Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

And we could sail away

Get lost at sea

Where we could lose ourselves

Where I am blind and free

For as Sirens call the sailors

He calls to me

**

There were fingers in her mind again: long, probing, searching fingers cautiously creeping and crawling their way into the inner corners of her thoughts. In the midst of the cloudy, immobilizing haze that she was suspended in, Hermione was, at first, frightened by the presence, reminded horribly of Voldemort's penetration into her thoughts, but then she realized that the fingers were parting the mists, pushing aside the curtain that had been dropped over her, and freeing her thoughts. It was as comforting and reassuring as when her father would brush her hair out of her face when she was on the verge of drifting off to sleep, or when she and Ron would sit together atop the Astronomy Tower after a long day of classes. It felt so wonderful to bask in that warm reassurance that Hermione felt like crying--except that she had no eyes, no voice, and no breath. Her body was just one massive lump of stark pain that was incapable of movement, but she couldn't focus on that right now. In fact, Hermione could barely focus on anything right now, and that was really saying something.

All that she could process was that even though she felt utterly alone and hurt, someone was there--and that someone was wonderful; it was the person she had dreamt about her entire life. Every little girl prays to have a knight in shining armor that will be ready, willing, and able to come to her rescue whenever she needs it, and the soft warmness that was breaking slowly but steadily through the icy darkness she was floating in reminded her that she was lucky enough to have one. His face broke through it all, and seeing it again was enough to allow her to feebly push aside a bit of the fog by herself.

Since movement at the moment was not an option, she focused instead on reminding herself what had just happened. Dolohov had dragged her away from Ron and taken her back to the house and--Hermione winced. The last thing she could remember was being flung into the kitchen, and then all she could see was a red miasma swarming in front of her eyes, a shouted spell, a pair of glaring, penetrating eyes, and blinding pain that burned her to her very core. Even though she was barely managing to link one coherent thought to the other, and she could only recall a fraction of what had happened, Hermione knew it was a miracle that she was still alive. However, she also knew that he was probably about to get ready to finish her off at any moment. She had to get out; she had to move; she had to run--

Darkness slithered around her thoughts for several tantalizing moments, luring her seductively to lose herself to the folds of blissful oblivion. Hermione knew rationally that she should fight it, but she just flat out didn't have the strength. She just wished with all of her heart that she could sail far, far away to some remote place where there was no pain, no loss, no troubles. She could be free and it would be so easy, all she had to do was let go and float--

But damn it, he knew and he bloody called her name. It wasn't the actual sound of his voice, but he was still calling to her. He was crying her name with everything that he had, much like she had earlier that night, although now that all seemed like a lifetime ago. He wanted her, he needed her, he was willing to go through hell and back in order to get her by his side. That overshadowed everything else Hermione was feeling; how could she sail away when Ron had once again reminded her how much he loved and needed her? She couldn't go anywhere without him. She had to find and escape from this together, so she forced herself to push and fight through the darkness ensnaring her mind.

"...and you never want to wear earmuffs around Mandrakes since they spout off all sorts of important information that you need to hear in order to stew them properly..."

Hermione's hazy disorientation started to fade as she became exasperatedly confused with this person's ignorance. How could somebody think something so ridiculous? Everyone should know about dealing with Mandrakes after what had happened in second-year with students getting Petrified. It was a standard portion of the practical of the Herbology O.W.L., so of course any competent wizard or witch should know about the properties of a Mandrake.

"...and S.P.E.W stands for the Society for the Practically Evil Witches..."

Whoa. Hermione was now flooded with anger. It was one thing to not agree with the aims of S.P.E.W.; it was another to completely disregard it and not even know its proper name. People should at least have the courtesy to be aware of her society and respect its existence, even if they didn't wish to join.

"And you can always, always, always Apparate into Hogwarts, only an idiot can't manage that..."

And that was the final straw. Hermione's eyes snapped open, wondering how on earth people go out without reading Hogwarts: A History. Her heart did a funny jolt as it always did whenever she realized that a certain boy was staring intently at her. "Ron?" Her mouth was unbearably dry as though she had swallowed a gigantic wad of cotton, and she grimaced; speaking wasn't the best idea at the moment.

Ron's entire face relaxed with pure relief, and he brought up one of his hands to her hot cheek. "Hey," he said quietly. His fingers traced her cheek as he swallowed hard and fought to find something to say that wouldn't release the floodgates brewing secretly inside of him. "Thought that might wake you up," he finally stated somewhat proudly, a hint of that beautiful lopsided smile gracing his face.

He was back. His eyes, his voice, his touch, every little thing about the way he was kneeling in front of her screamed the essence of Ron. This was Ron Weasley, this was the boy she loved, he was back--he was free. "Ron," she breathed again, reveling in the delicious way his name rolled off her tongue. His hand was singing against her cheek, but it wasn't enough. She needed to feel more of his skin singing against hers, so she simply and silently fell forward out of the chair she had been sitting in and into his arms where she belonged.

As always, Ron caught her, and for several long glorious moments they remained still, entwined in each other's arms. Ron moved his head slightly to brush the side of his face and lips against Hermione's matted hair, almost for reassurance that she was real. Sometimes he wondered if she really was. That girl was so bloody brilliant that sometimes Ron thought perhaps she really wasn't of this world. She had certainly just rescued him like an angel of mercy--he had been lost in a black hole of darkness and hatred for so long. He had been fighting for ages as someone else lived in his skin, but he hadn't been strong enough until she had reminded him of what he was missing. She was the light, she was the hope of the world, she was everything he had ever wanted, and he was not about to lose her again. He hated himself for losing her before, and he had almost lost her again. Ron dropped his face against her, hoping she didn't feel his suppressed sigh. He had almost blown it again.

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he mess up anything where she was concerned. Even if it killed him, he would dedicate the rest of his life to making sure that Hermione Granger lived the life she deserved. He would make sure she was happy and safe if it was the last thing he ever did.

With that promise firmly embedded in his mind, Ron reluctantly pulled away and carefully checked that Hermione could sit upright with no help before starting to get to his feet. Hermione weakly caught his hands with a pleading look in her eyes that almost changed his mind instantly. She had just got him back and she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving her so soon, as selfish as that was. "Where are you going?"

"There's something I have to do," Ron explained softly, although his stomach twisted nauseatingly at the idea of actually carrying through with it. But he knew it was the right thing to do--it was the only thing to do. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll go with you," Hermione offered, and she started to get to her feet. Her limbs, however, were not as stable as she had anticipated, and she slid back to the floor.

"No, stay here," Ron ordered in a firm voice that clearly told her that no matter how self-reliant and resilient she was, he would be taking care of her, thank you very much. It wasn't often that he directed such a commanding voice at Hermione, since she usually challenged him and he ended up losing, but today Hermione was still so disoriented that she dazedly agreed without really thinking about it. "I'll send George in to keep an eye on you, ok?"

Hermione nodded, but she didn't let go of Ron's hand. She was frowning up at him. As usual, Hermione was too smart for her own bloody good and had noticed the determination on his face. "Ron?"

Ron knew what she was really asking, but he opted not to tell her just yet. It was going to be hard enough to do this once. Telling her where he was going and what he was going to do would be just as bad as actually doing it. Very reluctantly, he gently extricated his fingers from hers. "I'll be back," he promised once again before pivoting on his heel and striding as fast as he could from the room. He had to leave before her eyes could draw him back to her side.

He found his brother, his dad, and Mad-Eye Moody out in the corridor, speaking quickly and tersely to each other. A few years ago, Ron would never have considered interrupting an intense conversation like this, but a lot about Ron Weasley had changed over these past years. Without any hesitation, he hurried over to George and grabbed his arm, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"George," Ron commanded without preamble, "I need you to keep an eye on Hermione for me."

George blinked with surprise at his brother's abrupt arrival and order. They had found Ron only a few minutes ago, half-carrying Hermione, who appeared on the verge of fainting at any moment, down the stairs and into the dining room. He had tried to help, but Ron had insisted that he needed to handle this alone and had ordered them from the room with such ferocity that even Mad-Eye Moody had meekly obeyed. But now, here he was again, giving yet another order. "Ron," George began in confusion.

Ron just shook his head impatiently. If George didn't go soon, he was going to cave and rush back to her side. But he had to do this first and clear the air before dedicating himself to spending the rest of his life with her. "Just go, George--I'll get back as soon as I can."

"And what are you going to be doing, lad?" Mad-Eye Moody demanded as George nodded and disappeared into the room Hermione was in.

Ron sighed as his father grabbed his arm with a gasp of realization. "Ron, you can't see Harry yet," Mr. Weasley insisted. "Not until the mediwizards are--"

"Mediwizards?" Ron interrupted. When he had been running to the house to find Hermione, he had heard a deafening explosion of some sort coming from the clearing where Harry and Voldemort had been fighting. He had thought about going back, but even though Harry was his partner through thick and thin, sometimes being a good partner meant knowing when to let the other fight alone. As much as he had wanted to, he knew he couldn't have helped Harry any longer. When it all came down to it, it had to be Harry alone who fought Voldemort. He had instead focused on finding Hermione, but now Ron was mentally cursing himself for abandoning his best mate. "What happened?"

Arthur Weasley's smile was bittersweet as he spoke again. "He did it, Ron. Harry killed You-Know-Who."

Ron suddenly forgot the plan he had roughly concocted a few minutes ago. He forgot that he was cold, exhausted, and flat out terrified. He only could comprehend the warm, surging relief that flowed through every fiber of his being. "Bloody hell," was the only thing that Ron could get out as he began to smile. It was finally over. The war, the fighting and constant influx of anxiety--it was all over. He couldn't wait to tell Hermione, and he thought about turning around and racing into the room straightaway, but then he remembered the mention of mediwizards and the strain that was still in his father's eyes. "Then why do we need mediwizards?"

"Because You-Know-Who killed Albus," Arthur said flatly. Ron's stomach wrenched and somersaulted, but before the grief could really settle in, his dad was already speaking again. "And Harry's--" He exchanged a worried glance with a somber Mad-Eye and shook his head while clapping a comforting hand on his youngest son's shoulder. "Harry's not well off, Ron." His grip on Ron's shoulder tightened as Ron jerked and tried to go into the next room to get Hermione. "Ron, no."

"You have to let me see him," Ron insisted. "Me and Hermione--we can help--we could talk to him or something--and if we got Ginny here--"

"Ginny was here," Mr. Weasley told him. "She came with Hermione. But they've already taken Harry to St. Mungo's, and Ginny went with him--"

"Oh, so she can see him and we can't?" Ron bellowed in disbelief. "We're his best friends!"

"They're not sure there's anything they can really do yet, so we have to let the mediwizards do their work if there's any chance of Potter surviving," Mad-Eye interjected firmly. "And they can't do their job if there are too many people around."

Ron opened his mouth to continue to argue, but his father smoothly interrupted him with an abrupt change of subject. "If you weren't going to see Harry, Ron, just where were you going to go?"

This is it. He knew that he should continue to fight to see Harry, but now that he had his opening, he couldn't back away from it now. If he did, he didn't think he would ever be able to do it. Ron took a deep breath and focused his attention on Mad-Eye. He wouldn't be able to look at his father while he did this. "I was actually going to look for you." Mad-Eye raised his one remaining eyebrow up in surprise and nodded to indicate that he was listening. Ron found he had to take another deep breath to steady his shaky nerves before forging ahead. "You've heard of Antonin Dolohov?"

"Killed the Prewitts," Mad-Eye reported gruffly. "Escaped from Azkaban two years ago. Involved in the Department of Mysteries fiasco, the Hogsmeade raid, and your kidnapping--along with countless other Death Eater attacks--he's a ruthless criminal. Shows little mercy to anyone, especially Muggle-borns."

"Yeah," Ron nodded his head toward the room where Hermione and George were. "He's the one who did that to her."

Both men stiffened. "Is she all right?" Mr. Weasley asked sharply. "She was walking earlier, but if it was Dolohov--"

"I think she'll be fine," Ron said loudly to mask his father's concern. "She's more scared than hurt, but he--" Ron's fists clenched instinctively as he remembered how pale Hermione had been when he had first found her upstairs. It had made him feel as though he had just fallen off his broomstick while a dementor sucked out his soul. He couldn't help feeling responsible for her being there--she had been right in front of him and he had just let her go. He had sat there like a bump on Neville's stupid toad and let her be dragged away. And then it had taken him forever to find her. Getting through and avoiding a throng of angry Death Eaters had been no easy feat. He had reckoned they'd take her back to the house, and from the way Dolohov had grabbed her and dragged her away, he knew it wasn't to let her go with a pat on the head and a glass of pumpkin juice. There had always been cold-blooded murder in that man's eyes. Terrifying uncertainty had clouded his judgment, so it had taken him even longer to find the concentration to connect with her. Then he couldn't even find what room she was in until he had heard her scream his name in a way that made his blood run cold. Ron shivered again with the memory of Hermione's voice screaming his name.

His father's hand was on his shoulder again, but it didn't alleviate any of Ron's anguish. In fact, it in a way it made it worse. "We'll find him," Mad-Eye spoke up. "Did you see which way he went?"

"I know where he is," Ron said in a hollow voice. "He's upstairs right where I left him." He fixed his eyes on the floor in front of him, haunted by the sight of the wide, blank eyes forever frozen in fear. "He's dead."

The grip on his shoulder tightened in dreaded anticipation. "And how did he die?" Arthur Weasley asked hoarsely, although he already knew the answer.

Ron somehow found the strength to look dead on at both of the gaping men in front of him, and his voice was strong and clear, without a single tremor. "I killed him."

**

Oh, let me sail away

Get lost at sea

Where I won't hear her voice

Where I am blind and free

For as Sirens call the sailors

She calls to me

**

Harry had always enjoyed flying on a broomstick, but none of his many, many trips up in the air compared to this feeling. He was flying--he was floating and free-falling far, far away from everything that he had ever known. He was somewhere beyond the realm of limited human thought, and that realization made him want to smile, even though he knew he had no lips to curl upward. He had no body--all that was left of him was the mere essence of life.

A song was guiding him to his new home--a lovely, beautiful, uplifting song that touched Harry in a place that had only been grazed by Ginny Weasley. It lifted him up, it swarmed around him, it sucked him dry, and it led him home. Entranced, Harry followed the song. He let the golden notes of the pure melody lead him through the darkness that he had been soaring through.

There was a light at the end of the darkness, and the song led Harry directly toward it. As he got closer, Harry peered even closer in amazement, wondering if it was really real. It wasn't a light--it was a veil. A veil of bright yellow and purple radiance was fluttering in some wind and Harry clawed toward it, completely captivated. It was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen, and he had to get to it. He had to reach out and touch it, he had to feel the warm plasma of light on his fingers as he parted the curtain, and he absolutely had to pass through to see what was on the other side.

A sharp tug broke his hypnotic fascination from the gently swaying veil of light, and he abruptly fell farther away from the veil. Grunting slightly, Harry tried to get back, but with a dull thud, his feet landed on earth and his body returned. However, Harry knew he was still in another place. He wasn't completely back on earth, but he was also no longer wherever he had been. He was somewhere in between the two worlds--some odd limbo that after a quick glance around, looked eerily like the hills of Hogwarts. The only difference was that the veil was still there. It was farther away, and made of a tattered, worn material, but it was still there, calling for him.

But there was something else shouting for him. A sweet, beloved, enchanting voice was crying out his name, and for a moment, Harry stopped, bewildered and conflicted. He knew exactly whose voice it was calling for him across the miles. For several long moments, he couldn't move. She needed him; she was screaming, begging for him to come back, and instinctively Harry turned back to the girl who had really saved the world.

But the fluttering of the curtain caught his eye again, and the tantalizing melody was powerful enough to drown out the most beautiful sound he had ever known. As much as he wanted to go back, he couldn't--not while the song was still pulling at his heartstrings. Harry turned back toward the veil again only to do another quick about-face toward the sound of his name. It was as though his soul were being ripped in two, a fierce internal battle was waging away, deep in the recesses of his secret soul. On the one hand, there was a girl waiting for him, but on the other hand, that scared him more than he cared to admit. He could finally admit that he was bloody crazy about her, but at times he didn't like that he was in love. It was frightening, it turned his world upside down, and it changed everything. It would never be just him--it would always be them. He would have to take care of her, and Harry wasn't sure if he could give her everything she deserved. What if he failed her? He had hurt her before, what if he hurt her again? He had been reckless and stupid to rush into this--he had been right to shun Ginny away. He couldn't bear to see the light in her eyes fall and her heart shatter before him again. He was certainly braver than the average wizard, but even Harry Potter couldn't endure that. He could only take breaking Ginny Weasley's heart once in his life. Best to just leave her now and be done with it. She would be better off without him.

Harry turned his head back toward the veil and allowed its song to wash in a hot deluge over all of his senses. He had to go on--he had to find out what lay beyond the veil that had taunted and lured him for over two years. Ever since he had seen it at the Department of Mysteries, he had needed to know. He couldn't live without knowing where the ones he had lost had gone. It was time to discover the truth.

"No, Harry."

Harry turned in irritation, but it instantaneously vanished when he saw an all-too-painfully-familiar face. The song no longer rung in his ears, and the veil no longer taunted him. Sirius Black was standing before him with his fingers squeezing his arm as if he were afraid Harry was about to break free at any second.

He smiled crookedly at Harry's dazed surprise. "So you remember me," he joked weakly. His hand went fondly up to Harry's head as if to muss his already disheveled hair, but he stopped himself. It would just be too awkward to muss the hair of someone three inches taller than you. "Look at you," Sirius couldn't stop himself from muttering. "All grown-up."

Something was gripping and squeezing Harry's heart and throat with a hot, wet hand, and it was making it difficult to speak and breathe. There were a million things he ached to say to Sirius while he had the chance. He had been praying and dreaming and longing for just five more seconds with Sirius, but now that he had them, only the bitterness could stretch past the pain clogging his vocal cords. "Get away," Harry rasped out furiously.

The look on Sirius' face would have broken almost anyone's heart, but not Harry's. Harry had always turned to anger whenever he had been deeply hurt, and seeing Sirius standing before him was dredging up all too painful memories. It was like watching Sirius die all over again, and Harry couldn't go through that again. He still grieved for Sirius everyday--he even felt deeply ashamed at times that he mourned for Sirius more than for his own parents. Perhaps it was because he couldn't remember much about his parents, while Sirius' face and voice were permanently burned into his memory. But that didn't matter--all that mattered was that looking at Sirius hurt Harry more than the Cruciatus curse, and he just wanted to fly away from that anguish again.

He tried to jerk away from Sirius' restraining hand, but Sirius knew what was coming and only clapped his other hand on Harry's shoulder. "No," he repeated even more forcefully. "Harry, listen--I don't have much time."

"I bet you don't," Harry barked. He honestly didn't know what was the matter with him--he knew it was ridiculous to be snapping at Sirius like this, but he just couldn't help it. He should be on his knees begging for Sirius to come with him to the veil, but hateful, spiteful words just kept popping out of his mouth.

"Shut it," Sirius swiftly commanded in such a fatherly voice that it even stopped Harry's furious tongue and caused something to seize up in his heart. "I can't stay long, Harry--I don't belong here--but I had to see you, because I knew--" His voice hitched with several different emotions before exploding with a fierce intensity that Harry had missed so much. "What the hell do you think you're playing at, Harry? You can't leave. You need to go back right now--"

"No," Harry refused flatly. He waved his unpinned hand toward the fluttering veil behind him. "If I just go through, everything will be okay--"

"Just like everything was okay when I went through?"

"It's over!" Harry raged on. "Did you know that--I--killed--him--he's gone--it's OVER!" Even in his fury, Harry still had to pause momentarily to marvel at how delicious those words tasted in his mouth. "He's dead; they don't need me anymore. I fulfilled that bloody prophesy--"

"Is that all you think you are?" Sirius interrupted in disbelief. "A prophesy?" Harry was so frustrated at this point that he just let out a growl and jerked even harder against Sirius' grip. But Sirius still clung on with everything he had. "Listen to me," Sirius insisted hotly. "Do you know how many people are waiting for you to come back?" He nodded his head to some different plane of existence. "Yeah, your purpose was to save the world, but you have other purposes, Harry. You weren't just born to save the world. What about graduating? What about the Quidditch cup? N.E.W.T.s?"

"Like any of that matters," Harry muttered mutinously. Honestly, he felt like a sullen teenager once again, but he just couldn't shake himself from this dark mood--he just really wanted to go through that veil. Even at this distance it still sung to him, beckoned him to pass through the misty ethereal material to find what lay beyond.

"Well, what about everything you planned with Ron and Hermione?" Sirius countered. He had ceased shouting which had an even greater impact on Harry. A large portion of Harry's anger abated as he recalled the numerous times he and Ron would lie around the dormitory, eating Chocolate Frogs and discussing being Aurors together. Harry would be a pretty bloody awful friend if he just left him after everything Ron had just gone through to save him.

And Hermione. Harry's guilt intensified as he remembered just how much his other best friend had been through. She had literally come back from the dead herself and knew personally how difficult it was to come back. She knew how miserable they had all been after losing her, and she had fought with everything she had to come back to them. And promptly upon her return, Harry was now ready to run out on her?

"Stop it," Harry's voice was barely a whisper. The song of the sirens was growing fainter and fainter, but a small part of him ached to hear it again. And he knew that the next words out of Sirius' mouth were going to convince him to run back home. He tried to bring his hands up to cover his ears, but Sirius was already saying the dreaded name.

"Ginny?"

Harry had never sworn with such vulgarity in his entire life, and yet his heart had never ached more to see one person's face. The girl had just opened her heart to him after years of rejection, and he was about to shatter her soul once again. He couldn't do that to her--he just couldn't. For a few seconds, Harry Potter despised the fact that he had fallen so head over heels for a girl. Love could be a pretty wonderful thing, but right now, when all he wanted to do was just leave the world far behind him, love was rather like some blasted infection that he would never be free of. Ginny would always be in his blood, in his very skin, and in his heart, and there was no remedy for this sickness. She would affect every decision he made, every word that he said, and every breath that he took. And now, when he was about to make one of the biggest decisions of his life, there she was, mucking up the plan that had seemed all too clear to him only moments before.

Sirius, sensing that he was making headway, shook Harry slightly to bring him out of his reverie. "You were born to live, Harry," Sirius explained passionately. "And one of the bloody awful things about Voldemort was that he denies us that right--he denied us the right to live. You haven't been living, Harry, not the way you were meant to." Harry couldn't look at either the veil or Sirius anymore, so he just stood there in a mute standstill. "You always wanted to be ordinary. Now this is your chance."

Harry raised his eyes slightly to Sirius. He was at first ready to dispute that argument--there was no way in hell that he could ever be ordinary. But when he actually thought about it for a moment, why couldn't he be? Why couldn't he spend lazy days just hanging out with his friends without that nausea eating at his stomach--the nausea that came from unconsciously wondering if someone was about to come and deliver earth-shattering news once again? He could play Quidditch without fear of being tossed off his broom by a possessed professor. He could finish school, get a job, get married, have children, eat, drink, sleep, and live without Voldemort hanging over him. He could do anything he wanted--the possibilities were endless. He had his whole life ahead of him now. Was he really ready to throw it all away?

But the golden melody that filled his veins like warm thick honey was still oozing through his thoughts, so his feet were still melded to the ground in indecision. Sirius sighed with impatience; Harry wasn't stupid--he should have figured out by now that going back was the only thing to do. But apparently he needed more convincing.

"When I first got here," Sirius admitted quietly, "I didn't know why; I didn't think it was my time. But now--" His voice cracked. "Now I know why." Harry's throat burned as he waited. He had been dying to know the answer that question himself. Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder, no longer in a restraining vise, but as a father comforted his son, or as brothers advised one another. "I died so that I could be here, Harry, right now. I died to stop you from doing this." Harry closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, trying to hear the song once again. But it was gone, and only Sirius' steady voice reverberated through his ears. "Don't make it all for nothing." Sirius paused meaningfully, hating using this against Harry, but knowing it had to be done to make Harry see the necessity of living. "Don't make James and Lily's sacrifice for nothing," he added in a whisper.

Sirius' words went through Harry like a white-hot dagger, and it took a long moment before Harry could even begin to try to respond. As Harry finally raised his head once again, Sirius could see that his heart and soul were back where they belonged. Sirius heaved a huge sigh of relief, even though a large part of him rather hated the fact that Harry belonged in a place that he could never be. "Go," Sirius begged. "You always wanted a home, Harry. You always wanted to have a normal life. So go home. Live." Sirius' hand lingered on Harry's shoulder, knowing that it would be the last time he would be able to talk to his godson like this. He could feel Harry's skin grow more and more intangible by each precious second and knew that time was running out. He squeezed Harry's arm one last time in a silent farewell.

Harry was choking and trying to speak, but Sirius only shook his head. He knew in his heart everything Harry was trying to tell him, and he didn't need to hear it--not when there was something much more important to say. "They love you, Harry," Sirius told him, not caring that he was choking on the words with his tears. "They love you so bloody much."

Words that Harry Potter had always wanted to hear bounced blissfully in his eardrums, and his head moved to look over Sirius' shoulder. He gaped at the two faint, distant figures he saw beyond the veil, but for the first time, Harry didn't run toward them. He wanted to, quite desperately, but he also knew that that part of his life was over. If he could change one thing about his life, he would change the fate of his parents in a millisecond. But dwelling in dreams never solved anything--and if he couldn't have his parents, what he could do was live his own life in the way that they would have wanted him to. He could be everything they would have wanted him to be. If he carried their ideals and beliefs in his heart, it would be almost as though they were alive in him. By living and being with the ones he loved the most, he in turn kept the ones he had lost with him forever and always.

Harry barely managed to croak out a heartfelt good-bye to Sirius and his parents before their now misty figures faded from view, and he spiraled back downward into a whirlwind of pain and disorientation before landing with a sharp jar back into cold reality. He sensed that she was beside him before he even opened his eyes, and without thinking, he bolted upward so that her touch could ease the harsh transition back into the initial coldness of the world of the living. Ginny let out a little cry of shock at his abrupt movement, but she crushed him in an embrace almost as tight as his own.

"Don't do that!" she hissed irately into his ear, her breath doing wonderful, warm things to the sensitive area under his earlobe. The feeling intensified when she sighed, expelling another long, glorious breath of air along with all of her anger toward him. "You scared me to death," she admitted quietly before cuddling even closer.

Harry was too busy reveling in the sweet sound of her voice and wondering how he could have been enraptured with some stupid song of a veil when he could spend a lifetime with her. He had spent almost his entire life trying as hard as he could not to need anyone, since he had always lost the ones he needed. He had even pulled away from Ron and Hermione in some ways to abate that fear. But now he knew that she was the one he could never pull away from, because he would crumple and die if he did. He needed her, and he didn't care if the whole world knew it. He didn't diminish his hold on her, and from the way Ginny sighed, she didn't seem to mind too much.

He finally opened his eyes and looked over Ginny's shoulder, squinting to make out his surroundings through fuzzy vision. To his surprise, he found he was in an unknown bed in a small room with only one window that allowed bright rays of sunlight to come streaming through. He was probably in St. Mungo's or some other magical hospital. Ginny was the only person in the room, but from the vast array of candy, flowers, and balloons that had been enchanted to never lose any air, he must have had loads of visitors while he was sleeping.

He frowned slightly. If he had this many gifts, that meant a lot of people had come, which meant that he must have been out for a long time. Ginny had finally pulled away from him to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand, and he waited until he could clearly see every freckle on her pretty face before speaking. "How long have I been out?" he asked in a hoarse, weak voice that obviously hadn't been used in a long time.

"A few days," Ginny relayed vaguely. She didn't appear to want to go into any details and settled for needlessly straightening and smoothing his pajamas. "We were so worried," she added quietly.

Harry swallowed hard. How had he ever even considered leaving her? "I'm sorry," he apologized instinctively.

Ginny snorted in disbelief. "Don't be stupid," Ginny said with her old defiance. "You saved the world and you're apologizing?" Her hand now moved up to run her fingers through his mussed hair. "Silly," she whispered fondly. He smiled wanly and leaned for a moment into her fingers. Ginny gave him one of the smiles she only used for him before raising her voice loudly. "Hey, he's awake!"

Harry jumped slightly, but his surprise abated as hordes of people stampeded into the room, alerted by Ginny's cry. Laughter escaped from the back of his throat at the palpable excitement that flooded the atmosphere of the tiny room. People were all talking happily at the same time. Wide beaming smiles swam in front of him on the faces of so many people--Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley--all of the Weasleys, Tonks, Neville, Kingsley, Hagrid...his family.

Harry smiled at the thought. His family. He finally had the one thing he had always wanted. He had actually had it all along, but he was just too blind and too stupid to notice. But now that he could see the light, he intended to never forget it.

He knew there were still things to do--after all, the world doesn't get saved in one day. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew there was still a lot to fix. He could see by the slightly haunted expression in Hermione's and Ron's eyes that there were things that they had to tell him about what happened, things that he would do everything in his power to amend. He knew Dumbledore's death would leave a gaping hole that would need to be filled. Wars didn't end in a day--now they had to travel the long road of reconstruction.

But now it was entirely his choice. He could be as involved as he wanted to be. If he wanted to rush into danger, he could, but if he wanted to play it safe, he could do that, too. His life was no longer dictated by some preordained prophesy. It was now determined by choice: his choice. He had his choices and his family, so how could it not all work out in the end?

So, despite all of the doubts and problems that plague even the best of all worlds, Harry just sank back onto his pillows, smiled, and for the first time in his life, silently whispered a thank you for this moment, and that Sirius Black had been brave enough to die so that he could have it.