

“After that I turn into a pumpkin?” asked Neville-Harry, smiling Neville’s bemused, lopsided smile.

 

“After that you turn back into your self,” said Flitwick, grinning.

 

“Close enough!” said Neville comfortably.

 

*     *     *

 

 

If any of the rest of the team found it odd that Neville had replaced Harry as Seeker without so much as a tryout, they didn’t voice their concern.  In fact, Harry got the distinct impression that Gabrielle knew (which, given the fact that most Veela have the second site, was distinctly possible).  It was also conceivable that she had told Euan, who had been seen on more than one occasion watching Neville-Harry play, with a bemused grin on his face, and Harry wouldn’t have put it past the Creevey’s to suspect something of the sort.  He was their hero after all, and, Muggle-born as the Creevey’s were, they would be familiar with heroes who came back to life as depicted in movies and comic books.

 

Besides Quidditch practices and his lessons with Dumbledore, Harry was now spending Monday and Wednesday lunchtimes in greenhouse five with Professor Sprout, working with his Vampire Vine.

 

Professor Sprout had chosen greenhouse five because it was off-limits to students and therefore Harry could work there without having to be hampered by his invisibility cloak or worrying about anyone else walking in on him.

 

“And besides,” chuckled Professor Sprout darkly as she watched Harry handle the vines.  “I don’t want anyone else stumbling across this, it’s vicious!”

 

She slapped at a tendril, which had been inching its way towards her hand, its fangs bared.  “And you’re not even wearing dragon-hide gloves!” she said in amazement as she watched Harry re-pot the vine with his bare hands.

 

“It likes me,” grinned Harry as the vine wrapped itself sinuously, but gently around Harry’s neck, its fang-like protuberances pointing out, away from Harry’s skin in an almost defensive posture.

 

“You’ve enchanted it!” said Professor Sprout in an accusatory tone.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Harry said.  It was an Earth-spirit, actually, who had talked the Vampire Vine into cooperating and was keeping it docile.

 

“An elemental?” whispered Professor Sprout, her eyes huge.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Can, can I see?” she asked, sounding scared and excited at the same time.

 

Still smiling, Harry called the Earth spirit to show itself. Professor Sprout was charmed by the friendly, furry beast with the calming disposition.

 

“I’ve seen them!” she whispered, staring at the gentle creature in awe.  “Out of the corner of my eye sometimes while I am working out of doors.”

 

“She is a friend of growing things,” grumbled the Earth spirit in its purr-like growl.  “We know she can be trusted.”

 

Professor Sprout beamed.

 

And the phoenix egg hatched.  It happened quite suddenly on the second Saturday after Easter break.  Ginny and Harry were dawdling over the breakfast trays Dobby had brought them, biding their time until the Quidditch game (which would decide who they would be playing for the Quidditch cup in May), when the Egg, still in its nest of lambs wool on the table before the fire, began to rattle and shake. The swirl of colors began to solidify until the egg was a uniform gray and a spider web of cracks appeared on the surface.

 

“Should we tell Hagrid?” whispered Ginny.

 

Harry was about to call up a salamander, when the shell began to smoke gently, the cement-gray of the egg taking on a pinkish glow.  It must have been very hot, because the lambs wool around the egg began smoking too.

 

“I don’t think he’ll make it,” said Harry.

 

Just then there was a burst of flame over their heads, and Fawkes the Phoenix appeared, singing his bizarre song to the ceiling.

 

“But Fawkes will!” said Harry, grinning.

 

Fawkes let out a soft chirrup and joined Hedwig, who was perched beside the table where both shell and lambs wool were caught up in a bowl full of crackling flames.  Within minutes the flames died away, leaving a heap of soft, warm ashes, from which emerged an ugly, featherless baby bird with beady black eyes, a long, golden beak, and tiny, golden talons.

 

It was so very ugly that it was beautiful.  Harry grinned down at the baby bird in its nest of ashes.  It blinked its liquid black eyes and chirruped softly.  Fawkes gave a cooing sort of trill in reply and the tiny chick trilled back.  Hedwig hooted softly, and the chick took a wobbling step toward her.

 

“He recognizes her voice!” said Harry, smiling broadly.

 

At the sound of his voice, however, the chick went very still.  It turned its whole body to face Harry, swaying slightly on its still unsteady feet.  It took another wobbling step, this time towards him, and gave its soft, trilling cry again.  Harry could have sworn that it was asking a question.

 

“What does it want?” Harry said to Ginny.

 

Ginny shrugged, but Fawkes reached across the chick and caught the sleeve of Harry’s robes, tugging his arm towards the chick.

 

“I think Fawkes wants you to pick it up,” whispered Ginny.

 

Harry reached out his hand to the baby bird, which let out a louder trill, hopped into Harry’s palm, and promptly drove its needle-sharp beak into Harry’s forearm.  Harry was so stunned he didn’t even scream or yell.  He merely stared at the bird with its beak sunk up to its hilt in his arm.

 

“What is it doing?” Ginny asked, aghast.  “Harry, are you alright?”

 

“It’s the blood bond,” said Harry softly.  “It’s drinking my blood!” He met Ginny’s wide-eyed gaze.

 

“But I thought, I thought they only ate herbs,” said Ginny, sounding stunned.

 

“When a phoenix chooses to bond with a wizard, it does so by ingesting the wizard’s blood, binding him or her to itself,” said Harry quietly as the bird withdrew it’s now blood-tinged golden beak and laid it’s head on Harry’s arm.  “Then it heals the wound with its tears, binding itself to the wizard.”

 

“How do you know?” asked Ginny softly.

 

“I read it,” said Harry, indicating a pile of books beside the fireplace with a nod of his head.  He glanced down at his forearm; the healing properties of the phoenix tears had sealed the wound completely.  “But usually a blood bond occurs when the wizard has gained the complete trust of the phoenix in question.  Remember the essay we did for Hagrid?” Harry asked her.

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“Adrian Clapham was the first wizard in recorded history to befriend a phoenix,” said Ginny automatically.  “1253 A.D. I believe.  He saved a Phoenix from a Muggle crusader who was determined to have a phoenix feather to wear in his helmet.  The Muggle thought it would give him power over his enemies.”

 

“It would have, too,” said Harry.  “And even though you can’t capture a phoenix that doesn’t want to be caught, it was the fact that Clapham defended it that spurred the phoenix to befriend him.”

 

“Yeah, and then there was Almirah Brighton,” said Ginny, grinning broadly.  1568, or something like that.  She had a phoenix that rescued her right from under the Witchfinder General’s nose!” she smirked.  “They were burning her as a witch you see, and the phoenix appeared at the top of her pyre, and Almirah disappeared in a burst of flame and ‘devilish melody,’” quoted Ginny.

 

Harry stroked the tiny chick’s fuzzy head.  “Didn’t the Witchfinder try to claim that God had sent down fire to burn her, or something, because she was so wicked?”

Ginny nodded, still grinning.  Fawkes chirruped again, nuzzling the chick, which trilled softly and settled down comfortably in the palm of Harry’s hand.

 

“And then, of course, there’s the story of how Dumbledore rescued Fawkes from a collector when he was in a featherless chick mode,” said Harry, reaching out a hand to stroke Fawkes’s glossy feathers.  “The man offered Dumbledore a sack full of gold, then, when Dumbledore refused the bribe, tried to take Fawkes by force,” said Harry.

 

Fawkes blinked up at him placidly.

 

“And they’ve been inseparable ever since,” finished Ginny.

 

“But what did I do?” asked Harry, staring at the tiny bird in his hand.  “I haven’t done anything that warrants this,” he said, holding up the arm that was now completely whole.

 

Fawkes’s head snapped around and he fixed Harry with his beady eye.

 

Ginny put a gentle hand on Fawkes’s head and suddenly giggled.

 

“He says that the very fact that you have made it this far is quite heroic enough to be getting on with, and besides that, you have a pure heart, and that is rare enough in itself today to warrant admiration and trust.”

 

“You’re making that up!” said Harry accusingly.

 

Fawkes blinked at Ginny and nodded his head as if in agreement.

 

“Have you suddenly become a Ligilimens, Ginny?” asked Harry, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Hey, I can’t hang around with your consciousness all day without picking up a few things now, can I?” asked Ginny archly.

 

“It’s in their nature, women,” Harry told Fawkes conspiratorially.  “To pick up after people.”

 

Ginny and Hedwig both hooted with indignation.  Hedwig turned her back on Harry, showing him her tail and ruffling her feathers in annoyance.

 

“I’d ruffle mine if I had any!” Ginny told her, throwing a nasty look at Harry.  “Because we both know that he’d be lost without us,” Ginny told her.

 

Hedwig hooted in agreement, and they both glared at him with baleful amber eyes.

 

“You know of course, Hedwig, that I love you more than life itself,” said Harry placatingly, holding out his free hand to the owl.

 

Hedwig nipped his finger a bit harder than the occasion warranted, but climbed onto his arm and allowed him to put her on his shoulder.

 

“And as for you, Ginny, you know exactly how I feel about you,” said Harry in a very low voice, not breaking her gaze. “I’d give you a demonstration,” said Harry, giving a gentle shrug so as not to dislodge Hedwig who was on one shoulder, or the chick who was in his other hand, “But I seem to have my hands full.”

 

“That’s perfect, actually,” said Ginny, grinning at him and beginning to advance on him where he stood.

 

“Because when you’ve got your hands full, you can’t argue with me when I do things like this . . .” She was standing very close to him now, her deft fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt.

 

“Oh I could still argue,” said Harry, his voice going slightly ragged as Ginny began running her hands up and down his chest and then slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.  He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his balance so as not to dislodge Hedwig or the chick.  “But why on earth would I be that stupid?”

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

The chick grew fast.  Everyone was fascinated by it, but none more than Hedwig, who would sit and watch it for hours, her large amber eyes watching its every move curiously. Ron and Hermione were duly impressed by the phoenix, and even Hagrid declared it to be the finest specimen he’d ever seen.  Within two weeks, the chick had matured into a grown, swan-sized bird with gorgeous scarlet and gold plumage.  Harry had kept detailed notes and photos of its progress to use for his presentation.

 

“I wish I could have done something like this,” said Ron, indicating the phoenix as he flopped down on the sofa before the fire.  “Something impressive, anyway!”  He tossed Harry’s assignments onto the chair beside him.

 

“Demonstrating your ability to call, approach and ride a Hippogriff is nothing to sneeze at, Ron!” Harry assured him.

 

“Yeah, I know, but we did those our third year,” said Ron, looking sulky.

 

“We weren’t supposed to though,” said Harry, grinning broadly.  “Hagrid jumped the gun on that one.  Hippogriffs are considered N.E.W.T. level creatures.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s still so easy I feel like I’m cheating,” sighed Ron.  He watched the phoenix for a few minutes as Harry sorted through the pile of work he had brought.  Hedwig and the phoenix were sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the fire, both of them staring into the flames as if they were reading their futures in them.  Every now and then one of them would let out a soft hoot or trill.

 

“What’s with them?” asked Ron finally, nodding at the pair.

 

“Dunno,” said Harry, looking up from a stack of Charms notes.  “They sit there for hours sometimes.  I could swear that they’re talking to each other in their minds, like Ginny and I do.”

 

“I still can’t understand that,” said Ron, shaking his head.  “And you say that since you er, died, that you and Ginny don’t just have a connection, but that you share each others minds?  All the time?” he asked incredulously.

 

“For all intents and purposes we have just one mind,” said Harry, shrugging. 

 

“Doesn’t that get a bit, oh I don’t know, annoying?” said Ron, poking Hedwig with a rolled up sheaf of Transfiguration notes, so that she stirred, turning her head smoothly to observe him with her clear amber eyes.

 

“I suppose it would if it were anyone else,” said Harry, smiling slightly.  “But when you realize all that Ginny and I have been through, it’s not all that bad.”

 

“I suppose,” said Ron, considering.  “I’d go spare if I had to share Hermione’s mind!” he added after a few minutes contemplative silence.  “I mean, I love her and all of that, but sometimes she comes out with stuff, stuff she’s obviously been thinking about for a long time, and while it’s usually bloody brilliant-” he shrugged, giving Harry a sheepish grin.  “I can’t imagine having to think about it myself.”

 

“There was a time,” admitted Harry, remembering the beginning of his 6th year when he’d discovered that he had a direct line to Ginny’s mind, “When I didn’t think it was such a very good idea, to have our mind link I mean.”

 

“You mean when she was going out with Dean?” asked Ron, sniggering.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry.  “I had a front row seat when they were making out on the train-”

 

“When they were what?” said Ron, suddenly looking fierce.

 

“Get a grip Ron, your sister isn’t exactly a baby anymore!” said Harry with a snort.  “What did you think she did with the guys she went out with?  Start study groups?”

 

“But she was only fifteen!” said Ron, his eyebrows still contracted.

 

“Yeah, well, she was only fifteen when we exchanged our vows,” said Harry, waving dismissively.  He glanced at Ron, an evil grin creeping across his features.  “And we did a good bit of making out before we exchanged them, let me tell you!” Harry said, watching Ron’s face carefully.

 

Ron gave Harry an appraising sort of look. “But that was with you, mate,” he said with a shrug.

 

“And that makes a difference?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Of course it does!” said Ron decidedly.  “I’ve trusted you with my life, Harry, why wouldn’t I trust you with my sister?” 

 

Ron helped himself to a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the table. “Besides that, you’re married now,” he said, shrugging.  “I’m sure that you two do a lot more than make out in dark corners,” he added, sniggering again.

 

“Gee, you think?” said Harry sarcastically.

 

Ron threw a peanut at him.

 

“Can you tell me something honestly, Harry?”

 

“Depends,” said Harry warily, multiplying the peanut into a handful of acorns and lobbing them back at Ron who raised his arms over his head to fend them off.

 

“Well, I remember you telling me, back at the beginning of our sixth year, how Ginny had gone and gotten gorgeous and all of that, and how half the guys at Hogwarts would love to have a chance at her.

“Yeah,”

 

“Well, the other day I overheard Dean talking to Seamus about how lucky you had been to have been, and these are his words Harry, not mine, ‘shagging the sexiest girl in school.’”

 

Harry closed his eyes, trying not to let his sudden surge of hostility toward Dean manifest itself in any sort of destructive way.  (He’d had to learn to control his temper after he’d sent a nasty thought at Malfoy and had inadvertently set his broom tail alight.  He and Dumbledore had spent two whole weeks practicing temper control techniques).

 

“Trust me, I came this close,” Ron held his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart, “To punching him out right there and then.”

 

“You’re a better man than I am,” said Harry with a lopsided sort of grin (one he hadn’t been able to shake since he’d borrowed Neville’s body so many times for Quidditch practice).  “If it had been me I would have flattened him.”

 

“Well, yeah, I suppose you would have,” said Ron, looking sideways at Harry.  “I mean, her being your wife and all.  Especially when he went on to wonder to Seamus how long it would take her to get over you, and who would be the lucky guy she’d end up with next.”

 

Harry counted to ten, very slowly.  He heard Ron clear his throat, clearly uncertain as to how to ask the next question.  Ron’s thoughts came through very clearly though. 

 

He felt guilty for even thinking about it, really, and yes, Ginny was his sister and he would never dream of actually doing anything with her himself, but she had turned out to be drop dead gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was as good in bed as he kept hearing the other guys say she must be. 

 

“Better,” said Harry, struggling to maintain a straight face.

 

“Come again?” said Ron, clearly startled that Harry had picked up on his thoughts.

 

“She’s better in bed than they suppose,” said Harry, then added, deadpan, “But she’s bloody breathtaking on the floor.”

 

Ron did a double take.

 

Harry couldn’t stand it any more and burst into a sudden shout of laughter.

 

“You’re pulling my leg!” said Ron accusatorially, though he was unable to suppress a grin.

 

“Just having some fun,” said Harry, grinning broadly.  “Truly, Ron, I can see why men are so attracted to Ginny.  She radiates a sort of power, a vividness, and when she kisses you,” he sighed, closing his eyes, only to find Ginny there, listening intently to their conversation, laughter sparkling in her eyes.

 

Listening in, Gin?”

“Naturally,” said Ginny, smiling.  “I never miss an opportunity to hear myself talked up, makes for a nice ego trip.”

 

Harry smiled slowly, savoring the feel of her in his mind. “When she kisses you, everything else takes second place, and when she holds you,” Harry grinned, and shrugged.  “And when she holds you, it’s as if time stands still.”

 

“Very poetic,” said Ron and Ginny sarcastically (one audibly and one in his head) at the same time.

 

“But accurate,” Harry assured him.  “Does that answer your question Ron?”

 

“Did I ever actually ask it?” wondered Ron.

 

“You never actually articulated it,” Harry said conversationally.  “But it was there, in your head.”

Ron grinned sheepishly, shrugged again and then seemed to remember something.

 

“Oh yeah, here,” he said, fishing a packet of photos out of the inside pocket of his robes and handing them over to Harry.  They were all of the phoenix, from egg to adult.

 

“These are great!” said Harry enthusiastically, thumbing through them.  “They’ll show the progression you see.  I’ll put them in a book maybe, with labels.”

 

“But you haven’t named him yet,” said Ron, yawning widely and stretching himself out on the sofa.

 

“He’s not mine to name,” said Harry, shrugging.

“You’ve raised him,” Ron pointed out.

 

“But that doesn’t make him mine,” said Harry.

 

Ron sat quietly, contemplating this for a few minutes.

 

“How will you know when he’s chosen a name then?” he asked finally.

“I’ll just — know.”

The phoenix turned its head quite suddenly, catching Harry’s gaze with its own, oddly intent stare, and suddenly Harry could sense the stream of thoughts and emotions coursing through the beautiful bird before him.

 

Serenity.  Companionship. These were his feelings for Hedwig. He loved Hedwig.  She was both mother and sister to him.  For Harry there was a sense of security, a deep-seated sense of belonging and loyalty.  It had been born from the fire.  It had been born into a time of darkness when mankind was in need of a light and it had bound itself to the man who could bring the light that would radiate hope to the world.  Like Prometheus, he would give his gift freely, even to those who abused or misunderstood it.

 

It chirruped softly.

 

“His name is Prometheus,” said Harry quite suddenly and assuredly.

 

Ron sat up, looking from Harry to the phoenix and back again.

 

“You mean the Greek chap who brought fire to man?” said Ron, squinting at the phoenix.

It chirruped again.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Ron, flopping back down on the sofa.

 

“Prometheus it is then,” said Harry, reaching out to stroke the bird’s glossy feathers.  “Prometheus it is.”

 

Back to index


Chapter 22: THE QUIDDITCH FINAL

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE QUIDDITCH FINAL

 

 

 

By far, the most frustrating thing about Harry’s self-imposed confinement, was having to hear all of his news second-hand.  Granted, he knew everything Ginny did the instant she heard it and Dumbledore kept him posted on everything that was happening with the Order, but somehow Harry still felt as if he were cut-off from the wizarding world. 

 

“Bloody stupid way to live!” he snarled, tearing the Evening Prophet apart in frustration. Not content to simply destroy the paper, Harry began shredding it until there was nothing but a heap of confetti on the floor.

 

Prometheus immediately fluttered down from his perch beside the fireplace and began thrusting his head into the pile of paper.  He’d emerge with a few pieces in his beak, which he’d then toss into the air (for all the world like a child kicking at a pile of autumn leaves) all the while giving off little hoots of excitement.  A few of the fragments fluttered too close to the roaring flames and caught fire in mid-air.

 

“Harry, what is it?” said Hermione in alarm.  She and Ginny were sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, talking in low voices while Ron leaned against the mantle and teased Hedwig by ruffling her feathers back to front.

 

“He’s got cabin fever is all,” said Ginny, using the phoenix’s copper basin to catch the flaming fragments before they could cause any real damage.

 

“How come nobody told me about that ‘Bloody Monday’ business?” snapped Harry.

 

“Harry,” Hermione began, but Harry ignored her.

 

“I sit here, cut off from everyone and everything . . .”

 

“Harry, mate-”

 

But Harry cut across Ron too by raising his voice.  “Sixty six families, one hundred and eighty people killed and you just now get around to telling me about it?”

 

“It happened last night, Harry,” said Ginny calmly, picking up one of the larger shreds of paper, which happened to have the date on it.  “Late last night, nearly midnight.  No one knew about it until just a few hours ago.”

 

“But Dumbledore-”

 

“Wasn’t informed until this morning,” said Ron quickly.  “He told me himself.  He wasn’t too chuffed, mind you, that the other Order members chose not to tell him straightaway-”

 

“There was nothing they could have done,” interrupted Hermione in a small, worried voice.  “It was a coordinated attack, Harry.  There was nothing anyone could have done, even if they’d known!  Sixty six families were killed at precisely the same moment?  Even if we’d known about it, what could the Order have done?  There are only forty two members that we know of. They’d have had to allow some of them to die anyway.”

 

“That means that there are at least sixty six Death Eaters left,” said Harry gloomily, he stooped and taking a double-handful of shredded paper, tossed it in the fire.  Prometheus trilled angrily and spread his wings over the remaining bits as if to protect them.

 

“Not necessarily,” said Hermione soothingly.  “Some of them could have been regular witches or wizards working under the Imperious Curse.”

 

“No.  They were all Death Eaters,” Harry said heavily.

 

“As an Unforgivable Curse, the Imperious would take a strong bit of magic,” explained Ginny, not bothering to look at Harry.  “It takes a lot of training to be able to cast it properly.  You forget, love, that they don’t have all the knowledge of the curses that you do.

 

Harry shrugged, then sighed.  “Sixty six Death Eaters — minimum!  How the hell am I supposed to be able to fight them off when I’m hiding like a bloody badger in a hole?”

 

“Badger about sums it up,” said Ginny comfortably.  It was true that Harry had been snapping at everyone for the last couple weeks, but she ignored him, knowing the reason behind his frustration.  “Careful Harry, or you’ll drive even your friends away.”

 

“And knock off annoying Hedwig, mate, or I’ll let her gouge you, like she’s been dying to do for the last half-hour.”

 

Ron, looked around at Harry, his eyebrows raised.  Harry made a small gesture and Hedwig darted forward, her sharp beak driving deep between Ron’s thumb and forefinger.

 

“Damn, Harry!”

 

“Stop bawling, Ron, and let me see.”  Ginny took his hand in her own and quickly healed the cut. 

 

“Shit, Ginny, he didn’t even give me a warning!”

 

“Hedwig gave you a warning,” said Hermione, still engrossed in her notes.  “Ten minutes ago; that low hoot.  She only does that when she’s angry, you should know that by now, and nobody expects you to fight off sixty six Death Eaters all by yourself, Harry, that’s what the Order was created for.”

 

“Forty two Order members,” Harry muttered, “I suppose they’re supposed to be the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.”

 

“Only if your math is so screwed up that you believe that you can get forty two by multiplying six by eight,” retorted Hermione tartly.

 

“Six times eight is 48,” said Ron, scowling.

 

“Exactly,” said Hermione sweetly.

 

“That would explain a lot about the universe though,” said Harry thoughtfully.

 

“But six times eight doesn’t equal forty-two!” protested Ron.

 

“It does if you’re a bowl of petunias,” put in Ginny, grinning.

 

“Or a sperm whale,” countered Hermione.

 

“Would you lot knock it off?” roared Ron.  “What’s up with you, Hermione?  You turned into a Legilimens or something?”

 

“It’s a Muggle book, Ron,” explained Hermione.  “It came out about ten years ago and had developed quite the cult following.”

 

“I only know about it because of Harry,” said Ginny, grinning even more broadly.  “Although I must say, I don’t think I’d mind taking a stab at it.”

 

“Did you know that there was actually a dog down the street named Slartibartfast?” Harry asked Hermione.  “Dudley used to make gagging sounds every time he’d go by their yard.  Slaaar-tee-baAARGHt-fast!  He’d yell it like that until the poor animal would be all worked up into a lather trying to get at him.”

 

“Too bad you didn’t know magic then,” muttered Ginny, “you could have made the fence disappear like you did with the glass in the reptile house.”

 

“I didn’t know magic when I made the glass in the reptile house disappear.  I was just mad is all.  When Dudley would tease that poor dog it disgusted me, but-”

 

“He was more relieved that his great git of a cousin wasn’t teasing him,” said Ginny evenly. 

 

“So Slartibartfast is a character in this Muggle book?” asked Ron, his forehead still creased. 

 

“One of several actually,” said Harry deadpan. 

 

“I mean, was he the main character?”

 

“Not hardly,” sniggered Harry.  “The main character was a guy called Arthur Dent.  He’s rescued from earth just before it’s destroyed by the Volgons to create a super-space by-pass.”

 

“And he has all sorts of adventures before he finds out that he, and earth for that matter, were part of a super-computer built by these trans-dimensional beings,” put in Hermione.

 

“Who disguise themselves on our plane of existence as white mice,” added Ginny.

 

“And Slartibartfast?” queried Ron, looking more confused than ever.

 

“Created Norway!” said Harry, Ginny and Hermione together.  All three of them then burst into peals of laughter.

 

“Bugger this,” said Ron eloquently.  “You lot want to talk in riddles, don’t expect me to hang around.”  He stormed off toward the door.

 

“No, Ron, don’t go!” cried Harry, wiping tears of laughter off of his face.

 

Ron paused, his hand on the stone that would open the entrance to the corridor.

 

“I mentioned it because when I first came to Hogwarts I felt a lot like Arthur Dent,” explained Harry. “Here he’s lived all his life believing one thing, and WHAM!  His life changes in a heartbeat.  He discovers that the universe is a lot more complex than he ever could have imagined, and that oddly enough, he, Arthur, a hum-drum nobody, has a significant role to play in the outcome of Earth’s story.”

 

“I thought you said that in the story Earth was destroyed?” asked Ron.

 

“It’s a long story,” tempered Harry.

 

“A trilogy in five parts,” said Ginny faintly.

 

“Six parts, if you count the small bit about young Zaphod,” said Harry, his lips twitching.

 

Ron scowled at them, his hand still on the stone.

 

“Oh don’t be a prat, Ron,” said Hermione firmly.  “What Harry’s trying to say is that he’s tired of stumbling into situations and not being prepared for them.  He’s tired of being blindsided by Voldemort and his Death Eaters and would prefer it if he could do something decisive that would end this once and for all.”

 

“Right in one, Hermione,” said Harry dully. His humor had dried up like an early morning mist. “But here I am, hidden away like Mr. Badger, getting all my news second-hand, reacting instead of acting . . .”

 

“There’s only one way to stop this Harry.”  Ginny’s voice cut through the turmoil in his mind more effectively than a hot knife through butter.  It was only when he saw Ron and Hermione turn to look at her that he realized she’d spoken out loud. 

 

“Yeah, I know.”  Harry’s voice was gruff with emotion. “God, how is Dean taking it?” he asked, looking from Ron, to Hermione, to Ginny.

 

“He’s in a bad state,” said Ron quietly, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.  “He seems to think that it’s his association with you-”

 

“It’s just a gut reaction,” said Hermione firmly.  “He knows better, really, but he has to vent.”

 

Harry buried his face in his hands, struggling to bring his emotions under control. Dean’s entire family, mother, father and older sister had been killed in the attack.  Colin and Dennis Creevey were now orphans; their father had been found dead but unmarked in his overturned delivery van.  Lisa Jamison, another Gryffindor and a good friend of Ginny’s had lost her father.  Lisa’s mother had stepped out to the corner market for a few items for supper and had come home to find herself a widow and her house in ruins. 

 

The stories were the same, dozens of them, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff’s alike.  Kids Harry had known for years had suddenly found themselves alone in the world. Damn, if he’d known what Voldemort had been planning, he could have used his Elementals to prevent it, or at least to warn the victims as to what was about to happen.

 

“Don’t you think that very same thought haunts me every day?” asked Ginny.

 

“But it’s not you’re responsibility, Gin-”

 

“Like hell it’s not!” snapped Ginny out loud, the anger in her voice rousing everyone out of their quiet contemplation.  “Anyone with the power we’ve been given, Harry, has a responsibility to protect those who are not so well endowed.  That means you, that means me, that means Dumbledore — we all share the responsibility.  We all share the blame.”

 

“But if I weren’t practicing Occlumency, maybe I would have had a warning . . .”

 

“If you weren’t practicing Occlumency Voldemort would have destroyed you long before this, Harry, and all of our hopes for the future would have died with you.”

 

“Fuck that, Gin!  I am so bloody tired of being the savior of mankind, the bloody answer to everybody’s god-damned prayers!”

 

“Amen,” said Ron deadpan.

 

“Now don’t you start!” 

 

“I was making a point,” said Ron seriously.  “You didn’t ask for it, but the job’s yours, Harry, better make the best of it.”

 

“And I’m making the best of it by sitting here my arse waiting the bloody end of the world while people I know are having their families torn apart?”

 

“Armageddon comes first, mate,” Ron pointed out. 

 

“Oh my god!” said Hermione, all the blood draining from her face in an instant.

 

Everyone turned to look at her.

 

“Harry’s the savior of mankind, ‘Mione, not god.”

 

“No you prat, it’s just-” she looked about wildly, snatched the largest fragment of paper from Prometheus’s heap, pulled a cheap retractable ballpoint pen from her pocket and began to scribble furiously.

 

“What the hell?  Hermione?  Where did you get that thing?”

 

“It’s called a pen, Ron,” said Hermione tartly, not looking up from her scribbling.  “I carry it because it’s a lot less cumbersome than lugging around quills and ink bottles.”

 

“You use quills for classes — and you’re homework!”  Ron pointed out.

 

“Old habits die hard, Ron, now look at this, all of you!”

 

Harry, Ron and Ginny all bent their head over Hermione’s piece of paper.  At the last minute she snatched it up so they couldn’t see it after all.

 

“And you do remember why you agreed to pretend to be dead?” Hermione asked him, keeping the fragment clutched to her chest.

 

“To draw Voldemort out into the open,” said Harry quietly.  With a snap, everything fell into place.  “To make him feel as if he had free reign.”

 

And Voldemort was doing exactly that.  It had begun just days after Easter.  The Ministry had announced that all un-licensed non and part-humans were to be rounded up into camps.  The man-power to do this had been so taxing on the Ministry that only four Aurors had been available to answer the call for help when the Death Eaters had attacked during the fourth game of the play-offs between Puddlemere United and the Chudley Cannons.

 

Six Quidditch team-members, all of them Muggle-born, had been killed outright, and hundreds of spectators had been killed or injured when a well-placed Reductor Curse had leveled a third of the stands. In response, the Ministry had suspended all professional Quidditch games until further notice. 

 

It was psychological warfare, Harry knew that.  Rather Ginny (who was privy to how Tom Riddle’s mind worked), knew that.  Fear — the great equalizer — was a powerful weapon; a weapon that Voldemort was adept at using to his advantage.  What better way to keep the people in fear than to terrorize them during a public event, then use their terror of a repeat performance to deprive them of one of the few things (Quidditch) that was capable of taking their mind off of their problems?

 

“It was almost like a clue,” Harry mused, going over the events in his head.  “Six team-members killed, all Muggle-born, and then sixty-six families of Muggle-borns all wiped out in one night.”

 

Hermione held out the piece of paper so they could all read it.

 

  

 

            6= 6 Muggle-born Quidditch players killed on 16th of April

          66= families of Muggle-borns killed on 16th of May

       666= ?  killed on  16th of June?

 

       666= Ministry of Magic visitor’s entrance password (6.4.2.2.4)

 

“Oh please, Hermione,” said Harry, taking the paper from her hands with shaking fingers.  “Are you suggesting that the Ministry — or Voldemort for that matter are the Antichrist?”

 

Hermione shrugged.  “It would definitely explain the repetition of sixes,” she said in what was clearly meant to be an off-handed manner, although she couldn’t quite keep the quiver out of her voice.

 

“Coincidence?” suggested Ron.  “Besides, how do we know anything is going to happen on the 16th of June?”

 

“It’s a signature,” said Ginny quietly, running her finger over the list, the ink smudging slightly beneath her fingers.  “In the murder mysteries Lisa and Laura like so much, the murder — or the bad guy — is never content to simply commit the atrocity, they have to leave a signature, something that says ‘I was here, this was my handiwork.’  Sometimes they even leave a clue as to what or where the next crime will be committed.”

 

“But where are they going to find six hundred and sixty six people all in one place?” asked Ron, grinning at the serious look on Hermione’s face.  “You’re grasping at straws, ‘Mione. They’ve gone and canceled all the Quidditch games, and they’d be hard pressed to be able to hit that many all at one time in Diagon Alley, what with all the extra security they’ve got there now.  That leaves-”

 

“Hogwarts!” said Ginny and Hermione in Unison. 

 

Harry closed his eyes. Not Hogwarts.

 

Why not Hogwarts? — another voice, smooth and sly whispered in the back of his brain.  What better way to announce his presence with authority?

 

“Don’t be thick,” said Ron, his grin fading only slightly.  “Hogwarts is far too well protected, there’s no way he could attack us.”  Ron looked around at the pale faces surrounding him.  “Trust me, the only thing that is going to happen on the 16th of June is the Quidditch final.”

 

“That,” said Harry, his heart sinking like a stone, “was exactly what I was afraid you were going to say.”

 

*     *     *

 

Slytherin won the match against Ravenclaw at the end of May, and the entire school was on tenterhooks as to the outcome of June’s game, just two weeks away, which would decide who won the Quidditch Cup. 

 

Ron had them practicing Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights as well as Saturdays when he could book the pitch for Gryffindor.  There was much speculation as to whether or not Gryffindor stood a chance without Harry as Seeker.  According to Ron, a number of Gryffindor’s had a pool going on whether or not Neville would ever actually get his hands on the snitch or not.  Malfoy, of course, was telling anyone who would listen to him exactly what he thought of Neville’s appointment to the position of Seeker, and had actually put up ten galleons against Luna’s declaration that she bet ‘Neville’ would show them all up.

 

“If it was actually me playing, I’d bet against myself!” said Neville congenially on the Saturday afternoon, a week before the final match as Neville-Harry reappeared in the guest room, still sweaty and disheveled from the day’s practice. The real Neville had been hiding out in the guest room during practices (usually accompanied by Luna) to avoid anyone stumbling across their secret.

 

“I may have made a good deal of improvement in my classes,” he said conversationally, “But it’s still all I can do to manage to stay on a broom without falling off.” Neville stood up and performed the counter-charm, returning Harry to his usual form.

  

“Come off it, Neville,” said Luna, looking up from the book she’d been reading.  “You’re not that bad on a broom!”

 

“Well, O.K., maybe I’m exaggerating,” said Neville, grinning.  “But Quidditch?  Honestly, I ask you!”

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry had taken Hermione’s scribbled piece parchment with him to his next meeting with the Headmaster.   Sufficiently impressed by Hermione’s deductions, Dumbledore had opted to continue on with the match as planned, only with extra precautions, none of which he would reveal to Harry.

 

The next Saturday dawned bright and clear.  There were only a scattering of fluffy white clouds and the air smelled of spring.

 

“Are we ready?” Ron asked when the entire team had assembled in the locker room.

There were murmurs of assent.

 

“Then let’s go beat some Slytherin ass!” said Ron, and received a roar of approval from the team.

 

“My kind of speech!” said Neville-Harry, clapping Ron on the shoulder as they made to leave.  “Short, sweet and to the point.”

 

“Neville all buttoned up?” Ron whispered to Neville-Harry as the rest lined up to head out onto the field.  “We can’t have someone discover our ploy at this late date!”

 

“Neville’s in the teacher’s box,” said Neville-Harry with a shrug.  “He’s using my invisibility cloak.  Well, we can’t expect him to miss the final, can we?” he asked, noting Ron’s look of concern.

 

“Well, I suppose not,” Ron muttered, still not looking entirely convinced.

 

“Look, he’s with Dumbledore, and Hagrid,” said Harry.  “He’ll be O.K.”

 

It was a very tight game.  Malfoy had obviously been studying their individual techniques, for he had put together a team, which gave them a definite run for their money.  He’d opted for speed, agility and actual talent when choosing the chasers instead of relying on pure size and pigheadedness, as the Slytherin team was famous for. Crabbe and Goyle were still on the team as beaters, but they’d been practicing, Harry realized as, for the second time he nearly nabbed the Snitch, only to have two well aimed bludgers cause him to veer off course.

 

“Don’t get ambitious, Longbottom!” Malfoy had yelled the second time when Neville-Harry had executed a dive and roll to avoid the Bludger, which had been aimed at his head.

 

“Be glad you can stay on your broom and leave the Snitch to me!”

 

Neville-Harry had responded by giving Malfoy a very rude hand gesture

 

Now, almost three hours into the game, the score was only 180 to 170, in favor of Gryffindor, but only just.  The Quaffle was changing hands so quickly that Harry was surprised that Aidan Mitchell (a fourth year Gryffindor who was commentating under Professor McGonagall’s supervision) could keep track of them at all.

 

180 to 180, Slytherin had pulled even.

 

Harry zoomed around the Gryffindor goal posts and could hear Ron berating himself for letting in the last goal.

 

“What’s happening, Ginny?” Harry asked.

 

She responded by giving him the impression of a mental shrug as she wove between the Slytherin chasers, dodged a Bludger, but then had her broom knocked out from under her by a second Bludger coming at her from the opposite side.

 

Harry snatched out his wand, and flicked it in Ginny’s direction, causing her to slow as she fell.  She landed on her feet.

 

Madam Hooch came running up to Ginny with her rescued broom and Ginny was off again but Charles Fletcher, on of the new Slytherin Chasers, had already scored.  Slytherin was now in the lead, 190 to 180.

 

Thanks, Harry.”

 

“My pleasure,” he said, grinning.

 

No, I know what your pleasure is,” said Ginny teasingly as she flew by him, throwing a tantalizing look over her shoulder.

 

You think?”

 

I’m trying not to at the moment actually,” said Ginny, laughing, and promptly redeemed herself by stealing the Quaffle from Fletcher and scoring again, bringing them even once again.

 

The game was getting dirtier by the second. Goyle used his bat on Dennis Creevey’s head, though he managed only a glancing blow since Dennis was flying so fast, and Madam Hooch awarded a penalty to Gryffindor when Malfoy was caught putting a slowing hex on Gabrielle as she attempted to catch the Quaffle when it came her way.  Unfortunately, Gabrielle was so upset that she missed the goal by several feet when she flew forward to take it.

They were still tied when Harry, glancing into the stands, saw tiny Professor Flitwick standing on the bench, waving at him wildly, a shower of sparks erupting from his wand as he tried to get Harry’s attention.

 

Had it been three hours already? Thought Harry, glancing down at his watch.

 

Harry!” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  “Harry, behind you!” she screamed.

 

Harry spun and saw a sight that made his insides turn to ice.  Malfoy was speeding away across the field toward a small, glittering Snitch that was bobbing gently over one of the Slytherin goal posts.  He’d never make it!  Malfoy was just feet away and Harry had a whole half a field to cover.

 

Come to me!” Harry said in his mind, directing his attention to the Snitch.  Below him he felt rather than saw Ginny stop dead, looking up at him.  Her mouth dropping open as she realized what Harry was attempting to do.

 

Come to me now!” Harry directed the Snitch, focusing his entire will on the small, glittering ball.

 

The Snitch slipped out of Malfoy’s grasp as if greased and bobbed a few yards towards Harry. Harry could hear Malfoy swear as he breaked and turned in mid-air.

 

That’s it, Snitch, I won’t hurt you,” said Harry in his head, every ounce of his concentration willing the ball to fly towards him.

 

The Snitch hesitated, then began winging its way slowly toward Harry.  Behind it, Harry could see Malfoy zooming toward him, his hand outstretched.  They were on a collision course with only the Snitch between them.

 

At the last possible moment Malfoy glanced up at him and suddenly blanched as their eyes met and slowed to a stop even as the Snitch flew straight into Harry’s outstretched hand as if it had been drawn there by a magnet.

 

“Potter?” said Malfoy, his eyes huge.

 

Harry gently raised the arm holding the tamed Snitch into the air, but instead of a roar of approval, the capture was met with a total and absolute silence.  Harry looked at the hand holding the Snitch.  It was his hand, Harry’s hand.

 

“I - I thought you were dead!” said Malfoy, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

 

“Rumors of my demise have been highly exaggerated,” said Harry carefully, not breaking eye contact.

 

Malfoy could not help himself.  A smile stole across his pale, pointed face.  Without preamble he reached across the narrow gap between their brooms, grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him into a hug.

 

“I never thought I’d hear myself say this,” said Malfoy quietly, and Harry was surprised to see his eyes glistening, “and I’ll hex you if you ever say I said it, but damn it’s good to see you again Potter!”

 

Harry grinned at him.

 

Malfoy let go of Harry, yanked the arm holding the Snitch into the air again and yelled at the top of his lungs.

 

“Harry Potter caught the Snitch!”

 

The stands exploded in a roar of sound and movement.  It took Harry a full minute to realize that the usual shouts of approval had turned into screams of terror. The roar of voices was, in fact, increasing in response to the multi-hued jets of light that were crossing and criss-crossing the sky above the Hogwarts grounds; lightning gone mad. The underpinnings of magic that Harry and Dumbledore had laid in place and which Ginny had fortified were crumbling before their eyes; the wards were under attack.

 

~*~                                                      ~*~                                                            ~*~

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

 

I hope that more than one person recognizes the reference to THE HITCHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY series!  Fantastic books by DOUGLAS ADAMS, a talent that was taken from us far too soon!  If you haven’t read them, well, let’s just say that you would have to be classified as ‘Mostly Harmless’. 

 

Secondly, I am not ‘reforming’ Draco Malfoy.  Malfoy is still Malfoy — but he is not his father.  Draco is spoiled, arrogant, self-serving and vain beyond measure, but it is these very characteristics that would make him think twice before throwing his hat into the Voldemort ring.  Or would he?

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 23: AND THEY ALL COME TUMBLING DOWN

Author’s Note:

 

For more information on Aiden’s appearing to Ginny, I recommend you to THE FORGOTTEN GIRL, also posted on this site. 

 

The Fomhoire and the Tuatha de Dannan are a definitive part of Celtic mythology.  Many legends have been built upon these peoples who came ‘before’ and are considered to be the father races for all things Fey as well as of humanity.

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AND THEY ALL COME TUMBLING DOWN

 

 

 

Harry’s eyes cut through the sea of faces, at last finding the one he was searching for; Dumbledore.  The headmaster’s piercing gaze met Harry’s and held.  Without breaking eye-contact, Dumbledore raised his wand to his throat and spoke over the crowd.

 

“Silence!”  Dumbledore’s voice reverberated through the stands; sound overlapping sound like ripples in a pool.  Silence followed in the wake of the ripples, spreading outward through the stands until every face was turned toward the Headmaster; their wide eyes belying the fear lying just below the surface.

 

“All students sixth year and under are to assemble in the Great Hall at your House tables — immediately! Prefects, you are to take a roll of your houses, ensure that everyone in sixth year and below is accounted for. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, seventh years and Teachers — to me now please!”

 

There was a general scramble as hundreds of students poured out of the stands and up the slope to the castle in a barely controlled panic.  A small group consisting of teachers and older students gathered around Professor Dumbledore where he now stood in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch.  All of them were watching the continuing light display with trepidation.

 

Harry blinked, the number of people around Dumbledore had nearly doubled in a heartbeat.

 

“What the hell?”

 

“They’re Order members,” said Ginny quietly, slipping her hand into his.  “See?  There’s Tonks, and Bill and Lupin.  This must be part of the extra precautions Dumbledore was talking about.  They must have been under a disillusionment charm.”

 

Indeed, Harry could see dozens of faces that he recognized, but it didn’t help his present state of agitation.  They weren’t all going to get out alive, he knew that somehow.  This could be the last time he would see them; Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Bill . . .Ginny.

 

Harry turned to her, pulling her into his arms, branding her with his kiss. 

 

“It’s okay, Harry,” she whispered.

 

“Like hell it is!”

 

“No, listen, this isn’t the end.”

 

“But I could loose you!”

 

“As long as one of us is alive, Harry, we both are, you know that.”

 

“Yeah,”  Harry paused, trying to put his feelings into words.  “It doesn’t end today, does it, Gin?”  He could feel her certainty as clearly as if it were his own.

 

“Not here.  Not today. We’ll live through this, Harry, I know it. I feel it.  ”

 

“All of us?”

 

Ginny’s eyes met his, and he knew, just as she did, that they weren’t all going to walk out of this alive.  He wrenched his attention back to Professor Dumbledore.

 

“The wards will not hold indefinitely,” Dumbledore was saying gravely.  “We must work quickly.”  With a gesture he had summoned Fawkes.  “We need to know how many we’re up against.  Bring me an accurate headcount.”  Fawkes disappeared in a ball of fire.

 

“Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore turned to Ron who was standing at the back of the group, his arms wrapped tightly around Hermione.  “I need you up at the castle immediately.  It is up to you to ensure that all students are accounted for.  Take them all to Dungeon #7 — the extra large one at the end of the bottom corridor.  Put up whatever extra defenses you deem necessary.  It has already been fortified in case of an attack, then see to it that Madam Pomfrey gets help in moving any patients in the hospital wing and any supplies she may need down as well.  If you run into any problems, send a message to me immediately with one of the ghosts.  I’m depending on you as Head Boy, Mr. Weasley, to keep them safe.”

 

Ron, who had turned the color of day-old milk gave Dumbledore a quick nod and turned to go but was stopped by Hermione who pulled him down to her, kissing him deeply.  No one so much as snickered.   As he passed Harry, Ron put a hand on his shoulder.  “See you in a bit, mate,” he said shakily, and gave Harry a lopsided smile that was full of fear and sadness and determination.

 

Harry barely had a chance to put his hand over Ron’s and squeeze it once before Ron was gone, having mounted his broom and zoomed off towards the castle.

 

Ron was gone.

 

Dumbledore was speaking again but Harry found that he couldn’t wrap his mind around the Headmaster’s words.  Somehow, when he thought of facing Voldemort for the final time he had always imagined doing it with Ron at his side.  They had started this journey together after all, all those days ago, during their first ride on the Hogwarts Express.

 

Ron has his duty, you have yours.

 

“I know,” Harry whispered.  Whose thought had that been?  It didn’t matter.  What mattered was that there was a job to be done.  With a concerted effort he tore his gaze away from Ron’s retreating figure and focusing his entire attention on Dumbledore who was snapping out orders with the rapidity of a drill sergeant.

 

“Pomona, Sibyll,” he said, addressing Professors Sprout and Trelawney.  “Take these three,” he said, pointing to Hannah, Millicent and Pansy, “and begin helping Poppy set up extra beds in the Dungeon.  Make certain she has plenty of supplies.  We’ll need them — and all of you - available there when the casualties begin rolling in.  Hagrid,” Dumbledore took Crabe and Goyle each by an elbow.

 

 “These two Gentlemen are going to come with you to the forest.  Round up Ragnock’s crew and anyone or anything else that is willing to help us.   Severus, you have the Invisibility Elixir prepared?”

 

“In my office,” said Snape at once.  “Blaise, Daphne, Andrea, come with me immediately.”  He turned, with a swish of his cloak, and was gone at once, sweeping up the hillside like a bat on the wing, the three Slytherin seventh-years scrambling in his wake.

 

“It will be advantageous if they don’t know how many of us there are,” Dumbledore explained to Kingsley, who was watching the proceedings with his eyebrows raised.  “We’ll give it to those of you who are Aurors - that would be most effective.”

 

“Far more effective than the Disillusionment Charm,” agreed Kingsley, smiling slightly. 

A sudden sound like a thousand insects being fried by a bug-light in a back garden, made everyone glance up nervously. Electric blue bolts of energy were criss-crossing the sky, bathing everything beneath them with azure shadows.

 

The sky is falling!  Harry thought wildly, and felt rather than heard Ginny stifle the urge to giggle hysterically.

 

“We don’t have much time.  That breeching of the first level took less time than I expected.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, reaching out into the tangled web of magical power protecting the school with his mind and gasped, wrenching his eyes open as he came in contact with a power so intense that just the briefest moment of contact had left him feeling as if every nerve in his body had been set on fire.  Simultaneously a rushing tsunami of dark hatred broke across his soul threatening to plunge the essence of his being into the despair of a bottomless abyss. Beside him, inside him, Ginny screamed.

 

“Miss Weasley?”

 

“That’s not Voldemort!” Harry said bluntly, grasping Ginny around the waist to keep her from falling as her knees buckled.

 

“No, he’s there,” Ginny disagreed; her voice was coming in sobbing breaths.  “But — oh god, he’s channeled his power somehow, or there is something he’s drawing on for extra power.”

 

“Then how come it doesn’t feel like him?” Harry countered.  “That’s nothing like the Voldemort I’ve ever come in contact with that’s-”

 

“Evil,” Ginny finished, shuddering.  “Pure evil.  Concentrated evil.”

 

“Lord Voldemort is plenty evil in his own right,” said a voice Harry recognized as belonging to Tonks.

 

“Not like this!”  Harry shook his head.  “Professor, whatever it is out there-”

 

“It’s Tom,” Ginny insisted.

 

“Whatever it is, whoever it is, it’s more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt before.”

 

“It’s inside him,” Ginny insisted.

 

“What is inside of him, Miss Weasley?”  Dumbledore had her by the shoulders now, for a moment Harry thought he was about to shake her.

 

“A — A Power, Professor, it’s as powerful as the ones that speak through me sometimes - maybe more so,” she added, unable to keep her voice from trembling.

 

For the first time since the wards had come under attack, something close to panic surfaced in Dumbledore’s eyes.

 

“We need to know Miss Weasley!  We need to know what it is we’re dealing with!”

 

“I — I can’t tell!”

 

“Professor,” Harry had Dumbledore by the sleeve.  “Professor, let me.  I can get inside him, inside his mind.”

 

“No, Harry.  It’s too dangerous.  If this — Power is as strong as you say-”

 

“It’s the only way,” Harry insisted.

 

“He’ll have me,” Ginny said quietly.  “Harry will, in his head I mean.  I can put up an extra barrier, help keep it contained.”

 

“It’s still too dangerous.  We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.  If it is powerful enough, it could destroy both of you.  There is, however another way,” Dumbledore said quickly, urgently.  “It’s old magic, ancient, like the Matriarchal Charm your mother used, Harry, but we haven’t covered it as of yet in our studies.”

 

“Go on,” said Harry, giving Dumbledore his full attention.

 

“It is called the Quantum Shield.  It creates a protection around each and every particle of your being.”

 

Harry stared at him.  “What, it makes you invisible?” How would becoming invisible help him in finding out what Voldemort was up to? 

 

“Not invisible in the physical sense.  Without resorting to a lecture in Quantum Physics, Harry, let me say that what it does is allow you, or rather your consciousness, to slip into another’s without any damage to — or leakage of the consciousness to be penetrated into your mind.  Better yet, it renders your consciousness - for all intents and purposes - undetectable to that which you are penetrating.  They may know that someone or something is there, but they won’t be able to locate it.”

 

“What does it require?” asked Harry quickly.

 

“Do you remember the Blood Shield?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

 

Harry nodded, feeling sickened.  The image of all those dead rats he had used to cast his shield had unsettled him considerably.

 

“This, being a more powerful spell, requires a - a stronger sacrifice.”

 

“A human sacrifice?” said Ginny.  She had gone deathly pale, as if she already knew the answer.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” said Dumbledore softly.  “It does not require a human death as such, not if it is done properly. Only a pint or so of blood is required. But it does require that the victim be willing to die if necessary.”

 

“I’ll do it,” said Ginny immediately.

 

“Most likely it would not work,” said Dumbledore.  “Not with the bond that you two share.  When you housed Harry’s consciousness it most likely qualified as the same sort of protection, and we can’t take that chance, for if a volunteer attempts to give the protection twice, the process will not only not work, but it will kill the volunteer. I would volunteer my own blood if I could, but a volunteer’s blood only works once, and I gave my protection to Nicholas nearly a century ago.”

 

“Then let me.” 

 

Hermione.

 

“No.”  If anything happened to her, Ron would kill him.

 

“If we don’t do this, Harry, we could all be dead anyway,” Hermione reasoned, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.  “I know Ron would volunteer in a heartbeat, but he’s not here.  Let me do it in his place.”

 

Harry looked up at last, meeting her warm, sparkling brown eyes.

 

So alive. 

 

Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to her.

 

A loud crackle of magical power distracted them all for a moment.  For the briefest of moments the entire sky turned a deep, sparkling red, like a fine wine poured from a goblet; like blood.

 

“Second barrier’s gone!” Lupin announced.  There was a slightly panicked tone to his voice.  “Only two left, Albus.”

 

“Go to Severus, help him dispense the elixir,” Dumbledore directed. He then turned to the group of seventh years clustered around him.  “Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, you will stay with me.  The rest of you, go with Professor Lupin.  We need to set up a defense; a double ring around the castle.  Remus, put students and teachers on the inside ring as a last defense. Put the Order members on the outside.” 

 

Lupin nodded and, beckoning to the rest of the seventh years, dashed up the slope towards Snape and his assistants who could be seen headed toward them, each carrying an armful of vials.

 

“Right then, Miss Granger, if you would roll up your sleeve.”  Dumbledore placed his wand tip in the crook of Hermione’s elbow, closed his eyes and murmured an incantation.  For a moment, his wand tip glowed red, as if the end of the wand were on fire.

 

Harry looked at the glowing wand curiously.

 

“It indicates that the blood transfer is complete,” Dumbledore informed him.

 

Hermione blinked and then took a step sideways, stumbling slightly.  Ginny caught her, supporting her weight.

 

“Are you all right?”  Ginny asked the older girl.

 

Hermione looked slightly pale, but she was smiling.  “Just a bit dizzy is all.  My mum always gets dizzy when she gives blood.”

 

“So you put her blood in me, and how do I make this shield work?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“It is an incantation, and I don’t put the blood in you, you must drink it.”  Dumbledore gave his wand a complicated wave.  A silver goblet appeared out of thin air.  He handed it to Harry.

 

Harry took it tentatively in both hands. The goblet was full to the brim of something that looked and smelled suspiciously like blood.

 

Hermione’s blood.

 

“You concentrate on the incantation as the blood is drunk,” Dumbledore continued.  “When the incantation is complete and the goblet is empty, you must go into a meditative state and open your mind, your connection with Voldemort.”  Dumbledore was scribbling now, having borrowed Hermione’s pen, on a piece of parchment he had produced from an inside pocket of his robes.”

 

“Here, proceed quickly Mr. Potter, we don’t have much time.  Miss Granger, you do realize that a second pint may be required?”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

Harry took the parchment from Dumbledore, read it through twice, quickly then, closing his eyes, began to drink.

 

Blood of the one who would die for me,

Shield my soul from those who would see.

Shield my thoughts, my soul and my mind.

Let me see the mind of  the one I would find.

 

The blood was still warm; thick and salty, it left a coppery, metallic taste on his tongue.  Harry knew it was his imagination, but he could have sworn that it even smelled like Hermione.  He drained the goblet, licking his lips and looking up to find the eyes of Dumbledore, Hermione and Ginny all fixed upon him.

 

Harry blinked.  A warm tingling sensation began to spread outward from his stomach.  It spread to his fingers and toes, to the very roots of his hair.  Harry closed his eyes, looking deep inside of himself.  The wall, his poured-in-place concrete wall that he had created under Chandra’s guidance last year, it was still holding, solid and firm in his subconscious mind.

 

Harry concentrated on the wall.  A door, he needed a doorway.  Or perhaps, if his consciousness had been enabled to slip through barriers, through another’s mind, perhaps he could slip through his own wall as well. Yes, that would be best.  Were he to actually create a breech in the wall, Voldemort (who surely knew the contours of the wall separating their minds nearly as well as Harry did) would realize that the uninvited presence in his mind was Harry.

 

“Ginny?”

 

“I’m here, Harry.”

 

“We share a mind, Gin, but I was the only one to drink.  You’ll be with me when I slip into Voldemort’s consciousness.  Will it work if you didn’t drink as well?”

 

There was a pause while Ginny voiced the question to Dumbledore.

 

“He says that since we share a mind, what affects you affects me.  Only one of us needs to drink in order for us both to have the protection.  But since it is you who are in a meditative state, you will be in the most danger.”

 

“All right then, I’m off.”

 

Harry put both hands on the concrete barrier.  It felt so real; so solid and, well concrete.  But it was his construct after all.  He closed his eyes, concentrating on becoming one with the barrier, passing through it . . .

 

A darkness loomed ahead of him; a deep, impenetrable darkness made up not of a physical absence of light, but rather a darkness of the mind.  Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward, immersing himself in the mind of the most powerful Dark Wizard the world had ever known.

 

 

*     *     *

 

Roiling mists of resentment, swirling vortexes of hatred all mixed with the steady drizzle of a passion so all-consuming Harry found himself amazed that it had not wiped this place clean with its steady saturation.  Harry took a tentative step forward, half expecting the ground beneath his feet to be soggy, but instead it was firm and hard; Pride reinforced with ambition.

 

“My god, Ginny, how did you ever survive having all of  this inside your mind?”

 

“It wasn’t this dark before.”

 

“Before what, Ginny?”

 

“Before he became whatever it is he is now,” said Ginny sadly.  “There was so much potential to Tom Riddle, Harry, and look what he’s become!”

 

Harry looked.  It wasn’t exactly a sight to inspire.  The all-consuming darkness was shot through with bolts of anger and torn fragments of hatred.  Mists, vortexes, drizzle, anger and hatred; Harry, his very cells encased in their protective shields, slipped through them all like a wraith . . . a ghost . . . a god. . .

 

Fragments of thought; fleeting and ghostlike, slipped past him as he progressed.  Sometimes they wrapped their tentacles lightly around his wrists, his ankles, but they never gained purchase.  Instead he received impressions:

 

Lucius, spread them out.  Do not attack until I give the signal; The wards are dissolving,  How could they not, when I have him on my side?; It is only a matter of time now; Nagini, my friend, patience and you will have a feast beyond your wildest dreams; No, Redolphus, we need not fear retaliation from the ministry.  I have them occupied at present much more, ah, pressing matters.

 

The shield seemed to be working smoothly.  Without warning a thought that was neither his own, nor the Dark Lord’s penetrated his consciousness.

 

WHO IS  THERE?!?

 

The last thought, projected directly at him reverberated in Harry’s head and heart as if he were hearing the tolling of a great bell.  Simultaneously a coldness began to creep inside his mind and heart.  It was a cold so deep that it made the chill generated by the Dementors feel like a soft summer breeze.  It was a cold so penetrating that he could feel the shields he had erected becoming like crystal, brittle; any moment they would crack. . .

 

“Harry!”  Ginny’s voice in his ears . . .in his mind . . .he struggled to hold onto her presence as a drowning man would a life buoy.

 

Hot salty liquid was trickling down his throat.  Ginny’s voice in his ear, in his heart;

 

“Blood of the one who would die for me,

Shield my soul from those who would see.

Shield my thoughts, my soul and my mind.

Let me see the mind of the one I would find.”

 

The shields began to strengthen but before they could reach the state of pliability they had in the beginning, the chill began to creep in again.

 

As if from a very long ways away, Harry could hear voices.

 

“We need more blood.”  That was Dumbledore.

 

More blood on his tongue, the words; Ginny’s voice, in his ear.   The chill was receding, but before the shields could even begin to strengthen the iciness had returned. It was no longer in his mind only, but in his body, his very soul. . .

 

“We’re loosing him Professor!”  Ginny’s voice was strained, she was also fighting the cold, the deep, penetrating cold that was threatening to consume him, it was only her not having been in a meditative state that was keeping her from being consumed entirely.

 

The darkness was closing about him, reaching its oily gloom into the very fabric of his being . . .

 

I SEE YOU! 

 

The voice in his head did not belong to Voldemort.  It was a raspy voice, paper-thin with age, ragged with hunger, riddled with evil; pure, cold, evil.

 

“We need to repeat the procedure.”  Dumbledore again, he sounded so tired; so old!  Though not nearly so old as the creature with whom he had made contact.

 

“Professor, no!  Look at her, she’s already unconscious.”  Ginny sounded frantic.  “Are you certain my blood wouldn’t work?”

 

“She agreed to the risk, Ginevra, I have no other choice! We don’t know that yours would work.”

 

“You don’t know that it wouldn’t!

 

“Hermione could die.  If I am right, you would.  There is a world of difference.”

 

“One consonant” said Ginny with a wild sort of laugh.

 

“Take mine then.”  Another voice, deeper than Ginny’s.  A man’s voice.  Lupin?  No, Lupin’s voice was gravelly.  This voice belonged to someone younger, who?  Harry, his mind nearly paralyzed with the coldness of the invading entity, couldn’t focus enough to place it, though he knew he had heard it before.

 

“You realize that there may be no way to bring him back,” Dumbledore was explaining. “We could end up with yourself and Miss Granger both dead as well.”

 

“Just take it.”

 

“Your arm then.  Be quick about it.”

 

The voices around him were fading.  The presence in his head was growing stronger.  The darkness was becoming solid. A shape, a shape so twisted and distorted that Harry couldn’t tell if it was a man or beast or some bizarre mix of the two was coalescing in the deepest recesses of his mind.

 

YOU ARE MINE. 

 

Who are you?  Harry croaked.  What do you want of me?

 

YOUR LIFE WILL FEED MY HUNGER.  YOUR SOUL WILL SATISFY MY NEED. BUT DO NOT DESPAIR, FOR I AM FOMHIRE.  WHEN YOU ARE GONE YOU WILL LIVE FOREVER IN ME.

 

It was on him in an instant, tearing him apart from the inside, the blood was pounding in his ears, the blood pooling in his throat — hot, thick and cloying . . . “Blood of the one who would die for me . . .” He couldn’t breath!  It had him, he could taste the blood. “Shield my soul from those who would see . . .”

 

 “Swallow it, Harry.”  Ginny’s voice, as if from the far a badly tuned radio.

 

Harry gasped for breath, inhaled blood, and choked out a cloud of frothy red mist. 

 

“She told you to swallow, not breath Potter,” said the voice, the man’s voice from above him. 

 

“That will do as well,” said Dumbledore, sounding both relieved and amused.

 

As if in reaction to his words, a hot pulsating warmth spread quickly from his lungs down his limbs until every inch of him felt as if it were on fire.

 

“Finish it, Mr. Potter.  We need you back at full strength as soon as possible.”

 

The goblet was at his lips again, and Harry drank.  He drank until there was nothing left, the rich froth coating his torn throat and bringing the pliability back into his body’s defenses.

 

He lay for a full minute, gasping for breath, listening as Ginny told Dumbledore what it was Harry had encountered, trying not to think of the evil just outside the dubious protection of the wards.

 

“It can’t be a Fomhoire,” said Dumbledore slowly.  “Even a wizard as powerful as Tom Riddle would not survive playing host to such a creature.  Besides that, they were conquered eons ago.  The First People, those known also as the Tuatha de Danaan, convinced them to accept containment.”

 

“I tell you, that’s what it said!” Ginny insisted.  It said ‘Your life will feed my hunger.  Your soul will satisfy my need.  But do not despair, for I am Fomhoire.  When you are gone you will live forever in me.’”  She shivered involuntarily.

 

“I thought you said that the Fomhoire were conquered.”  The man’s voice again.  “Surely, if they’re dead.”

 

“You can not kill a Fomhoire,” said Dumbledore with a wry laugh.  “They are immortal, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

Malfoy!  Harry wrenched his eyes open.  Above him, beside him, Draco’s pale blonde hair gleamed in the bright afternoon sunlight. On his other side, Ginny’s red hair was backlighted by the piercing blue of the sky. Harry squinted against the glare and pulled himself into a sitting position.

 

“Welcome back Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore calmly.  “Glad you could join us.”

 

“How — how’s Hermione?” croaked Harry.  He swallowed with difficulty. His throat felt as if he had been swallowing crushed glass.

 

“Alive,” said Dumbledore shortly.  “Thanks to Mr. Malfoy.  We had taken four pints of blood from Miss Granger in an attempt to bring you back, but apparently whatever it was you encountered-”

 

“It was a Fomhoire,” Ginny insisted.

 

“Whatever it was had become accustomed to her blood, so it wasn’t as effective.  Mr. Malfoy volunteered his own blood, and even suggested that we give you a double dose to boost the effect.”

 

“That was your blood I just drank?” Harry asked, looking at Malfoy.  The blonde Slytherin shrugged and smiled.  Harry was torn between the desire to be disgusted, and the need to be grateful.

 

“That bother you, Potter?”

 

It suddenly dawned on Harry as to why he had not been able to place Malfoy’s voice before.  The ever-present smirk and sneer that had heretofore been present in his voice was missing.  He sounded almost  . . .normal.

 

“I’ll tell you what bothers me,” Harry responded, taking the hand Malfoy was offering and letting him pull him to his feet.  “What bothers me is why I don’t know what the hell a Fomhoire is and why it is that there is one tearing apart the wards even as we speak!”

 

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look.

 

“You are certain, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Ginny was there, sir.  She heard what I heard, but what is a Fomhoire?”

 

“The Fomhoire were supposedly ancient gods that emerged from the sea long before recorded history.”  Hermione was pulling herself into a sitting position.  She looked pale and wan, but was sounding as ever like she had swallowed a textbook. 

 

“They ruled as tyrants over the earth.  To man they appeared as colossi representing our most primal fears.  This is the root of the stories of the Greek Titans who ruled before the Olympians. And it’s all a load of poppycock.”

 

There you are, Hermione,” said Harry, dropping to his knees beside her and pulling her into a hug.  “I was beginning to wonder if the loss of blood had affected your reasoning.  It’s not like you to give to much credit to myth and legend now, is it?”

 

“Well, there was the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione with a small smile.

 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, that it is not a legend,” said Dumbledore heavily.  “As Miss Granger said, it is indeed at the root of Greek and Roman mythology. The Fomhoire did agree to be contained by chains produced by the Tuatha de Danaan.”

 

“Why would an immortal being agree to be bound forever?” Malfoy asked, a touch of his old sarcasm coloring his tone.

 

“More importantly is how Lord Voldemort managed to release one when they were supposed to have been contained by the bonds they agreed to.”  Dumbledore’s lined face was grave.  “And if it is true, that Tom has somehow managed to harness the power of a Fomhoire, how can we possibly succeed?”

 

“I thought you said they couldn’t be killed?”  Malfoy asked curiously.

 

“They can not be destroyed in a physical sense. Even elementals are powerless against it, for it came before. It took all the considerable bargaining skill and reasoning power of Aiden and his people to convince them to lay down and accept their defeat.  Miss Weasley, are you all right?”

 

Ginny had gone as white as Hermione.  “Did — did you say Aiden?” asked Ginny in a barely audible voice.

 

“Aiden is what the leader of the Tuatha de Danaan called himself,” explained Dumbledore.  “The title he held is much longer and harder to pronounce.”

 

“He told me I would understand!”  Ginny whispered, her eyes huge.

 

“Wasn’t Aiden that chap that came to you in your clearing once?” asked Harry, his forehead wrinkled as he tried to recall Ginny’s memory of the event.  “You — you were expecting Mira, and he came instead.”

 

“And he told me that he acknowledged me as the one they would fallow when the time came to heal the rift between our worlds,” breathed Ginny.  She was staring off into the distance now, as if seeing something none of the rest of them could.  “I have to go,” she said at last.  “I have to find him.  He said that he would come when I called and the time was right.”

 

“You met a Lord of the Tuatha de Danaan?”  Dumbledore’s eyes were piercing in their intensity.

 

“In my clearing.  I think it was during my third year.  I didn’t know he was of the First People.  I mean, I suspected that he was, but I didn’t know.  And he only called himself Aiden.  He told me,” Ginny swallowed, glanced once around the circle of rapt faces, then continued.  “He told me that there would ‘come a time when we would stand together against the dark power that threatens to destroy our way of life.’

 

“Which is it that’s threatening to destroy our way of life?  Was he talking about the Dark Lord, or about this Fomhoire creature?” asked Malfoy, a frown creasing his face.

 

“I don’t know if there is much of a difference at this point,” said Ginny slowly.  “They seemed pretty tightly knit.  I don’t know how, or why, but I think Aiden is the answer.  I have to go to him, now.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, sending out a mental summons to Prometheus.  An instant later the swan-like phoenix had appeared in a burst of golden flames. 

 

“Will you take Ginny to her clearing?”  Harry asked the bird.

 

Prometheus let out a liquid trill and held out his tail feathers to Ginny.  Before she could take hold of his tail, sudden burst of golden light poured down on them as, with a death rattle of static, the third of the four ward levels gave way above them. 

 

“We’re running out of time, Miss Weasley.”

 

Ginny turned to look at Harry and her smile was radiant.

 

“I’ll be back.”  And with another burst of flame, she was gone.

 

Back to index


Chapter 24: THE LAST DEFENSE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE LAST DEFENSE

 

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Ginny would be able to find Aiden, or convince him to help them if she did, but as the final layer of protection dissolved mere minutes after the third had fallen, Harry couldn’t help the way his heart seemed to sink into the pit of his stomach.  She might not make it back in time.

In time for what? In time to watch her friends and teachers die? 

As the protection of the wards dissolved in a rain of neon green fire, the figures that had been held in check by its power poured through the gates and over the walls surrounding the castle.  They came in absolute silence, adding to the surealness of the scene before him.

There’s more than sixty six, Harry thought as he watched them come.  He stood on the front steps of the castle, flanked by Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.  Just to the left of McGonagall, Harry could see Neville, and behind him, Hermione.  She still looked pale, but a double dose of blood-replenishing potion had brought her around again. To his right, he could just see Malfoy on the other side of Professor Dumbledore, and not for the first time Harry wondered what he was doing here at all.

Surely, Malfoy’s father would not have launched an attack without ensuring his son’s safety.  Or would he?  The blonde Slytherin’s gaze met his and Harry blinked.  The raw hatred in his expression, aimed not at Harry but at the advancing Death Eaters, had been unmistakable. 

Did it have something to do with Cho?  Had Lucius Malfoy somehow found out about his son’s seeing a Muggle-born?  Was exposing him to a direct assault by his master’s servants his way of punishing his son?  And what of the other Slytherins?  Surely the parents of Slytherin students wouldn’t have put their children in unnecessary risk?  It didn’t make any sense, but puzzling Malfoy’s change of allegiance and the reasoning behind the attack was the least of Harry’s concerns at the moment.

“How’s Miss Weasley doing?” Professor McGonagall asked him as though this were the most normal thing one could ask while watching a crowd of Death Eaters advancing on the castle.

Harry closed his eyes.  Ginny.  Yes.  The power of the elements had tapered, was waning, though on the voice of the wind elements he could hear her call . . .Aiden!  Aiden, you told me I’d know when the time was right!  You told me that all I would have to do was call you!

 A piercing scream broke Harry’s concentration.  He wrenched his eyes open just in time to see the bodies of two Death Eaters tumbling backwards onto the lawn, great gashes appearing in their robes out of apparent thin air.  But they were nowhere near within the defensive circle’s wand-range yet.

“The invisibility elixir,” murmured Dumbledore in response to Harry’s unanswered Question. “We gave it to the Auror’s, Nymphadora and Kingsley and a few of our more skillful Order members.  They’re trying to take out some of the first wave.”

“What was Fawkes’s final count?” Harry asked, not taking his eyes off of the advancing figures.

“One hundred and eighty.”

“One hundred seventy four,” corrected McGonagall as another four Death Eaters became victims of the invisible Aurors’ wands.

“Are you certain that the lake and forest are secured?” asked McGonagall, wincing as a shout of pain came from an empty patch of ground where the foremost Death Eaters had been concentrating their firepower.

“The Merchiefteness assures me that the lake is secure,” said Dumbledore, allowing himself a small smile.  “And believe me, that while she may not be able to practice magic, they have ways of ensuring security that would make even Gringotts look lax.”

“And the forest?” prompted McGonagall. 

“Is impenetrable, Minerva, you know that.  It is home to far too many magical creatures, some of which I have never even heard of.  Besides that, it has its own protection.”

“The Tuatha de Danaan,” said Harry.  “The First People.”

“Protected it with magic more ancient than any known to wizard kind,” said Dumbledore firmly.  “No person with ill intentions would be able to pass.”

Unconsciously, Harry found that his hand had strayed to the hilt of the Sword of Truth.

Protected with magic more ancient than any known to wizard kind.

The jewel encrusted dagger that had been given to him by Ragnock the previous summer was tucked into a sheath attached to his belt.  It was never out of his reach.  This weapon had supposedly been designed to pierce ‘the darkest heart to ever inhabit our planet,’ and which itself had been imbued with powers so secret, so ancient, that even Dumbledore didn’t know about them. 

In fact, as far as Harry knew, Dumbledore didn’t know about the dagger.  Lupin had sworn his secrecy and Harry knew that Ginny would never have said a word. Would today be the day during which it would be called into use?  And what about the Goblins in the forest?  Hadn’t Dumbledore told Hagrid to collect them?

The approach from the front and right hand side of the castle had slowed.  The Death Eaters were approaching more cautiously now, casting barrages of spells in wide arcs ahead of them to clear their way, wary of the unseen foes that were responsible for nearly ten of their number now having gone down.

“But that doesn’t mean they won’t try,” said McGonagall through thin lips. 

“We have our defenses set,” said Dumbledore enigmatically.  “The spaces between the forest and the lake and the lake and the castle have been provided for.”

As if his words had triggered them, a series of bloodcurdling shrieks and an unearthly war cry in a hoarse, guttural language suddenly pierced the air.

“Ah, if I am not mistaken, those trying to sneak around us have met up with our friendly forest Goblins,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.  The shrieks continued . . .died away, and were replaced with hoarse laughter and snarls that made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickle.

“Hagrid was to have them tunnel in between the lake and the castle.  They are adept, Goblins, at subterfuge and ambush.  I am more than certain none will get by in that direction.

At least they’re on our side! 

More shouts, from the left this time, nearer to the forest.  Screams, not of pain, but of terror and rage.  Over the tops of the trees, Harry could just see the massive ginger head of Hagrid’s little brother, Gawp.  The head stooped, disappeared, and several hooded figures came flying out, landing with wet thuds on the hard ground.

This was worse than the Triwizard tournament, thought Harry, when he’d been waiting to fight the Hungarian Horntail.  Listening, not being able to see what was happening.  The adrenalin was pumping through his system, but it was the waiting that was killing him.

What they needed, Harry thought wildly, was the sort of satellite equipment used by the Muggle military that could pinpoint enemy troop location.  His thought was interrupted by a burst of flame in mid-air and a single golden feather, to which was attached the rough drawing of an eye.

“He’s tagged them all,” said Dumbledore, sounding rather cheerful given the circumstances.  He then took the picture of the eye, crinkled it into his hand and handed it to Harry.

“Work your magic, Mr. Potter.  Fawkes has located and sight-tagged all of the Death Eaters.  What we need is something that can translate what he is seeing into something we can understand.”

“Magical satellite,” muttered Harry, grinning to himself.  He took the crumpled paper from Dumbledore, closed his eyes and concentrated.  Mage Fire blossomed at his fingertips, turning the crinkled parchment into a glowing orb of light.

Heard the gasps of students and teachers around him as they realized what was happening.  He ignored them, concentrating instead on what was needed.  There, that was it. Instead of pulling anything out of the sphere, Harry released the globe, and it expanded, rotated, flattened into a visual representation of the Hogwarts grounds and castle picked out in electric green lines, a two-dimensional grid. 

Small blue dots (the defenders) ringed the castle, bridged the gap between castle and lake and lake and forest.  A blue dot near the forest (which had to be Gawp, judging from the sounds coming from that direction) was advancing, pausing, advancing.  At each pause, another two or three white blips (the attackers) went out.  A running tally at the bottom of the display (something he’d picked up from Dudley’s computer games) showed the running total of blue dots and white blips.  The white blip count currently stood at 143 . . .140 . . .138.  Grawp was certainly doing his big brother proud!

“I told you that the Goblins are most efficient,” said Dumbledore coolly as another five white blips went off the map in their vicinity, brining the count to 133.  “The Death Eaters will soon see the futility of attempting entrance from that direction and try us someplace else.”

 

“How did Voldemort recruit so many in such a short time?”  Harry wondered, staring at the slowly advancing figures.  He, Ron and Hermione had figured that there had to be at least sixty six of them, judging from the attacks on Muggle-born families, but 180?  Back in the graveyard where Cedric Diggory had died, Harry had witnessed Voldemort’s reunion with his Death eaters.  Several dozen had been present, but nothing like the mass of hooded figures steadily advancing up the sloping lawns of the castle.

 

“We have been divided for too long,” said Dumbledore gravely, following Harry’s gaze.  “Arguing over issues like Quidditch regulations, Apparating without a license, underage magic . . .”

 

“Cauldron bottom thickness?” said Harry dryly.

 

From behind him, came an amused chuckle.  It was Ron, looking rather disheveled, but with a determined glint in his eye.

 

“Doesn’t seem very important now, does it?”

 

“Mr. Weasley, you are supposed to be with the students.”  The Headmaster’s tone was disapproving, but there was a sparkle in his light blue eyes that belied his words.

 

“They are as safe as it is possible to make them, Professor.  The Earth Spirit Harry sent has sealed the room and the fifth and sixth year prefects are standing guard.  Madam Pomfrey and Professor Trelawney are present should any emergencies crop up and the ghosts have stationed themselves inside of the dungeon walls so that we can have the  first possible notification if anyone attempts to break in.  There’s nothing more I can do sir.”

 

“Very well then, Mr. Weasley, if you insist, but I wish for you to remain on the inner circle, you and Miss Granger.  If anything happens to us, should they break through, it will be up to the two of you to defend  . . .”

 

His words faded away as the first wave of Death Eaters approached the outer ring, divided down the middle, and came at the Hogwarts defenders from the flanks, using the two ancient oak trees growing in line with the corners of the castle for cover.

 

As if in concert, the two trees began to snatch up Death Eaters, seemingly at random, their strangled cries could be heard from the depths of their heavy green canopies.  When the first wave had been absorbed by the vegetation, the huge trees pulled up their roots and headed off toward the forbidden forest, their branches still full of flailing Death Eaters.

 

“Down to 125!” announced Professor McGonagall, who seemed to have appointed herself as the official keeper of the holographic map.

 

“Wicked!” crowed Ron from behind him.  “Who the bloody hell thought that one up?”

 

“We have Mr. Potter to be thanked for that defense,” said Dumbledore, smiling broadly.  “Seems his Muggle reading has paid off.”

 

“Like Treebeard!” said Hermione delightedly.  “In Lord of the Rings, the trees that could walk and talk!  But how did you know that they’d come from the corners?” she added, looking around at Harry.  “And the trees, where did they come from?”

 

“I used my Mage Fire to create them,” said Harry, grinning.  “They just looked like real trees.  I had a couple of Air Sprites animate them. And it just seemed logical that if there were something for the Death Eaters to hide behind, they’d use it.  And now, for the psychological warfare,” he added.  “What do you think, Malfoy, blue spruce, pine, oak, ash, what?”

 

“How about a little of each?” said Draco, a nasty smile crossing his face.  “Really freak them out, mix them up somehow.  Some moving, some not, you know?”

 

“A forest!” said Harry, his eyes lighting up. 

 

“Can’t see the forest for the trees, eh Mr. Malfoy?” said Dumbledore approvingly.  “You know, Harry, the Labyrinth Charm would work on the forest itself. At least it might buy us some time.”

 

“A Labyrinth it is then,” said Harry.  Grinning broadly, he closed his eyes and felt the Mage Fire blossom at his fingertips.  As if someone had been filming the entire thing using time-lapse photography, a grove of trees sprang up between the outer ring of defenders and the second wave of Death Eaters.

 

“You can do a Labyrinth?” Neville asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched the quickly spreading forest.

 

“Yeah.  It’s difficult, but . . .” Harry shrugged.

 

“What if you doubled it?  You know, Professor, you cast the spell on the forest, then Harry casts his on top.”

 

“A double layer of protection, yes Mr. Longbottom, excellent!”

 

“And maybe one of you could reverse it, you know, really confuse them.”

 

He’ll make an excellent Auror.  It was Ginny’s thought, she was watching him through Harry’s eyes with a real fondness.  The ministry will discover him, take my word for that, Potter, and it doesn’t matter that he didn’t take the N.E.W.T. level classes they require, when they realize what they’re dealing with they’ll snatch him up, just see if they don’t!

 

Harry grinned, it was still a new sensation to not have to use words with Ginny.  What one knew they both knew.  It was only through habit that Harry still found himself closing his eyes, concentrating on her presence.  If he simply relaxed his mind, he was as aware of what she was doing, thinking, as he was of his own thoughts and actions.

 

One mind in two bodies, Potter, together forever, like it or not!

 

Smart ass!

 

Like right now, he knew that she was waiting on Aiden.  The elders had been called and the council was in session.  He may be their leader, but he was leader only by consent of those he governed.  He would make no move until they gave him their approval.  Ginny had presented herself and her situation to them, and now, it was only a matter of time. 

 

There were other things though, more pressing matters closer at hand. Harry watched as Dumbledore muttered the words of the Labyrinth incantation, making a sweeping gesture with his wand that encompassed the entire forest that had sprung up between Hogwarts and the advancing Death Eaters.  Harry closed his eyes, envisioned the spell, then worked the incantation into a Confundus charm to prevent another wizard from realizing that they were dealing with another spell, and wove the entire mess into the strands of Dumbledore’s spell, making certain that the transition would be seamless. 

 

A general intake of breath went up as the forest (which had shifted, transforming itself to conform its self to Dumbledore’s spell) as it now shimmered, shifted again, and then doubled, seeming almost to fold in on itself as they watched.

 

On the graph, which still hung in the air before them, Harry could see several dozen white blips spread out and attempt to penetrate the construct before them.  He couldn’t help but grin as he watched the blips, which seemed to be studiously avoiding the larger trees.

 

“That’s okay,” Harry responded when Malfoy pointed this out to him.  “I’ve animated as many of the smaller trees as the large.  Better yet, the smaller ones are mobile!”

 

“Wicked!” said Ron again.  He was grinning broadly, one arm around Hermione’s waist, the other held his wand at the ready. 

 

“Well, I’d say that just takes care of the front approach,” said Dumbledore genially as another twenty white blips blinked off, having been dispatched by the deadly forest construct.  They watched as three of the blips turned and beat a hasty retreat to the remaining crowd on the other side of the trees, which was now milling about as if in contemplation as to which direction they should attempt to attack from next.  Only two pressed on, attempting to find their way through the seemingly endless maze of tree roots and brambles.

 

“We’ve nearly halved their number,” said Lupin’s voice from somewhere just ahead. Harry’s eyes flicked back to the projected map. Sure enough, while they’d been watching the ones attempting to advance through the forest, another twelve had been dispatched by Grawp.  The few that had managed to slip past the ‘scrawny’ giant were encircled by a group of centaurs led, Dumbledore assured them, by Firenze. The counter now had the tally attackers at ninety-one, eighty-five actually, if you deducted the six Death Eaters that were being held captive by the murderous centaurs.

 

“Is that you, Remus?” Dumbledore was squinting at the space just ahead and to the left of Harry.  A stick picked itself up off the ground and began waving itself around.

 

“I certainly hope so.  I kept hoping I wouldn’t bump into any of our lot, they’re so wound up they just might start shooting before asking questions.”

 

“I thought that the Centaurs didn’t interfere in our affairs?” asked Harry, watching as the knot of centaurs on the screen drew in tightly around their captives.  That had been his experience, anyway.  During his fifth year Firenze had nearly been murdered by his own heard for passing information to Professor Dumbledore, and then had been cast out of his heard altogether when he had agreed to come to the castle and teach Divination.

 

“A year rubbing shoulders with the Goblins camped in the forest has done a fair bit at convincing several of them that this is something that concerns us all,” said Lupin heavily.  “That and the fourteen foals that were killed by Death Eaters at the forest that serves as their breeding ground outside of Dingwall in November.  They decided that their very survival as a species may just depend on their joining forces with us.”

 

“As it very well could,” agreed Dumbledore.  “I believe Severus is on the Eastern side near the greenhouses,” he added, patting Lupin on his invisible shoulder.  “He has the antidote to the elixir on his person.  It might behoove you to acquire some before our illustrious adversaries break through our defenses.”

 

“My concern is that Ginny won’t be able to make it back before we hit the critical number,” continued Lupin, from the sound of his voice he was still looking at the projection.

 

“Critical number?” asked Harry curiously.  The white blips had drawn back from their attack positions.  They were spreading themselves out in a semi-circle that reached from where the forbidden forest touched the road to Hogsmeade, across to the shoreline of the lake.  The way they were spaced, it looked as if there were leaving a good twenty-five foot gap between each of them.  Behind the tight formation of white blips, a lone attacker stood, as if directing the troops. 

 

That’s him, Harry thought dumbly, and although he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn that that lone blip radiated the same sort of penetrating evil that had nearly destroyed him when he’d touched it in Voldemort’s mind.  That’s It.

 

“What are they doing?” asked Ron, nodding at the screen.

 

“Preparing for — something,” said Neville, eyeing the new formation warily.

 

“See?” said Lupin, and the stick he was holding extended itself, pointing at the counter, which now read sixty six.  “Looks like we’ve reached the critical number.”

 

“What does that mean, exactly?” asked Harry, watching as the white blips remained where they were, shifting ever so slightly, but not moving out of their designated formation.

 

“Perhaps that is the least amount he needs, or the most he can use to initiate the next stage of his attack,” came another disembodied voice.

 

“Dad?” said Neville, looking around wildly.  “Here, son.”  Neville yelped as an invisible hand came in contact with his arm.

 

“Damn dad, you scared me!”

 

“Bit jumpy, are we?” said Frank Longbottom’s voice, sounding rather amused.

 

“Seems to be all the rage today,” muttered Harry, whose own nerves were drawn tighter than he thought it was possible for them to manage.   Neville grinned, but didn’t take his eyes off of the projection hanging before them.

 

“Has the Ministry been alerted to our position?” asked Mr. Longbottom.

 

“Arthur Weasley carried a message to the Minister for us,” said Dumbledore heavily.  “But it appears that a threat on St. Mungo’s, which arrived in writing only this morning is keeping most of the Auror’s busy.”

 

“St. Mungo’s is under attack?” said Mr. Longbottom, sounding alarmed.

 

“Not under attack as such,” said Dumbledore with a wry smile.  “But under the threat of attack.  The Minister has insisted that the hospital’s situation has priority in these circumstances.  They are providing St. Mungo’s with around-the-clock protection.”

 

“Sounds like it was orchestrated,” said Lupin, attempting, but not succeeding in suppressing a snort of annoyance.

 

“Wouldn’t doubt it in the least,” said Frank Longbottom conversationally.  “But really, Remus, time to get that antidote.  Don’t want to get hexed by a twitchy wand now, do we?  Besides, once the hexes start flying whoever’s invisible could get hit by accident by a stray spell . . .” their voices died away down the line of students.  Heads turned, following their conversation, and the first actual smiles Harry had seen since the wards had come under attack spread across the faces of the students as they went past.

 

Their smiles were wiped clean a moment later when it became clear as to what, exactly, had been meant by the toll of Death Eaters reaching a critical number.

 

“What the hell is that?”  Ron wasn’t looking at the map (where a sudden burst of static had shuddered through the holographic projection, causing it to stutter and jump), but out into the grounds where, just beyond the trees of the forest construct, a pillar of.darkness had thrust itself up from the ground like an inverted tornado, pointing an accusatory finger at the sky.

 

“Good heavens, look at the Map, Albus!”

 

The map had shuddered back into focus, showing the lone white blip behind the others, which had now tripled in size.  Tiny neon green lines were now connecting it to each of the dots making up the formation before it.  As they watched, the dots grew exponentially and began to advance towards the castle.

 

“We’ve run out of time,” said Dumbledore softly, his voice barely discernable above the gasps and exclamations of those who were ringing the castle.

 

The Fomhoire was on the move.

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry watched, as if in a trance, as the funnel of darkness advanced steadily, the semi-circle of Death-Eaters advancing before it like some weird sort of snowplow, obliterating any and all magical barriers in its path.  Harry’s construct forest posed absolutely no threat to it.  In fact, it ignored the forest completely, honing in on the castle as if following a beacon, prodding the Death Eaters along before it like so many finger puppets on a cosmic, multi-fingered hand.

 

The advancing figures reached the Goblins in their underground warren, first.  Their guttural war cry rent the air, and was met by complete and total silence.  Silence so complete that when the first cries of pain rent the air Harry was nearly startled out of his skin.

 

According to the map, six Goblins went down before one advancing figure in mere seconds.  The remainder of the goblins, some fifteen in all, consolidated their efforts and brought it down a moment later. 

 

“Fifteen to one?” said McGonagall in a disbelieving tone.  “Who would have believed such a thing?  What kind of a creature is this, Dumbledore, that it would take fifteen Goblins to bring it down?”

 

“It is only a man,” said Dumbledore pointedly, “but obviously, it is being supported by someone — something else. No man, I don’t care how powerful, could bring down six armed Goblins that fast.  See the connecting lines?”  He traced the miniscule green web work extending from the Fomhire and connecting it to each of the Death Eaters.  “It is obviously supporting them by its own power.”

 

“The Dark Mark,” said Hermione softly, her eyes were huge.  “Voldemort’s Death Eaters are directly linked to him by the mark on their arms.”

 

Harry shuddered, remembering his own experience with the Imperius Curse.  Total control.  Moody’s voice seemed to echo inside of his head, remnants of his fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.  Years back there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse . . .Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.  And here were the very Death Eaters who had forced others to do their will being forced to act against their own.  Their retreat from the Goblins, from the forest had proved that they were not stupid.  They were not willing to risk their lives to achieve Voldemort’s goals, not when the odds were against them.

 

But here . . .now . . .they were acting in concert, totally against their better instincts, going forward, ever forward, conduits for the cold, dark energy that had nearly annihilated Harry simply by being acknowledged by it.  He couldn’t imagine what it was doing to the men and women who were sharing their bodies . . .their minds . . .their souls.

 

“He’s mad!” said Harry softly as the roiling vortex of darkness drew closer.  “He won’t have anyone left when this is finished!”

 

“If he wins, Harry, it won’t matter.”  Dumbledore’s face was set.  The twinkle in his eyes replaced by a fury Harry had only seen on one other occasion; when Dumbledore had blasted down the door to the fake Moody’s office, thereby preventing Harry from being killed by the man who had secreted him away after the events in the Triwizard maze.  But would even the power generating such a fury be enough to prevent the Fomhire from breaking through, from killing them all?

 

The thought chilled him, but also filled his head with a sudden inspiration.  It took a full five minutes for the Death Eaters to reach the first line of defense ringed around the castle, but it was enough for what he had in mind.

 

*     *     *

 

“How long can the Elementals hold up against that thing?” asked Ron through gritted teeth.  The noise was deafening.  The spells being cast at the temporary shield Harry had cast about the castle, using his own and Dumbledore’s elementals, as well as his own Mage Fire to weave them all into the most powerful shield he could generate on such quick notice, were making one hell of a racket as they ricocheted off the tightly woven spells.

 

“I’ve used my Elementals to cast wards before this,” Dumbledore was saying to McGonagall.  He sounded amazed, and not a little awed by their temporary reprieve.  “But I’ve never heard of actually weaving one’s Elementals into a shield before, especially not by using Mage Fire!”

 

“I’m still trying to work my mind around Mage Fire’s being real!” retorted Professor McGonagall.  Her voice was rather snappish, and her forehead was knit as if she were fighting a particularly nasty headache.  “What on earth possessed you to try that, Potter?”

 

Harry gave her a sideways glance and attempted to smile.  It didn’t work.  It came out as a grimace.  The energy he was expending on maintaining the integrity of the shield was draining him faster than he cared to admit.  He didn’t have an ounce of extra energy to spare on something so trivial as talking.  He barely even registered the fact that the Tuatha De Danaan had reached a decision.  They were on their way . . .Ginny! . . . which was just as well seeing as that he didn’t have . . . the strength . . .to continue . . .even . . .a . . .moment . . .longer . . .His Mage Fire flickered . . .flickered . . .and died.

 

The shield held for a moment longer - just long enough for Harry to register the face approaching him through the gathering darkness.  It was a face he knew nearly as well as his own, and feared a great deal more; the skull-like face with its flat, snake-like features and vertically slit crimson eyes; eyes behind which now resided a being so powerful, so ancient, so evil, that it made the man Harry had dueled in the graveyard look like a benign and kindly man.  It was the face of Lord Voldemort, and the soul of the Fomhoire.  They had come for him . . .it was over . . .As the penetrating darkness swept across the castle,  Harry fell to his knees, one last thought reverberated through his head; This wasn’t the way it was supposed to end.

 

But this is not the end my boy.

 

This voice, a man’s voice, was in his head.  And it was full of such an absolute assurance, such warmth and love that Harry knew it couldn’t possibly belong to the entity that was even now burrowing its icy talons into his very soul.

 

This is only the beginning.

 

~*~   

 

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

 

·        For those of you interested in Harry’s ability to conjure Mage Fire, I refer you to TOWARDS TOMORROW, also published on this site.

 

·        For more information on Aiden and Ginny’s connection with him and the First People, see SUMMER OF THE SERPENT and THE FORGOTTEN GIRL.

 

·        Both the Fomhoire and the Tuatha de Danaan exist as an intricate part of Celtic mythology. There are many books and web sites devoted to interpreting and explaining the multitude of lore and legends involving what is considered to be the wellspring of all things Fae.

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 25: THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

 

“Cosaint n ndeithe do an bhfear seo.”

 

The voice speaking the words was soft, compelling, but totally incomprehensible. Harry groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the cool, damp grass on which he lay.

 

Grass?

 

He’d been on the stone steps leading up to the castle when the Fomhoire had overwhelmed them.  So why was he now laying on grass?

 

“Because in Tir-nan-og, there is no Caer.”  The voice again, this time speaking a heavily accented English.

 

Caer?” Harry raised his head a fraction, squinting his eyes against the sudden wash of light.  He was lying at the top of a high bluff overlooking a wide expanse of water that looked vaguely familiar.  A man sat beside him, arms wrapped around his knees, his long silvery-blonde hair rippling in the summer-soft breeze.

 

“Caer, it is what you call a castle — or fortress.”

 

Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning as his body protested even at this minimal movement.

 

“God, that hurts.  What happened?”  He looked around bemusedly. “Where am I?”  Then, belatedly.  “Who are you?”

 

The man laughed, a rippling, silvery sound that put Harry in mind of a stream. 

 

 “You have many questions my young friend!  Perhaps that which you asked last would be easiest to answer.  My name is Aiden, I am of the Aes Sidhe, what you would call the Tuatha de Danaan.”

 

You’re Aiden?”  The man beside him looked to be in his twenties, definitely no older than thirty, and yet, if what Harry had heard was correct, he was eons old.  He didn’t know why this should surprise him, after all, Stephan Cadmar had been over nearly two thousand years old and he had looked to be no older than twenty-two.

 

“You expected someone older, yes?  A old Dryw perhaps, wielding a slat an draoichta?”

 

“Come again?”

 

“An old druid, or wizard with a magic wand,” said another voice nearly in his ear.

 

Harry twisted around and pulled the speaker into a fierce hug before branding her with an even fiercer kiss.

 

“God Ginny, I thought I was dead, I thought we were all dead!”

 

“I told you this wasn’t the end, Harry,” she said smiling against his chest. “Though it was a close thing.”

 

Too close!” said Harry fervently.  “What happened?” he added, this time addressing Aiden, who sat beside them composedly, a small, half-smile playing at the corners of his lips as he observed their linked hands.  “What have you done with that evil, that - thing?”

 

“It is not a thing, my friend, it is a Fomhire.”

 

Harry stared at him.

 

“Are you evil, my young dryw?”

 

“Well . . .”

 

“All of humanity if made up of equal parts of good and evil.  In some the good is more prevalent, in some the evil.”

 

“Whatever that is, its evil!” Harry insisted. “All evil! Why is something like that — the Fomhoire, why are they allowed to exist?”

 

“Why do any of us exist?”

 

“But it was going to kill us!”

 

“Yes.  That is what the Fomhoire do.  That is what they are.”

 

Harry closed his eyes again, burying his face in his hands.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to understand, but how could something so soulless, so evil, be a part of the way things were?

 

“They exist, my friend, we exist because you do.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Humanity.  They - and we - are the reflections of your deepest hatred, your highest ambitions. Without us, you could not exist.”

 

“I — I don’t understand,” said Harry shaking his head.

 

“Let me explain then-”

“I would love to hear your story, Aiden, but until I know where we are, how we got here and what happened to the others-” Harry gestured hopelessly at the strange, yet oddly familiar landscape around them.

 

“You were right Ginevra, he is most tenacious.”  Aiden smiled down at Ginny.  His white-blond hair (the color of which brought Draco Malfoy immediately to Harry’s mind) rippled in the afternoon sunlight.  Rippled more than it should . . .like the Vela at the world cup, his hair seemed almost to move in a world of its own . . .a world apart.  Harry shook his head, mesmerized. 

 

“All right then, Mr. Potter,” Aiden continued in a conversational tone.  “The others, your friends, they are safe.  We are in Tir-nan-og — the Land of the Young. It exists alongside your world.  Apart, but very much the same.”

 

Tir-nan-og?  Why did that name seem so familiar?

 

It was the name of fairyland in one of the bedtime stories Bill used to read to me. That had been Ginny. 

 

But fairyland?  Wasn’t that just a bunch of superstition?  Myth and legends? 

 

And the Chamber of Secrets?

 

Touché. 

 

“But won’t they be worried that Ginny and I have just up and disappeared?” Harry asked finally.

 

“Time runs differently in Faerie,” explained Ginny.  “Sometimes you can spend a day here, and you’ll go back to our world-”

 

“The Bith,” put in Aiden.

 

“Yes, that.  Sometimes when you go back you find that years have passed during the day you spent here.  Sometimes you can spend weeks, even years here and find that only moments have passed.  Aiden explained it all to me while we were waiting for the council.”

 

Harry felt an inexplicable shiver run down his spine as he thought of stepping back into their world to find that Ron and Hermione and Neville had all lived their lives, died even, with Harry having been a part of it.

 

“You mean that we could end up fifty years in the future?”

 

“Never fear, Mr. Potter, you and your lady are under my Bricht.”

 

“Bricht?”

 

“My spell, it will prevent you from falling prey to the time eddies that run rampant throughout Faerie. I will return you to your world, the Bith before it is realized that you have gone.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances with raised eyebrows.

 

“I’m used to being under enchantments,” murmured Harry. 

 

“Ah yes, Ginevra turned many heads with her arrival.”

 

“What else is new?” muttered Harry.  “Who am I to deprive men, immortal or otherwise, of their chance to dream.”

 

Ginny elbowed him in the ribs, much to Aiden’s amusement.

 

“Ah, you two are a breath of fresh air!  To see two souls so in tune with other gives me hope for the future of mankind.”

 

“You were going to explain about the Fomhoire,” Ginny prompted, giving Harry a look that conveyed volumes.  Shut up, let the man talk, maybe you’ll learn something.

 

“Long ago,” began Aiden in voice became even more melodic as he took up the story.  “Long ago mankind was ruled by their darkest fears and hatreds and the name they gave this darkness in their souls was Fomhoire.  But humanity was not content to remain as savages, enslaved to their animal natures, and so they cried out for hope, for heroes to free them from their dark gods.  And the Tuatha de Danaan, the repository of all mankind’s highest hopes and ambitions, heard their cry and answered and overthrew the Fomhoire, drawing them deep into the heart of the Dreaming where they would be of no harm to anyone ever again.  But we saw, even then we saw that the times of peace could not, would not last.  Mankind would not be content with peace and prosperity, but would yearn for the release of their baser instincts.  And so we withdrew from the world.  We entered the dreaming with our Fomhoire brothers and awaited the day when humanity would once again call forth for heroes and salvation.”

 

“But we were misguided, my friend, in thinking that the knowledge of mankind would remain as it had been, that advances in the knowledge of magic would not be plausible.  We thought that we were safe, withdrawn as we were from the world. That the world, the Dreaming that we had created for ourselves would be safe from prying eyes.” ”You thought that you would be safe in sharing a world with those — with the Fomhoire?” Harry asked, astounded.

 

“We are of one race, young dryw,” said Aiden patiently.  “We share the same ancestor, the same mother if you will.  Humanity is our bond.  We can not be harmed by the Fomhoire, nor they by us.  We listen to each other, as brothers do.  Fight with each other, and strive for our own ends, yes.  But in the end neither of us can be destroyed so long as mankind exists, for we are what is at the heart of you.”

 

“But if this  - this Fomhoire was locked in the Dreaming with you, how did Voldemort manage to bring one into our world?” asked Harry, more confused now than ever.

 

“Do you remember, Ginevra, when I told you of a shadow that was stealing the essence of our daylight?” Aiden asked, turning to look at her.

 

Ginny nodded, but remained silent.

 

“This Dark Lord, the one whom you call Voldemort, he has accessed powerful dark magic that was known to the mages of old who were taken as apprentices by our descendants, the Adhene Sidhe during the time when Faerie and Mortal existed side by side.  These Dark Lords, these mages, were seduced by the power of evil to fuel their spells, make then stronger, and in doing so gain control over others..

 

It was the misuse of this power that caused the Sundering between our descendants and the mortal world.  The Adhene Sidhe cut all ties with the mortal world.  They collapsed the gateways between the worlds, and retreated to a world that was partway between this one and the one which you inhabit.  It has been called the Summer Country, the Borderlands, all manner of names.  But it is not a world at all, but a doorway between two realities.  They hoped that by severing all ties with mortals, they could prevent them from sapping the Adhene Sidhe of their waning power and strength, but what had been given to humanity as a gift could not be taken back. There had been too much exchange of knowledge, too much intermarriage between the species.  Mortals now had magic in their blood.”

 

“As humanity’s power grew, thanks to the mages’ knowledge, so the power of the Adhene Sidhe decreased, became insignificant, until the Adhene Sidhe were rendered helpless prisoners in the world to which they had retreated.”

 

“But we and our brothers the Fomhoire, remained, locked in our Dreaming, our powers undiminished.  It was long believed, both by the Adhene Sidhe and mortals alike that we had stepped out of reality altogether, and this was just as well, as while it was believed, none would seek to disturb us.  But this one who you call Lord Voldemort, he read the old stories, and used the Dark Knowledge he had accumulated from many different sources into a cohesive whole that allowed him to summon our brother.”

 

“But if the Fomhoire were locked in the dreaming-” began Harry.

 

“We chose the Dreaming, we Tuatha de Danaan.  We talked the Fomhire into doing the same.  We were never, can never be locked away.  We can not be commanded, nor restrained, my friend,” said Aiden gently.  “For we are not mortal, we live forever, deep in the heart of humanity. But most of us have chosen to remain as we are for eons, content to be remembered in myth and legend, but staying in the Dreaming where we can act as the catalyst for inspiration and dreams as well as a reminder to all of just how far humanity has come.”

 

This Dark Lord of yours, the heir of the evil mages of the long ago, he seduced the Fomhoire as surely as any human man seduces the woman he desires.”

 

“Seduced?”

 

“Not all needs are sexual, my friend.  The Fomhoire remember the fears and hatred which were their mother’s milk.  It is tempting, is it not, to revert to comfort food, food one was given in childhood, foods and flavors that remind you of a time when you were safe and all your needs were met?  Fear and hatred are, for the Fomhoire, a comfort food, their mother’s milk.  The Fomhoire with which this Dark Lord made contact recalled his time of power, and agreed to his terms in order to have one more taste of that which he so desires.”

 

“So what have you done with him?  The Fomhoire I mean?  If he loves fear and hatred so much, if he’s so hungry for them, why did he stop?  Why didn’t he tear the castle apart?  Why aren’t we all dead?  And even if he did stop, what’s to keep Voldemort from calling out another one?”  Harry could feel the questions brimming inside of him.  Aiden’s explanation had answered many of his original concerns, but for every question he had answered, Harry now had a hundred more vying for answers.

 

“I convinced him to rejoin his brethren,” said Aiden simply, shrugging delicately. 

 

“Convinced?” said Harry incredulously.

 

“Have you ever done anything you knew was wrong, young dryw?   Have you ever reacted in a way that was childish and beneath you?”

 

“But you said that killing is what the Fomhoire do, that it’s what they are?” interjected Ginny.

 

“Yes.  And he accepts that.  And while he accepts that that is what he is, it is not necessary that he acts upon it.  Just as you realize that you are angry, you can choose to react with harsh words and violence, or you can choose not to react at all.”

 

“Yes, but according to your definition the Fomhoire was not acting out of character as, say Harry would if he were to resort to violence when he got angry!” Ginny insisted.

 

“All right then, let us try something closer to your own means of understanding.  You are a woman, are you not?  Capable of carrying and delivering and nurturing a child?”

 

Harry grinned at Aiden’s analogy and at the way Ginny bristled instinctively at the reference.  Her mother had used this one on her far too many times, making it a rather touchy subject.

 

“Well yeah, but-”

 

“So you are defined by your body as being a woman, designed specifically, in all its rhythms and beauty to carry, deliver and nurture an infant, but that does not mean that you choose to be a mother.  It does not even mean that you must abstain from the act that would create a child.  It simply means that you take precautions to avoid becoming pregnant.  Just so, the Fomhoire are defined by their minds as representative of every evil mankind is capable of.  They enjoy the act of destruction, they savor the flavor of hatred and anger and despair, but they need not kill in order to enjoy that which they so desire.  They need only absorb mankind’s cruelty, savor his inhumanity and greed in order to fulfill their desires.  That is what the Dreaming is you see, it is the heart of humanity, the good and the evil, all actions, be they beneficial or destructive, find their way to us in the end, which is as it should be.”

 

“They’ve  evolved?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Don’t we all my friend,” said Aiden quietly.  “Don’t we all.”

 

*     *     *

 

 

“So, what happens now?”  Harry asked Aiden as he and Ginny linked hands, preparing for Aiden to send them back to their own time.

 

“You will return to your own world, your own time, of course.”

 

“I mean when we get there.  All those Death Eaters who were being controlled by the Fomhoire — through their link with Voldemort?”

 

“The power of a Fomhoire on a human mind can be devastating,” said Aiden quietly.  “Even if they recover — and not all of them will — they will be drained of energy, weak and lethargic for quite some time.  It should not be difficult for you to round them up and deliver them to the proper authorities.”

 

“But what about Voldemort?” Harry asked, guessing the answer even as he asked the question.

 

“Ah, that, my friend is another story.  I am afraid that according to our brother, he struck a deal where this Voldemort would act as a conduit, a channel for the Fomhoire powers, but not be affected by them directly.  He, I am afraid, will still maintain his own powers and strength.”

 

“I was afraid you would say something like this,” said Harry with a wry smile. “Although I must say, I was rather hoping that it would drain him as well. It would have made everything a lot easier.  At least he’ll be deprived of most, if not all of his Death Eaters.”

 

“If I am not mistaken, young dryw,” said Aiden, throwing a sideways look at Ginny. “It has been prophesied that when the time for the final confrontation comes, you will have to face him alone.”

 

Ginny was nodding in agreement, her face grave.  “Even with our bond, I will be with him in mind only when the time comes,” she whispered, looking stricken.  “And the power to save his soul will rest in the hands of another.”

 

Neville.

 

Harry swallowed, hard.  Was it ever going to end?  Ginny had been right so far, each of her prophecies had been dead on.  But how many lives would be torn apart before this played itself out?  It was too late to worry about being a murderer, he’d already killed, in defense of course, but still . . .

 

“Do not dwell on what is yet to come,” Aiden advised, resting one long fingered hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other on Ginny’s.  “Save your strength.  The time will come my friend, and you will face it when it comes.  You will return now, but the gateway through the standing stones will remain.  We will give you what help we can, over the next few years. Ginevra, you know how to reach me, you have only to call . . .”  Aiden leaned over Harry and placed a kiss on Ginny’s smooth cheek.

 

Harry blinked, and the world around him shimmered, changed; the soft summer grasses dotted liberally with wildflowers turned to cold gray stone, solid and unmovable.  He was on his hands and knees on the stone steps to the entrance to Hogwarts.  Ginny stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder.  They watched in awe as the darkness that had been the Fomhoire, the darkness that had been sweeping over those defending the castle, began to dissipate like a morning mist when it is touched by sunlight.  Harry received a brief impression of a flat, snake-like face, it’s vertically slitted crimson eyes widened with shock, receding into the dissipating mist, but once the mists had cleared, there was not a trace to be found of Voldemort or the Fomhoire who had been channeled through him.

 

In seconds, the air was clear, and the ground littered with the limp and sometimes lifeless forms of Death Eaters.  Those teachers, students and Order members standing guard looked around at each other wondering what the hell had just happened.

 

“Miss Weasley!” said Professor McGonagall, taking a deep breath, one hand at her throat.  “How did you-”

 

“It’s over, Professor,” said Ginny at once. She gestured to the prone figures on the lawn.  “But for those who aren’t dead, their strength will return.  We should probably round them up as quickly as possible.”

 

There was a hand under his elbow, and Harry found himself being levered to his feet by Professor Dumbledore.

 

“You left us,” he said, so quietly that only Harry could hear him.  “Your form, it flickered for an instant, then came back into focus.”

 

“Aiden’s doing,” Harry replied.  “He took me to the Dreaming, where he had taken Ginny to await the council’s decision.  He explained everything.”

 

“When Miss Weasley says that it’s over . . .?”

 

“This battle is over,” said Harry heavily.  “Aiden has convinced the Fomhoire to return to the dreaming.  It will not return, but Voldemort, he made a bargain with the Fomhoire, while it drained the others, his Death Eaters, of their powers, it left him untouched.”

 

Professor Dumbledore grimaced, his forehead furrowing as he gazed out at the swath of destruction before him and Harry knew, without using his Legilimency, exactly what was going through the Headmaster’s mind.

 

It’s not over yet, but at least now we have won this battle.

 

*     *     *

 

True, they had won this particular battle, but at what cost?  Harry felt sickened as the order members collected the bodies of those who had fallen.  One hundred and fourteen Death Eaters had died in the initial attack on Hogwarts.  Of the sixty-six who had come under the control of the Fomhoire at the end, only 28 survived.  Six of those would never again be in their right minds.  Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew were not among either the dead or the captured and there was no trace whatsoever of Voldemort.

 

Those defending the castle had faired better.  The six Goblins who had died were taken away by the others of their group.  Two Centaurs had been badly wounded; one, a young stallion with pure black coat and hair and eyes as vividly green as Harry’s own would not have survived if Ginny had not stepped in with her healing abilities.  They had also lost a member of the teaching staff, two seventh-year students, and two members of the Order, both of whom had been using the invisibility elixir, were still missing and presumed dead.

 

Professor Vector, the ancient Arithmancy witch, had died of heart failure when the Fomhoire had descended on the defenders.  Madam Pomfrey said that her heart had been unable to cope with the shock.  The bodies of Vincent Crabe and Gregory Goyle, or rather what was left of them after Aragon’s family had gotten hold of them, were brought to the castle that evening by the Goblins who had stumbled across their remains on their way back to their camp.  According to Hagrid, both boys had fled into the forest as soon as the fighting began, taking their chances in the forest rather than brave the curses of the Death Eaters.

 

It took several days to bring the castle and grounds back to rights, but classes resumed on Wednesday with a substitute brought in to cover Professor Vector’s classes and the villagers of Hogsmead, taking heart over the greatly reduced number of Death Eaters, began moving their belongings back to their homes and rebuilding those shops and homes that had been damaged in February’s attack.

 

Now that he was officially ‘alive’ again, Harry began attending classes with the rest of the seventh years, although Professor Dumbledore requested that he still remain in the Guest Room at nights so as to avoid any unnecessary risks.

 

Lupin devised a general cover story that could be repeated to anyone who wanted to know what had happened.  Harry was to tell them that yes, Voldemort had made an attempt on his, Harry’s life and yes, he had once again escaped, but since Voldemort had believed him killed, neither Harry nor Professor Dumbledore had seen fit to correct his assumption, and so Harry had been spirited back to Hogwarts and hidden away in a location that Dumbledore did not wish to disclose. The teachers, he was to say, had known the truth, and since it was so close to the final Quidditch match of the season, Flitwick had used a charm to change Harry’s appearance so that he could continue playing for Gryffindor.

 

In a sense it was all true too.  It was more what wasn’t being said that was significant.  The few people who weren’t satisfied with this abbreviated explanation seemed to realize that there must be a very good reason why all the details were not being revealed and kept their questions to themselves.

 

*     *     *

 

The attack on Hogwarts had shaken the student body so badly, that it was nearly a week after the attacks before Ron managed to recall that Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup and, while no one felt much like gloating over Gryffindor win, not with the Slytherin Quidditch team having lost two of its members, (Crabbe only having been allowed to play in the final because the beater who had replaced him after November’s game had died in the February attack on Hogsmeade) but McGonagall approved a Gryffindor House party for the Saturday night after the attack.

 

The Gryffindor’s took it as an opportunity to vent their frustration, and instead of dying down, the party built in intensity until even some of the ghosts popped in to be said that they could be heard all the way down to the fourth floor of the castle.

 

There was food and drinks for everyone; the Creeveys were doing slight-of —hand tricks for some first and second years in front of the fire and Dean had rigged his stereo, which was blaring music so loud that Harry was certain it would be heard by the newly reinstated residents of Hogsmeade.  But it didn’t seem to bother the Gryffindors, many of whom were dancing wildly to the music, some even on tabletops and chairs.

 

 “A celebration of life,” said Ron reflectively. He’d been withdrawn all evening and even though the party had been his idea, he wasn’t taking part in any of the festivities.

 

“You all right, mate?”  Harry asked him.  They’d managed to secure a sofa against the wall between the boys and girls staircases, and between them had amassed quite a collection of butterbeer bottles, which were now piled up on the table by Ron’s elbow.

 

“Just wondering what the point was,” he said glumly, taking a butterbeer cap and flipping it expertly into the air.  He caught it in his palm and flipped it over onto the back of his hand as if he were about to call heads or tails.

 

“Of the party?” asked Ginny, she was sitting between Harry and Ron and was mostly on Harry’s lap.  Leaving room (so she claimed) for Hermione when she came back from receiving the night reports from the other houses’ prefects.

 

“No, of what happened here, last week.”  Ron took an empty bottle from the table, pursed his lips, and blew air across the top, making a sound that put Harry in mind of foghorns. 

 

“It’s over, Ron, no use in dwelling on it,” suggested Harry, helping himself to an éclair from a tray hovering beside him in mid-air.

 

“Better to concentrate on N.E.W.T.’s,” said Ginny philosophically, taking a dainty sip from what was only her third butterbeer of the evening.  “Tests start up a week from Monday, you ready?”

 

“I haven’t given any of my presentations a second thought since before all this,” Ron gestured broadly at the partiers before him, “started happening.  I’ll probably flunk everything!  And that’s another thing!” he declared sullenly.  “They’ve postponed the summer holidays by two whole weeks!  They can’t do that . . .can they?” he asked the bottle he’d been playing like a flute a moment earlier.

 

“Don’t be a such crybaby, you’ll do fine,” said Harry, popping open another drink.  His head was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy, as if the edges of everything that could possibly bother him had been rounded off.  It was nice, for once, not to have to think.

 

“And you know very well why it is that they’ve extended the term,” said Ginny, maneuvering herself so that she was sitting altogether in Harry’s lap.

 

“Not only did we loose nearly two weeks between Harry’s being presumed dead and this business with the Fomhoire, but the Ministry lost nearly the entire department of Magical Law Enforcement to that attack on Wednesday.”  Hermione was back.  She looked disapprovingly at the pile of bottles beside Ron.  “Drink these all yourself, Ron?”

 

“Nope, Harry’s helping me,” said Ron, raising the empty bottle in salute to Harry.  “Besides, it’s not strong, this stuff, butterbeer I mean.”

 

“Drink enough and it’s as strong as anything else,” sniffed Hermione.  She brushed the entire collection into her robes and dumped them in a dustbin beside the door.  It began crunching the bottles happily and making suspicious hiccupping sounds. Hermione frowned at it.

 

“Why did they focus on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” Ginny wondered. Her fingers were now playing with the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

 

“Madam B-Bones,” slurred Ron, squinting towards the fireplace where Dennis was now attempting to juggle six jelly donuts, much to the delight of the younger students. When Colin snatched one out of the toss with his teeth, the crowd around them went wild.  “She’s in place t-to be the next M-Minister of Magic now, isn’t she?”

 

“What has that got to do with the attack on her Department?” asked Harry curiously.

 

“Madam Bones has pull, Harry, she’s the one who put together the Task Force to investigate Crofton after he refused to send any Auror’s to Hogwarts when it came under attack.  She had them up in his department first thing Monday morning, asking all sorts of questions.  I don’t think he like that very much.”

 

Harry stared into his own bottle. Twenty-three Ministry witches and wizards, most of them from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been killed in a surprise raid on the ministry just after nine a.m. on Wednesday morning.  A wizard who nobody had been able to properly identify, (conveniently enough, and much to the Daily Prophet’s consternation) had simply walked out of the elevator and had begun blasting his way towards’ Amelia Bones’ office.  “I’ve seen him here before,” one hysterical witch injured in the fray had been quoted as saying.  “I know I have, I’d recognize him anywhere, but I don’t remember his name!” When Ministry hit-wizards had arrived upon the scene, they had found twenty-three bodies, another twelve casualties, and the interior of Madam Bones’ office ripped to shreds. 

 

Madam Bones herself had gotten a late start that morning and arrived on the scene just as they were carrying the body of her secretary off the floor.  According to the Daily Prophet, Madam Bones had not been available for comment.

 

“Are you telling me that you thing Andrew Crofton orchestrated the attack against Madam Bones’ Department?” Harry asked slowly, and wondered why the idea didn’t surprise him.

 

“Stranger things have happened!” said Hermione darkly.  “Really, Harry, after what happened to you at Easter, I’d think that you of all people wouldn’t be surprised at anything Crofton does!”

 

Ron giggled.

 

“Are you sure that was only butterbeer?” asked Hermione suspiciously, looking around at Harry.

 

Harry suddenly found the pattern on the sofa to be extremely interesting.

 

She’s going to find out. 

 

The thought had been Ginny’s, and Harry glared at her.

 

“Harry spiked it,” said Ginny in a conspiratorial whisper.  “With Fire Whiskey.”

 

“God, Harry, I’m supposed to report infringements like this and you know it!” snapped Hermione.

 

“But you won’t,” said Harry, grinning broadly at her.  “I only did his and mine, Hermione, and we’re both of age. Ginny’s is regular butterbeer.”

 

“I don’t like Fire Whiskey,” said Ginny indifferently.  “Puts me in mind of drain cleaner.”

 

“Come again?” said Hermione, looking around at the younger girl.

 

“Long story, Hermione, but it has to do with Fred and George and a replenishing spell that got in the way of a cleaning charm.”

 

Hermione made a face.  “I don’t think I want to know.  Come on, Ron, let me get you sobered up, we need to get everyone off to bed.”

 

“Bed?” said Ron, looking up at her and grinning wolfishly.  “Did you say something about bed, ‘Mione?”  Hermione made as if to stalk off to the entrance to the Head Girl’s room, but Ron had snatched her by the wrist and would release his grasp. “Don’t go, ‘Mione.  You know I’m no good without you.”

 

Harry, Ginny and Hermione were all staring at Ron now. 

 

“I could have lost you,” he said, and his voice was suddenly gruff, all traces of slurring had disappeared.  He sat upright and pulled Hermione onto his lap.  “It scared me, you know?  To find that you’d nearly died . . .I couldn’t live if anything happened to you, you know that, don’t you?”

 

It had to be the Fire Whiskey, thought Harry hazily.  Ron would never come out and say anything like this in front of them if it hadn’t been for the spiked butterbeer.  He and Ginny exchanged glances, eyebrows raised.

 

Hermione, however, had gone very still and was listening to him with wide, shining eyes.

 

Ron, ignoring everything else around him, reached up and wiped the lone tear that had escaped from Hermione’s misting eyes and was trickling down her cheek.

 

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Ron said quietly, his and Hermione’s gazes still locked.  “Because in just over a month you’re going to be stuck with me for good,” he said warningly.

 

Hermione didn’t say a word, but turned on Ron’s lap until she was facing him and proceeded to kiss him so thoroughly that several first and second years groaned and made gagging and retching sounds.  There were whoops and catcalls from the older students and knowing glances exchanged among those who knew them best.

 

“So much for the head boy and girl setting a good example,” sighed Ginny.

 

Harry prodded her in the ribs.

 

Over the tops of Ron’s and Hermione’s heads he could just see Gabrielle sitting in a chair and watching them with a mysterious, closed sort of smile.  She caught Harry’s eye and raised an eyebrow, her torrent of thought spilling into his head as she did so.  Her thoughts were quite clear and much more coherent than Harry was used to finding in someone her age, which intrigued him.

 

There is passion there I think.  Yes.  Great passion and joy in their touch.  Oh yes.  I felt that passion when George kissed me.

 

Harry saw her memory then.

 

~*~ 

 

It had been on the last Hogsmeade weekend, just before Slytherin’s match against Ravenclaw.  Hogwarts had emptied itself into the pseudo-village across the lake, trying to forget that there was a war going on just on the other side of the wards. when the

 

There had been a steady stream of customers all day, most of them Hogwarts students stocking up for the last long haul until the end of term.

 

George had taken to running the register whenever Gabrielle was there.  She was better at sales and they both knew it.  All she had to do, particularly if it was a man, was to put on what she jokingly referred to as her ‘Veela Voice.’  This was achieved by dropping her voice a half octave so that it was a rich, throaty contralto. 

 

“Of course, if the customer is a woman, I refer her to you,” Gabrielle had told George, grinning broadly. 

 

It was true, too.  Women responded readily to George (and Fred too to a lesser degree.  Gabrielle seriously thought that Fred’s being married put a damper on his drawing power with women).  In fact, women seemed to stumble over themselves in an attempt to please George, taking his recommendations and nearly throwing themselves at his head in an attempt to be noticed by him.  Perhaps it was George’s deceptively innocent features, making him seem like the boy next door.  Or maybe it was his openness and honesty; the way he seemed to focus on each person when he spoke to them, making them feel as if they were the most important person in the world.

 

“Well, they are!” George had told her when she’d speculated on the concept.  “At least in their own eyes,” he’d said, grinning sheepishly at her.  “If I remember that when I’m talking to them, if they see me as interested in seeing them benefit from the merchandise I sell, well then, so much the better!”

 

So, between the two of them, they had done a roaring trade that day.  Finally, exhausted and hungry from having skipped lunch due to the volume of traffic in the store, they’d begun closing up the shop, restocking the shelves and tallying up the accounts.

 

The first sign she’d had that this weekend would be different from any other came as she was sitting at the desk running down the totals with an auto-add quill.  George had come up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and had leaned over her, his breath warm on the back of her neck, to look at the books.

 

“So, how did we do?” he’d said.

 

It had been an innocent enough question, but Gabrielle had found her mouth had gone very dry when she had tried to respond.  It was his hands that had distracted her.  She could feel the strength and power and vividness of him through his hands.  She could feel the essence of him coursing through her and her body responded to his touch by quickening her heartbeat and her breathing until she felt as if she’d been running for miles.  Unable to contain herself, she had turned her head, laying her cheek against the back of his hand, letting her lips linger on his fingers.

 

George had gone very still, although his breathing had become quite rapid, and then he had straightened up, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it.

 

“That’s good, Gabe, that’s really excellent!” he’d said heartily, but it was with a sinking, swooping sensation that Gabrielle had realized that she’d never given him the official totals.

 

It had taken a while to restock.  The rush of Hogwarts students had nearly wiped them out.  So, after carting up box after box from the storage room, they had set about refilling the shelves.  They worked in companionable silence for quite some time.  There was something about just having George in the same room with her that usually made Gabrielle go very quiet inside, but tonight, for some reason, she felt restless. 

 

She wanted more than to simply feel that stillness and contentment that George seemed to exude.  Her insides squirmed when she realized that what she wanted was him.  She wanted to feel his arms around her.  She wanted to taste his kisses and for him to quiet her fears that perhaps she’d been mistaken all this time, that perhaps it wasn’t really her that he was attracted to; all those women, all those older women.  How could she possibly stand a chance?  But she was scared, too.  Scared that perhaps she had been imagining his interest in her all along or that perhaps it had all been in her head.

 

She had kept stealing glances at him as he worked.  George eschewed wizards robes, opting instead to dress in muggle clothes, that night in blue jeans and a white, button down shirt whose sleeves were now rolled up above his elbows, allowing her a clear view of his rippling muscles when he lifted a heavy crate of Goblet Drops onto a nearby table so that she could restock the nearly empty shelves which housed them.

She’d had to stretch to reach the topmost shelf where the unlabeled boxes and jars were kept.  She supposed that she could simply have magicked them up to where they belonged, they were within the school grounds after all, but she’d caught George looking at her legs more than once today when she’d had to reach for items.  She’d worn a skirt specifically for this reason, and had to repress a grin when she felt his eyes on her once again as she refilled the shelf of Goblet Drops.  Therefore, when she turned around and found George standing right in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the heady scent of his spicy cologne, she found that she wasn’t entirely surprised.  He had something in his hands she’d noticed.  Another of the bottles she’d been putting up.

 

“You, you forgot something, Gabe,” George had said in a would-be casual tone that was belied by the breathlessness of his voice. But it had been the unspoken longing in his eyes that had stirred something deep inside of her, deciding her next course of action.

 

“So I did,” she said softly and had taken the bottle from his hands, eyeing it critically.  “The Great Attractor?” she’d said, reading the label and grinning up at him mischievously.  “Have you by any chance been sampling your own merchandise?” she asked, looking up at him through her long, curling eyelashes.

 

“No, although I definitely feel as if I’m under a spell,” he’d replied in a barely audible voice.

 

“But of course you wouldn’t need this,” Gabrielle had said, placing the bottle on the table and wrapping her arms sinuously around Georges’ neck, letting her fingers tangle in his hair.  “Not when by just speaking to them you have so many women throwing themselves at your head.  You could have your pick of the lot!”

 

“But I, I don’t want any of that lot,” George had said faintly, his eyes closed.  A look of sheer bliss had stolen across his face as Gabrielle had begun running her fingers through his hair.

 

“I wonder,” Gabrielle had said, more to herself than to him, “If you really know what it is that you want.”

 

She’d kissed him then, while his eyes were still closed.  It was a gentle, questioning sort of kiss, completely innocent and unassuming.  Or at least that is what she had meant it to be, but at the touch of his lips some heretofore, untapped source of desire and sensuality had welled up within her, causing a shiver to travel up her spine and for her breath to catch in her chest, and she’d parted her lips, inviting him deeper.

 

For a second she thought that it had worked, for George’s breath had also caught in his chest, and his arms had tightened convulsively around her waist, but in the next moment he was holding her at arms length.

 

“No, Gabrielle, please, we can’t!” he’d said, panting slightly.

His face was just inches from hers.  She could have counted every freckle, every eyelash.  The look of intense longing he wore made his dark blue eyes appear as mysterious pools; pools of desire and sensuality in which she longed to immerse herself completely.

 

“Why not?” asked Gabrielle softly, reaching up a finger and tracing the line of his face. 

 

George closed his eyes again briefly, a shiver of pleasure running through him at her touch.

 

“Oh god, Gabrielle, don’t tease me!”

 

“I’m not teasing!” she said sincerely, still unable to tear her gaze away from his face.  “I’m serious George.  Why not?”

 

“Well, because, because you’re too young for one thing,” he’d said, swallowing hard as Gabrielle had smiled her sensuous Veela smile at him.

 

“Says who?” she’d whispered, smiling into those fathomless eyes.

 

She’d leaned forward then so that her lips just brushed his ear.

 

“I may be young in years, mi amour,” she’s said silkily when he didn’t answer and then dropped her voice into its throaty contralto, “but I’m old enough to know what it is that I want, and I’ve known what exactly that is ever since the day you made me that silly sand castle.”

 

“And what is it that you want Gabrielle, another beach umbrella?” George had asked with a desperate attempt at his usual sarcastic humor.

 

“Don’t be an idiot, George,” she’d said matter-of-factly and in her normal voice again as she pulled back from him a bit.  “I want you of course.”

 

For a moment George had gone completely still, neither breathing or moving, and in that briefest of moments she had actually wondered if she had somehow offended him, but a heartbeat later George had her in his arms and was kissing her deeply, unreservedly.  She could feel his hands through the thin material of her blouse, warm against her back, holding him to her so tightly that she could feel every muscle and sinew of his body.

 

God!  The feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of his kiss. . .it filled her head until his essence was her entire universe.

 

~*~

 

It must run in the family, Harry thought, still looking at Gabrielle.

 

She started as if he’d just spoken in her ear, the looked over at Harry curiously.

 

“Wow!” Harry mouthed at her.

 

Gabrielle, realizing that Harry had picked up on her memory, blushed crimson, but then shrugged delicately.

 

There is no shame where love is.”

 

Harry heard Gabrielle’s creamy voice distinctly in his head.  He raised his own eyebrows.

 

It’s the Veela blood,” came Ginny’s voice, also in his head.  “Telepathy is a gift many of them have.”

 

But few of us choose to use,” Gabrielle replied, looking at them both now.  It was obvious, from her look of determined concentration, that this was the first time she had ever actively used her gift.  “I love him, Harry,” she admitted.

 

And you feel as if you’ve known him forever,” said Ginny softly. 

 

Gabrielle nodded, tears swimming in her sapphire blue eyes now.

 

And when you kissed him, it was like coming home,” finished Ginny.

 

I belong to him,” Gabrielle whispered in their minds.  “Body mind and soul I do!”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

 

He feels the same,” said Harry, unable to stand the desperation in her thoughts.  “I’ve read his thoughts, Gabrielle, when he looks at you.  He belongs to you too.”

 

Gabrielle was crying for real now, tears pouring down her face, but they were tears of happiness and relief now.

 

Oh, Harry!” she said softly, “If that’s true, then I can wait as long as it takes for us to be together!”

 

“Gabe? Gabe, what’s wrong?”  Euan had sat down beside her and was ineffectually dabbing at her eyes with a paper napkin. 

 

When Gabrielle had turned her attention away from them, her telepathic awareness had slipped and the space where her mind had been was once more blank and silent.

 

“Did you catch all of that?” Harry asked Ginny, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

 

She had.  Her eyes were shining when she met his gaze.

 

“Quite grown up feelings for an almost fourteen-year-old!” agreed Ginny.  “But of course, Veela mature quickly,” she added, smiling slightly, her gaze misting over as she relived one of her own memories from when she’d been fourteen.

 

~*~

She’d been walking back from their last D.A. meeting before Christmas break with Michael Corner when she’d suddenly become aware of the tableau taking place back in the room of requirement.  She’d stopped suddenly, staring blankly as the entire scenario with Cho and Harry had begun to unfold in her mind’s eye.

 

It had taken Michael a minute to realize that she was no longer walking beside him.  When he’d turned and seen her standing there, her color heightened, her eyes shining, he’d taken it as an invitation and had proceeded to sweep her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly. They’d kissed before, but not like this.

 

Ginny had known she was being kissed, but she had been so wrapped up in the scenario in her mind that she had quite forgotten that it wasn’t Harry she was kissing, and so had let herself go, responding to Michael with an intensity that was quite out of proportion with how she really felt about him.

 

Needless to say, she’d been quite chagrined to realize just what she had done, and was rather embarrassed at how easily she had let herself get swept up in emotions that weren’t even hers.  It was when Michael’s hands had begun roaming over her body that she’d come to herself and pulled away.

 

“Ginny, what’s wrong?” he’d asked, his voice rather breathless.

 

She’d shaken her head, not trusting herself to speak.

 

When he’d bent to kiss her again, she’d turned away, ashamed at herself. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” he’d asked, sounding angry and hurt.  “One minute you’re all hot and steamy, the next moment you’ve turned to ice.”

 

“I - I’m sorry, Michael,” she managed to stammer, and had kissed him on the cheek apologetically.  “I guess I’m not as ready for, well, for all of this as I’d thought.”  And she hadn’t been, at least not with him.

 

~*~

“What I wanted, Harry, was you,” Ginny whispered aloud in his ear.

Harry shivered, feeling her thoughts as they twined about his, silkily, sinuously, temptingly, offering him scenes from this past summer, from their nights in the guest room, and then she was showing him other things. Things they hadn’t done yet, and it was suddenly imperative that they find a way to be alone.

“Do you think we’d be missed?” Harry wondered as he observed Ron and Hermione, who were still rather preoccupied, and then let his gaze fall on Dennis and Colin, who were now regaling the crowd of first years with some sort of hilarious story that had all the younger students laughing uproariously.

 

“Don’t they ever get tired of showing off?”

 

“I doubt it,” replied Ginny, “But where shall we go, out or in?”

 

“Out first,” said Harry.  “A quick stroll,” Ginny raised her eyebrows.  They both knew that all students had been confined to the castle since the attack unless under direct supervision of an adult.  “Okay then, a quick flight around the grounds.  Voldemort doesn’t know about our being Animagi yet.”

 

“Not that we know of, anyway.”

 

They waited until the dancing had started up again in the middle of the room before they slipped out of the portrait hole.

 

“It’s getting late you know,” warned the fat lady.  “Don’t stay out too long.”

 

Harry had just grinned at her and patted her frame.

 

“I wish I could fly with you,” said Ginny longingly as they approached the owlry.

 

“But you can now,” said Harry softly, taking her hands in his.  “One mind in two bodies, just feel yourself change as I do,” he whispered.  A heartbeat later two owls, a great gray screech owl with emerald green eyes, an amber-eyed spotted owl, took flight into the star-studded sky.

 

Flying wingtip to wingtip they soared out over the lake, up into the crystal clear sky.  It was only when they wheeled about, by mutual consent agreeing to head back to the castle and their guest room, that they became aware of the disturbance.

 

Lights were emanating from the small, high tower that was home to Professor Dumbledore’s office.  The lights were odd spiky random bursts which reminded Harry of nothing so much as the strobe lights used at Rock concerts or in Disco halls.  He glanced over at Ginny and together they fluttered onto the railing of Hagrid’s front porch.

 

“Are ye seein what I’m seein, Harry?” came Hagrid’s voice from just behind them.

 

Harry and Ginny both quickly turned back into themselves.

 

“You recognized me?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“Yer the only screech owl I’ve ever seen with green eyes, Harry,” said Hagrid.  When he saw Ginny he did a double take.

 

“Thought ye was a cat, Ginny.”

 

“We can each do both now,” she said quietly.  “One mind in two bodies.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Hagrid distractedly. He was fully dressed.  His crossbow was held loosely in one hand, the other hand was holding Fang’s collar.

 

Fang was ignoring them all.  His attention was focused on the light show above them, all the more eerie for its silence.  Harry, however, had the distinct impression that there was noise, just not in his hearing range.  Perhaps it was being contained somehow.  All the hair on Fang’s back was standing up straight.  His teeth were bared, and a low growl was rumbling deep in his chest, a sound which set Harry’s teeth on edge.

 

“He woke me up, growlin like that,” said Hagrid, watching the dog now.  “Didn’t realize what was wrong till I opened me door.  Been like that up there fer nigh on half an hour!” he said wonderingly.  “Do you reckon he’s in trouble?”

 

“I - I don’t know,” said Harry slowly, narrowing his eyes against the blinding bursts.

 

“He has a way of sendin for me, see,” said Hagrid, clearing his throat.

 

“He sends an elemental?” Harry asked.

 

“I guess that’s what they is,” conceded Hagrid.  “But none have come.  Do ye think he’s experimenting or somthin?”

 

“Dunno,” said Harry.  The lights were getting weaker now, the flashes fewer and farther between.

 

“It seems to be slowing down,” said Ginny quietly.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, but he was worried nonetheless. “Show yourself,” he whispered.

A salamander popped into view, causing Hagrid to jump.

 

“Check on Professor Dumbledore and make sure that he’s okay, then report back to me,” directed Harry.

 

The salamander winked out of existence with a faint pop.  A moment later, it was back.

“He is alive and well,” said the salamander in its smoky voice.

 

“There you are, Hagrid,” said Harry, feeling relieved himself.  “They never lie, elementals.  Go on to bed, I’m sure Dumbledore will explain everything soon.”

But Hagrid was staring at Harry with something very like awe in his gaze.

 

“Bilmey, Harry, I knew ye were bound to be a powerful wizard, but I never imagined-” he broke off, shaking his great shaggy head.  “What you did up at the castle last Saturday, Dumbledore says that the forest, and the shield at the end, that they were both yours.  But — did ya use Elementals to make them?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Dumbledore’s sent them to me before with messages and such like, those things.  But I asked him about them once, and he explained all about Elementals.  He always said that they was right difficult to conjure and that they was even more difficult to control and that there was only a handful of wizards powerful enough to conjure and control them!”

 

Harry stared at Hagrid.  He’d never stopped to ask Dumbledore if elemental magic was considered difficult or not.  Dumbledore had instructed him to try it and he had, without question.  Not only had it come easily, but he seemed to have a talent for it.  Like his mage-fire, it had just happened.

 

Merlin’s beard!” gasped Hagrid, sitting down abruptly on the step of his porch.

Harry looked down at his hands, realizing with a start that he had allowed his mage-fire to spill over and was dandling a multi-hued energy sphere between his hands.

 

“Oh yeah, sorry,” said Harry, looking abashed.

 

Sorry!” echoed Hagrid, looking severely shaken.  “Sorry?” he repeated disbelievingly.  “Ron an Hermione told me about you usin your Mage Fire to hold the shield together, but I — I’ve never seen it afore!”

 

Harry looked around for someplace to put his orb, then instead reached inside it, gave it a deft twist, and turned it inside out, revealing a perfect replica of a baby Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, and handed it out to Hagrid.

 

Hagrid eyed the model warily.

 

“Its O.K., Hagrid, really, take it,” said Harry.

 

Hagrid took the model in his great hand where it fit easily into his palm.

 

“It looks just like him!” said Hagrid, his voice breaking slightly as he regarded the tiny dragon with misty eyes.

 

Ginny grinned broadly.

 

“And what do you think of all this?” said Hagrid abruptly, pocketing the dragon and rounding on Ginny.  “Does all this conjuring business bother you at all?”

 

Ginny grinned at him, closed her eyes and brought forth her own mage-fire.

 

Hagrid swore loudly.

 

“I’ll say this much, Hagrid,” she said, still grinning and taking Harry’s hand in her own.  “Sharing Harry’s mind is quite the educational experience.

 

That’s not all we share that’s been educational!”  Harry shot to her sub-vocally.  Ginny went crimson.

 

You’d better be damned glad that its dark and Hagrid can’t see my face, Mr. Wizard!” said Ginny threateningly.

 

They say in silence for a few more minutes, all three of them watching the tower where the last of the lights had finally burned out.

 

“You two’d best be getting back to the castle,” said Hagrid.

 

No sooner had he spoken the words then a final golden-red ball of flame erupted from the roof of Dumbledore’s tower, leaving a sharp after-image on the backs of Harry’s eyelids.

“What the-” snarled Hagrid, getting to his feet in one fluid motion, crossbow held at the ready.

 

“Finale?” said a quiet voice from the shadows.

 

Harry and Hagrid both spun about, startled, Hagrid’s crossbow now pointing in the direction the voice had come from.

 

“Hello Neville,” said Ginny quietly, putting a restraining hand on Hagrid’s arm.

 

“Gallopin Gargoyles, Neville!” said Hagrid weakly as Neville and Luna stepped out of the shadows.  “I could have shot ya!”

 

“You wouldn’t have though,” said Luna comfortably, “Not without good reason, anyway.”

 

“That there light show was unnerving enough to give me reason!” said Hagrid bluntly.  “And what are you two doing out? You know that students are forbidden to leave the castle at night!”

 

“You know as well as I do, Hagrid, that what with the new wards and the Aurors stationed outside of the gates that right now the Hogwarts is about the safest place on the planet.  Besides, I couldn’t hear myself think with all the hullabaloo in Gryffindor tower.”  Neville grinned and tightening his grip around Luna’s waist.  He looked sideways at Harry before adding, “And it looks like we weren’t the only ones!”

 

“Hullabaloo?” said Hagrid blankly, looking up at the castle again as if expecting to see more lights.

 

“Celebrating our Quidditch win last week. party,” said Ginny, shrugging. 

 

“Well it still don’t change the fact that is late, way late, and there’s something dodgy goin on,” said Hagrid.  “I’ll be walkin all four of ye back to the castle,” he added firmly.  “And I want ye all to promise me that ye won’t be wanderin or flyin,” he amended, looking directly at Harry and Ginny, “until we figure out what’s goin on.”

 

“We’ll be careful Hagrid,” Harry tempered.

 

“Not enough, Harry, I want ya to promise.”

 

“Alright, alright, I promise,” said Harry resignedly.

 

“An you, Neville?”

 

“Yes I promise too,” said Neville.

 

“Ginny, Luna?”

 

The girls promised as well.

 

“Now I’ll just be lighting a lantern and I’ll walk you lot up to the castle.  Then again maybe not,” added Hagrid as four voices murmured “Lumos” and four wands were lit with magical light.

~*~

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

 

I think that George has behaved admirably, given that Gabrielle is nearly seven years younger than himself.  He’s enough of a gentleman to wait for more, but let them have their moment.  J

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 26: THE DARK SOUL

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE DARK SOUL

 

 

 

 

Harry half expected to find Dumbledore’s seat empty at breakfast the next morning.  Instead, he found it occupied, as usual, by the silver-haired, crooked-nosed headmaster he had come to know, respect, and even love.

 

“He looks O.K. to me!” whispered Ron as they sat down at table. 

 

“Yeah, he does.”

 

Harry, Ginny and Neville had filled Ron and Hermione in on what they had seen as soon as they had gotten back to the castle.  In fact, they’d stayed up nearly until dawn in the Head Boy’s room, trying to make sense of it all and although they had each postulated some interesting theories, none of them had been able to come up with a logical explanation.

 

The fact was that Dumbledore did look O.K.  In fact, he looked perfectly O.K., as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he hadn’t just been at the heart of a laser-light maelstrom.

 

“You don’t suppose that he doesn’t know, do you?” said Harry, watching Dumbledore closely.  He was talking animatedly to Professor McGonagall, who was watching him through narrowed eyes.  His gaze swept across the house tables, and as his gaze passed over them, Harry felt his scar give a nasty twinge.  Weird.

 

“How could he not know?” said Hermione rather louder than she had intended.  Several 5th and 6th years down the table turned to look at her.

 

“I mean,” she said, lowering her voice.  “It’s his office, isn’t it?”  I suppose that there is a way of letting him know if someone were trying to break into it while he was gone.  Besides, Umbridge tried to do just that our fifth year, she could break his seal!  Unless he didn’t think there was a need for such tight security and just did some standard detection charms.”

 

“Like Umbridge and her stealth secrecy charm,” agreed Harry.

 

“Yeah,” chimed in Ron, “But she forgot about the window, didn’t she?” he said, nodding knowledgably.  “What if Dumbledore forgot something simple like that?”

 

“He didn’t,” said Neville quietly.

 

They all turned to look at him.

 

“Dumbledore wouldn’t forget something that simple,” said Neville, shrugging when he noticed their stares.  “He’s nothing if not thorough.”

 

“But that wasn’t exactly a simple attempt at a break-in though, was it?” wondered Ginny.  “If someone wanted something out of his office, they wouldn’t have made such a big deal about it, would they, what with the lights and all?”

 

Nobody answered her.

 

“But if Neville’s right, and he did cover all the possible points of entrance, then if someone did try to break into his office, he would still at least know about it.”

 

Harry wasn’t really listening.  Instead he was watching Hagrid, who was observing Dumbledore through narrowed eyes.  Curious as to what Hagrid’s opinion would be, he could hardly wait until Care of Magical Creatures to talk to him.

 

“He says it was nothing to worry about,” said Hagrid later as they stood about outside his paddock, waiting for the rest of the class to arrive.  “Just a spell that backfired.”

 

“Well, that’s all right then!” said Ron brightly.

 

“The day one of Dumbledore’s spells backfires, I’ll eat a flobberworm!” muttered Ginny.

 

Neville and Harry chuckled appreciatively.

 

“Ginny’s bang on!” said Hagrid, looking disgruntled.  “He called me Rubeus.”

 

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it?” asked Hermione faintly, her lips twitching slightly.

 

“Of course it’s me name!” said Hagrid, shooting Hermione a very dirty look.  “But he never uses it.  He always calls me Hagrid, same as everybody else, unless he’s introducing me to someone new.”

 

“Is that all that’s wrong Hagrid?” asked Harry curiously, keeping a wary eye on the group of people heading down the hill, headed for Hagrid’s paddock.

 

“There was, well, one other thing,” said Hagrid in a low, almost apologetic voice.

 

“What Hagrid?”

 

“I — I don’t want to say, ye’ll just laugh.”

 

“Come off it Hagrid!” said Harry angrily.  “You know me better than that!”

 

“Yeah, well, he, er, smelled different.”

 

“He smelled different?” said Ron, sniggering uncontrollably.

 

“I told ye ye’d laugh!” said Hagrid angrily.

 

“Knock it off Ron!” said Harry hotly.  “I’m not laughing Hagrid.  What do you mean when you say he smelled different?”

 

“I can’t really explain it so as ye’d understand,” said Hagrid, sighing heavily.

“Can I see what you mean then?” Harry asked quietly.

 

Hagrid finally met his eye and gave the smallest of nods, allowing Harry access to his thoughts.

 

There was a distinct scent to Albus Dumbledore, which Hagrid’s keener half-giant’s senses picked up readily.  It was a heady mixture of spicy herbs and old leather with a distinct undertone of citrus that Hagrid had come to associate with Magic in general and Dumbledore in particular.  And when he’d spoken to Dumbledore this morning, the scent had been all wrong.  It had been, instead, a smoky scent tinged with a faint whiff of something slightly damp, perhaps mildewed and a sort of undertone of rotting vegetation and a medicinal mintiness, as if a rotting corpse were attempting to freshen it’s breath with a lozenge.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste.

 

“I see what you mean,” he said thoughtfully.  “You don’t think it could be the after effect of the botched spell do you?”

 

“Nah, I’ve seen him after a spell gone wrong before, Harry.  He nearly burned his beard off once about thirty years ago tryin to figure out the last step in the transubstantiation of dragon’s blood, but he still smelled the same.  This is something else.”

 

The Slytherins arrived then, curtailing further conversation.  So preoccupied was Harry with the previous night’s occurrence and Hagrid’s information, that he barely heard a word of Hagrid’s presentation on Murtlaps (a rat-like creature found in the coastal areas of Britain with a growth like a sea anemone on it’s back) and paid for his inattention by attempting to touch the growth on the Murtlap’s back without clamping it’s jaw first.  If it hadn’t been for his elemental, which sent the Murtlap flying when it attempted to bite his hand, he would probably have lost a finger.

     

“You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t pay attention!” Hermione hissed in his ear as he narrowly missed being bitten by the Venemous Tentracula they were repotting in Herbology a few hours later.

 

They won’t let me get hurt,” said Harry vaguely, waving at the shimmer over his shoulder that betrayed the presence of his elementals. “I just wish I knew what was going on!” he said fiercely.

 

“You have lessons with Dumbledore tomorrow, right?” asked Ginny, smiling slightly over her Tentracula pot.

 

“Yeah, one of the last of the year.”

 

“Well, just ask him then and stop worrying about it now or you’re going to make the poor things sorry you ever called them into existence!” said Ginny, motioning towards Harry’s invisible elementals, one of which was now holding off a tendril of Hermione’s plant which was trying desperately to latch onto Harry’s exposed neck.

 

 

She was right he supposed.

 

You know I am!

 

He just had a funny feeling that if he didn’t find out what was going on now, that by the time everything was made clear it would be too late.

 

For what?

 

For Dumbledore maybe.

 

Don’t be ridiculous! 

 

For himself then.

 

Yeah, right.

 

And Perhaps even for life as he knew it.

 

Stop being so melodramatic Harry.

  

Harry had to grin.  Ever since they had been separated back into their own bodies, they had no real need to use actual language.  Their thoughts were entwined to such an extent that it was as if he were talking to himself.

 

Arguing with you mean!  

 

All right then, arguing with himself.

 

And who wins? 

 

I do of course!

 

Think again, Potter!

 

 

Ginny giggled out loud, causing several people to look around at her, and the Venomous Tentracula to rattle its pods worryingly.

 

 

But Harry didn’t get a chance to talk to Dumbledore the next day.  When he arrived at the door to Dumbledore’s office and knocked, there was no answer.  He pushed the door open carefully, looking around as he entered for any signs of Tuesday night’s disturbance.

 

The office looked exactly as it always did, serene and comfortable, reflecting the personality of its owner.  The many portraits of Hogwarts’ old Headmasters and Headmistresses were snoozing gently in their frames.  The small silver instruments were whirling and clicking away on their spindle-legged tables. 

 

Behind the heavy carved mahogany desk with its scattering of books and quills, stood the glass case that housed Godric Gryffindor’s sword; the same sword that Harry had used to kill the Basalisk and save Ginny’s life in his second year.  On the shelf below it was the splintered fang Harry had pulled out of his own arm that same evening.  In another case stood the tri-wizard cup, which Harry had brought back with him from his duel with Voldemort in the Graveyard.  Below that, on a shelf all its own, lay a wand Harry recognized at once as having belonged to his godfather, Sirius Black.  That gave him a nasty jolt.

 

Remember what he said, Harry,” came Ginny’s soothing presence in his mind.

 

Yes, I know, he’s happier now,” said Harry, feeling a twinge of jealously that Sirius could be happy without him.

 

He knows you’ll be O.K., Harry,” said Ginny softly.  “You know he-”

 

Believes in me, yes,” said Harry, taking a deep breath and looking around the room.

Dumbledore wasn’t there.  Fawkes’s golden perch was empty.

 

“Odd that he didn’t say anything to me about not having lessons today,” said Harry out loud.

 

“Odd just about sums up his behavior these last couple of days,” said Phineas Nigellus’s smooth, honeyed voice.

  

“Been acting downright peculiar if you ask me my dear boy,” piped up the portrait of the corpulent, red-nosed wizard behind Dumbledore’s desk.

 

“Did he say anything to you, any of you, about having to go?  Did he leave any messages?”

 

“He hasn’t spoken to any of us for two days!” interjected a curly haired witch with pink cheeks and a pleasant voice, although at present it sounded worried.

 

“Since the light show?” said Harry eagerly.

 

Several of the portraits exchanged dark looks.

 

“Yes, since the light show,” said Phineas smoothly.

 

“What did you-”

 

“See?” interrupted Phineas.  “Nothing,” he finished.  “Nothing but bright lights and shadows.”

 

“What did you hear then?” asked Harry, starting to feel frustrated.

 

Several portraits shifted uneasily.

 

“You have to understand, Mr. Potter,” said the portrait of Armando Dippett.  “It has something to do with the type of pigmentation that is used, but as portraits our first instinct is for self-preservation.  I’m afraid that most of us left the office in somewhat of a hurry.”

 

“But not all of you.”

 

“No,” said Phineas quietly.  “Not all of us.”

 

“You did see what happened!” said Harry triumphantly.

 

“There wasn’t that much to see actually,” said Phineas shiftily, looking everywhere but at Harry.

 

“What did you see!” Harry demanded.

 

Really, Mr. Potter!” said Phineas, his oily voice tinged slightly with annoyance.  “It is not your place to demand things of me!”

 

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused his will on altering his voice.  When he spoke again, his words rang with a power that was designed to not be ignored.

Phineas, tell me what you saw.”

 

“Shadows,” said Phineas at once, in a barely audible voice.  “Shadows in the darkness. Shadows in the space between the lights, writhing,” Phineas swallowed hard.  “Struggling.”

 

“Were they people?” asked Harry, his voice back to normal now.  His mind was running a mile a minute.  Had the shadowy forms by some chance been Death Eaters?  Perhaps Malfoy, or Pettigrew maybe, or maybe Voldemort himself.  Neither the Ministry nor the Order had been able to locate him yet.

 

“Not people, no,” said Phineas in a barely audible voice.  “No person alive would ever cast shadows like that.”  He closed his eyes and his voice was trembling slightly.

 

“What were they then?” asked Harry, staring at Phineas’ portrait.

 

“Nothing I’ve ever seen before,” whispered Phineas.  “But it felt-” he paused, considering his next words very carefully.  “When I closed my eyes to block out the shadows, I could feel the earth moving I — I could smell the fire burning, and I could hear,” his voice broke.  “I could hear the rain falling, rain being whipped into a frenzy by a wind.”

 

“Elementals!” breathed Harry.

 

Phineas opened his eyes.  “Yes, Mr. Potter, they must have been elementals.”

 

“So who won?” Harry asked.

 

“I don’t know,” said Phineas in a very small voice.  “The shadows leaping, the noise-” he paused, swallowed and then went on.  “When I opened my eyes at last, Dumbledore was standing by the fire.  There was a dark shape on the hearthrug, it was moaning.  Then there was a flash of light and the dark shape was gone, but as it left I thought — I thought for just a moment, that I heard phoenix song,” finished Phineas, looking cornerwise at Harry.

 

“So where is Dumbledore now?” asked Harry, looking around.

 

The pink-cheeked witch shrugged.

 

“He was talking to himself earlier today,” she said quickly.  “Nothing very audible, just a general sort of muttering.  And then, about lunchtime, he left.  He used the fireplace.”

 

“And he didn’t tell anyone where he was going?”

 

“He wrote a note,” said Fortescue, pointing down at Dumbledore’s desk.

Harry walked slowly around the desk until he was looking down at the piece of parchment laying there, it’s ink still slightly damp.

Minerva,

 

Carry on as usual.  I have to take care of some personal business.  I will be back within a day or two and will explain everything then.

 

   Albus Dumbledore.  

 

“Funny he didn’t send me a message about canceling lessons,” said Harry curiously.

 

“Irresponsible!” interjected a thin, wiry-aired wizard from a portrait near the top of the room.

 

“Unless he didn’t know,” said Phineas carefully, meeting Harry’s eyes at last.

 

“I suppose, if he’s gone, that it wouldn’t hurt for me to practice on my own,” said Harry slowly.

 

None of the portraits offered an objection. 

 

Harry set a Wind Sprite to guard the entrance and alert him at once if anyone were approaching the office before descending the stone ramp to the room below Dumbledore’s office.He only stayed a few hours, cutting his practice short to avoid running into any unexpected guests.  He scar was prickling uncomfortably, setting his teeth on edge and making it very difficult to concentrate properly. 

 

He took a quick look at the book of shadows before he left for supper.  It had a new entry that seemed to be a derivative of a switching spell with an odd sort of charm woven into it.  It seemed a bit elementary for a wizard as advanced as Voldemort.  Perhaps he’d been brushing up on his technique or something.

 

Not giving it too much thought, Harry made his way back up to Dumbledore’s office and down to supper, stopping only long enough to pocket the note Dumbledore had left on his desk, determined to give to Professor McGonagall the first chance he got.

 

*    *     *

“And you say he was gone, Potter?” said Professor McGonagall blankly.

 

Harry had cornered her after supper, handing her the note.  She had read it quickly, then had taken Harry by the arm and steered him into her office, Ginny trailing along behind.

 

“Have a seat Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall had said, motioning to the chairs in front of her desk as she lit her lamps with a wave of her wand.  “You too Ms. Weasley,” she said, removing her hat.

 

“Yes Professor.  The portraits said he left by Floo powder just before lunch.”

 

Professor McGonagall stared at Harry.  He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

 

“And he didn’t inform you of his plans?” she asked, looking perplexed.

 

“No Ma’am.  I went up for my lesson as usual, Thursday afternoons we often work until after eight at night.”

 

“Yes, I know,” said Professor McGonagall shortly.

 

“Well, I went up as usual and the office was empty.  He must be gone Professor, for Fawkes was gone too.  Several of the portraits said he’s been acting peculiar.”

 

“Peculiar?” echoed McGonagall.

 

“That’s the word they used Professor.”  Harry sat quite still, watching her.

 

Should I tell her about Hagrid?”

 

If it might help us figure this out,” responded Ginny.

 

“Professor,” Harry said hesitantly.  “Have you spoken to Hagrid?”

 

“About the lights?” she said.  “Yes, Potter, he told me what he saw.”  Her nostrils were flaring slightly.  “He informed myself and Professor Snape about them yesterday, but I thought, I thought he must be-”

 

“Hallucinating?” Harry finished.  “Or drinking too much again? I would have thought so too, Professor, except I saw them too, Ginny and Neville and Luna and myself.”

 

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry and her mouth opened as if she were going to reprimand him.

 

“No,” she said at last, the corners of her lips twitching, her eyebrows nearly having receded into her hairline.  “I don’t even want to know what the four of you were doing out at that unearthly hour.”

 

Harry shrugged, watching her with a small smile.

 

“At least you know now that Hagrid wasn’t seeing things.”  Harry paused, then continued.  “And he told us about Professor Dumbledore’s scent having changed.”

 

“Scent?” parroted Professor McGonagall.

 

“Giants have phenomenal oralfactory powers, Professor,” said Ginny quietly, speaking out loud for the first time since they had entered her office.  “They can detect changes in pheromones and other chemical changes that most of us are completely unaware of.”

 

Professor McGonagall blinked.

 

“Did any of the portraits see what happened?” she asked her voice quietly urgent now.

 

“Phineas Nigellus did,” said Harry at once.  “From his description, it sounds as if there was a battle of elemental powers.”

 

Professor McGonagall’s mouth tightened into a hard line.

 

“You’ve seen them yourself, Professor,” said Harry shortly.  “When Professor Dumbledore reanimated my body, those glowing creatures that appeared, those were elementals, Salamanders, manifestations of the element of fire. They are what I used to hold the shield together when the Fomhoire attacked.  I call forth fire!” Harry intoned softly.  His six salamanders materialized in front of him.

 

Professor McGonagall’s jaw dropped open.

 

“So that’s what they were!” she whispered, her voice barely audible.  “I - I suppose I just thought they were part of the spell Dumbledore was performing.”  She swallowed and then added, “I always thought that elementals were the stuff of myth and legend.”

 

“So are Animagi in many cultures,” said Ginny with a knowing smile.

 

“And the Fomhoire, and Mage-fire - which you’ve seen for yourself,” added Harry.

 

Professor McGonagall sniffed.

 

“What are they capable of, Potter? These elementals of yours?” she said, eyeing them warily.

 

“Anything,” said Harry simply.  “The only thing they can not do is create life.”

 

McGonagall sat down quickly.

 

“And you can produce six of them?”

 

Smiling slightly, Harry called for the rest of his elementals.  When he had finished they hung before him in a glittering swarm.  The look on Professor McGonagall’s face as he’d done this had gone from incredulity to wonder.

 

“And, and you say that Albus can produce these creatures too?”

 

“He produces two each of water, air and earth as well as four of fire.”

 

Harry watched as Professor McGonagall made a quick tally of the creatures hanging in the air before him.

 

“There are 18 here,” she said, her voice sounding slightly shaky.

 

“Yes,” said Harry quietly, watching as the enormity of this discovery made it through to her brain.

 

“Which means,” she began, looking shaken.

 

“Which means that Harry has the potential to be the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever known,” said Ginny softly.

 

They all remained silent for a few moments, contemplating this.

 

“So,” began Professor McGonagall.  She paused, cleared her throat then tried again.  “So tell me, Potter, what would happen if two wizards of equal strength pitted their elementals against each other?”  She was looking at him now with her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“I don’t know,” began Harry.

 

McGonagall’s scowl deepened.

 

“I mean, I’ve never actually seen-”

 

“You deal with these creatures! By all means, Potter, Hazard a guess!” she snapped.

She was scared.  Harry could see it in her eyes.  She was dealing with something out of her league and was turning to the only person she know of who might be able to help her, to help Dumbledore; himself, Harry.

 

“Professor McGonagall,” he said quietly, looking her directly in the eye.  “I know that what you are asking would be a logical assumption.  Professor Dumbledore explained elemental strengths and weakness to me and, from everything he said, if two wizards did pit their elementals against each other, it would probably very closely resemble the scene Phineas described.  But the night of the disturbance we were all so concerned that I sent a salamander, one of the fire elementals, to check on Professor Dumbledore.  It came back saying that he was alive and well.”

 

The furrow between McGonagall’s eyebrows eased up a little.

 

“Are you sure, Potter?”

 

“Elementals never lie,” said Harry simply.  “Regardless of what actually happened in his office that night, somewhere, wherever he is, Professor Dumbledore is alive and well, of that I am certain.”

 

“Well, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding rather relieved, but still worried.  “I suppose, if you say so.”

 

“I say so.”

 

“Then you best be getting along, the pair of you,” she advised.  “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of studying to do, your N.E.W.T.’s start next week after all.

 

Indeed, with N.E.W.T.’s (the most difficult tests offered at Hogwarts) looming on the immediate horizon, the seventh years seemed to fall into a controlled frenzy of subject review and last minute adjustments to their presentations.

 

Harry wasn’t in the least bit concerned about his exams.  He had practiced his presentations until they were so smooth and flawless that even Professor Dumbledore had been impressed.  His Wolfsbane Potion (which he had chosen to master for Potions in memory of Lupin’s having once been a werewolf, and because it was one of the most complex, yet practical potions known to wizard kind) had passed even Snape’s exacting standards.  His Vampire Vine had grown to a size considered dangerous, even for expert Herbologists to handle, and yet he still maintained its docility and cooperation.  His Photo Album and journal of Prometheus’s growth and development was complete.  He was ready.

 

“The idea of you being more prepared for exams than Hermione is indecent!” said Ron at supper a two days after the nighttime laser show in Dumbledore’s office.

 

Harry glanced past Ron to where Hermione sat with her nose buried in Advanced Transfiguration, muttering under her breath to a Dict-o-quill that was scribbling out notes on a piece of parchment laying beside her plate.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked her, astounded.  He hadn’t done any active studying since Ginny had showed him how to tap into his mage-power for any information he needed.  He had shared this information with Hermione and Ron just after Easter, thinking that it would help them in preparing for their N.E.W.T.’s.

 

Hermione looked up, grinning guiltily.

 

“Sorry, Harry,” she said, looking slightly sheepish.  “It’s a really helpful thing you showed me, and it does seem to work, but to be honest, I feel like I’m cheating somehow.”

 

Ron tried, unsuccessfully to suppress a snort.

 

Hermione shot him a withering look.

 

“Don’t laugh!  Being able to reference anything just by asking is an incredible power, and trust me Harry, I’ll use it if I can’t remember all the answers, or if I need more information on a subject during an exam, but I want to know it myself.”

 

“But your self is a part of the source,” said Ginny quietly.  “All of us, we are all a part of the power from which the answers and information come.”

 

“Even if I could bring myself to believe that,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “I don’t know if I’d want to be dependent on anyone but myself for anything.”

 

Ron was watching Hermione intently, an odd, appraising sort of look on his face.

Ginny opened her mouth to tell Hermione that not wanting to depend on others was pointless when she was the others, but Harry stopped her with a look.

 

No, Ginny, she’s not ready.”

 

“But it’s the truth, Harry.”

 

“The truth is a wonderful and dangerous thing and should therefore be treated with great caution,” said Harry, smiling slightly as he remembered the last time he had heard those words. He had been eleven and feeling very small and alone in his hospital bed after his run-in with Quirrell.

 

She’ll come to the truth in time, Ginny,” said Harry gently.

 

Ginny subsided.

 

“That bit about not wanting to be dependent on anyone.  Does that include me, Hermione?” asked Ron in a rather tentative voice, not looking up from his Shepard’s pie.

When Hermione didn’t answer immediately, Harry looked around to find Hermione staring at Ron looking both bemused and stricken at the same time.

 

Well?” said Ron, his ears now rather red, which was always a bad sign.

 

“Ron, I-”

 

“Because if it’s true that you don’t need anyone, that you don’t need me, just say so now,” began Ron in a rather strained sort of voice.

 

“Don’t be an idiot Ron!” said Hermione hotly.  “Of course I need you!  I never said-”

 

“You did so!  I heard you!  You said you wouldn’t want to be dependent on anyone else for anything!”

 

“And so I don’t!” said Hermione, bristling.

 

“Then what’s the point?” asked Ron bitterly.

 

“Of what?” asked Hermione blankly.

 

“Of us getting married?”

 

“Marriage isn’t about dependence!” said Hermione scathingly.  “It’s about trust and companionship as well as mutual interests and goals and-”

 

“Love?” said Ginny softly, yet somehow overriding both of their strident voices.

Ron and Hermione turned to look at her, both rather red in the face now.

 

“She’s right,” interjected Neville unexpectedly.  “You wouldn’t really want Hermione to be dependent on you for anything Ron, would you?” he asked conversationally.

 

Ron closed his mouth abruptly and turned his head to stare at Neville wonderingly.

“To have her dependent on you for anything would make for a rather lop-sided relationship,” said Neville in a cool, detached voice, as if he were talking to himself.  “No, No, better by far to each be completely independent and to choose to be partners, to share equally in all the rights and responsibilities that come with marriage,” he added, nodding sagely into his plate.

 

“Nicely put, Neville,” said Hermione at last, “but you’re wrong on one point.”

 

“Which would be?” asked Neville curiously.

 

“There is one thing I’m dependent on Ron for.”

 

“Which is?” asked Neville.

 

“To love me,” whispered Hermione, her eyes shining.

 

Ron had her in his arms an instant later.

 

Damn it’s good to see you eat your words!” Ron whispered into her hair some minutes later as the rest of the Gryffindors at their end of the table busied themselves with their suppers, pretending to be uninterested in the tableau unfolding before them.

 

What about you, Ginny?” Harry asked sub-vocally grinning at her over the rim of his goblet.  “Are you dependent on me for anything?”

 

Actually, I agree with Neville about the independence bit,” Ginny raised her hand to silence him as Harry opened his mouth, “for most cases,” she emphasized.  “But you know as well as I do, Harry, that what we have, our, uh, situation, is unique.  There’s no point in asking if I’m dependent on you for anything because-”

 

“I am you,” Harry finished, looking at Ginny thoughtfully.

 

And what we have,” continued Ginny, “Is, in truth, only what we all are, really.”

 

“We’re all a part of a single consciousness?” said Harry slowly.

 

Individual aspects of a single consciousness,” corrected Ginny.

 

That would explain why things like Legilimency and Occlumency work,” muttered Harry, thinking hard.

 

And how I can heal just by touch,” said Ginny softly.  “And the power that speaks through me-”

 

“Is just another aspect of you,” said Harry faintly.  “A manifestation of your ability to know what happens next.  A power we all have to some degree.  But you wouldn’t have been able to accept it as yourself speaking-”

 

“So it manifests as a power that I can’t control,” finished Ginny.

 

They stared at each other for some minutes.  Ginny shivered.

 

What does this mean?” asked Harry at last.  “What happens if we come to understand this, humanity I mean?”

 

It would take some getting used to, for people I mean.”  He paused, then reached for Ginny’s hand and held it tightly in his.

 

Ginny, is this what I, what we-

 

Are supposed to be preparing mankind for?” asked Ginny, then shook her head.  “It’s more like paving the way for the idea I think,” she said softly.  “It will be a long time yet — longer than we have, anyway, before humanity is ready for the truth.”

 

They sat for some minutes, watching the others eat, listening to the babble of voices filling the great hall.

 

“Something’s coming,” Ginny said out loud at last. 

 

Harry turned quickly to look at her.  She was staring past him and Neville, gazing at the doors to the great hall as if expecting them, at any moment, to burst open.

 

Don’t you see him?” she asked, her voice growing louder, ringing now with the Power’s presence.  “Don’t you feel the darkness of his soul?”  She was standing now, pointing at the closed oak doors.

 

McGonagall and Snape were both on their feet.  Snape’s wand was drawn.  Silence had descended on the great hall as if a silencing charm had been cast, and Harry realized with a start that his scar, which had been prickling for days, was now throbbing painfully.

 

I tell you, he comes in darkness!” cried Ginny, her voice now imbued with the full authority of the Power.  Harry did a double take, these were the very words Ferdinand, the Jarvey had used when speaking of Voldemort’s attack on the Burrow last Christmas.

 

 “His countenance will convince all but those who know him best, and in his words will lie buried the kernel of truth, but the fruit he would have you eat would mean the demise of all we have worked for, and the death of the one who has the power to bring about that which his soul most fears!”

 

As she had spoken, Harry, for once, had seen and felt everything she had as she had seen and felt it.  He had felt the overwhelming powerlessness that welled up in her as the power took over, relegating her to the status of observer in her own mind.  An aspect of her self or not, she didn’t like the feeling.

 

Ignore it!” Harry told her sternly as the wave of images and possibilities washed over her, threatening to drown her in despair.”

 

Harry!” he could feel her trembling as he held her in his arms.

I’m here Ginny,” he said, pulling her attention to himself as the power’s words rang out through her, attempting to inundate her consciousness with its hopelessness.

 

As the final words echoed through the great hall, Harry could feel the swirling eddies receding, tugging at Ginny’s mind as they went, but unsuccessfully as she was still holding tight to his presence as a drowning man to a life buoy.

 

“Ginny?” he asked quietly as the echoes of her final words spiraled into silence.  “Ginny, are you O.K.?”

 

“Oddly enough, yes,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.  Her knees were shaking too, but she hadn’t collapsed, and she seemed perfectly coherent.

 

“Harry, what — what did you do?” whispered Ginny, letting him steer her back onto the bench.  She sounded amazed.

 

“It was both of us,” said Harry quietly, holding up a hand to stave off Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Lavender’s cries of concern.  “By focusing on each other we formed a type of bulwark and the worst of it sort of, oh I don’t know, washed around us I guess.”

 

Ginny smiled against his chest.  “That sure as hell beats the other way!” she said, laughing softly.

 

Harry held the flask of Goblin Meade (which he carried in the pocket of his robes at all times) to her lips and had just taken a swallow himself when the doors to the great hall swung open.  Everyone turned to look.

 

A lone figure stood framed in the doorway.  The torch and candlelight glinted in his long silver hair and beard.  The figure gazed imperiously around the hall, taking in the teachers (Snape and McGonagall were still standing, although Snape had hastily stuck his wand back into his robes) and students, and then his pale blue eyes met Harry’s and, in that instant, Harry’s scar, which had been throbbing painfully all evening, suddenly burned with a searing, blinding pain.  Dumbledore had returned at last.

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry?”

 

It was Ginny’s voice in his head, but he could also hear her.

 

Harry, are you alright?”

 

“I — I’m O.K.,” gasped Harry.

 

Neville and Ginny were pulling him upright, steering him into his seat.  The pain in his scar had been so intense that he had dropped to his knees, clutching his head in his hands and retching as if her were going to be sick.

 

“He’s furious,” said Harry without knowing what he said. 

 

“Did you feel You-Know-Who’s feelings again?” asked Ron, leaning across the table, his freckles standing out starkly against his suddenly pale face. 

 

“Yeah, I think I did.”

 

“But you’re practicing Occulumency now,” said Hermione in a small voice.

 

“Not every minute of the day, Hermione,” said Harry, taking a deep draught from his goblet of pumpkin juice.  “I spend time every morning and evening clearing my mind and putting up my guard, but that hit me out of the blue.”

 

“What do you think triggered it?” asked Neville, looking very scared.

 

“Well, it’s been burning all night, my scar,” said Harry, squinting his eyes against the pain that still seared into his skin.  “Since Saturday, actually, but it flared up when Dumbledore made eye contact with me.”

 

Ron glanced up at the staff table where Dumbledore was taking his seat amidst a scattering of applause from the teachers and many of the students.

 

“You don’t think You-Know-Who’s trying to see through your mind again, do you, Harry?” he asked, sounding worried.

 

“He can’t be,” said Ginny quietly.  She was still standing behind Harry, rubbing his shoulders firmly as a cover for the fact that she was easing Harry’s pain with only the touch of her hands.  “I’d be able to detect his presence if he were.  I was there before, in Harry’s mind, when Voldemort was attempting to use him.  It’s a very distinctive signature, believe me.”

 

“I can imagine,” said Neville, sounding severely shaken.

 

Harry sat up a little straighter and pulled Ginny down to the seat beside him.  His head was much clearer now and the pain had receded to the earlier throbbing.

 

“Thanks Ginny,” he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

 

Ginny grinned at him.

 

“Before I was able to block out Voldemort, whenever I looked at Dumbledore, I felt Voldemort’s snake, his essence, welling up inside of me.  This wasn’t like that.  This was different.  This was like before, when he’d be near me, or look at me, and I would feel that blinding, searing pain,” he said by way of explanation to Ron, Hermione and Neville.

 

“But he can’t be here, not now,” said Ron, looking around the Great Hall with something like alarm.  “Not with Dumbledore here.”

 

Dumbledore!” said Harry and Hermione at the same time, and their eyes met over the bowl of fruit sitting on the table between them.

 

“You don’t think-” began Hermione.

 

“I don’t see how,” finished Harry.

 

“Weren’t either of you listening to Ginny?” asked Neville.  He looked very pale.

 

What?” said Ron and Hermione together.

 

“What she said, just before Dumbledore appeared,” said Neville.

 

They looked at him blankly, but Harry’s brain was replaying the Power’s words:

His countenance will convince all but those who know him best.

 

“You’re not saying that that’s not really Dumbledore are you?” asked Harry slowly, a growing dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

“What I’m saying is that it’s not impossible,” said Neville insistently.  “What if it’s a glamoury charm, like you used to play Quidditch, Harry, or, or-”

 

“Or Polyjuice Potion,” said Harry, staring at Dumbledore.  He and Harry exchanged glances, remembering the time they had used the complicated potion Hermione had brewed for them to interrogate Malfoy.

 

“Oh come off it!” said Ron, choking back a snort of laughter.  “This is Hogwarts Neville, how could Lord Voldemort, even if her were under some sort of charm or enchantment that made him appear to be Dumbledore, just waltz into the Great Hall in the middle of dinner without someone, one of the teachers, or a ghost, or someone being able to detect the truth?”

 

“Barty Crouch did it for nine months!” said Harry before it dawned on him that for the first time Ron had said Lord Voldemort’s name without wincing.  He looked back at Ron quickly, then at Hermione, who was watching Ron with a bemused sort of expression.  Ron didn’t seem to have realized what he’d said.

 

“How will we know for sure?” asked Neville.

 

“I guess we just wait for him to do something that gives him away,” said Harry.

 

“Like what?” said Ron “Stand up in the middle of dinner and try to kill Harry?”

 

Harry felt Ginny shudder at his words and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close to his side.

 

“It’s O.K., Ginny, I’ll be careful,” he said.

 

Ginny was staring fixedly at the staff table, her eyes blank and unfocused.

 

“It’s not Dumbledore,” she said quietly.  “It’s his body, yes, but not his spirit.”

 

“Ginny?” said Ron dumbly, staring at her.

 

“Ginny, what do you see?” asked Neville urgently.

 

“I — I see . . . ”

 

Neville had gotten up and was standing behind her now, both his hands on her shoulders, speaking urgently into her ear.

 

Tell us Ginny,” he said, his voice low and insistent.  “We won’t let anything happen to you.  Harry’s here, I’m here, Hermione and Ron too, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

“I — I see a dark soul with ill intentions,” whispered Ginny, her voice trembling.  “It is clothed in a body of light.”

 

“What sort of ill intentions?” asked Neville carefully, his voice modulated to be soothing, yet coaxing at the same time. He did not release his grip on her shoulders.

 

When Harry glanced up at the staff table he could see both Professors McGonagall and Snape watching them intently.  Dumbledore was chatting unconcernedly with Professor Flitwick who looked wary.

 

“Deceit,” said Ginny in a barely audible voice.  “It means to lull us into acceptance.  It means to convince us of its being genuine.”

 

“And then?” prompted Neville, as cool and as calm as if he had done this a hundred times before.

 

“Death!” breathed Ginny.

 

Neville raised his head and looked at Harry.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on, Harry,” he said.  He was still very pale, but he looked determined now.  “But I think that both you and Ginny should spend the night in the Guest Room, just in case.”

 

“Just in case of what?” asked Ron, looking confused.

 

“Do you think he’ll attack?” asked Hermione breathlessly.

 

“Not right away,” said Neville, sounding curiously sure of himself, “but he will.  He’ll wait until he thinks that everyone has been convinced of his being the real Dumbledore and then-” he broke off with a significant look at Harry.

 

“But surely he wouldn’t dare do it in front of so many witnesses,” said Hermione,

looking skeptical.  “I mean, like Ron said, Hogwarts is full of teachers and the ghosts of teachers and ghosts who for whatever reason have chosen to live here; talented witches and wizards, all of them!  Surely they wouldn’t allow an attack on Harry to go unchallenged!”

 

“That depends on the nature of the challenge,” said Neville, letting go of Ginny’s shoulders and taking his seat on the other side of Harry.  “You all right then, Ginny?”

 

Ginny nodded mutely.

 

Neville then turned to Harry.

 

“Harry, you have lessons with Dumbledore on a regular basis, right?”

 

“Right,” said Harry quietly.  He sat staring at Neville, amazed; he could almost see the wheels in Neville’s head turning.  Ginny had been right, he was incredibly intelligent and gifted.

 

I told you!” said Ginny sub-vocally, drawing a deep breath.

 

“So don’t show up for your regular lesson, see if he notices,” suggested Neville.

 

“But what if Dumbledore, or whoever he is, summons him?” asked Hermione anxiously.  “Harry can’t very well refuse a request from the headmaster.”

 

“We need to let Snape and McGonagall know,” said Neville firmly.  “And Harry, what with your, uh, talents, I think that task should fall to you.  Send a message to both of them directly after supper, tell them everything.”

 

“Do you think they heard Ginny’s prophecy?” asked Harry, looking up at the staff table where Professors McGonagall and Snape were sitting, one on either side of Professor Dumbledore, both watching him warily.

 

“I’m sure they did, but it can’t hurt to tell them again,” said Neville decisively.  “Give them the full story, see what they suggest.”

 

Harry did not have long to wait.  No sooner had he sat down to breakfast the next morning when a note popped out of thin air in front of him and fell into his scrambled eggs.

 

Blimey!” said Ron, choking on a mouthful of hash browns.  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that!”

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s hand on his knee and, when he looked up, Hermione and Neville were staring back across the table at him with anxious looks.

 

“What?” said Ron thickly, shoveling another mouthful of potatoes into his mouth and looking around at all of their pale, frightened faces.  “Oh come off it!  Don’t tell me that you lot still think that it’s not really Dumbledore, do you?” he asked.  “This proves it really is Dumbledore, doesn’t it?”

 

“Ron, you prat!” hissed Hermione.  “Remember what Harry said?  Voldemort is an elemental magician too!  If he knows Dumbledore is teaching elemental magic to Harry, it would be logical for him to use one to send him a message!”

 

Ron shrugged, and piled his plate with bacon and eggs, falling to with gusto.

Harry carefully opened the note to reveal a message in Dumbledore’s loopy writing.

Mr. Potter,

 

Please meet me in my office for a continuation of our lessons at two O’clock. 

 

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

 

“That’s not on!” said Harry at once, gazing at the note with trepidation.  “We never have lessons on Wednesday, my schedule is booked solid and he knows it!”

 

His eyes met Neville’s and he knew at once that Neville was thinking the same thing he was.  He felt Ginny’s hand, which was trembling slightly, slip into his.

 

“Don’t go,” she said quickly.

 

“How can I refuse a direct summons from the Headmaster?” asked Harry, at a loss.

 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t refuse, Mr. Potter,” came Snape’s smooth, silky voice from behind them.

 

Harry looked around and, without preamble, handed Professor Snape the note.  Snape read it quickly.

 

“Do what it says, Potter, but be on your guard.  I will speak to Professor McGonagall and see what we can arrange.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry quietly.

 

Snape nodded curtly and, turning on his heel, swept away.

 

When Harry arrived outside Dumbledore’s office for his supposed lesson, it was all he could do to control his trembling legs enough to hold him upright.  Drawing a deep breath he raised his hand, and knocked.

 

The door opened of its own accord.

 

“Come in, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore’s deep, soothing voice.

 

Harry entered.  His eyes flicked immediately to the golden perch where Fawkes was normally seen to roost; it was empty.  This, more than anything seemed to confirm his worst fears.  Professor Dumbledore, or at least Professor Dumbledore’s body, was sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled, his light blue eyes surveying Harry over the rims of his half-moon glasses.  Harry could feel the prickling sensation in his mind that told him someone was attempting to probe his thoughts.  He raised his Occlumency level a notch and turned to face the figure behind the desk.

 

Harry met Dumbledore’s eyes and his scar gave a nasty throb before beginning to burn with a steady, white-hot heat.  Harry clenched his teeth, determined not to give his pain away.

 

“Good afternoon Professor,” he said in a passing attempt at his normal tone.  “I hope you had a good trip?”

 

“Trip?  Oh yes, yes, it was productive to say the least,” said Dumbledore with a slight smile.

 

He motioned imperiously to a seat on the other side of his desk.

 

“Are you ready to begin, Mr. Potter?” he asked coolly, gazing down at Harry. 

Harry nodded.  He was suddenly very aware of the vial around his neck and was particularly glad that he had thought to switch the one he had worn to the ministry with the one he had loaned to Bill the night of Bill and Ginny’s performance.  He was also glad that he had instructed the elementals to douse even their sparkling for this particular foray (although he could feel their presence distinctly in the air around him.  They seemed unusually alert and active).

 

“Remind me where we left off, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, stretching out a hand and picking up the wand on the desk before him.

 

“Um, switching spells, and their use in defensive magic,” lied Harry quickly.

 

A small, self-satisfied smile was playing around the corners of Dumbledore’s mouth.

 

“Yes, of course,” he raised his wand, “I shall demonstrate -”

 

There was a knock at the door, which swung open automatically.  Dumbledore lowered his wand rather reluctantly.  It was Snape.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor, but you are needed most urgently in the Entry Hall.”

 

“Can’t it wait, Snape?” snapped Dumbledore with uncharacteristic vehemence.

 

“No sir, I’m afraid it can not,” said Snape coolly, not taking his eyes off the wand in Dumbledore’s hand.

 

Noticing his look, Dumbledore hastily tucked the wand back into an inside pocket of his robes and swept out of the office, casting one last murderous glance over his shoulder at where Snape and Harry stood shoulder to shoulder, watching him go.

 

“I wonder what he’s done with Professor Dumbledore,” said Harry quietly when the door had swung shut behind the retreating figure.

 

“How did you know?” Snape asked, looking at Harry shrewdly.

 

“What, you mean besides Ginny’s foreseeing yesterday?” asked Harry with a touch of asperity.

 

Snape grimaced.

 

“Fawkes is gone,” said Harry, motioning towards the empty golden perch, “And he was going to conduct our lesson in his office, which, according to him is against the oath he took when he began his own training with Flammel years ago.”

 

Harry reached around and touched the lever rock.  The trap door sprang open, revealing the stone ramp to the workroom.

 

Snape eyed it curiously, but made no move toward exploring it.

 

“Do you think he’s using Polyjuice Potion Professor?” asked Harry, remembering his fourth year, when he’d spent the better part of nine months in the company of a Death Eater who’d been using Polyjuice Potion to resemble the ex-Auror, Alastor Moody.

Snape shook his head.

“I was with him for over an hour yesterday evening, and he didn’t change.”  He motioned toward the trap door.  “How do you-?”

 

Harry tapped the same stone with his wand and the trap door closed, leaving the floor smooth and whole once again.

 

“It can’t be a glamoury charm either,” said Harry, his forehead creased with concentration.  “They don’t stand up to that close of scrutiny.”

 

“And it does, indeed, seem to be Dumbledore, physically anyway,” murmured Snape. He paused and then added.  “Until we figure this out, Potter, it might be best for you not to be alone with him.

 

“Professor,” Harry asked finally, keeping his voice carefully neutral, unwilling to break the spell of whatever enchantment was allowing him to have a reasonable conversation with Professor Severus Snape.  “Do you think that Voldemort might be possessing him?”

“He can’t be,” said Snape slowly.  “Dumbledore’s elementals would have taken that as a threat on his life and would have interfered.”

 

“So it would have to be something that they would not interpret as a threat,” said Harry.

 

“Yes.”

 

For some minutes they stood there in the brightly lit, comfortable office and stared at the place where the trap door had been, neither saying a word, both thinking hard.

 

“Should we alert the Order?” Harry asked at last.

 

“Hmm,” said Snape, still deep in thought.

 

“Professor,” said Harry tentatively.

 

Snape looked up.

 

“What happens if he sends for me again?”

 

“Hide,” said Snape immediately.

 

Harry fought the urge to smile.  He was reminded, forcibly, of something Phineas Nigellus’s portrait had said once, about Slytherins always knowing when to save their own skins.

 

“Go to the guestroom.  If it really isn’t Dumbledore, and I’m definitely beginning to lean towards that possibility, then he won’t know about it.”

 

Harry nodded, then glanced sideways at Professor Snape.

 

“It wont work forever you know,” said Harry quietly.  His hand strayed to the knife-hilt in his belt.  “Hiding I mean. Sooner or later I’m going to have to face him.”

 

Snape did not look up, but he did shudder involuntarily and began rubbing absentmindedly at his right forearm.  He must have been distracted enough to let his mental guard down, for Harry suddenly felt Snape’s thoughts cascading over him.

Unlike so many people’s thoughts, Snape’s were not fragmentary and chaotic, but rather crystal clear and totally coherent so that it was like watching a movie in his mind.

 

~*~

 

The Dark Lord had power beyond imagining; power the likes of which Severus Snape could only dream.  He had dreamed of such power once; he’d yearned for it; the power to put his enemies in their place, the power to manipulate people, places and things to his advantage, the power to clear his name, once and for all, of it’s mudblood association.

He’d thrown his lot in with Voldemort because he’d seen what the Dark Lord was capable of, and he didn’t want to be standing against power like that.  Better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path.  So he’d worked harder than any other Death Eater.  He’d taken the dirty assignments no one else had wanted.  He’d volunteered for them.  He’d made himself indispensable to the Dark Lord, and his dedication was rewarded.  He was given the better assignments, taken into the Dark Lord’s confidence and given even greater responsibility.  It didn’t surprise him that he eventually found himself within the Dark Lord’s innermost circle of faithful supporters.  He’d planned on it.  What he hadn’t planned on, however, was falling in love.

 

He’d never been exactly popular with the women, so when he ran into Laura Anderson at a café in Diagon Alley while on assignment for the Dark Lord, he hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming rush of emotion; the intense mutual attraction that had drawn them together.

 

He’d known Laura at Hogwarts.  She’d been a year below him, in Ravenclaw, and even then she had been very pretty and popular.  She’d never given him so much as a second glance during their entire time at Hogwarts, and rightly so he’d thought as he sat across the table from her, nibbling on chocolate croissants and sipping espressos.  Look at her! He’d told himself sternly, attempting to overcome the intense attraction he felt for the woman sitting across from him.  She was beautiful!  Chin length, honey-brown hair, sparkling, sea-green eyes, and a contagious laugh that made anyone within hearing distance smile.  She was successful.  She worked in Muggle Relations at the Ministry of Magic.  She could have any man she wanted, he thought desperately.  Muggle or wizard.  What makes me think she’d even consider me? He’d tried to convince himself that she was just being polite to an old schoolmate, that she didn’t feel the same as he did that she couldn’t, but with every chance meeting, and then with meetings designed by one or the other to appear as chance meetings, it became clear to him that by some miracle, Laura Anderson was attracted to him, Severus Snape!

 

Their friendship blossomed into romance and, for the first time in his lonely life, Severus Snape felt as if he belonged.  She accepted him, as he was; no questions asked. No judgments made.  If she knew, or suspected that he was involved with the Dark Lord, she never made mention of it, and he never had the nerve to tell her.

 

They married very quietly and things had gone on as usual, although Snape now found that his heart wasn’t as dedicated to his work as it had once been.  Even as he did the Dark Lord’s dirty work, his mind was elsewhere, home with Laura, and then Jason had arrived.  It wasn’t until Jason had been born that Snape had begun to have second thoughts about what he was being asked to do. Somehow, the idea of Jason growing up in the sort of world that the Dark Lord was working to bring into existence just didn’t sit well with Severus Snape. He never voiced his doubts to the Dark Lord, but he had found out just the same and had removed that particular obstacle from Snape’s path with the same sort of ruthless efficiency he showed in all his other dealings with those who got in his way.

 

Severus Snape buried his heart the day he buried his young wife and infant son, a son who would have been almost exactly the same age as Harry.  He’d sworn revenge on the man who had stolen away all the happiness he had ever known, and he didn’t care what he had to do to ensure that it would happen.  He did, however, go about his preparations for his defection with a secrecy and efficiency worthy of the Dark Lord himself.

 

He studied Occulumency until he could block the Dark Lord’s mind probes with impunity and lie blatantly without fear of being detected.  He also became an adept at Legilimency, which allowed him to preempt the Dark Lord’s decisions, making himself more valuable to the cause. Only when he was certain that his defection would go undetected had he offered his services to Dumbledore.

 

Dumbledore had been wary of Severus’ offer, suspecting most likely, a trap.  But when he had learned of the circumstances that had led to the offer, he had taken Snape up on his offer.

 

~*~

Harry saw it all.  He felt it all.  He had never dwelt much on the circumstances which had caused Snape to switch allegiances, but it explained a lot.  For the first time in seven years, Harry felt himself viewing Snape as a person and, oddly enough, a person not so very much unlike himself; a person who had loved deeply and made mistakes; a person, like him, who had lost everything dear to him because of Lord Voldemort, and the power of this realization nearly bowled him over.

 

“I — I never knew!” whispered Harry in anguish.

 

It was only when Snape’s gaze snapped back into focus that Harry realized that he had spoken this last bit out loud.

 

“What-” Snape swallowed.  His hands were trembling.  He looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him, including the time that Snape had caught him eavesdropping in the thoughts Snape had stored in Dumbledore’s Pensive.  “What did you see, Potter?” he snarled.

 

Harry gathered his courage about him and, meeting Snape’s gaze evenly answered, “Everything, Professor.  I saw everything.”

 

A series of expressions crossed Snape’s face in quick succession: surprise, outrage, fear and, finally a deep sadness.

 

He understood, thought Harry as he watched Snape with something very much like sympathy welling up inside him.  He knows what it is like to loose everyone you’ve ever cared about.

 

We knew it had to be something like that,” came Ginny’s voice in his head.  She sounded as if she’d been crying.  “Only something this devastating could have caused someone as deeply involved in Voldemort’s activities as Snape was to change allegiances.”

 

“You are not to speak of this to anyone, Potter,” said Snape in an oddly strained voice.

 

“Ginny knows,” said Harry quickly.

 

Snape looked taken aback, but finally gave Harry a curt nod, turned, and strode out of the room.  Snape paused, just over the threshold and turned to look at Harry.

 

“I will alert the Order, Mr. Potter.  Be on your guard.”  And he was gone.

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 27: SOUL'S SALVATION

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  This is it.  The chapter you’ve all been waiting for.  Sorry for all the suspense and cliff hangers, but they really were necessary to build the tension.  Hang around for the next couple of chapters however, and see how all the loose ends get tied up.  Thank you for reading!

 

~*~

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SOUL’S SALVATION

 

 

 

 

True to his word, Harry did not relate Snape’s story to Ron, Hermione, Luna or Neville.  He and Ginny talked about it at some length, and Harry did broach the subject with Lupin when they’d last spoken in the mirror (which Harry had liberated from Dumbledore’s office while he’d been gone and had now stashed in the guest room).  When Lupin admitted to knowing Snape’s story already, Harry had told him what he had seen and felt of Snape’s thoughts and emotions.

 

“And how did Severus react when he realized what you’d seen?” Lupin had asked interestedly.

 

“He seemed really angry at first,” Harry had admitted.  “But then he seemed almost afraid, and then ended up looking sad.”

 

“She was a wonderful person, Laura,” Lupin had said with a deep sigh.

 

“What was she like?” Harry had asked curiously. He was intrigued to know what sort of a person could have fallen in love with someone seemingly as unlovable as Severus Snape.

 

“Laura Anderson was in Ravenclaw,” began Lupin, looking reminiscent.  “She was a year behind James and Sirius and me, but a really good friend of Lily’s.  She was beautiful Harry, not just outside either, but she was a beautiful person inside as well.  She was intelligent, talented and a lot of fun to be around.  I dated her myself for a bit in my sixth year.”

 

“Does Snape know that?” Harry had asked quickly, grinning.

 

Lupin had grinned back.

 

“Yes, and since neither of them seemed to have the slightest interest in the other at the time, there was no, er, contention over that.  It was only later, after school, that Severus and Laura began dating.”  Lupin shrugged and then added, “To be perfectly honest, none of us could ever see what she saw in him, but then, who am I to talk?  Your aunt fell for me after all, and when I was still a werewolf!”

 

“But you’re, well . . .” Harry had paused, at a loss for the words to describe the difference between Lupin and Snape.  “Nicer,” he’d added lamely.

 

“Not when I was a werewolf I wasn’t!” said Lupin, looking suddenly grim. 

“But that’s . . . well . . .” Harry still didn’t know quite what he was trying to say.  Lupin was so much more likable than Snape, even when he had been graying prematurely he’d still kept himself looking better, or cleaner at least, and he always seemed to be easier to please, easier to get to know.

 

“You forget, Harry, that I’ve studied Legilimency myself,” said Lupin, smiling slightly.  “But to answer your question, yes Snape has made himself unpopular by coming across as hard-nosed and biased, but looks can be deceiving; look at Tom Riddle.  He was certainly a handsome enough boy by all accounts, and look what he became.”

 

Yes, thought Harry, look what Tom Riddle had become.  He shuddered slightly.  Neither can live while the other survives, he thought bitterly.  Look where your hatred has brought us, Tom.  A sudden, overwhelming stab of anger and a simultaneous wave of sadness nearly bowled Harry over.  He was so tired.  Tired of wondering when and where Voldemort would turn up next; tired of being afraid of which person he cared about would be targeted next, tired of trying to preempt the Dark Lord’s thoughts and whims, tired of having to look over his shoulder for weird beasts and having to shield his psyche against intrusive thoughts.

 

“It’s time I think,” Harry said sadly, burying his head in his hands.  “It’s time to end this.”

 

Soon, Harry,” came Lupin’s voice in his ears and Ginny’s voice in his head simultaneously.

 

Harry had to grin.  What would he do without either of them?

 

*     *     *

 

 

“What do you think he’s waiting for?” Harry asked Ginny at super that Friday night.  He’d been watching Dumbledore carefully for signs of strangeness.  Other than the fact that he wasn’t communicating with Harry, Dumbledore appeared and acted the same as usual.

 

“A chance to get you alone?” suggested Ginny.

 

Harry shrugged, toying with his mashed potatoes, sculpting the helping on his plate into a mock mountain.  He had been the least alone person in the school for the last two days.  Professors McGonagall and Snape had arranged things so that there was a second teacher present (either themselves, Flitwick or Sprout) in all of Harry’s classes, and he was escorted by one of them to every class.  Harry stared at his potato sculpture and then chuckled.

 

“It would definitely be a close encounter then, wouldn’t it?” he said, sniggering before mashing the mountain down with his fork.

Down the table, Dean and Seamus were discussing their plans for their N.E.W.T. presentations that were to start on Monday.

 

“Well, Charms is first thing Monday, then we’ve got Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday,” said Dean, consulting the schedule they had received during their last Transfiguration class.  “Then Divination on Wednesday, and Astronomy Wednesday night.”

 

“I guess we get Wednesday off then,” said Ron, nudging Harry with an elbow.

 

“Lucky you!” said Ginny.  “I guess I’ll see you in Astronomy, Hermione.”

 

“I thought you took Divination, too,” said Lavender, looking at her curiously.  “One of your ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.’s last year was in Divination, wasn’t it?”

 

“It’s sort of been given to me,” said Ginny, looking embarrassed.  “Because, well . . .” she paused, coloring slightly.

 

“Because she’s made real prophecies,” said Neville quickly, giving Ginny a small, lopsided smile from across the table. 

 

He was only voicing what everyone suddenly seemed to know.  Somehow, the news that Ginny had made a series of accurate predictions had begun circulating throughout the wizarding community.  This breech of the secrecy Dumbledore had sworn the entire order to just seemed to cement the idea that there was a mole in the order.

 

“That is just too weird!” said Dean, sounding spooked.  “I once dated a Seeress!  Hey, Ginny, is that why you broke up with me?” he wondered, suddenly serious.  “Did you know that things wouldn’t work out with us?”

 

Ginny gave him a small, mysterious smile, one eyebrow raised.  “Let’s just say that I knew it was for the best.”  She looked meaningfully at Parvati, who blushed crimson.

 

“So, Harry,” chortled Seamus.  “How does it feel to be going out with someone who can see the future?”

 

“Divine,” said Harry dryly.

 

It was Ginny’s turn to go pink.

 

Ron sniggered into his napkin.  His snigger turned into an, “Ouch!” as Hermione gave him a sharp prod in the ribs.

 

“Behave!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

 

Dean, however, was looking at Harry with a puzzled expression.

 

“Oh!” he said, comprehension finally dawning.  “Oh, yeah, right!  Divine!  Good one, Harry!”

 

Neville, who had, for once, gotten it right off, groaned at Dean’s being so slow on the uptake and, after catching Harry’s eye, rolled his own in exasperation.

 

“And then Potions the next Monday,” continued Seamus, once again absorbed by his schedule.

 

Harry was helping himself to his second serving of plum pudding when, with a crash, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and the resulting breeze blew out all the torches and candles with which the Great Hall had been lit, throwing the entire room into near-total darkness. 

 

Silhouetted against the torchlight from the Entry Hall, Harry could see a skeletally tall figure in a hooded cloak.  Its eyes glowed with an unearthly red light.

 

“Voldemort!” breathed Hermione.  She was staring at the nightmare figure before them, unable to tear her gaze away. 

 

Harry looked around at the staff table.  Dumbledore was standing, his wand drawn, a cold, calculating look on his face.  Two seats down, Snape, his black eyes glittering in the reflected light of his wand (which he had lit when the lights had gone out) was staring, not at the figure in the doorway, but at the silver-haired figure that had risen to meet him.

 

McGonagall was sitting sideways in her chair, trying to keep both of the figures in her sight, but her wand tip, Harry noticed, was pointing at Dumbledore, not at the figure advancing on him.

 

“It’s time to end this, Tom,” said the skeletal figure in an almost conversational tone as it advanced slowly down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, both his hands raised in a placating gesture, his glowing red eyes fixed on the figure sitting in Dumbledore’s chair.

 

“Did he say Tom?” asked Ron blankly.  “Isn’t he Tom?”

 

“How did you find me?” hissed Dumbledore, anger blazing in his eyes.  “The befuddlement charm should have kept you confused for months.”

 

“I have my ways, Tom,” said the hooded figure tersely.

 

“Voldemort’s real name is Tom Riddle,” said Hermione, her forehead creased in confusion.  “Why is  Voldemort calling Dumbledore Tom?”

 

“That’s not Dumbledore,” said Harry quietly.

 

“We weren’t certain who exactly it was until just now,” added Ginny.  She was deathly pale, but her eyes were glittering strangely.

 

“Does this have anything to do with the lights you saw?”  asked Ron, looking from the skeletal figure to Dumbledore’s familiar form and back again.

 

“He hasn’t been himself,” said Harry, not taking his eyes off of the advancing figures.

 

“Professors Snape and McGonagall think something must have happened that night, something that no one else could detect, but that didn’t threaten Dumbledore’s life because his Elementals would have intervened.”

 

“Oh my God!” said Neville in a hushed voice, a look of mingled horror and comprehension dawning on his face as he looked back and forth from Voldemort to Dumbledore.  “He used a switching spell!” Neville’s voice was raspy and, for some odd reason, he had clapped his hands over his ears.

 

Harry ignored them all.  He was watching the advancing figure intently, his eyes narrowed.  So focused was he that the rest of the Great Hall might just as well have ceased to exist; every nerve vibrating to the point that even Ginny’s ever present calming influence had absolutely no effect on him. He could just detect (thought he doubted anyone else except Ginny had noticed) that there was a halo of sparkles around the figures of both Voldemort and Dumbledore, sparkles that betrayed the presence of their respective elementals.

 

Students nearest the teacher’s table, sensing a confrontation, were hastily retreating.  Even the teachers (with the exception of Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid) had fallen back.  Most — teachers and students — looked horror struck.  McGonagall sat rigidly on her seat, her eyebrows contracted to their fullest extent. She looked hawk-like, suddenly cold as ice and competent as hell. Snape looked calculating, and Hagrid (who was tensed like a predator about to spring, his great hands balled into massive fists, his barrel-like chest heaving in anticipation of a fight) looked furious.

 

“Leave it to me, Hagrid,” said the figure of Voldemort, glancing sharply up at Hagrid.

 

“No, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore’s figure in a soft, deadly voice.  “Leave it to me!  Expeliarmus!” shouted Dumbledore, leveling his wand at the nightmare vision before him.

 

The Voldemort figure threw back his head and laughed, not the high cruel laugh, which Harry always associated with him, but a congenial laugh, full of warmth and amusement.  A laugh Harry knew instinctively belonged to the Headmaster.

 

“Do you really think I come armed with conventional weapons Tom?” he asked casually as if commenting on the weather.

 

“Hold him!” commanded the figure of Voldemort, and Harry immediately saw four bolts of scarlet light dart forward.  Dumbledore’s form smiled a thin, cold smile, lifted his hand, and four green bolts met the red halfway between the pair, head on.  The resulting blast knocked those nearest off their feet.  Suddenly great writhing shadows of green and scarlet, shadows that stretched from ceiling to floor, were grappling with each other.  Ear splitting shrieks rent the air, causing most everyone to clap their hands over their ears.

 

More bolts then, bolts of gold and blue this time, radiated outward from the two forms still facing each other and suddenly the hall was filled not only with writhing shadows, but with a swirling vortex of air, and then the very ground beneath them began to shake.

Those students and teachers who had not been thrown to the floor were now cowering beneath tables and benches, or pressed against the stone walls, clinging to one another in terror. Ron and Hermione, their arms wrapped around each other and looking very windswept, were still standing.  They were watching in amazement as the elements gathered themselves together for a final struggle.

 

Ginny too was standing.  Her cool smooth hand was clasping Harry’s, trembling slightly in his viselike grip.  When he looked down at her, he noticed with a start that she wasn’t watching the phenomenal clash of wills manifesting before them, but at him.  What was more, tears were streaming down her face, but when her eyes met his she managed a dazzling smile.

 

“It is time, Harry,” she whispered.  Her voice, though not audible in the vortex of sound and light around them, was crystal clear in his mind.

 

He glanced up and saw to his surprise that Neville too was watching him and not the battling wizards before them.  When he caught his eye, Neville grinned and nodded, giving Harry the thumbs up.

 

“I call forth fire,” whispered Harry, unheard by anyone, unnoticed by anyone except Neville and Ginny.  Six salamanders popped into view in front of him.  “I call forth air,” he called, and at once the chiming Wind Sprites joined the salamanders.

 

Neville’s eyes were huge.  He was staring at the manifesting elementals in awe.

 

“I call forth water,” Harry intoned, adding the four Water Demons to his ranks.

“I call forth earth,” he finished, and stooped to run his fingers through the thick black fur of the Earth Spirits’ pelts.  They purred gently at his touch.

 

Harry glanced around at his elementals, looking each of them in the eye as he came to it, directing them with a thought, receiving a nod from each and then, in a burst of flame, Fawkes the phoenix appeared, piping his weird song to the ceiling, Prometheus was just behind him.  Prometheus came to Harry at once, alighting gently on his shoulder, but Fawkes circled the great hall once, taking in the entire scene before swooping towards the battling pair.

 

“Fawkes, no!” Harry shouted as Fawkes made to swoop toward the maelstrom of light and sound.

 

It wasn’t possible that Fawkes could have heard him over all the noise, but then why had the phoenix paused in mid-swoop, turning its liquid black eyes on Harry as if asking for a reason why it shouldn’t help?

 

“It’s time to end this, Fawkes,” said Harry softly, directing his thoughts towards the gorgeous bird before him.

 

Fawkes made an odd sort of chirruping sound before fluttering down on the table next to Harry, looking very sad, but resigned.

 

“It is time!” repeated Ginny, louder this time. 

 

The hooded figure’s Earth and Air elementals were holding steady against Dumbledore’s, but the Dumbledore figure’s Water Demons were slowly wearing down the other’s Fire Dwellers.  Voldemort’s skeletal form, which Harry now knew contained the consciousness of Professor Dumbledore was slumped on its knees, its hands outstretched, feeble sparks of mage-fire flickering at its fingertips.  And then it crumbled in a heap and lay quite still.

 

Fawkes twitched, but stayed put.

 

Harry turned his face into Prometheus’s silken feathers.

 

“Stay, Pro,” he directed.  “Stay with Ginny.”

 

Prometheus uttered a sad sort of trill, but obediently transferred himself to Ginny’s shoulder, all the time keeping Harry fixed with his reproachful gaze.

 

IT IS TIME!” said Ginny again in a ringing, power-filled voice that reverberated throughout the room and quite suddenly the entire hall went completely silent.  Everyone had turned to look at her, but it was Harry who caught their eye. 

 

He was moving even as Ginny spoke her final words, the elementals he had called forth, while no longer visible, cast an aura of sparkling light around his advancing form as Harry strode purposefully toward the teacher’s table.  There would be people later, who in recounting the scene described him as glowing with power.

 

“Expelliarmus!” bellowed the man that nearly everyone still believed to be Professor Dumbledore.

 

Harry’s wand flew out of his outstretched hand and flew into Dumbledore’s waiting grasp.  There were murmurs and gasps from all over the Great Hall.

 

“What is he doing?

 

“Why did Dumbledore take Harry’s wand?”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Harry ignored them.  He barely blinked when his wand flew out of his hand.  It didn’t matter now.  The wand was just a toy, anyway; a prop for minds too unorganized to realize that the real magic was inside. 

 

“I have you now, Harry Potter,” said the Dumbledore figure, smiling broadly, waving his wand lazily at Harry. “No wand, no phoenix!” his laughter, cold, cruel and utterly chilling spiraled around the room.

 

“Potter!” Harry turned his head just in time to see Malfoy knock aside the arm of Theodore Nott as something white-hot barely missed his face.  Nott’s form shivered as Malfoy twisted his wand arm behind him, shivered and — changed. 

 

Where Theodore Nott had been standing a second ago, there was now a short wizard with watery eyes and a thin, rat-like nose.  Peter Pettigrew tossed Malfoy aside as if he weighed no more than a pillow, Harry could see the silvery gleam of his replacement hand, a gift from Voldemort, even through the darkness in the Hall.   A jet of green light shot out of Pettigrew’s wand, straight at Harry’s heart.

 

Harry raised a hand and gave an almost casual wave; a jet of green light left his palm — a Water Demon — and met Pettigrew’s curse halfway.  The light of Pettigrew’s spell stuttered and went out. 

 

Pettigrew stared at Harry, stunned.  He raised his wand again and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  Instead, his eyes went wide and he crumpled to the floor in a twitching heap.  Malfoy had hit him from behind with what looked like a stunning spell.

 

“You disappoint me, Mr. Malfoy,” said Dumbledore, his icy-blue gaze now fixed on Draco.  “Your father assured me that you would not interfere.”

 

“News to me,” said Draco coldly.

 

“He was a fine man, your father. A pity you are not more like him,” said the figure of Dumbledore almost sadly.

 

“Then its true!” whispered Malfoy, his wand dropping from limp fingers.  His already pale features blanched, till he looked as if he would pass out 

 

“And so ends the Malfoy line,” said Dumbledore’s form with a sneering smile.  “He outlived his usefulness, just as you have outlived yours.” He waved a hand in Malfoy’s direction.  Two green bolts, water demons, shot out of his hand.

 

“No!”  Harry’s own hand came up, two jets of green light met Dumbledore’s about four feet from Malfoy’s stunned face.  They clashed with a sound like Uncle Vernon’s bug light going full tilt on a summer’s evening, knocking Malfoy back onto the floor.  For a full minute the shapes strained for control, but neither found purchase, they were evenly met.

 

Dumbledore’s confident smile, or rather, Voldemort’s cold smile on Dumbledore’s face, faded somewhat. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to be met with a force equal to his own.

 

Harry could hear voices all around them.

 

“Those looked like snakes!”

 

“Why is Harry fighting Dumbledore?”

 

“Isn’t he apprenticing with him?”

 

“Must be really advanced magic.”

 

“You mean Dark Magic — he didn’t use a wand!”

 

“So, Harry Potter,” said Dumbledore’s figure silkily, a coldness to his words that Harry had never heard in the real Dumbledore’s voice.  “You have been busy I see.”

 

“Like you, Tom,” said Harry calmly, forcing himself to stare directly into those cool blue eyes. “I am a man of many hidden talents.”

 

The cool blue eyes narrowed somewhat.  Harry swallowed, hard, then reminded himself that this wasn’t Dumbledore.  He didn’t care how real the body appeared. Dumbledore would never have attacked a student.

 

“We shall see.” 

 

The clash, when it came, was beyond comprehension.  Their evenly matched Earth Spirits kept up a continual trembling and shifting of the ground, which caused the dust of centuries to sift down from the rafters and from in between the ancient stones of the castle walls.  Their Water Demons writhed in pairs around the top of the Hall, grappling with each other.  The Fire Dwellers and Wind Sprites fought each other for the upper hand with a cacophony of sound and wind and blinding light.

 

This time it was Harry who had the upper hand.  With two more each of the Fire Dwellers and Air Sprites he lowly but surely began to force the Dumbledore figure’s elementals back.

 

“Hold him!” Harry commanded the Salamanders as the last of his enemy’s Elementals writhed and winked out.

 

Tom Riddle, currently residing in the body of Albus Dumbledore, gave a high, cold laugh.

 

“The switching spell was interwoven with a consciousness connection spell. If you kill this body I’ll simply take back what’s mine!” warned the high, cold voice issuing from the body now immobile under the smothering influence of the Salamanders.  The cool blue eyes glanced at the moaning figure of his own body on the floor before him.  “Your precious Headmaster dies either way.  You can’t win.”

 

“I already have!” said Harry coolly and, reaching beneath his robes, he drew out the Sword of Hope and trust it straight into Dumbledore’s body’s heart.

 

The beast in Dumbledore’s body shrieked and writhed, convulsing spasmodically as blood; rich, dark blood, life’s blood, spurted out of the wound, across Harry’s hands and dripped audibly onto the flagstone floor in the sudden silence of the Great Hall.

 

“Thank you, Harry,” breathed Dumbledore, the real Dumbledore from Voldemort’s twitching body.  It opened its eyes and looked at him through its scarlet eyes before adding, “and Harry,” it reached out a skeletal hand and gripped Harry’s wrist, “don’t be afraid to finish the job!”

 

Harry dropped to his knees and took the head of Voldemort’s body, the body he now knew was housing spirit that was Albus Dumbledore, and pulled it awkwardly onto his lap. A sort of spasm passed through Voldemort’s body then, and Harry knew, knew without being told what was happening.  He had been here before.  He’d been on the receiving end the last time when Voldemort had forcibly taken possession of his, Harry’s body on the floor of the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic, and now Voldemort was reclaiming his own body, driving Dumbledore’s spirit out of the last earthly haven he had.

 

“Now!” cried Dumbledore’s voice in the, sounding as if every word were costing him dearly.  “Do it now, Harry, before, before-”

 

The body began jerking and flailing, the eyes rolled back, showing their whites, then snapped into focus again on Harry’s face, this time the mouth curled into it’s evil, lipless smile, a smile that sent a chill through Harry’s heart, and, with his head cradled on Harry’s lap, Tom Riddle began to laugh.

 

With a gut-wrenching sob, Harry drew the sword of Hope, which was still clutched in his hand, cleanly across Voldemort’s body’s throat.  The resultant spray of arterial blood drenched the body, the entire front of the staff table, and Harry himself, although he didn’t really notice.  

 

Finish it, Harry,” came Ginny’s voice in his head.

 

He came back to himself with a start then, becoming suddenly, horribly aware of the fact that he was sitting in a pool of congealing blood, holding a dead corpse in his arms while he sobbed like a baby.

 

“I killed them,” whispered Harry out loud.

 

You did what had to be done, Harry,” came Ginny’s voice.

 

But I killed them, both of them!”

 

“You have to finish it, Harry.”

 

Harry held the sword up to the light, staring in fascination at the blood beading on it like so many rubies in the light cast by half a dozen lit wands; Voldemort’s blood, Dumbledore’s blood.  The prophecy had said nothing about killing both of them!  Nothing!

 

Harry!” Ginny’s voice sounded desperate.

 

But Harry was shaking his head.  Killing Voldemort?  Yes.  That he had been prepared to do, regardless of how unwillingly.  He knew that it was his fate and that the fate of hundreds of others rested on his doing so. He could live with that, but Dumbledore . . .his mentor . . .his friend. . .?

 

It’s over, Ginny,” he whispered in his mind, gazing sadly at the bloodstained sword, turning it over and over in his hands.  “Just remember, Ginny, that I’ll love you, always.”

 

“No!” screamed Ginny out loud as Harry took the hilt of the sword in both his hands and drove the blade deep into his own chest; or he would have if Neville hadn’t wrenched it out of his hands at the last minute.

 

“Finish it, you great prat!” said Neville angrily, slapping Harry across the face with the flat of his hand.

 

Harry felt his lip split.  He put out his tongue and tasted fresh blood, his own blood.  He shook his head slightly as if to clear it, and met Neville’s gaze.

 

Neville was smiling in a grim, satisfied sort of way.

“You’re really going to give that up for a pair of corpses?” said Neville, nodding at Ginny, who was standing alone where Harry had left her.  She looked pale and frightened, but still breathtakingly beautiful, even in the dim light of a hundred wands. The faint golden glow of Prometheus’s magic shone about her like a nimbus and Harry felt his breath catch in his chest.  “What are you, completely brain dead?” snapped Neville. “Get a grip, man!”

 

Harry blinked at Neville.  Seemingly of it’s own accord, a smile crept across his face. He could feel it tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Save my soul, eh Neville?” he said quietly, his eyebrows raised.  “I guess I should thank you.”

 

“Yeah, well, I always knew you were an idiot,” said Neville, holding out a hand and helping Harry to his feet.  “You know what you have to do now,” he added, keeping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

 

Yes.  Harry knew.  He closed his eyes and let his Mage-Fire well up inside him; more terrible and powerful than ever before in his rage and despair.  When he finally opened his eyes, the Great Hall was pulsing with energy: his energy, his Mage-Fire.  The silence that met his ears was absolute.  Not a single soul moved or spoke, but the eyes!  He could feel eyes on him, hundreds of them, watching in amazement as he pulsed with what must seem to them to be an otherworldly light.

 

Somehow he knew what he had to do.  Without knowing why, he reached out his hands, placing one on Dumbledore’s body’s head, the other on Voldemort’s.  The bolts of mage-fire emanating from his fingertips wrapped itself around the prone forms, twining the three of them together in a cocoon of multi-hued light.

 

Harry glanced up at the teacher’s table and saw Snape looking back at him, an odd sort of triumphant look in his eyes and a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  Beside Snape, Professor McGonagall, too, was smiling grimly.  When Harry met her eyes she gave him the smallest of nods.

 

You know what you have to do, Harry,” came Ginny’s voice in his head. He could feel her awe and shock mingled with relief and a deep, penetrating fear for him.

 

Yes.  He knew what he had to do now, and it scared him to the depths of his soul.

 

I’ve never gone without you, Ginny,” said Harry desperately.

 

Remember what you said to me in my garden, Harry,” said Ginny softly.

 

“You’ll never be alone again,” they whispered out loud in unison, and somehow, their whispered words echoed and reechoed around the room as, in a burst of light, Harry, Voldemort and Dumbledore disappeared.

 

*     *     *

 

 

The swirling white mists churned and riled around the three of them.  Forms appeared and disappeared.  Faces leered, eyes staring, arms reaching.  Harry fought a distinct queasiness as he spun, and then his knees buckled as seemingly solid ground materialized under his feet.  Then there was a hand under his elbow, helping him to his feet.  He stood shakily, and looked around warily.

 

Dumbledore, spirit and body once more united, (or at least the form of his body Harry reminded himself) was standing beside him, a fatherly arm around his shoulder.  It was he who had helped him to his feet.

 

“Professor-” began Harry. He swallowed hard and then tried again.  “I - I’m so sorry!”  His voice cracked, tears welling up in his eyes as he met Dumbledore’s piercingly intense gaze.

 

Dumbledore pulled him into his arms, holding Harry tightly as Harry sobbed against his shoulder, dampening Dumbledore’s beard with his tears.

 

“It had to be done, Harry,” said Dumbledore at last, now holding Harry at arm’s length so that he could see his face.  “There was no other way!”

 

He pulled a voluminous handkerchief out of an inside pocket of his robes and handed it to Harry.  With an effort, Harry brought his sobs under control, wiping furiously at his streaming eyes.

 

“Damn,” Harry said finally with an attempt at humor, “I think I’ve cried more today than in the rest of my life to date.”  He made as if to hand the handkerchief back to Dumbledore.

 

“Please, keep it,” said Dumbledore, chuckling appreciatively.  “I don’t think I’ll need it here.”  He looked around at the mists surrounding them.  “It’s not as bad as you might think, Harry,” he said quietly.  “I won’t be alone after all, and as you know I’ve wanted to come for quite some time.”

 

“Oh I know you’ll be O.K.,” said Harry, shrugging slightly.  “It’s us that I’m worried about.”  He looked up at Dumbledore, drinking in his features as if trying to memorize them.  “How will we get on without you, sir?”

 

Dumbledore smiled amusedly.  “You’ll do just fine, Harry.  As for the others,” he shrugged and gave Harry a small, lopsided smile that reminded Harry forcibly of Neville, “They have you now.”

 

Harry grimaced.

 

“I’m prouder of you than I can say, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly, a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “You’ve shouldered more responsibility than many wizards twice your age and have faced more trials than most do in their lifetimes.”  He sighed heavily, and gazed down at the bodily form of Tom Riddle lying at their feet.  “And now, there is only one more thing that needs to be done.”

 

Harry looked at the form with distaste.

 

“I suppose I’d better get to it then,” he said, shuddering slightly at the thought of what he had to do.

 

“That which does not kill us, makes us stronger Harry,” said Dumbledore softly.

 

“Excellent advice from a wizard who’s already dead!” Harry retorted, choking back the manic impulse to laugh.

 

Dumbledore smiled with real amusement.

 

“Best do it now, Harry, before he gains his full faculties here, in this place.  The only reason he is still unconscious is because he had convinced himself that there was nothing after death, that death was the end.  His spirit will come about eventually.”

 

Harry shuddered.

 

“Thank you, Professor,” he said finally, looking Dumbledore in the eye.  “Thank you, for everything.”

 

Dumbledore smiled down at him.

 

“No, Harry, thank you.”

 

Harry turned then to the prone figure of Voldemort beside him and laid both of his hands on its head.  He reached in with his awareness; searching, probing, and suddenly found himself locked once again in the coils of a creature with merciless red eyes, a creature desperate to avoid death at all costs.

 

“You think to hold me?” snarled Voldemort’s high, cold voice.

 

The coils tightened around Harry’s mind, but he shook them off as if they were made of nothing but tissue paper.

 

“You think not?” said Harry, maintaining a calm detachment.

 

No man can hold me, Harry Potter.  I can not die!” his vertically slit eyes snapped open, boring into Harry’s own.

 

“Bad news mate, you’re already dead,” said Harry dryly. “Look around you if you don’t believe me.  Ever seen anyplace like this, even when you were just shadow and vapor?”

 

Voldemort’s cold gaze ran about their surroundings, taking in the roiling mists and Dumbledore, standing a little ways away, whole and in full control of his faculties. He looked momentarily dumbfounded, but collected himself quickly enough.

 

“You may have killed my body but I am still here!  I will find another body, I will create another or yours, yes, yours would do until I can collect the ingredients-”

 

“Save your breath,” said Harry sharply, and then chuckled at his own choice of words.  He could feel Tom Riddle’s desperate struggle to escape from his hold, but refused to loosen his mind’s grip.  “It’s over Tom.  Do you hear me?  Over!  There will be no returning to a body, yours or anyone else’s, and I’m afraid that I can’t allow your spirit to run free as it did before.  You managed to come back once.  You could probably do it again, given time.”

 

“I will do it again, fool!” shrieked Voldemort.

 

Harry shook his head.

 

“I don’t think so,” he said calmly and then, drawing up all his powers of Occlumency and Legilimency, he forced himself to look directly into the blood red gaze of the creature before him.  Slowly, carefully, he began peeling back the layers of Voldemort’s mind.

 

“No!”

 

“Don’t fight it, Tom,” advised Harry, tightening his grip on the flailing spirit.

 

“How dare you!” it roared.

 

But Harry ignored him.  Layer by layer he penetrated years of ambitious action, despair, loathing, loneliness, anger, hatred and fear so intense it licked Harry’s mind with a searing, white-hot heat.  And that, Harry realized with a blinding flash of comprehension, that was Tom Riddle’s driving factor; fear.

 

Fear (as a child) of being alone, of not being liked or accepted by the other children in the orphanage because he was different; because he didn’t fit in; fear of not fitting in at Hogwarts because of who his father had been.  Fear (now driven by a burning desire for revenge) of not being the best at everything, fear that those who had come to accept him would discover his Muggle background and not like him anymore; fear of being caught as he stirred the ancient horror in the Chamber of Secrets; fear of failure (for it had been the first time he had used an unforgivable curse) when at the age of sixteen he had killed his father and grandparents.  Fear (now tinged by ambition) of Dumbledore’s power, and Tom’s own driving desire to take Dumbledore’s place as the greatest Sorcerer alive, to prove that even someone of mixed parentage could rise to the heights of power.

 

Because of his fear of being controlled, he had learned to control.  Because of his fear of loosing control (once he had achieved it) he learned to be cruel and to kill.  And, underlying everything, like a great, pulsing boil, was the fear of ceasing to exist, like his mother had, the one person who had ever loved him; fear of his own inevitable death.  It was this fear that had driven him to delve deeper and ever deeper into the Dark Arts for overlooked spells and ancient rituals that might allow him to defeat his greatest enemy; the enemy that could, in one instant, take away everything he had, everything he had become; Death.

“Let it go, Tom,” said Harry softly, gently, as if speaking to a small child.

 

“I can’t” said Voldemort, his voice cracking, no longer high and cruel, but small and desperate.  “It’s all I have!”

 

Harry could feel the tears prickling the backs of his own eyelids.

 

Maybe I can help, Harry.”  It was Ginny.  With him as always, if not in body, then at least in mind.

 

Harry pulled back his consciousness just enough to allow her access, while marinating enough control to keep Voldemort’s essence from slipping out of his grasp.

 

Through his awareness of her, he could feel her gentle touch as she penetrated the layers as he had, the layers of anger and fear, spite, jealously and hatred in which the handsome, intelligent boy who had once been Tom Riddle had wrapped himself.  She seemed to know what she was looking for, and he realized, quite suddenly, that if anyone were to know what made Tom Riddle tick, it would be Ginny.  No one else on earth had ever played host to Tom Riddle’s mind and lived to tell the tale.

 

Her concentration paid off, for there, at the very depths of his core, was a frightened little boy, cowering under a flimsy blanket of pride, scared to death of being alone in the darkness of an unpredictable future.

 

“No!” wailed the boy Tom as Ginny gently prised his hands from over his eyes.  “No!  Please don’t!  It’s all I have!”

 

Look Tom,” she said softly, and through her awareness of what Tom Riddle was feeling Harry could see himself as Tom saw him in this place.  He was merely a man-shaped form, pulsating with the multi-hued lights of his mage-fire, but dazzling in the self-inflicted darkness Tom Riddle wore like a cloak about his soul.

 

Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered into the boy Tom’s ear.

 

The boy Tom nodded reluctantly.

 

Let the fear go, Tom,” she coaxed.  “Let it go and you’ll never be alone again.

 

Harry held out his hand and felt a small, trembling one slip into his.  With a gut-wrenching sensation, Harry felt the awareness that had been Tom Riddle slip inside himself, insinuating itself into his very being.  With all his might Harry fought the impulse to resist the intrusion, watching warily as the Dark Lord’s essence permeated his entire being; every thought, every sinew, every cell.

 

The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over again as Harry became completely and totally aware of Tom Riddle.  His every word, thought and action was understood, and, with this realization, came a deep, penetrating sadness as Harry saw, truly saw what Tom Riddle, with his boundless talent and persistence might have become.

 

Harry was sobbing now; great racking sobs that tore his throat and threatened to rend his very heart in two.  If things had only gone differently for Tom, what marvelous thing he could have done with his life!  He saw the possibilities and cried for what might have been.

 

“And if things had gone just a bit differently, Harry Potter, you could have turned out like me,” whispered the last vestiges of what had been, until this very moment, the most powerful Dark wizard the world had ever seen.

 

“But I didn’t,” he replied to the voice.

 

“No,” it admitted.

 

“And that, my friend, has made all the difference,” Harry whispered.

 

“Tennyson.  Yes,” said the voice.  Then, with a sigh like the wind through the trees, Harry felt the last of the Dark Lord’s essence relax into his own body and mind, rendered harmless now by the power of understanding.

 

With a shudder he came to himself and watched, Dumbledore’s arm still around his shoulder, as the bodily form of Lord Voldemort, shimmered and disappeared.

 

“It is done, Harry,” said Dumbledore softly, almost reverently.

 

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  But he knew, even as he closed his eyes and willed himself to return to his own body and the Great Hall, that he would carry forever within him a sadness for what might have been, and a shadow of the beast that had existed, both of which had been imprinted on his very soul.

 

*     *     *

 

 

Harry!” It was Ginny; Ginny’s voice in his mind, her voice filling his ears.  “Harry, can you hear me?”

 

“Is he O.K., Ginny?”

 

That was Ron, thought Harry.  Ron’s voice was coming from behind Ginny; he sounded very scared.

 

“He’s still breathing.”

 

That was Neville’s voice, Harry’s mind informed him.  It sounded as if he were kneeling on Harry’s left hand side. I’ll have to thank him I guess, at least I’m still alive.

 

“He can hear us,” said Ginny quietly.  “I can feel him, he’s here.”

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s smooth cool hands on his face, smoothing back his hair.  He could feel her hair as it brushed against his lips and cheeks.  She must be leaning over him.

 

“Harry?” came Hermione’s voice tentatively.  She was kneeling on Harry’s other side, and, from the feel of it, was clutching his hand.  “Harry, please wake up!”

 

Why couldn’t he open his eyes?  I don’t want to see, said a small, truthful voice in his head.  I don’t want to see what I did.

 

“You only did what you had to do,” said Ginny softly.  She leaned down then and Harry could feel her lips brush his.

 

Ginny made as if to pull away, but Harry reached up quickly, catching her to him and kissing her deeply, desperately, and upside down.

 

“He’s fine!” came Luna’s voice dismissively from somewhere behind Neville.  There was a smile in his voice.

 

“”Of course he’s not!” said a new voice.  This one belonged to Professor McGonagall.  “You’ve sent the rest away, Severus?” she said sharply.

 

“Everyone has been sent back to their dormitories,” came Snape’s voice.  “Excepting of course, those who would not leave,” he said, a touch of amusement in his tone.

 

Still refusing to open his eyes, Harry cleared his throat.

 

“Are, are they, are they-” he couldn’t bring himself to ask it, he just couldn’t.

 

“They’re dead, Harry,” said Hermione in a small, but determined voice.  “Both of them; Voldemort and Dumbledore.”

 

“It was a switching spell,” began Harry.  He was desperate for them to know, for them to understand. . .

 

“Paired quite effectively with a consciousness charm,” said Professor Flitwick’s voice squeakily from somewhere near McGonagall.  He sounded close to tears.

 

Harry wrenched his eyes open, struggling to sit up as he did so.

 

“So you know?” he asked desperately, reaching out and catching little Professor Flitwick by the front of his robes.  “You know why I, why I had to-” Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm himself, but failed spectacularly when his gaze fell on the bodies lying in their respective pools of congealing blood.

 

“Oh my God!” he whispered, tears streaming down his face now.  “I did, I killed them, it really happened!”  The sobs burst out of him.  There was no way to stop them.  He couldn’t stand it, he just couldn’t!

 

“Out of the way, you lot!” came Hagrid’s rough, growly voice.

 

He was beside Harry in an instant, and even kneeling down as he was he still towered over tiny Professor Flitwick.  He picked Harry up bodily, holding him against his great, barrel-like chest as if he were a baby. 

 

Harry had a sudden flash of memory.  He’d been here before, in Hagrid’s arms.  He’d been crying then too, and scared and covered with blood, just as he was now.

 

Hagrid didn’t try to console him.  He said no words of comfort.  He simply held Harry in his vast, muscular arms, rocking him back and forth until his sobs began to die away of their own accord.

 

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry finally, wiping his eyes on Hagrid’s waistcoat.

 

Hagrid leaned down and planted a scratchy, whiskery kiss on the top of Harry’s head.

 

“Don’t mention it,” he growled.  His voice sounded very gruff.  When Harry looked up into his face, he noticed with a start that there were tears leaking out of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes.

 

Hagrid stood Harry on his feet then and finally, Harry turned to look at the others.  They were there, all of them; the ones he cared for most; Hagrid on his knees, his eyes shining with tears, Professor McGonagall, very white about the lips, clutching her shaking hands together in front of her, Ron, looking stricken, on his knees beside Hermione whose eyes were red and puffy from crying.  Neville, his round friendly face now set and pale with Luna, her slightly protuberant eyes shining with concern, Malfoy, his jaw and fists clenched, eyes glistening as if he too were on the verge of tears, and even Snape, looking  paler than usual, his eyes glittering strangely in the light from their lit wands, and Ginny. Harry stared at her, drinking in every detail as if he’d never seen her quite properly before.  She met his eyes, and he could feel her inside of him, her calming, soothing presence a balm to his own raw and ragged spirit.  He held out his arms to her and, ignoring the blood, she came into them at once.

 

“Remember what Professor Dumbledore said, Harry,” she said softly, her voice muffled slightly against his chest.

 

“Which bit?” said Harry gruffly, not daring to say more just yet.

 

“There was no other way.”

 

Harry heard Hermione sniff loudly, and even Professor McGonagall choked back a small sort of sob.

 

“Ginny explained everything, Harry,” came Hermione’s quiet voice.

 

Harry turned to look at her.

 

“It had to happen,” she said, attempting a small smile.

 

“Indeed,” agreed tiny Professor Flitwick.  “The bonds inflicted in a spell convoluted in such a way as this are such that the wizards involved were bound, intrinsically to one another.  You could not have harmed, or helped one without harming or helping the other.”

 

“Knowing the Dark Lord as I have,” said Snape smoothly, “I am certain that he would have arranged matters so that his consciousness would prevail, regardless of which body he was in, or which one died.”

 

“But they both died,” said McGonagall in a flat, hallow sort of tone.  “Does that mean that we’re back where he started?  That he’s floating around somewhere, biding his time . . .?”

“No,” said Harry, cutting across her firmly.  “You won’t have to worry about Tom Riddle coming back again, in any form, ever again.”

 

They were all staring at him now.

 

“So when Ginny says that he’s dead . . .” began Ron.

 

“I used my Mage-Fire,” said Harry dully.  “I - I forced myself into his mind, Riddle’s mind, before his spirit could come to itself while we were beyond.  I - I absorbed him.”

 

Absorbed him?” said Professor McGonagall incredulously.

 

“I - I used Legilimency, to get into his head,” said Harry, looking cornerwise at Professor Snape.  “I saw everything.  I saw why he has become what he is, or was rather.  I understood.  But he resisted.  He held onto his fear.”  Harry swallowed dryly then whispered.  “He said it was all he had left.”

 

Harry glanced at Ginny, who gave him the smallest of nods.

 

“So, through our mind link, Ginny took away his fear,” Harry finished.

 

“Are you saying that he, that the Dark Lord submitted to you?” said Snape thickly.

 

“After Ginny had removed the fear, yeah,” said Harry, looking anywhere but at Snape’s face.  “I guess he did.”

 

“So, Potter, when you say that you absorbed him,” began Professor McGonagall in a rather faint voice.

 

“I’m saying that he’s here,” said Harry, touching his chest and then his head.  “He’s a part of me now.”

 

“But-” stammered Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed.

 

“He’s not possessing me,” said Harry.  “It’s more like, between Ginny and myself, we rendered him harmless.  And then, well, then I just-” he shrugged broadly.  “I just absorbed him, well, his energy rather, sort of like drinking a glass of water.  Drinking the water doesn’t turn you into a glass of water, the water becomes a part of you.”

 

“Does that mean-” began Snape, but Harry intuited him.

 

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said.  “I call forth fire,” he said softly.  Eight Salamanders popped out of thin air.

 

Harry blinked.  Eight?  Then it was true!

 

“I call forth air.”  Eight Wind Sprites chimed into view.

 

Professor Flitwick gasped.

 

“I call forth water.”

 

Eight Water Demons now hung in the air beside the Sprites and the Salamanders.

 

“I call forth Earth,” said Harry finally, and four Earth Spirits joined the others.

 

Everyone stared at the assembled elementals until, uncalled for and un-tasked, they blinked out of existence.

 

“How extraordinary!” said Professor Flitwick softly.

 

“I guess Earth is still my weakest element,” said Harry, managing a small smile.

 

“Weakest!” said Professor McGonagall faintly.  Her eyebrows seemed in danger of leaping off her face.

 

“If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it!” said Snape softly.

 

“Is that good?” asked Hermione tentatively.  “I mean, I’m assuming that it’s difficult magic, conjuring elementals, but are this many unusual?”

 

“Let me put it this way,” said Snape.  “Dumbledore was considered by most as the most powerful wizard of our age, followed closely by the Dark Lord.  Neither of them, to my knowledge, was ever able to conjure more than ten elementals apiece.”

 

“And Harry just conjured twenty-eight,” said Neville in a hollow sort of voice.

 

A brief silence followed this pronouncement.

 

“What does that mean, exactly?” said Ron shakily.

 

What it means,” answered Ginny, her voice taking on the tone and timbre Harry associated with the Power that occasionally chose to speak through her.  “Is that now the reign of Darkness has ended.  A new hope has arisen from the ashes of despair; a new hope with the power to change the world.”

 

She blinked.  Then, looking directly at Harry, gave him such a dazzling smile that his breath caught in his throat and there was nothing for it but to fold her in his arms even as Fawkes and Prometheus raised their voices in an unearthly burst of music so vivid and alive that Harry’s heart couldn’t help but beat more hopefully in reply.

 

Back to index


Chapter 28: FACING FUTURE

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FACING FUTURE

 

 

 

“Very good indeed, Mr. Potter,” said little Professor Tofty shakily as Harry concluded his transfiguration presentation.

 

Harry had, with judicious use of his elementals and his own inner magic, (cleverly disguised as original combinations of wand movements) taken Professor Tofty and the rest of those testing in the Great Hall, on an abbreviated World tour.  He had achieved this by changing the Great Hall’s interior into representations of some of the great tourist attractions of several countries in quick succession; culminating in transfiguring the staff table and chairs into the instantly recognizable onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral in St. Petersburg, which had, as a finale, erupted into full-grown dragons which had clashed amidst flame bursts in mid air and disappeared in a shower of multi-hued snowflakes.

Professor Tofty waited until the other students (most of them still wide-eyed with wonder) had filed out, before taking Harry into a side room.

 

“I have heard, Mr. Potter, that you have mastered the conjuring of Mage-Fire?” he asked hopefully.

 

Harry grinned, and nodded.

 

“You realize of course, that I can not mention it in your scores, seeing as that it has always been associated with the Dark Arts - which is ridiculous in my view - but personally, I would love to see. . .”

 

His voice trailed off as Harry called forth his multi-hued Mage-Fire and formed a pulsating sphere with the bolts issuing from his hands.  He then reached inside it and pulled out a tiny, gray, tiger-striped kitten, which he handed to Professor Tofty with a broad smile.

 

“Something to remember me by, Professor,” he said softly.  “It will not disappear.”.  Then, without another word, Harry turned and left the room.

 

*     *     *

 

 

“How’d it go?” Ron asked him later that evening as they all sat down to supper.

 

It was Friday, two weeks after the eventful evening that had claimed the lives of the two greatest wizards of the age to date.  Harry and the other seventh years had spent the last two weeks sitting for their N.E.W.T. exams, written and practical.  Transfiguration had been the last of the lot.

 

“As well as can be expected I guess,” said Harry, shrugging. 

He glanced up at the staff table, and couldn’t suppress a grin when he saw the gray, tiger-striped kitten calmly drinking cream from a saucer beside Professor Tofty’s plate.

 

Parvati, who had been testing with Professor Marchbanks in the Great Hall when Harry had given his presentation, snorted.

 

As well as can be expected?” she said incredulously.  “That was phenomenal Harry!  I’ve never seen anything like it!” And she went off into a detailed account of Harry’s presentation and the reaction of the other students and teachers who had been testing at the time.

 

Harry grinned, recalling Professor Tofty’s expression when Harry had handed him the kitten created from an energy sphere.  The reaction had been the same in all of his tests:  utter amazement.

 

“You apprenticed with Dumbledore?” Professor Marchbanks had asked when Harry had completed his Defense Against the Dark Arts presentation.

 

Harry had nodded, knowing intuitively what she was going to ask.

 

“Then you will have mastered the art of conjuring elementals,” she had said, lowering her already whispery voice so that only Harry could hear her.  “Nicholas was well-known for it.  I knew him well.”

 

Harry had given her a small smile and had motioned her into the same chamber where he had later created Professor Tofty’s kitten. 

 

The look on Madam Marchbanks’ face when she’d seen the twenty-eight elementals sparkling in the air before them had been payment enough for Harry.

 

“I’d heard of them, of course,” she’d said in awe.  “One does hear things you know. But I never expected to actually get to see them!”

 

The short, plump witch who had overseen Care of Magical Creatures had been delighted with Prometheus and had been totally astounded when Harry had told her that the egg had been a gift from Fawkes.

 

As if in confirmation of Harry’s story, Fawkes had chosen that very moment to appear in a burst of flame, and had fluttered gently down to perch opposite Prometheus on Harry’s other shoulder.

 

“Doesn’t - doesn’t he belong to Albus Dumbledore?” she’d asked hesitantly.

 

Harry had reached up to stroke Fawkes’ gorgeous red and gold plumage.  He received, in return, a brief burst of phoenix song.

 

“He did,” Harry had said softly.  “He seems to have adopted me though.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Potter, I - I’m so sorry!” she’d said, looking stricken.  “I didn’t mean-”

 

It’s alright,” Harry had said softly, giving her a reassuring smile.  “Really, I’m not offended or anything.”

 

“It - it must be difficult for you.”

 

Harry had nodded, thanked her for her time, and had headed back up to the castle.

It had been difficult: very difficult.  Living with the knowledge of what he had done, of what he was responsible for, was probably the most difficult thing Harry had ever attempted.

 

The despair he’d felt so often since that evening two weeks ago overcame him once again as he and the other Gryffindors headed upstairs to the common room after supper.  He closed his eyes for a moment, holding tightly to the railing of the marble staircase to avoid loosing his balance and tried to gather enough courage to continue even climbing the stairs. 

 

And then the despair had gone, and had to smile as he felt Ginny’s soothing presence, as usual, relieving him of the worst of his overwhelming guilt and depression.

 

God I love you, Ginevra Potter!”

 

He opened his eyes.  She was waiting for him at the top of the white marble steps.  Her glossy red hair more vibrant than ever under the caressing hand of the sun which streamed into the Entry Hall from doors which had been thrown open to let in the sultry late summer afternoon air.

 

Harry stopped dead, staring up at her in awe.  She was so beautiful!  So graceful!  So intelligent!  Why me? He though desperately, then grabbed the staircase railing again as an overpowering vertigo overcame him.  Quite suddenly he was not only aware of Ginny’s thoughts, their shared awareness, but was seeing himself through Ginny’s eyes, and from her perspective at the top of the staircase.

 

The man at the bottom of the steps carried himself well.  His broad shoulders filled out his robes nicely and his jet-black hair was swept back from his face, revealing a thin, lightning-bolt shaped scar and emerald green eyes so vivid and intense that they seemed to be able to look into her very soul:  eyes that had held her spirit captive since she’d first looked into them on that September morning nearly seven years ago.

 

What happened to the skinny, messy-haired, tongue-tied boy? Harry asked her, unwilling to accept what she was seeing even though he saw a version of what she was seeing every morning when he looked in the mirror.  What had happened to the anger-filled kid who had so recklessly dashed off to play the hero and had gotten Sirius killed in the process?  Where was the angry teenager who had nearly bitten everyone’s heads off because he didn’t know where he belonged in the world?  Where was the arrogant idiot who had imagined himself wearing robes with his name stenciled on the back and winning the World Cup for England?

 

He grew up, Harry, came Ginny’s soft voice in his head.  She was smiling slightly as Harry’s perspective snapped back to his own view with another gut-wrenching lurch.  In that split second he was back at the bottom of the staircase, staring up at Ginny, where she stood smiling down at him, in the next he had bolted to the top of the steps and had her in his arms for real and was kissing her deeply, shivering in pleasure at the feel of her fingers tangled in his hair, loosing himself in the scent of citrus and sandalwood, totally aware of every curve and contour of her body as it pressed against his and the way her body molded itself to his so perfectly, and yet he was totally oblivious to the catcalls and whistles coming from other students on their way back to their common rooms.

 

“I just got a letter from mum,” Ginny told him, grinning slightly as they broke apart a few minutes later.

 

“Anything interesting?” he asked, warily eyeing the envelope Ginny pulled out of her robes.

 

“Well, she says that Mathias and Shalinda have gotten the house and grounds in order already, and that neither Hermione nor myself is to worry our heads about the menu, since she has that all under control. She also wants to know when I’m going to get around to ordering my gown.”

 

Harry had to grin at that.  Ginny had been working on the design for her wedding dress since Christmas.  She was planning on having her Elementals create it for her, as they had with the gown she had worn to the Yule Ball, if she could only get the idea right in her mind first.  She’d already filled several sketchbooks with ideas.

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Yeah, Charlie and Tonks eloped,” said Ginny offhandedly, yet with an evil grin strangely reminiscent of the twins.

 

What?” asked Harry incredulously.

 

“Yeah!” said Ginny, still grinning madly.

 

Cool!”

 

“According to mum, Charlie’s note said that Tonks didn’t want to have to deal with a ceremony.”

 

“Sounds like Tonks alright.”

 

“And Charlie said that mum and dad had enough on their plates without worrying about another wedding.”

 

“If you weren’t their only daughter, I’d suggest doing the same,” said Harry, waggling his eyebrows at her.  It had been rather overwhelming, Mrs. Weasley had been sending daily owls to Ginny and Hermione asking their preferences about bridesmaids dresses and flowers and any number of other things to do with the wedding coming up in just two weeks time.

 

“I thought we already had?” said Ginny, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

 

Harry kissed her again.

 

“Have we found a new initiator yet?” he asked when they finally emerged a few minutes later.  His insides gave a twinge of guilt as he thought of Professor Dumbledore, who had originally agreed to initiate at his and Ron’s double wedding.

 

“How would you feel about Lupin doing the honors?” asked Ginny curiously.

 

Can he?” asked Harry.  “I mean, what about the warrant for his arrest, won’t he be taking a chance at being caught if he does something public like initiate a wedding?”

 

“The warrant has been rescinded,” said Ginny simply.  “Madam Bones saw to it.  She’s going to be a very strong Minister of Magic,” said Ginny thoughtfully.

 

It had been all over the newspapers a week ago.  Cornelius Fudge had resigned as Minister of Magic when the Department for Magical Law Enforcement (instead of letting the attack on their department deter them) had begun its inquiry in earnest into his part in the events of the last three years.  Madam Bones had been unanimously elected to the vacant post, and had already begun cleaning house with an aggressiveness that Mr. Weasley and Kingsley Shaklebolt reported as being quite refreshing.

 

“Look at this!” came Hermione’s excited voice from the entrance Hall below them.

Harry and Ginny both turned to face her.  She was quite pink in the face and, from the sparkle in her eyes, was very excited about something.  In her hands she held a copy of the Evening Prophet, which she was waving at them.  Harry took it from her and read the headlines.

 

DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL SECURITY AND HOME PROTECTION TO BE DISMANTLED.

 

“In a surprise announcement, Amelia Bones, newly elected Minister of Magic, told reports today that, due to recent events (namely the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) that the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection was no longer necessary and would be dismantled at once.  Allegations of corruption within the department have been rumored to play a part in the decision, but received no comment from Ministry officials.”

 

“I wonder where Ms. Shipton will find employment now,” said Ginny dryly, shooting a sideways look at Harry.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“Helga’s House of Pain is hiring,” he muttered.

 

“Who’s Ms. Shipton?” asked Hermione curiously.

 

“Who’s Helga?” said Ron, coming up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her waist.

 

“One of Crofton’s agents,” Harry replied to Hermione, turning away quickly to hide the color he could feel creeping up his neck.  The memory or what Angela Shipton and Crofton’s inquiry had done to him in the name of “security” still made Harry cringe with shame while at the same time bristling with anger.

 

“Helga is one of Crofton’s agents?” asked Ron, frowning slightly.

 

“No, Ms. Shipton is one of Crofton’s agents,” snapped Harry.

 

“That Veela woman who questioned you here at school?” asked Ron.

 

And at the Ministry,” muttered Harry in a barely audible voice.

 

“And she works for Helga’s House of Pain?” said Ron stupidly.

 

“Forget Helga!” roared Harry quite unexpectedly, causing several first year girls in the entry hall below them to look up in alarm.  “Helga’s got nothing to do with it!”

 

“But you said,” began Ron doggedly.

 

“It was an expression you prat!” said Ginny, struggling to keep a straight face.

 

“It’s not funny!” said Harry vehemently, glaring at Ginny now.

 

“Do you see me laughing?”

 

“I feel you wanting to laugh,” Harry retorted.

 

“But I’m not.”

 

Harry turned his back on them all, still fuming.

 

“It’s over with, Harry,” said Ginny softly.  He felt her arms slip around his waist as she rested her head on his back.  He could also feel her calm, soothing presence tucking in the frayed edges of his hatred and anger.  “Voldemort, Dumbledore, Crofton, the Inquiry, all of it.  It’s over.”

 

*     *     *

 

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley.”

 

“Professor.”  Harry acknowledged McGonagall with an inclination of his head.  There had been notes handed to him and Ginny at breakfast on the Saturday before they would be leaving Hogwarts for the last time. It requested that they meet Professor McGonagall in the Headmaster’s office at 10:00 a.m.

 

Harry looked curiously around the familiar circular room that had belonged to Professor Dumbledore for as long as Harry had known him.  It was exactly as he had left it, down to the silver machines on their spindly — legged tables and the Wizard’s Chessboard that still reflected the last move of the game Dumbledore and Flitwick (both master chess players) had been playing.  The game was only half-way completed, and Harry felt a sudden twinge when he realized that this particular game would never be completed.

 

What was different was the small group of people who had gathered in respectful silence around the fireplace.  Some he knew; tiny Professor Flitwick (who kept dabbing at his eyes with a voluminous handkerchief), Professor Snape (who stood half in the shadows, observing the people around him with glittering eyes), Hagrid (looking too big as usual, even though he wasn’t wearing his moleskin overcoat), Madam Pomfrey, Remus Lupin and, to Harry’s amazement, Bill, Fred and George Weasley, all of whom greeted Harry and Ginny heartily.

 

There were also a number of people he didn’t know, (although he thought that the tall fellow that he remembered as being the bartender at the Hog’s Head must be Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother, the resemblance was quite striking).  

 

“Ahem.”

 

The eyes of two dozen individuals swiveled to fix on the tiny figure seated behind Dumbledore’s desk.  It was Ragnock.  He looked quite resplendent in a neat (though rather old-fashioned) suit with a gray silk cravat.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, spreading his hands to include the entire room.  “If you would all take your seats, we will proceed with the reading of the will.”

 

Harry blinked.

 

Will? 

 

Last Wills and Testaments are recorded and kept at Gringotts. 

 

Harry turned his attention back to Ragnock, who was now shuffling through a sheaf of parchment.

 

“You have all been called here today because each of you is named a beneficiary in the estate of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.  Anyone who requests an official copy of the Will is welcome to see me after Albus has spoken.”

 

Spoken?” asked Harry in a choked voice before he could help himself.

 

“The deceased left a visual record of his wishes, which we will now view.”  From a case resting at his feet, Ragnock removed a small glass sphere that looked like the ones Harry had seen in the Prophecy Hall at the Department of Mysteries.  Ragnock placed the sphere on a small, wooden stand that stood on the desk in front of him.  Then, from his inside coat pocket, he produced a small silver instrument with a wickedly sharp looking instrument whose end resembled nothing so much as a corkscrew. 

 

Ragnock placed the tip of the instrument on the top of the sphere and gave it a sharp twist.  When he removed the instrument, a perfectly round piece of glass came away with it.  Almost instantly a slivery mist began pouring out of the globe.  It coalesced into the pearly-white image of the man Harry had last seen lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the Great Hall.  There was a sharp intake of breath from the people around him which died away instantly as the figure began to speak.

 

“Obviously, if you are viewing this, then I am no longer among you in the flesh,” began the figure of Dumbledore.  Harry felt his breath catch in his chest and was not surprised when Ginny’s hand tightened on his.  “I am certain that the circumstances of my demise were quite dramatic, seeing as that for the last year I have felt better physically than I have in fifty years.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.  Only last year, Ginny had taken it upon herself to give Dumbledore’s physical system a boost before death by natural causes could claim him.

 

“But the particulars of my death are not of concern.  For it is my desire to dispose of my accumulated belongings in the following manner.

 

“To my brother, Aberforth Dumbledore, the sum of 5,000 galleons and my entire collection of texts on animal husbandry.”

 

“To Filius Flitwick, my chess set as well as my entire collection of chess manuals.” 

 

“To Rubeus Hagrid . . .”

 

And on it went.  Hagrid received Dumbledore’s extensive collection of books on magical animals and enough money to retire if he had wanted to, Professor Snape several of the odd instruments and a collection of rare herbs and other magical ingredients.  Bill Weasley received a tidy sum of money earmarked for his studio, while Fred and George received a similar amount for “the care and keeping of the best joke merchandise I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter” as well as two large crates of hard-to-get items that Dumbledore thought would be of use in their shop.

 

“And to Miss Ginevra Weasley Potter,” there was a murmur of voices at this pronouncement, particularly from Ginny’s twin brothers who were all looking at her quizzically.  “All documents and journals and personal items in my possession which once belonged to Perenelle Flammel.”

 

There was a pause.  The pearly figure of Albus Dumbledore seemed to be attempting to collect its thoughts.  “As for the rest of my goods and property, I hereby name Mr. Harry James Potter to be my sole heir and beneficiary. They will be his to do with as he sees fit. Harry, if you speak to Ragnock, he will let you know exactly what this entails.  And no, Aberforth,” said the figure of Dumbledore abruptly, and Harry turned, surprised to find that Abberforth had indeed just opened his mouth as if to protest this turn of events.  “It is perfectly fair.  As you very well know, you long ago squandered your share of the Dumbledore legacy.  It is your own fault that the lady on which you squandered your inheritance did not appreciate your efforts and ate the tapestries before leaving you.”

 

There was muffled laughter from the twins and Hagrid’s beard seemed to be twitching as Aberforth shut his mouth again and sat down, looking sulky.

 

“Please don’t grieve for me my friends,” said the pearly Dumbledore, “I have been looking forward to this for a very long time.  In parting, let me say that it has been an honor to know you all.  Goodbye.”

 

The silvery figure hung in the air for a full minute before it began to dissipate, leaving at last only the topless glass sphere and more than one set of wet eyes.

 

*    *     *

 

An hour later Harry and Ginny left the Headmaster’s office.  Harry was carrying a leather pouch in which all the copies of the legal documents he had just signed, accepting the legacy Dumbledore had left him. 

 

“Why did he leave it all to me?” Harry  wondered, looking blankly at the pouch in his hand.  “I mean, he’s no relation to me — I know I was his apprentice Gin, but still . . .”

 

Ginny grinned and slipped an arm around his waist.  “You’re the closest thing to a son he ever had, Harry.  He trusts you.  He knows — knew — that you won’t abuse that trust.  You heard what he said about Aberforth,” she snickered.

 

Harry let out a snort.  He seemed to remember Professor Dumbledore once saying something about his brother to Hagrid, something about him practicing inappropriate charms on a goat, but he’d never thought he’d been serious . . .!

 

“Seems to be my luck lately,” said Harry, frowning at the pouch still clutched in his hand.  “Everyone’s naming me their heir.”

 

“Well, we know what to do with the money and property, don’t we?” said Ginny, kissing as they paused at the top of the marble steps.  Below them stood three Weasley men, two of them looking as if they would like a few words of explanation.

 

“We’ll have to swear them to secrecy,” Harry said, grinning as Bill looked up, caught his eye and winked conspiratorially.

 

“Do you think they can keep a secret?”

 

“For two weeks?  I don’t see why not.”

 

“Well, I still have dirt on them, I suppose I could hold them up for blackmail if they threaten to tell mum.”

 

“She’s going to find out anyway, Gin.”

 

“Yeah, but let her have her moment, Harry.  She’s in her element.”

 

Harry grinned.  She had a point.

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

That night was the leaving feast. Harry gazed moodily at the candle-lit scene before him, at the faces of his fellow seventh years, the pearlescent ghosts.  He felt as if he had lived ten years in the last ten months.  It was over.  It was all over.  It occurred to Harry that Hagrid had been right after all, that night that he’d come to collect Harry on the hut-on-the-rock, when he’d said that seven years at Hogwarts and Harry wouldn’t know himself.  The boy he had been definitely would not have recognized the man he had become.

 

His eyes fell on the empty golden Headmaster’s chair and he felt his breath catch in his chest.  If he had it all to do over again would he have done things the same? Could he have changed anything?  Or is this the way that it had to be?

 

Harry barely registered McGonagall’s end of term speech, but applauded with the rest when she announced, rather self-consciously, that the board of governors had unanimously elected herself as Headmistress and Professor Snape as Deputy Headmaster.

 

“Thank god I’m not going to be here next year!” muttered Ron in Harry’s ear.  “Can you imagine having to deal with Snape in a position of real authority?”

 

Harry glanced up at the staff table.  Snape was watching them with a slightly amused expression on his face.  Harry had the impression that Snape knew exactly what they’d been talking about.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Harry, not breaking Snape’s gaze.  “My guess is that now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be in league with Voldemort, he won’t be that bad.”

Ron stared at Harry.

 

“Have you gone mad?” said Ron incredulously.

 

Harry ran his hands through his hair so that it stood up on end and crossed his eyes.

“Do I look mad?” he asked.

 

“You look ridiculous!” said Neville comfortably, helping himself to roast turkey.  “Almost as loony as a Lovegood.”

 

“Now Neville,” said Ginny, grinning mischievously.  “Is that any way to speak of your intended?”

 

Neville’s entire face went pink.

 

“Who, where did you, how did you find out?” Neville spluttered.

 

Ginny merely raised her eyebrows at him.

 

“Can’t hide anything from a Seeress,” said Harry vaguely, looking cornerwise at Ginny.

 

Actually, Luna told me, but there’s no need to ruin my reputation.

 

“This true mate?” Ron asked Neville, looking thoroughly amused.

 

Neville, who was now a deep shade of magenta, nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

 

“Ooh, Neville!” Hermione squealed, hugging Neville around the neck.

 

Excellent!” said Ron, clapping Neville on the back, causing him to wince.

 

“Cool!” said Dean and Seamus together.

 

Neville emerged from the many back slappings and calls of congratulations grinning rather sheepishly.

 

 “So, Neville, have you set a date yet?” asked Harry comfortably.

 

“Not an exact date, no,” said Neville, still rather pink, but decidedly more composed now.  “But it’ll be next summer, anyway, after Luna’s taken her N.E.W.T.’s. Maybe later, I’ve been accepted for Auror training you know, special permission from Madam Bones.”

 

“Excellent!” said Ron, Harry, Dean and Seamus in one voice.

 

“What about you, Harry?” Neville asked abruptly.

 

“What about me?” said Harry.

 

“Well, what are you going to do after graduation?  Have you given much thought to those offers?”

 

“What offers?” said Dean curiously.

 

“Harry got offers to play Seeker from both the Kenmere Kestrals and from the Tornadoes!” said Ron proudly.

 

“No way!” yelled Euan from down the table.

 

“Harry has also been asked to play Seeker for England,” said Ginny quietly.

 

 

Their entire end of the Gryffindor table went as completely silent as if she had hit it with a silencing charm.

 

“You’re joking!” said Gabrielle in a nearly inaudible voice.  Her eyes had gone huge.

 

“No joke,” said Harry.  He reached into the inside pocket of his robes and pulled out three pieces of parchment which he laid out on the table before him.

 

Excellent!” said Euan and Seamus together.

 

“Just think, Harry,” breathed Lavender Brown, “You could turn out to be just as famous as Vicktor Krum!”

 

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione.  She was staring resolutely at her plate, her cheeks rather pink.

 

“Harry’s already more famous than Krum will ever be,” said Parvati coolly.

 

“Well, I meant for Quidditch!” Lavender clarified quickly.

 

“So which one are you going to take?” asked Gabrielle, her voice rather breathless.

 

“I’d go for England!” said Dean decidedly.

 

“But the Tornadoes are really good too!” interrupted Seamus.

 

“Well, Harry?” asked Neville.  “Which one will it be?”

 

Harry could feel Ginny’s grip tighten on his hand under the table, it was threatening to cut off the circulation.

 

Harry drew a deep breath then, looking around the table said, “None of them.”

 

A stunned silence fell with an almost audible thump.  Everyone was staring at him, even Hermione, although she was now smiling slightly.

 

None?” said Euan in a choked voice.

 

“You, you mean you refused?” said Gabrielle, sounding thunderstruck.

 

All of them?” said Dean incredulously.

 

“Even the offer from England?” put in Seamus unbelievingly.

 

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Harry, smiling slightly.  “For years I dreamed of being signed onto a Quidditch team, but, to be perfectly hones, there are more important things I need to be doing.”

 

Another stunned silence greeted this pronouncement.  Finally Ron, who had not spoken since he’d told of Harry’s Quidditch offers, but had been staring avidly at Harry during the entire interim, cleared his throat.

 

“So, you’re putting in for Auror training then,” said Ron decidedly, breaking the silence.  “That would be right up your alley that would,” said Ron brightly.  “No way they wouldn’t take you.”

 

“You’d be an excellent Auror, Harry!” said Parvati rapturously.  “I saw your transfiguration presentation!” and Parvati was off on another detailed description of what she had seen Harry do.

 

“Well?” said Neville, speaking again at last.  “Have you put your application in for Auror training?”

 

Harry shook his head.

 

“I’ve already caught the most powerful Dark Wizard in recorded history, Neville,” said Harry.  “It would be all downhill from here.”

 

What then?” asked Ron blankly.

 

Harry glanced at Ginny, who smiled, then said quietly.  “Harry’s going public with the Order of the Phoenix.”

 

Ron, Hermione and Neville all stared at them, speechless.

 

“What’s the Order of the Phoenix?” asked Lavender blankly.

 

“The Order of the Phoenix was a secret organization headed by Professor Dumbledore, whose purpose was to fight Voldemort’s rise to power,” said Neville quietly.

 

“But Voldemort’s gone now,” said Parvati.  “Gone for good this time.  Surely there isn’t a need for a secret order now.”

 

“Besides, if you go public, it won’t be a secret organization,” said Seamus quickly.

 

“Of course it won’t!” said Ginny. 

 

“The restructured Order of the Phoenix,” said Harry, looking around at them all, “Will be no secret, but an above-board foundation funded with the part of Sirius’s money that I signed over to the original Order as well as the cash reserves that Professor Dumbledore left to me in his will.  It will be set up in memory of all those who were killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  Remus Lupin has already taken care of all the legal details.”  Harry paused before continuing. 

 

“It will be called ‘Albus Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix,’ and its aims will be threefold.”  Harry shot Ginny a sharp glance as he felt her fighting to suppress her laughter.

 

What?

 

You remind me of Hermione, when she first started up S.P.E.W., except you don’t have a manifesto.

 

At least I don’t need collecting tins!

 

Harry cleared his throat to cover the snort of amusement fighting for release. “The first aim will be to obtain equal rights for all magical creatures by petitioning the Ministry for changes in outdated and outmoded laws.  I’ve already talked to Frienze and Ragnock and Dobby, they’re all willing to help, but I need someone to head this branch of the operations.  Seeing the way magical creatures are currently viewed, the head would need to be a witch or wizard.” 

 

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was staring at him with wide, shining eyes.  “And I’d like to offer the position to Hermione, if she’ll accept the challenge,” said Harry smoothly.  “I can guarantee that it will pay handsomely.”

 

Hermione buried her head in her hands, laughing and crying at the same time.

 

“Oh, Harry!” she said, beaming at him through her tears and began to speak very fast, as if she was afraid that she’d break down altogether if she hesitated.  “It’s what I always wanted!  I mean, I was going to accept the position with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, I thought that maybe if I got involved I could find a way . . .but oh, Harry!  To actually be doing something instead of talking about it, and hoping . . . Of course I will!” she added.  She stood abruptly, threw her arms around Harry’s neck and hugged him so tight he was certain that she would cut off his air supply.

 

“Let him breathe, Hermione!” said Ron, a large grin plastered across his face. 

 

“The second aim,” said Harry after Hermione had gotten control of her tears.  “Will be to smooth relations between wizards.  This branch will be aimed at educating the Wizarding community on the stupidity of differentiating between purebloods, half bloods and Muggle-borns when it comes to magical talent.  And, since there are some pure-bloods who won’t listen to, let alone take anyone but another pure-blood seriously, I’m asking ‘’Ron to spearhead this particular bit.”

 

Ron stared at him.

 

Me?”

 

“A pure-blood, married to a Muggle-born?” said Seamus quietly.  “It just might work, Harry.”

 

“But Harry, mate, surely you can find someone better qualified-” began Ron.

 

“Going to chicken out on me?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

 

“Well no but-”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” said Harry, now smiling slightly.  “You’ll have Lupin helping you out.  He’s nothing if not organized, and he has some excellent ideas.  He’ll keep you on track, but I need a pureblood at the helm, someone who understands what it is we’re trying to do.”

 

“The third, and last official aim of the Restructured Order will be to teach Defense to and de-mystify the Dark Arts to the general Wizarding community.  Nothing illegal,” he added quickly, watching the looks on the faces at the table, “and not too much at once, but a bit at a time, like we did with the D.A., until the Wizarding public is comfortable with the thought of defending themselves, trusting their own intuition instead of depending on the Ministry to do it for them.  This I think, would be a perfect job for Neville.”

 

Neville stared at him, open-mouthed.

 

“But Harry I-”

 

“What do you think, Neville, complete your Auror training, then come to work for me.  Having two actual Aurors on our team will lend it credibility.  You’d be working with Tonks, but I’m certain she could use the help. The job’s yours Neville, if you’ll take it.”

 

Neville went very quiet and seemed to be fighting down the urge to downplay his abilities.

 

“Of course I will Harry,” Neville said at last, giving Harry his small, lopsided smile.

 

“You said that was the third and last official aim of the restructured Order, Harry,” said Hermione, watching him closely.

 

“That I did.”

 

“So, what is going to be the unofficial aim of the Order?” she said, smiling as if she already knew the answer.

 

“The unofficial aim of the Restructured Order of the Phoenix,” said Harry carefully, modulating his voice so it would not carry beyond their table,” will be to begin educating Muggles to the idea of there being a Wizarding community and to the reality of magic,” said Harry softly.  “Perhaps we’ll even teach a few to reach their own ultimate magical potential.”

 

For a second, everyone held their breath.

 

“Imagine that,” said Neville with a small, shaky laugh.  “You just uttered the ultimate blasphemy and no lightning struck.”

 

The rest of the table laughed appreciatively.

 

“Well, if you really want to go public with this,” said Luna, smiling as several people startled in the seats (not having realized that she was there), “any of it, I’m sure Daddy will publish anything you like.  He’s been doing quite a lot of serious stuff lately.”

 

It was true.  The Quibbler had changed its tone considerably since it had published the interview Harry had given Rita Skeeter in his 5th year.  While several pages were still devoted to odd occurrences and sightings of rare beasts and bizarre speculations, the bulk of the paper had been given over to some extremely well written pieces, classic works of investigative reporting.  In fact, thought Harry, at the rate it was going, particularly with its increased subscriptions, he would give The Quibbler two years tops before it would be a serious rival for The Daily Prophet.

 

“And of course, if any of the rest of you decide that you’d like to work with us,” said Harry.  “You’re more than welcome to come and see me.”

 

“Hey,” said Neville suddenly, looking around at Ginny.  “How come Ginny didn’t get a job?  What are you going to do after we leave Hogwarts?” he asked Ginny curiously.

 

“Besides get married you mean?” said Lavender, with an arch look at Seamus, who blushed and dived under the table to retrieve something out of his bag.

 

“Well,” said Ginny matter-of-factly, “I gave some serious consideration to Madam Pomfrey’s request for me to stay on here and train to take her place,” she said, shrugging, “she’s retiring you know, and I couldn’t, of course, help but be tempted by the England’s offer to take me on as a Chaser,” she said brightly.

 

Euan dropped his fork with a resounding clatter.

 

“And though Malfoy’s been a lot easier to deal with the last couple of weeks, I don’t think I could bring myself to be in such close contact with him every day.”

 

“What are you on about, Ginny?” asked Ron, putting down his goblet of pumpkin juice and staring avidly at Ginny.

 

“Malfoy’s accepted the position of Seeker for England when I turned it down,” said Harry quietly. 

 

“You’re winding me up!” said Ron flatly.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“For real?”

 

“Actually, Potter recommended me when he turned the offer down.”  Malfoy’s distinctive voice caused more than one person to twist around in their chairs.  “And I don’t know whether I would rather thank him or punch him on the nose.”

 

“Make up your mind, mate, the suspense is killing me,” said Harry dryly.

 

“I’m rather tempted to do both actually.” 

 

“I’d think twice about the punching bit,” warned Dean, glancing from Harry to Malfoy and back again.  “After . . .” his voice trailed away and Harry noticed that several people had thrown sideways glances at the empty golden Headmaster’s chair.

 

“But what about Ginny?” Neville persisted.

 

“I’ve decided on accepting the toughest job of all,” said Ginny, looking at Harry and beaming at him.  “We’ve decided, Harry and I,” she said, nudging Harry in the ribs,” that the best way to introduce the Muggle world to the concept of magic, is to introduce the subject to them when they are very young and haven’t yet lost their wonder.”.  “As a teacher at Bill’s studio, I’ll be well placed for that, and Bill and I have decided to add a summer work-shop program, sort of a daycare for young dancers, that will give us the opportunity to be with them for longer periods of time.  Besides,” she paused and shrugged, “Bill and I have a full competition schedule worked out for this next year, it will really boost the enrollment.”

 

“And if the idea of magic being real scares the kids, or if their parents find out?” asked Neville, watching Ginny through narrowed eyes.

 

“Then I can take away their fear,” said Ginny softly, holding her hands up, fingers outstretched, in front of her.  “And on top of that,” she added, a mischievous smile creeping across her face.  “I have the pleasure of being the person responsible for keeping this great prat under control,” said Ginny loftily, looking archly at Harry.  “Can you imagine a seventeen year old wizard-”

 

“I’ll be eighteen in July!” Harry corrected her, grinning as he saw where she was going with her goading.”

 

“Whatever!” said Ginny, waving her hand dismissively.

 

Dean sniggered.

 

“Can you imagine a wizard as young as Harry is, having the kind of power and responsibility he’s been given, and there not being any means of keeping him in line?”

 

“Now wait a minute!” began Harry, but Ginny cut across him, her eyes dancing.

 

“Who else can see inside his head?  Who else can calm his temper, channel his anger in the proper direction and control his wild impulses?”

 

You really think you can control me? Harry asked her sub-vocally, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

 

Watch me, Ginny replied, grinning.

 

“The power behind the throne, eh, Ginny?” said Ron, dropping her a broad wink.

Hermione made an impatient sort of tutting sound.

 

“Not behind the throne, Ron,” said Harry, suddenly quite serious.

 

He pulled Ginny onto his lap.  Her arms slipped sinuously around his neck.

 

“Never behind the throne.” Ginny’s face was just inches from his now.  She smiled into his eyes.

 

“The power that drives me more like,” he whispered gruffly, loosing himself in the crystalline depths of her eyes, in the scent of her skin and hair, the press of her body, so very close to him now.  He could feel the power building between them.

 

She kissed him then, deeply, and, for a few moments, the Great Hall and everything in it ceased to exist for either of them.  Instead, the future lay before them, bright and hopeful.  A future where love reigned supreme, and even the shadow, buried deeply inside Harry’s heart of hearts, squirmed with joy at the prospect.

~*~

Author’s Note:

 

You are cordially invited to a double wedding . . .which will take place next chapter.  Along with the ‘official’ knot tying will be the tying up of a lot of loose ends, so stay tuned, and thank you for reading!

Back to index


Chapter 29: MIND, BODY AND SOUL

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

HEART, BODY AND SOUL

 

 

 

 

The sloping south lawn of the Potter estate, overlooking the river, had been transformed into a scene from a fairy tale.  As per Harry’s request, a free standing stone archway (a larger model of the one through which Sirius had fallen) had been erected instead of a gazebo as the focal point of the ceremony. The arch was, in turn, smothered in roses of all colors and sizes, courtesy of Ginny’s expert gardening skills.

 

“I understand the significance of the arch, Harry,” she had said when he’d told her what he was planning.  “But I’m not going to have it look like the death arch!”  And that had been that.

 

To complete the surreal quality of the scene, Fawkes and Prometheus, nearly identical in their gorgeous gold and scarlet plumage, flanked the arch on specially designed perches like a pair of ancient, magical guardians.  And indeed, by clever placement, the arch framed a slice of the vista beyond in such a way that it did indeed seem like the gateway to another dimension.

 

Remus Lupin, resplendent in robes of pure white velvet, which had been worked with glittering silver embroidery, stood in the archway, acting as officiator for the two young couples standing before him.  On one shoulder (looking quite elegant and sophisticated) sat Hedwig, Harry and Ginny’s Herald.  On the other, sat Pigwidgeon, who (though obviously doing his best to stay calm) was in a state of twitchy agitation and who was occasionally emitting excited hoots and twitters in spite of Hedwig’s reproving glances.

 

Harry was trying desperately to keep a straight face, but it was proving to be very difficult.  It wasn’t only the owls, either.  The gargoyle that had been designed to serve as the base of the table on which Lupin’s tools of office were placed, had been bewitched by Fred and George and was making bizarre faces at the two couples as they exchanged their vows.

 

“I’m going to kill them!” Harry heard Ron hiss, as the gargoyle made a barely audible retching sound, stuck a clawed paw down its own throat, and pulled out a large bird’s nest.

 

Luckily, most of the gargoyle’s antics were screened from the rest of the guests by Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny, (although Harry caught a glimpse of Gabrielle sniggering uncontrollably into George’s shoulder when the gargoyle scratched its bony backside with the stem of the white rose representing Earth). And, since they were facing Lupin and not the mass of wizards behind them, no one else noticed their own disgusted looks or amused grins.

 

“They’ve been working on this for months!” muttered Ginny as the gargoyle made a great show of “accidentally” swallowing Ron and Hermione’s rings, then, with a look of great surprise, extracting them from it’s nose.

 

“Good thing your mum can’t see it!” Harry hissed back.  “She’d die!”

 

“At least she’d die happy!” retorted Ginny.

 

Harry couldn’t argue with her.  Mrs. Weasley had been in her glory, what with arranging menus and flowers and musicians.  Her disappointment at loosing her only daughter so soon seemed to have been tempered by her excitement at having an entire wedding to plan, and having the means at her disposal to do it up right.  She’d spared no expense.

Harry had protested at her insistence on paying for the entire affair but had been overruled.

 

“Let her, Harry,” Mr. Weasley had advised, putting a restraining hand on Harry’s shoulder when he’d begun arguing.  “She still feels guilty about us having so much money now.  I think footing the bill for Ginny’s and Ron’s weddings will make her feel better.”

 

So Harry had let her.  And he had to admit, as he’d looked around at the simple, yet elegant decorations, at the tables heaped with delicious looking tidbits, and at the unpretentious quality of the dresses and tuxedos that were being worn by the wedding party, that she had done a phenomenal job.  Of course there had been the bit about the dress robes.

 

Mrs. Weasley had insisted that it could not possibly be a proper wizarding wedding without dress robes, and had picked out a lovely emerald green shade for Harry and (much to Ron’s disgust) Maroon robes for her son.  But on this point Harry had been unmovable; he had absolutely refused to wear dress robes to his wedding.  Ron had backed him up (being thoroughly sick of maroon), and between them they had arranged for tuxedos from a posh London shop.

 

He looked down at the pearl white tux he’d picked out and grinned to himself.  He’d had the bow tie and cumber bund made up in emerald green (Ron’s were in a rich, cobalt blue).  Harry had chosen the green partly to placate Mrs. Weasley, partly because he knew that it would accentuate his eyes.  Vain perhaps, but the way Ginny kept glancing at him; he knew that it had been the right choice.

 

Harry!  came Ginny’s sub-vocal prompt.

 

“Sorry, what?” replied Harry, snapping out of his reverie to find everyone staring at him.

 

“Lupin!” Ginny hissed.

 

Harry looked quickly at Lupin, whose lips were twitching.

 

“I said,” repeated Lupin, looking highly amused.  “Who claims this woman?”

 

Harry grinned at him, ignoring the gargoyle who was now leering at Ginny with its tongue hanging out.

 

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Harry, looking down at Ginny, who was grinning broadly at him, her eyebrows raised.

 

There was a buzz of whispers at this pronouncement.  Mrs. Weasley had buried her face in her hands.  Mr. Weasley was grinning, so was Bill (who was serving as Ginny’s man of honor). 

 

You prat! said Ginny sub-vocally, still grinning at him. 

 

Ron (who was serving as Harry’s best man, just as Harry was his) dropped Harry a broad wink.  From the crowd Harry could hear the silvery, bell-like laughter that he knew belonged to Chandra Devi. 

 

Harry glanced sideways and sure enough, Chandra and Surya Devi, resplendent in heavily embroidered Indian garb, were sitting on the end of the second row, just behind Hermione’s parents.  Chandra caught his eye, and the smile she gave him was dazzling.  He felt a surge of happiness that they had been able to make it after all.

 

“Then what do you say to an exchange of vows?,” said Ginny out loud.  “Double or nothing, Mr. Wizard, what do you say?”

 

Harry threw his head back and laughed outright at Ginny’s reference to the fact that this was actually their second time around exchanging vows.

 

“Go for it, Ginny!” murmured Ron, receiving a prod in the ribs from Hermione for his effort.

 

“Deal,” said Harry, still grinning.  “Winner takes all, hey Gin?”

 

Mrs. Weasley groaned.  Ginny went pink.

 

“Then as your husband, I offer you my heart,” said Harry softly, suddenly completely serious, “Willingly given, my body, to do with what you will,” there were catcalls then from Fred and George, and a whoop of admiration from Ron, as well as a strangled cheer that sounded as if it came from Neville.  “And my soul, to bind itself to yours for all eternity.”

 

There were tears of happiness in Ginny’s eyes now, and Mrs. Weasley, whose head was still buried in her husband’s shoulder, gave an audible sniff.

 

“I accept your offer,” said Ginny simply.  She took both Harry’s hands then and placed them over her heart.  “And as your wife, I offer in return my own heart, willingly given.”  She wrapped her arms around him and up behind his shoulders so that their bodies were pressed together.  “My body, to do with what you will,” she said silkily, and there were several low whistles let out from various members of the crowd. Harry swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go dry as he suddenly realized just how much of her he could feel through the thin material of her gown.  “And my soul,” said Ginny finally, to be bound to yours for all eternity.”  Not that we didn’t already know that, she added sub-vocally.

 

“Then by the power of love,” said Lupin quietly, “I join you.”  And the thought that followed was so clear that both of them could hear it without even straining. 

 

Again. 

 

Harry glanced down at Ginny where she stood, wrapped in his arms, her face turned up to his, clear, amber brown eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement.  He wondered vaguely what had been going through James and Lily’s heads when they had been joined.  Had they had any idea of what lay in store for them?  Would it have mattered if they had?  He felt Ginny’s presence in his mind, bemusedly watching his thoughts as they swirled and roiled.  It wouldn’t have mattered, he decided.  A love like this, you do whatever it takes to be together, and you enjoy every moment that you are given.

 

“God I love you, Ginevra Potter!” he whispered.

 

“Then kiss me, you great prat, or everyone’s going to think that you’re brain dead!”

 

Harry took the etched ring that Lupin was holding out to him, one of his parent’s rings that he had retrieved from his Gringotts vault, and slipped it onto Ginny’s finger.  She slipped the other on his own finger and then wrapped her arms sinuously around his neck.

 

 “You’re hopeless, I hope you know that!” She said sub-vocally, drawing him down to her.

 

He kissed her then, folding her in his arms, and at once he could feel the power building between them and, from the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of Mage-Fire sparks glinting between their fingers.

 

“Don’t fight it, Harry,” whispered Ginny.

 

He didn’t. 

 

*     *     *

 

When he opened his eyes, they were standing amidst the roiling mists, and four large and one much smaller figure stood before them.

 

“So it begins,” said Dumbledore, smiling gently, a hand on either of their shoulders.  “You’ve done well, both of you.  I’m prouder of you than I can say.”

 

“We’ll be here if you ever need us, Harry,” said Sirius genially, giving him and Ginny each a hug.

 

“Or even if you have to sort out your memories again,” said Tristian the Hat brightly, looking up at them from where he sat at Dumbledore’s feet.

 

“We’ll be here even if you don’t need us,” James corrected Sirius.  “And don’t feel that you have to wait until you need something to come and see us!” he said, his voice slightly muffled now because Harry had wrapped him in a great bear hug.

 

“You’ve got a fabulous future ahead of you,” said Lily softly, kissing both Harry and Ginny on the cheek.  “I’m just glad that we could have a part in bringing it about,” she finished, hugging Harry tightly and wiping away the tears that were now trickling down his face.

 

“I love you, mum,” Harry whispered, looking into her eyes.  They crinkled up at the corners in amusement.

 

“I love all of you!” Harry said sadly, looking around at them all.  “I wish-”

 

“Don’t,” advised Ginny quickly. 

 

“God advice!” said Sirius, grinning.

 

“Remember, Harry, that it doesn’t pay to dwell on dreams — or on the past — and forget to live,” said Dumbledore softly.

 

“And it is time for you to live,” said James firmly. “We’ll be here, Harry,” he added looking both sad and proud.

 

“Always,” added Dumbledore.  His voice was like a bell and, as its tones faded, so did the figures before them until there was nothing but mists again; swirling, roiling mists.

 

*     *     *

 

“You two nearly caused a panic.”  Lupin’s slightly hoarse voice was the first thing either of them heard.  Harry opened his eyes.  They were back on the lawn.

 

“How long were we gone?” he asked, looking around.  It couldn’t have been long.  Ron and Hermione were still standing where they had been when he and Ginny had left.  Both were looking amused.  Mrs. Weasley was on her feet, her eyes wide as saucers.  Mr. Weasley had her by the arm and was talking softly and rapidly to her, as if explaining something.

 

“Only a minute,” said Lupin quietly, a smile in his voice.  “Were they there, Harry?  Sirius, and your parents?”

 

“And Dumbledore,” said Harry, a slight catch in his voice.

 

“You, you saw Dumbledore?” said Lupin gruffly, his hand closing on Harry’s shoulder in a painfully tight grip.

 

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“So what are we waiting for?” came George’s voice from the crowd behind them.  “The show’s over!  Let’s eat!”

 

*     *     *

 

 

It was an excellent party.  There were people everywhere; laughing, talking, joking, helping themselves to the seemingly limitless supplies of food and drinks laid out on the dozens of tables which were, in turn, being supervised by Matthias, Shalinda, Mia, Winky and Dobby.

 

“It is enough to keep all five elves busy, Harry Potter sir,” said Dobby, his tennis-ball sized green eyes dancing as he observed Harry over a table heaped with finger sandwiches.  “And that is saying something, Harry Potter.”

 

“You don’t mind the work, do you Dobby?” asked Harry, looking down at the elf.

 

“Oh no, sir!” said Dobby, smiling broadly.  “It is such happy work sir.  Dobby is liking it very much.”

 

“And your suit?” said Harry.

 

Dobby tugged at the sleeves of his neat black suit, which, with its matching white shirt was an exact replica of Matthias’s.

 

“Dobby never expected to have such fine clothes sir.  Dobby is liking them very much indeed!”

 

“Have you given any thought to my offer, Dobby?”

 

“Of living here, sir?  Of working in your Order to help bring equality to all magical creatures?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Oh yes sir!  Dobby would be liking that very much only-” his voice broke off and he glanced over to a nearby table where Winky, wearing a neat black dress with white collar and cuffs, was serving up punch.  “It is most unusual, Harry Potter,” said Dobby quietly.  “But since she has stopped drinking sir, Winky has become very fond of Dobby.” 

Dobby was looking down at his feet now, not meeting Harry’s gaze.  When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

 

“She, she says she is most grateful that Dobby cared for her and she has suggested that perhaps Winky and Dobby could learn to care for each other.”

 

“And would you like that, Dobby?” asked Harry, suppressing a smile.

 

“Oh yes sir!  In fact sir, Dobby loves her sir,” Dobby confessed, then glanced up at Harry, looking abashed.

 

“Why Dobby!” said Harry, allowing himself a small smile now.  “I do believe you’re blushing!”

 

Dobby scuffed his feet in the grass, refusing to lift his head.

 

“Of course you can bring her with you, Dobby,” said Ginny, turning away from the group of girls who had been clustered around her, admiring her dress and ring and the garnet necklace Harry had given her that had once been his mothers.  “I’ve already talked to Shalinda, and she said she’d be grateful for the help, what with all the extra work that will need taking care of once the Order has been restructured,” said Ginny, smiling down at the elf.

 

“Oh thank you miss!” said Dobby ecstatically, clapping his hands together in glee.  “You don’t know how happy this makes Dobby!” and he bounded off to whisper the good news in Winky’s ear.

 

“Where did you get that dress, Ginny?” asked Harry, imitating the simpering girls that Ginny had just left.  “It’s just so unusual!”

 

“They wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told them the truth,” said Ginny, smiling bemusedly.  “But I did make it,” she paused, then looked sideways at him.  “In a way.”

 

“Excellent work by your Elementals,” Harry agreed, looking her up and down appreciatively.  “It becomes you.”

 

The dress was simple, yet soft and elegant.   It was built on a sleeveless, knee-length sheath dress of white silk with slits on the sides to mid-thigh that showed off Ginny’s shapely legs.  Layers of form-fitting chiffon had been crisscrossed about the torso and fell, unfettered, from the hip to just above the ground.  The chiffon layers swirled with every step Ginny took, giving tantalizing glimpses of her legs and making it seem as if she were moving through a cloud of mist.

 

“Very poetic,” said Ginny, catching the tail end of his though.  “Though I suppose it’s not a very conventional dress,” she added, shrugging.  “Mum though the slits were too . . . erm . . . provocative,” she finished.

 

Harry caught her about the waist and pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck.

 

“Just having you near me is provocative,” Harry growled in her ear.

 

Ginny giggled.

 

“Unconventional on anyone else,” came a voice from behind them.  “But on you, my Lady, it is elegance personified.”

 

“What a smooth compliment, Mr. Ragnock!” said Ginny.

 

She took his proffered hands.  He raised them to his forehead in the traditional Goblin greeting before turning to Harry.

 

“So, it is done, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnock, surveying Harry with an odd, appraising sort of look.

 

“Yes,” Harry managed.  His voice was suddenly rather raspy.

 

“Then the Sword of Hope has served its purpose.”

 

“And served it well,” Harry said, his voice cracking altogether as he thought of Dumbledore’s lifeless body.  He took a great, shuddering breath to try and bring himself back under control.

 

“It’s in the house, Ragnock, if you want it.  There’s no point in my keeping it any longer.”

 

“I leave it in your guardianship, Mr. Potter, as a wedding gift and a token of our friendship.”

 

Harry swallowed hard then, without speaking, took Ragnock’s hands in his own and raised them to his own forehead.

 

“We will guard it carefully,” said Ginny softly, sensing Harry’s inability to speak.

 

“Yes, I know you will,” said Ragnock quietly.

 

The Goblin turned to go.

 

“Before you leave, Ragnock,” said Ginny.

 

Ragnock turned to look at her.

 

“I have something I would like to give you.”

 

She closed her eyes.  Harry could feel her calling forth her Mage-Fire.  Her blue-gold sparks crackled at her fingertips, not the full force of her power, but enough to create a small, golf-ball sized energy sphere.  She rolled the sphere between her palms and then held her right hand out to Ragnock, palm up.  On her hand lay a silver medallion on a slim silver chain. 

 

“This is for you,” she said quietly, slipping the chain over his head.

 

Ragnock held the medallion up to the light.  One side was a lightning bolt etched in gold.  On the other was an inscription which read:

 

In Appreciation,

Brotherhood,

And Friendship,

 

Harry and Ginevra Potter

 

“I will wear it always,” said Ragnock gruffly.  “And I will see you, Mr. Potter, on September first.  That is the date we will begin working together, is it not?”

 

“Yes, September first,” Harry confirmed.  “And thank you Ragnock, for everything.”

 

The Goblin touched his hands to his forehead again in farewell.

 

“And Ragnock,” called Harry after the retreating figure of the Goblin.

 

Ragnock turned and looked back at him.

 

“When you come on the first, be sure to leave your collar at home!”

 

Ragnock grinned at them toothily, and was gone.

 

“You have befriended Goblins and Yeti and Centaurs and Elves,” came Chandra’s smooth, cool voice from behind him.  She had laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder and he could feel her distinctive energy even through the material of his jacket.

 

“And have defeated evil through understanding.”  Surya Devi’s rich baritone reverberated slightly in the sultry summer air. “Although I must say, I do wish you’d gotten a chance to use physical force on that-”

 

“Surya!”

 

A rare smile broke across the formidable Surya’s face at this rebuke.  “Of course that doesn’t mean that you won’t get to use it later.  Plenty of cleaning up to be done after all.”

 

 “Thank you for coming,” said Harry, turning to the slim woman and pulling her into a warm hug.  “Both of you! I was hoping of course, but when you said that it came during one of your country’s holiday weeks, I thought . . .”

 

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Chandra assured him.  “Holidays come every year.  Weddings-”

 

“Official weddings,” Surya corrected her.

 

“Official weddings,” Chandra said smiling.

 

“Between Soulmates,” put in Surya.

 

Chandra threw him an exasperated glance.  “If you’ll kindly let me finish, love, I can get my complete thought out and you won’t have to correct me.”  She drew a deep breath, glanced sideways at her husband with a commiserating look, before saying, “What I was trying to say was that holidays come every year but official weddings between Soulmates are rare indeed, especially when the pair in question happen to be two dear young people like yourselves.”

 

“Well said,” said Surya, nodding sagely. “We wish you every happiness.  But I think, Chandra that we had best make our way towards the food tables before my stomach starts making formal complaints.”  He took his wife’s arm and steered her toward the refreshments.

 

“They really are wonderful people,” said Ginny softly.

 

“Did Surya seem a lot more relaxed to you, or was that just my imagination?”

 

“Definitely more relaxed.  He probably felt he had to be on guard, what with Cadmar and all.”

 

Harry shuddered.  Ginny’s close call with Stephen Cadmar the previous year had shaken him up considerably, especially when he had realized that he’d actually enjoyed watching the bastard die. He could have reined himself, but instead he’d let Cadmar die.

 

Deep in his chest, Harry felt the shadow give a squirm of unexpected pleasure at the memory.  More like me than you thought.

 

Never. He told it firmly.  The Harry who had purposefully let Cadmar die had died on the floor of the Great Hall with Dumbledore and Voldemort himself.

 

You could do great things you know.  It’s all here, in your head, whispered the shadow.

 

He’s already done great things.  That was Ginny.  She took Harry’s face in her hands, turning his head so that he was looking directly into her eyes.  Terrible yes, but great.  And not only great,  she leaned in, kissing Harry so languorously that he could feel himself stiffen perceptibly, not only great, but wonderful as well. And the best my love she added, talking to Harry now and not the shadow (which had once more subsided into silence), the best  is yet to come.

 

*     *     *

 

 

The afternoon passed in a blur of back-slappings and congratulations as Harry and Ginny moved among the crowds smiling, and making small talk.  Most everyone Harry recognized.  There were Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall sitting together under a lilac tree and sipping punch.  Lupin, Aunt Petunia and Professor Snape seemed to be having an animated conversation over the desert table.  Neville’s Grandmother was chatting unconcernedly to the newly elected Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, whose niece, Susan, was being escorted by (of all people) Michael Corner.

 

“He must be her date, because I certainly didn’t invite him,” hissed Ginny when she caught sight of the curly-haired Ravenclaw boy.

 

“Still tetchy about Michael, are you?” asked Harry with raised eyebrows.

 

“I just don’t like being reminded of my mistakes is all,” said Ginny tartly.  “Did you see this?” she asked, holding up the piece of parchment Colin had handed her just moments earlier. 

 

“What’d he do, make up a wedding edition of the Howler?” asked Harry, taking the paper and giving it a once over.

 

“Right in one, Potter.  Talk about tacky!  Look, ‘Tips for the Wedding Night’ and then there’s ‘How to Make a Witch’s Heart Throb!’- please!

 

“Ah yes, lets see what tips Colin could possibly have for virtual virgins like ourselves,” said Harry he flipped the paper open and Ginny (who had just taken a sip of champagne) got a glimpse of what Colin had tacked on to the back of the parchment and promptly choked on her drink, spraying a nearby rosebush with fizzy bubbles.

 

“He didn’t!” said Harry disbelievingly, handing out a handkerchief to Ginny and turning to the last page.  There, tacked out to form a large heart, were at least a dozen latex condoms.  Inside the message were printed the words; JUST IN CASE YOUR WAND GETS TIRED.

 

“Oh God!” moaned Ginny as Colin came bouncing up to them, grinning broadly.

 

“Like them Harry, what?  Latest merchandise from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.  They’re guaranteed to . . .er . . . stiffen your resolve.” 

 

“Thanks Colin,” said Harry, feeling the heat creep up his neck.  “But-” He paused, uncertain as to how to respond to this latest display of Creevey brother tackiness.

 

“But I don’t think Harry will need any help,” said Ginny silkily, and now it was Colin’s turn to blush crimson.  “That’s right, Colin baby,” said Dean coming up behind Colin and punching him lightly on his boney shoulder. He winked at Ginny.  “Any wizard who couldn’t respond on his own to that dress would have to be clueless, or dead - or both,” he added as an after thought.

 

“Where’s Parvati, Dean?” asked Harry casually.

 

 “With Lavender of course.  Where else?  I swear, those two are as thick as thieves.”

 

“They have a lot in common,” said Ginny dryly.

 

“Yeah, nail polish preferences at the moment.”  He shuddered.  “Congratulations to both of you, really,” he said seriously.  “I know we had our differences, but given everything that’s happened this year . . .”  He shrugged.  “You deserve each other, really.”  And he sauntered off in search of Parvati who was daintily working her way through a large slice of wedding cake.

 

“Was that a compliment, or an insult?” wondered Harry, staring after Dean’s retreating form.

 

“Don’t know and don’t care.  And it looks like Hagrid and Madam Maxime have finally reached an agreement,” said Ginny, pointing towards the river where  Hagrid and Madam Maxime were sitting together on a stone bench near the riverbank, watching its progress in silence.   As they watched, Hagrid slipped an arm around her waist.  Far from complaining, Madam Maxime laid her glossy head on his shoulder and Harry could have sworn that the tree branches above them were stirred by her sigh of contentment.

 

Closer by, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur were all gathered around Fred and Angelina.  It was wonderful seeing all the Weasley’s together again, well, all except Percy.  Percy was being held for questioning regarding knowledge of the misuse of funds and abuse of power for which Andrew Crofton and Cornelius Fudge were being accused.

 

“I can’t believe Percy would have actually done anything wrong,” said Ginny, looking at the group in front of them with a softened gaze.  “I mean, he may be ambitious and all of that, but he’s also big on rules, Percy.”

 

“But if he was being controlled by the Imperious Curse.”

 

“There’s no proof of that.”

 

“That’s what Fudge and Crofton are claiming,” Harry reminded her. 

 

“Oh please, they didn’t need any more incentive than making a small fortune through the confiscation of funds and property.  That’s what they were using the Department of Magical Security and Home Protection for after all, to channel funds into their own pockets.”

 

“They claim, of course, that there’s no way they can prove it.”

 

“But Percy testified under the influence of Viritaserum,” Harry insisted.  “That’s powerful stuff Gin.  He swore to seeing papers and overhearing conversations and everything.  That’s why he’s still in custody, for his own protection.  He’ll testify at the trial.  Fudge and Crofton will be proven guilty.  You’ll see.”

 

“It still worries me.”

 

“The trial is in two weeks,” Harry pointed out.  “They’ll convict them, I’m sure of it.”

 

“If they’re still there you mean, remember the Death Eaters, Harry.  They escaped from Azkaban.”

 

“Yeah, with the help of Dementors.  These two are under constant Auror guard.”

 

Ginny was shaking her head slowly.  “I don’t know, Harry, I don’t think this is over.”

 

“Well, at least we know what happened to Mr. Malfoy,” said Harry, nodding towards where Draco and Cho were standing in the shade of a large oak tree, talking quietly with Draco’s mother.

 

“We only know what Draco’s mother claims she saw.”

 

“And what Voldemort said,” Harry reminded her.  “When he almost killed Draco in the Great Hall, he said that Malfoy had served his purpose.”

 

“Since when has Tom ever told the truth?”

 

“Why would he have lied about something like that?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Ginny, frowning slightly at the pair under the oak tree.  “I just have this feeling . . .”

 

“Oh no you don’t, Gin, no prophecies for at least a month. I forbid it!” said Harry, pulling her tight against him.  “We can’t ruin the honeymoon after all,” he whispered into her hair.  He could feel Ginny smile against his chest.

 

“All right then, Mr. Wizard, try this on for size, I have a feeling that there is nothing that could possibly spoil the next month for us.”

 

“Damn straight!” growled Harry into her ear.  “Especially since we’ve announced our itinerary to the family, who think we’re going on a European jaunt-”

 

“When really we’ll be here,” whispered Ginny, looking around with glowing eyes and the idyllic scene before them.  “By ourselves at last-”

 

“The house elves sworn to secrecy,” finished Harry, grinning down at her.  “But not yet, he added straightening up and returning Fred’s beckoning wave.  “I think he wants us, come on, Gin.”

 

“So,” said Harry when he and Ginny had finally made their way through another group of well-wishers to where the rest of the Weasley’s (except for Ron and Hermione and George) were assembled.  “How does it feel to be a Grandpa?”

 

Mr. Weasley, who had just taken the tiny, blue wrapped bundle that Angelina had handed him, looked up at Harry, beaming.

 

“He’s speechless,” Angelina told Harry, grinning broadly.  “But if you want to hear him talk, ask him how he feels about being made head of department.”

 

“You’ve been made head of department?” asked Harry wonderingly.

 

“It came through yesterday,” said Bill proudly, clapping his father on the shoulder.

“Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Madam Bones’s old position.”

 

“Excellent!” said Harry, grinning at Mr. Weasley who was still staring adoringly at the small figure in his arms.

 

“Only a week old now Fred, don’t let them get chilled!” said Mrs. Weasley concernedly, tucking the pink blanket in tighter around the second figure in Fred’s arms.

 

“It’s the middle of summer mum,” said Fred airily.  “They’ll be fine.”

 

“You can’t be too careful with newborns,” she said authoritatively.

 

Fred grinned then and before Harry could protest, had put the tiny, pink wrapped bundle into Harry’s arms.

 

“Here Harry, you’re an uncle now, time to start acting like one.”

 

She weighed hardly more than a Quaffle! Harry was amazed at the weightlessness in his arms.  He carefully adjusted her into the crook of one arm before pulling the blankets back from her face. The baby had dusky, mocha skin and perfect features, framed by ringlets of soft brown hair that had distinctly red highlights.

 

“She’s beautiful!” breathed Ginny, who was hanging over his shoulder.

 

“So tiny!” said Harry, looking at the small, perfectly formed fingers and ears.  “So tiny and so perfect!”

 

He leaned down and kissed the baby’s satiny smooth cheek. Her eyes snapped open at once, dark brown and full of lively interest.

 

“Hannah, say hello to your uncle Harry,” said Fred, grinning.

 

The baby blinked, then, to everyone’s delight, unmistakably smiled. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.  Baby Hannah was looking directly into his eyes.  He could feel the open innocence of her mind; inquisitiveness, alertness and a definite intelligence but also something else, something . . .more.

 

She’s been here before,” Harry shot to Ginny sub-vocally. 

 

I expect so,” Ginny replied, smiling down at the tiny face in Harry’s arms.  “With intelligence like that, she would have to have been.”

 

“She’s going to do great things I think,” said Harry, grinning as Hannah curled a tiny fist around his index finger.

 

And I can’t wait to get started!” said a small, firm voice in Harry’s head.

 

His head snapped around to meet Ginny’s wide, wonder-filled eyes.

 

“Wow!” mouthed Ginny, looking stunned.  “Don’t let on, Harry, not yet.  She’ll let them know in her own time.”

 

Harry kissed baby Hannah’s forehead then looked up at Fred and Angelina who were observing him warily.

 

“She’s going to be a heartbreaker!” Harry managed at last, hitching a grin onto his face.  “But here,” he said, holding the baby out to Bill, “We’d better let Bill get some practice in, as a new daddy, he’s going to need it.”

 

Damn you’re getting good, Harry!” said Bill with a grimace as the entire party turned to look at him in amazement.  “We haven’t had a chance to tell anyone yet!”

 

“Some things are just too good not to share,” said Harry smiling bemusedly as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned on Bill in an almost accusatory manner.

 

“We just found out!” Bill said, holding up baby Hannah as a sort of shield between him and his advancing parents.  “Fleur’s due in February, we only just found out ourselves!”

 

Angelina rushed in to rescue the twins from the fray and left Bill and Fleur to be accosted by his parents as to particulars.

 

“Harry and Hannah,” said Ginny, relieving Angelina of one of her charges.  “I like the names!”

 

“Thought you would,” said Angelina, tossing her long braided hair out of her face.

 

Look at her Harry,” said Angelina, nudging Harry in the ribs and nodding at Ginny, who was handling baby Harry expertly.  “She’s a natural!”

 

“Now don’t you start!” said Ginny, kissing tiny Harry on the cheek and handing him to Fred.  “Not for a while yet I’m afraid, there’s too much work to be done.”

 

“There’ll be plenty of time for children,” Harry said quietly, pulling Ginny into his arms again.  “But first, I think we should dance.”

 

The dance floor had been erected under a large pavilion that had been erected to give the band some shade from the mid-summer sun.  As Harry swept Ginny out onto the dance floor they passed Neville and Luna, who were waltzing slowly and talking in low, earnest voices, Hermione, who was dancing with her father, and Ron, who was dancing with Tonks.

 

“Where’s Charlie?” Harry muttered at Tonks as they passed.

 

“Over there.”  Tonks nodded at a corner where Charlie was deep in conversation with Kinsley Shaklebolt and Firenze.

 

It was George and Gabrielle that really caught Harry’s eye though. Gabrielle looked very grown-up in a blue satin gown, her hair caught up in a loose knot at the top of her head, a few curls left to hang loose down her back.

 

The two of them were dancing slowly, not talking or looking at the other dancers, merely luxuriating in the closeness of the other.  Even as he watched, George’s arm tightened possessively about Gabrielle’s waist, pulling her closer, almost as if he sensed the eyes of another man on her.  And Gabrielle, in response to his gesture, slipped her arms sinuously about his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body now pressed even closer to his. The look on George’s face was one of absolute bliss.

 

“Think they’ll be able to wait for four years?” asked Harry in a low voice.

 

“Look at them!” whispered Ginny.  “They’re made for each other, Harry, they’ll be together in four years, but as for waiting,” her eyebrows lifted.  “I doubt it. George isn’t that patient.”

 

“But she’s so young!”

 

“Not in spirit,” said Ginny, smiling softly.

 

“Poor Euan,” said Harry, glancing over to where Euan and the Creevey brothers stood, watching the dancers.

 

“He doesn’t stand a chance,” agreed Ginny with a snigger.

 

“At least they’re still friends though,” said Harry quietly.  “Everyone needs friends.”  He was watching Ron and Hermione who were dancing together now, both of them looking very handsome and proud.

 

“Marriage won’t split up your three’s friendship,” said Ginny, grinning at him.  “Besides that, now you and Ron aren’t just best friends, you’re brothers, and Hermione is now your sister.”

 

“Cool!” said Harry, grinning back at her.  He pulled her tighter, inhaling the heady scent of her hair and skin.  “But you’re wrong about one thing Gin,” he said softly.  “Ron is my best friend, next to you.”

 

Ginny looked up at him, tears of happiness shining in her eyes. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she said softly, reaching up a hand and tracing Harry’s lightning bolt shaped scar with one cool finger. 

 

“Of course I do, you’re a part of me Ginny, and we can’t get much closer than that!”

 

Harry realized with a start that they had stopped dancing.  He was vaguely aware of the other couples swirling around them, but he had ceased to care what they thought.  He was focused only on the slim figure in his arms; the way his entire future seemed wrapped up in the sparkle of her eyes, the way her arms had wrapped themselves around his neck, how her body seemed to have molded itself to his so perfectly and how the scent of her seemed to be filling his head, driving out all rational thought.

 

“You’ve actually had rational thoughts?” murmured Ginny.

 

“You’re teasing me,” said Harry, his voice slightly breathless as he smiled down into her clear, amber brown eyes.

 

“A little teasing never hurt anyone,” retorted Ginny.

 

“I want more than teasing from you Mrs. Potter,” growled Harry, pulling her even tighter against him.

 

“I sort of figured that,” whispered Ginny, even as she let her body melt into his.

He was kissing her then, loosing himself in the feel and taste and scent of her.

 

“Aw, save it for the honeymoon, you great prat!” said Ron loudly as he and Hermione waltzed by.

 

“Do we get a proper honeymoon at last?” Harry asked her, whispering the words into her ear even as they began to move once more in time to the music.

 

“What, with no need of privacy screens?” said Ginny in mock amazement.

 

“Or imperturbable charms?” added Harry, “No need to come up with excuses as to why we’ve been gone so long?”

 

“And no threat of evil wizards hanging over our heads,” whispered Ginny, reaching up to run a hand through Harry’s hair.  He turned his face into her hand, letting his lips linger on her palm.  A tingling warmth spread through both of their bodies.  Harry could feel his own breath becoming more ragged.  God he loved this woman!  Everything would be okay now.  With Ginny here, beside him, inside him . . .

 

“I don’t know if we’ll know what to do with ourselves,” said Ginny in a tone of mock concern.  Her words were flippant, but the breathlessness of her voice belied the surge of emotion coursing through her.

 

“I’m sure we’ll know exactly what to do with ourselves.”

 

Was he still talking about the honeymoon?  He wasn’t entirely certain, but it didn’t matter.  It was over.  It was just beginning.  He realized with a start that the arch had been the perfect symbol after all, for from today on it would be a different world.

 

“You sure about that?” Ginny asked him seriously.

 

“Ginevra Potter, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

 

 

~*~

THE END  

 

 

 

Back to index


Chapter 30: EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

 

 

 

 

Maurice Johnson (M.J. to his friends and family) closed the book with a sigh of contentment.  It was a very thick, very heavy book.  His eyes were stinging with fatigue and his head felt foggy from a lack of sleep.  He looked about him blearily, noting with something like surprise that he was no longer at home, but appeared to be in a bed on a hospital ward.

 

“How are we doing then, Mr. Johnson?” asked a kindly voice from a blurred figure approaching him out of the gloom of the far side of the ward, which was still in shadows.

 Was it night? 

 

“Did you find your story yet?”

 

The owner of the kindly voice came slowly into focus. She was a motherly looking sort of woman, rather stout, but with a friendly face.  She was a healer, by the look of the insignia on her chest.  Had he been ill?

 

“Yes, yes I did, thank you,” said M.J.

 

His voice sounded oddly rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time. The healer stared at him.

 

“Did you say something dear?” she asked a look of incredulity on her face.

 

It was M.J.’s turn to stare.  What, was she deaf?  Or was it that she hadn’t understood him?

 

“I said yes, thank you.  I found my book,” said M.J.  He spoke very slowly and clearly so that she would be certain to understand him.

 

Did you now?” said the healer brightly.  “Think it’s time for a bit of a lie-down then?” she asked, motioning towards a very soft, inviting-looking bed beside him. 

 

Unlike the rumpled bed he was currently sitting on (which for some odd reason was heaped with piles of books of all sizes and descriptions) the bed she indicated was piled high with snowy white linens and a pillow so thick it looked as if one could use it for a mattress.  M.J. nodded vigorously. 

 

“Just - just don’t take this one away, okay.?” he asked anxiously, clutching the precious book to his chest.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it dear.  You just keep that one with you while I clear the rest of these away.  If you don’t mind that is,” she said rather tentatively.

 

“No, of course I don’t mind.  Go right ahead,” said M.J., shrugging slightly.

 

What could he possibly want with all those moldy old books anyway?  This one now, (he clutched his prize more tightly to his chest) this one was the only one that mattered.  He looked on with interest as the healer vanished the rest of the volumes with a flick of her wand and then helped him into the new bed.  She conjured a tray of savory smelling soup with another wave of her wand.

 

“Thank you,” he said faintly as she settled the fresh, snowy linens around him and pulled a rolling table up beside him to hold his supper tray. He fell to eating eagerly, feeling as if he hadn’t been properly hungry in days.

 

“Will I be able to go home soon?” he asked hopefully as the healer cleared away his tray and turned down the lights.

 

“I don’t see why not, now that you’ve come around,” she said kindly. 

 

The woman looked around the nearly empty ward.  If he did leave, they would be able to close this ward for the time being.  What with the Longbottoms miraculous recovery, and the odd turn around of the old dear who had sworn she was hearing voices. . .The healer sighed heavily.  She supposed that they could always use her on another ward.  She had been top in her class during healer training after all.

 

Everything was changing.  There was a new Minister in office, and the rumor was that  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone for good.  Chalk one up to the Potter boy!  Harry Potter, the boy who lived.  She’d seen him twice now; once nearly three years ago when he’d come up to visit that dear boy, Gilderoy, and just last spring, when he’d come to visit the Longbottoms with their son, Neville.  A nice looking boy, very polite. 

 

If anyone deserved to be Happy, that poor boy did.  And he certainly looked happy in the photos from his highly publicized marriage to the Weasley girl (the daughter of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement).  The pictures had been all over the Daily Prophet yesterday.

 

“Was I, erm, ill?” M.J. asked sleepily as she fussed with his covers.

 

“Just a bit confused,” she tempered.

 

But M.J. didn’t feel confused.  No, if anything he had never felt less confused in his life.  He’d found exactly what he’d been looking for.  He smiled sleepily, still hugging the thick volume.  It was a wonderful story.  A person could live in a story like this.  Yes, he thought as he yawned widely.  A story like this was exactly what the world needed. 

 

~*~

THE END

~*~*~*~

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  PLEASE READ BEFORE REVIEWING!

 

Thank you all for reading!  This has been quite a trip, and it is not over yet!  I know you all have lots of questions.  (for those of you who are confused by Maurice, please re-erad the chapter where Ginny heals the Longbottoms!)Some questions I know will be asked:

 

What will be the outcome of Fudge and Crofton’s trial?  And how will this affect Harry’s attempt to unite the wizarding community?  Will they really be convicted?  Will they escape?  Will they somehow make Harry’s life hell?

 

What caused Draco to switch loyalties?  What is with him and Cho, anyway?  Is he really reformed, or is this just a brief interlude for a favorite arch nemesis?

 

What really happened to Mr. Malfoy?  Is he truly dead?  Or was that a ploy on the part of Voldemort?

 

What about George and Gabrielle?

 

Do the Weasley’s ever rebuild the Burrow?

 

Do we ever find out who, exactly Mira was/is?

 

What part will baby Hannah play in the years to come?

 

All of these questions and more will be answered in FACING FUTURE.    FACING FUTURE is unique in that it is not one story, but a series of stories.  Each story will continue the story begun in SUMMER OF THE SERPENT and continued throughout THE FORGOTTEN GIRL, LIFE IS BUT A DREAM, TOWARDS TOMORROW and TODAY THE TEMPEST. 

 

The stories of FACING FUTURE will each be able to stand alone, and yet, taken as a whole (and read in order) they will be a cohesive whole.

 

Again, thank you for reading!

 

--S.S.Henry

 

 

 

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