Monster

Off and Away

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ron! Sometimes I wonder how you manage to get through the day without being jinxed!"

"Oh, come on, Hermione! I waited until he left, didn't I?"

"It's that you were thinking it at all, Ron..."

A combination of despair and amusement bubbled around Harry's chest as he watched his friends.

"Well," Ginny whispered in his ear, "I guess it wasn't all sexual tension after all."

Trying to swallow a snort, Harry found himself choking on his tongue.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, her willingness to listen to Ron and Hermione's tennis match clearly at an end. "Neville's... sexuality has nothing to do with it. Look at the kitchen!"

Along with his friends, Harry turned and stared at the counter and immediately knew what she meant--not that he was going to volunteer the answer. It was too much fun to watch Ron look absolutely lost.

"What?" Ron muttered. "It looks the way it always does."

"YES!" grumbled Molly Weasley. "It looks the way it does when I cook. Not a single scorched pot burning the countertop. Not a broken plate. No flour on the floor or butter on the windowsill."

"Oh," Ron mumbled. Hermione ran a reassuring hand across his back; it seemed that some things changed after all.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said. "Oh. Now come along, Ronald. You wash these dishes. Your father will be down soon, and the twins, Bill and his bride to be are all going to want to eat off of clean tableware. Since you didn't help make breakfast, you can help clean up."

"But...!" Ron spluttered, a finger lancing at his sister.

"Now, Ron."

Ron stomped over to the sink, favoring Ginny with a look of pure loathing that he usually reserved for members of the Malfoy family.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said, whispering again, her fingers dancing along his forearm. "I think Mum intends you and me to talk."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Yes," Ginny said, "oh." Taking him by the hand, she led him into the sitting room. Creaking let them know that others were moving on the first floor above.

Looking at his... At what? His girlfriend. His lover? His lady fair? She was Ginny, and that's what he most wanted her to be. Her eyes were both bright and shy and he couldn't stop himself; he leaned forward and kissed her.

"Harry," she mumbled against his lips after a moment, "please don't start, or that whole thing about Mum and Dad trusting us is going to be tossed right out the window."

"Don't think I can restrain myself?" Harry asked, though he truly wasn't sure himself.

Her lips moved against his ear, setting off wet flares. "Who said anything about you?" Harry shivered and--with great difficulty--moved just slightly back from her, not enough to break contact but enough to allow for the passage of air. Her face was dark and fierce, and he knew now what danger and delight that that look promised.

They each took a deep breath, and it was as if a charm had been dispelled. Once again they were simply two teenagers, standing in a shabby sitting room.

"So," Harry said, "your dad...?"

Ginny nodded and raised a hand to her mouth. "It was horrible, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said, and felt a terrible pang of sympathy.

"Yeah, I don't know who was more embarrassed to be going through the whole inquisition, Dad or Ron. Neither one of them could get a complete sentence out, and I sure wasn't going to open my mouth."

"There's Fred and George's sister!"

"No, no, Bill's. He's the one who taught me that the best way to stay out of trouble is to sit quietly, nod and look innocent. The twins couldn't pull that off in a million years."

"Oh." Harry looked at her, and said into her hair. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble with your mum and dad, Ginevra."

Her voice sounded both annoyed and amused when she answered. "Trouble? You think that was trouble?" She backed away from him. "Harry, there's nothing in the world I'd trade for what happened last night."

"Me either."

"Good."

"You're stuck with me."

"Good."

A rumble of conversation burst from the kitchen. It was with greatest reluctance that Harry tore his eyes, lips and hands away from Ginny to see if Luna and Neville had returned.

Fleur and Bill were walking to the table, their bodies touching at so many points that they looked as if they had been cemented together. Knowing Fred and George, that wasnÕt out of the question. BillÕs mother— looking no longer like a field general, but an indulgent mother—arranged places for them at the table while Neville replenished the chocolate. Ginny's dad shuffled towards the sitting room, looking terribly serious and thoroughly nervous. "Harry," Mr. Weasley said, "I was wondering if I might have a word."

"Anything you've got to say to Harry, you can say to me, Dad," Ginny said, clutching Harry's elbow.

"Ginny," Harry murmured, running a hand up her back; he felt her shiver. "I think I'd like a word alone with your dad, too."

She peered at him, mouth slightly agape. "Well, will wonders never cease? Harry Potter, wanting to talk with somebody about something personal. Fine, gentlemen," she said as she sashayed out of the room, "I'll leave you to it."

Both men watched her leave, shook their heads in unison, and looked at each other. Arthur Weasley led Harry towards the pair of battered armchairs in the back corner and gestured for him to sit. Peering down at Harry, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, Mr. Weasley looked on the verge of asking Harry something when he apparently lost the nerve and began to pace.

Begining to fidget at the older manÕs obvious discomfort, Harry said, "Mr. Weasley, I know you've got some things you need to tell me--need to ask me--but I have something I'd like to ask you. Would you...? Maybe, if you sat down?" He indicated the chair beside his.

White-faced, Mr. Weasley nodded and collapsed into the chair. "Of course, Harry. What can I do for you?"

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the sweet-natured man across from him. He had had only one truly personal conversation with Mr. Weasley, and that had been a warning about Sirius. Yet he felt he trusted and knew this man as well as any adult wizard alive--aside perhaps from Remus Lupin. And Hagrid, of course. "Mr. Weasley, I know you have some things you need to talk to me about, but maybe this will answer some of your questions..." Taking another breath, staring at a spot on Mr. Weasley's work robes that Mrs. Weasley had mended, Harry said very quickly, "When this is all over, when Voldemort is gone, may I have your permission and Mrs. Weasley's to ask Ginny to marry me?"

Mr. Weasley's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up towards his distant hairline. "I... That is... Well, yes, that does rather answer most of my questions, I suppose. Do I need to talk through the whole Giants-and-Jarveys thing, Harry? I mean—Ò

Oh, lord. ÒNo, sir, I think IÕve got a pretty good idea about all of that.Ó

ÒAh, good. IÕve done that with my sons, but I must admit I really wasnÕt looking forward to having to run you through that. I suppose, if you have any questions, Ginny could...Ó Suddenly, Mr. Weasley looked up at Harry; each of them blushed and removed his glasses. ÒWell, I mean,Ó GinnyÕs father muttered.

Harry nodded emphatically.

ÒGood. I must tell you, Molly and I want grandchildren, but we really arenÕt hoping for any in the near future. You understand?"

Again, Harry nodded.

Arthur Weasley removed his glasses and frowned. "But are you certain, Harry? You're... Well, you're both awfully young."

Harry wasn't certain. He wasn't certain of anything aside from the fact that he loved Ginny, that he loved Ron and Hermione--and Luna and Neville, and Ginny's family--even if it wasn't in quite the same way. That he would do anything to pay Voldemort back for what he'd done to Harry's family, to wizarding society, and that he'd do anything to keep the people he loved safe. That for the last year, it had been Ginny's face that Harry had seen as he fell asleep. That she had burned herself into his heart long before she had burned her hands into his flesh. That he knew. He nodded. "Yeah. I'm as sure as I suppose I could be. If anything were to happen to Ginny, I donÕt know how I could live, that's a fact. I know we're young, but I don't see that changing."

The older man pursed his lips and looked at Harry, and then nodded. "I understand."

"And... Were you and Mrs. Weasley any older?"

Mr. Weasley smiled. "No, Harry, we weren't, not much. Molly and I promised each other we'd get married in our sixth year, so we were younger even than you. And your parents married straight out of school for that matter." With a sigh, Mr. Weasley concluded, "It's these awful times. It seems terribly hard to wait, I think, not knowing if there really is going to be a later."

Harry nodded.

"Then yes, son. I'll talk with Molly, but I think I can speak for both of us. When this... mess is all finished with, it would make us both very happy if you would ask our daughter to marry you. Ginny has made it very clear how she feels about you. Molly's wanted you in the family since the day she saw you, and that's a fact. And I'd be honored to count you among my sons." Taking a deep breath, Arthur Weasley stood. "Well, that wasn't so hard after all. I'm sure there was more that I needed to talk with you about, but that covers the most of it, I think. If I remember anything else, I know where you'll be, don't I!"

"Yeah," said Harry. For the next few days, anyway.

"Oh, there you are, Harry," said Luna, dragging Neville and a large, flat, blanket-covered object that Harry assumed was Professor Dumbledore's portrait into the sitting room.

Ginny followed them, waving her arms. "Uh, Luna, I think they wanted a moment--"

"We've finished, I think," said Mr. Weasley, standing and clapping his hands together cheerfully.. "Now, I hear you lot made an excellent breakfast, and I'm famished..." And off he wandered toward the kitchen.

As Luna and Neville set the painting up, Ginny peered at Harry, eyes half-closed, lips pursed.

"What?" asked Harry.

"That was awfully quick," Ginny said, her tone deceptively flat. Knowing Ginny as well as he did, Harry was sure that something was bothering her.

"Uh, we understood each other," he said, and it was the truth. Or close enough.

"Right," Ginny said, one eyebrow arching slightly.

"Ah! Harry! What a pleasure to see you again, my boy! Luna, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Weasley!" Dumbledore's voice was strong and vibrant, and it made Harry's heart stop. Whipping around, Harry saw the headmaster's portrait, and it brought tears to his eyes--this was the Albus Dumbledore that Harry had met twice in the Pensieve: auburn-haired, and dressed in robes of deep plum that managed to look quite dashing. "It's very nice to see you all--and an added pleasure to see a new room--something a portrait so rarely gets to do! I take it we are at the Burrow?"

"Yes, sir," said all four teens as one.

"Excellent. My only sorrow is that I cannot partake of any of Molly's excellent cooking--I heard your father just now; I do hope that your mother is well, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, sir," Ginny said, looking every bit as dry-mouthed as Harry felt.

"Do you know, Ginny," said Dumbledore, eyes glittering, "I went to school with the last 'Miss Weasley.' She was very nearly as pretty as you, and almost as headstrong."

"I..." Ginny blinked. "Thank you sir. I think."

"You are very welcome, I'm sure," Dumbledore responded, smiling blithely. "Now, my granddaughter here has told me something of your conversation and your plans. I must say I am very proud of all of you."

Again the assembled teens murmured in unison. "Thank you, sir."

"However, there are some things that I believe Harry and I need to discuss in private. Would the three of you mind allowing us a moment?"

Ginny pulled an exasperated face, Luna simply smiled, and Neville shrugged. Harry realized he had hardly heard his friend speak in the past hour. "Wait... Before you go... Um, Neville, I wanted to apologize..."

The color began to rise in Neville's face again. "No, Harry--"

"Neville, really. We... I shouldn't have reacted like such an idiot when Luna told us... you know." Watching his friend squirm, Harry pressed on. "It wasn't because you're gay, Neville. It's because I've known you six years and I've never realized. That's what I wanted you to know."

"Oh," Neville muttered.

"Harry's right, Neville," Ginny said, placing a hand on the boy's arm. "We think it's great that Luna told us. Really. Don't we, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and realized even as he did so that it was true: he was uncomfortable, since he'd never known a gay person--or rather, had never known that he knew one--and didn't know how to behave. But Neville was a friend, and a good one. "Um... So... Got a... boyfriend?"

Neville's mild brown eyes flashed up, a look of alarm wide across his face. "No. No, Harry." He looked back down and shuffled. "Nobody outside the group to distract me from what we've got to do."

"Oh," Harry said, and found it odd that Neville's lack of a partner actually saddened him. "Doesn't it... Luna, you too--don't you feel funny going off on this ridiculous thing we're doing with two couples?"

"Oh," Luna said, her smile more crooked than usual, "I think it's lovely. I don't have a personfriend either, it's true, but I really can't imagine five people I'd rather be with, or anything that's more important to do."

Neville nodded, his bright eyes focused on Harry's chest.

"Well... Great. I guess..." Harry understood what Luna had said, which was remarkable in and of itself. Even so, he felt ill at ease. "Look, if we're making you uncomfortable or anything, let us know."

"All right, Harry," said Luna.

"Yeah," Neville said with a quick nod, "um, as long as we don't have to, you know, see, anything... Like Ron and Lavender..."

The Gryffindors all grimaced, then laughed nervously.

"Come along, Ginny, Neville," Luna said, taking each of them by the hand, "my grandfather wants to speak to Harry."

As she was being led away, Ginny cast Harry one more uneasy grin.

Harry turned back to the portrait, taking in the familiar, granfatherly smile, the indulgent expression. Thinking only that he would start by asking about the Horcruxes, he wasn't ready for his tongue to sieze up and his eyes to overflow the minute he tried to speak.

"Ah," said the portrait. "Yes, everyone I talk to these days seems to have that reaction. I'm terribly sorry, Harry; I can't even offer you a toffee."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry blubbered. "I c-could have saved you and I d-d-d--"

"Harry, would it help you to know that I was already living on borrowed time? That the curse upon Marvolo Gaunt's ring had sentenced me to death, and that I would not have been able to live even this long? That I would have been dead before I gathered you up at your aunt's house, were it not for the commendably quick work of Professor Snape?"

A cold fist closed around Harry's chest. "Him? He killed you, Professor! He betrayed you! How can you say that about a murdering cow--"

"Do not mistake Severus Snape for a coward, Harry. He is many, many things, some of them mutually contradictory, but he is not nor never was craven." In his frame, the young-ish Dumbledore held up his hand. "Harry, even now I cannot tell you why I trusted--and trust--Severus Snape. Some secrets are not mine to tell. But you know enough to know that he was compelled to act as he did. I was perfectly aware that this was so--that he had been tricked into making an Unbreakable Vow. Do you not think that I had at least as good a reason to trust him as I did to fear him?"

The ice in Harry's heart did not thaw, but he saw the logic in what the headmaster was saying. Even if he didn't want to admit it. "I hate him," he muttered. "He should have died himself before he even thought of killing you! He's the reason that Voldemort killed my parents!"

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, he was. And it is an act that I assure you he regrets daily. We all carry regrets, Harry. You now know my greatest regret--greater even than leaving you with those dreadful relatives of yours. If you will condemn Severus for acting wrongly if ignorantly, then you must do the same to me. What do you think of a man who never acknowledged his only daughter? Who never was able to proclaim his miraculous granddaughter to the world? Minnie made a choice to have Argentia even though we were both embroiled in a war--even as you are embroiled, Harry. And she asked me to remain silent. She did not wish my notoriety to endanger the child, nor for the child to become a danger to me. I was an old man, even then, Harry," the figure said, gesturing to himself, to the wisps of grey in his beard. "And I was deeply in love with a beautiful, strong-minded young woman--and so she was, and is, Harry, please let me assure you. I willingly allowed her to distance herself from me so that she and our child might be safe. Do you condemn me, Harry?"

Shame blossomed into Harry's face as he remembered his conversation with Ginny at the headmaster's funeral. "No sir, of course not."

Paint though they were, it felt as if the portrait's eyes were boring into Harry. "Then do not condemn Severus Snape out of hand, my boy. His motivations are peculiar and his manner more so, yet the man acts out of his own brand of honor. Do not judge too hastily."

Harry's jaw clenched on the words, yet he managed to speak them. "Yes. Sir."

With a brief nod and a sigh, Dumbledore continued. "Good. I know I ask much of you, yet there is no one else to ask. Love does make us do the strangest things, Harry..." Before Harry could ask what he meant, the portrait shuddered. "Minnie--Professor McGonagall and I remained close, I believe, until the moment of my death. And yet by sacrificing our love to our cause--and for our daughter's safety--we lost much of the intimacy that we had once had. Do not make such a mistake, do you understand me?"

The intensity and sincerity of the old man's tone shook Harry deeply. "No, professor. No. I won't."

"Good." A twinkle returned to the painting's bespectacled eyes. "Now, I do not think that you had my little lunar butterfly haul this hunk of canvas through the Floo to talk about Severus Snape and lost loves. What may I do for you, my boy?"

"No, sir." Where to start? Staring up at the face to which he had looked so often for answers, Harry now struggled even to contain the questions. He took a long steadying breath. "I... I broke a promise last night, sir."

"Did you, my boy?"

"Yes, sir. You had said that I could tell Ron and Hermione about Tom Riddle and the Horcruxes, but not to tell anyone else. And... Last night I told Ginny--"

"Did you, now?" said the portrait, apparently quite pleased. "May I ask, Harry... I do not have all of the facilities for gathering information that I had when I was flesh and blood, Harry; it is most annoying. However, before my most recent portrait was taken, I had become quite aware that you had developed certain feelings for Miss Weasley. Was I correct?" Harry nodded. "And did you finally act upon those feelings?" Another nod. "Ah! Excellent. I hope I collected from Minnie; she bet quite heavily that you never would."

"She... What?"

"Oh, yes. We had a small pool going--Remus, Minerva, Alastor and I. She bet that neither you nor Mr. Weasley would ever--how did she put it?--'remove your thumbs from your posteriors' and confront the ladies that you so clearly admired. Remus, the old romantic, was convinced that the four of you would be paired off by the end of last summer. Moody--who also has a terrific soft spot for romance, though he'd never admit it--believed that Mr. Weasley would admit his feelings for Miss Granger by Christmas, but that it would take dragons to haul you and his sister together. And I bet that you and young Ginevra would find your way to each other before the end of the school year, but that her brother and Miss Granger would take a bit longer. So, how did I do?"

Harry gave a small grin; he did not want to know what sort of wager the headmaster and Professor McGonagall might have had going. "You did quite well, sir."

"Oh, good." A blush came over the headmaster's face, and Harry now knew that he really didn't want to know anything more about the wager.

"Well, sir, the thing is, I told her about the Horcruxes last night. Ginny. And I told Neville and... and your granddaughter this morning. But Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall both asked me what you and I had been... About the Horcruxes. And I didn't think I could tell them, sir. Because..."

"Because they came to you, not as friends and allies, but as representatives of the Order of the Phoenix, the organization that I headed, but which I had not told about Tom Riddle's plans."

"Yes, sir."

"My, my. First of all, Harry, I think you have shown excellent judgment in choosing those whom you have told about the Horcruxes. The three to whom you have extended your trust have earned it fully, and more than once, have they not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and for a moment he saw Neville's face, bloodied not once but twice in battles against Death Eaters. Saw Luna's fierce determination at the Department of Mysteries and her compassion after Sirius's death. Ginny's blazing eyes. "Yes, sir."

"As to Molly and Minerva... Harry, I think you're instincts are good. But if it were not for your promise to me, would you be feeling such qualms?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry considered the headmaster's question. If not for the promise... "No, sir. That is, yes, I think I would still be feeling as nervous. Because I don't want too many people knowing this--it's dangerous for them and I'm worried that if word gets back to Voldemort or even to the Ministry what I'm up to, then..."

The portrait's smile was just as wide, but the eyes were harder now. "Yes, Harry. Precisely. I understand. The longer you act in secrecy, the greater the odds of your finding the Horcruxes and destroying them before Voldemort can act to stop you." The figure steepled its fingers before its bearded mouth. "Perhaps if I spoke with Molly? I could tell her in general terms what you are up to--tell her that you are hunting enchanted objects that would aid in the destruction of Voldemort. That you need to move as quietly as the Boy Who Lived can move, that you are the person who needs to gather these objects, and that your friends' talents are admirably suited to assisting you."

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir. That would be really helpful. Do you think she'll understand?"

"Ah," sighed Dumbledore, "Molly has an excellent grasp of strategic necessity. She does not always like what she sees, but she sees remarkably clearly."

"Then yes, sir, I think that would be a big help."

"Good. Once you and I have finished our other orders of business, I would like you to send her to me, then."

"Other orders of business, sir?" Harry had been feeling a mixed sense of relief and regret that his conversation with the late headmaster's simulacrum was drawing to a close.

"Well, of course, Harry. There are some other questions that I rather expect you would want to ask me, are there not?"

"Oh!" New relief was mixed now with embarrassment. "Of course, sir." He ran his fingers through his hair. "The Horcruxes. How do I find them? Once I've found them, how do I dispose of them? How do I avoid any curses they may have on them, or potions or traps or creatures that have been set to guard them? How do I keep Ginny and Ron and them safe?" He began haltingly, but once he got started, it all came out in a rush.

The portrait smiled. "Yes. The very questions I had anticipated that you would need to ask. As it happens, I have answers for all of those, though not necessarily answers that will satisfy you fully, I'm afraid."

With a shrug, Harry said, "I understand, sir."

"In the first place, it will not perhaps surprise you that I kept rather voluminous notes concerning my researches on Tom Riddle and Horcruxes. Knowing that I was dying--and knowing that I would not want anyone but you, Harry, to have access to those notes once I did in fact pass on to the next great adventure--I secreted them at Hogwarts in a spot I thought it likely only you and I would think of." The portrait leaned back, a satisfied smile firmly in place.

Harry searched his mind for a suitable hiding place, but none sprang to mind.

"Would it help, Harry, if I said that this particular hiding place was one of my cleverer ideas, and that--if I do say so myself--that's saying something?"

"The mirror!" Harry gasped. "You've hidden it in the Mirror of Erised!"

"Oh, well done, Harry. You did remember, even after all of these years. Yes, it is within the mirror that my notes on the Horcruxes and their likely locations are deposited."

"But sir," Harry said, "that's great, but where is the mirror?"

Again, Dumbledore favored him with a pleased-looking grin. "Now, Harry, if you truly required a special hiding spot at the school--preferably one not far from the headmaster's office--don't you think there would be only one place to do so?"

"Oh! The Room of Requirement!"

"Yes, Harry. It is ironic, I suppose, that--as Minerva tells me--my own downfall involved that selfsame room. Yet I cannot but delight in that remarkable chamber. And it does indeed serve as an excellent place for secreting the most unlikely of objects. Bottles of sherry. A rather embarrassing wig, or a failed experiment in magical creature breeding, perhaps. A textbook?"

"Oh," said Harry again, only now with considerably less verve.

"Yes, Harry. Oh. That afternoon, as it happens, I watched you stow your book--or rather, Professor Snape's book--in that old cupboard. And I found that it explained quite a bit about your behavior this past year."

"Oh," Harry muttered. "I'm sorry, sir."

"For what, dear boy?" chuckled the portrait. "You have never shown yourself to be precisely bound by an overly rigid sense of law-abidingness; indeed, I am afraid that you and Mr. Weasley have been a far greater influence on Miss Granger than she on you in that respect. No, Harry, I do not condemn you for not revealing the source of your newfound Potions acumen. Indeed, I am aware that you were due every bit of leeway when it came to Potions, since you have received less than encouraging tutelage in that subject. No, I was speaking more to your relative distance from Mr. Weasley and, especially, from Miss Granger this past year. I had worried that it was due to something a great deal more serious than academic competition. And it was not merely my bet, nor Mr. Weasley's rather extravagant courting display towards Miss Brown that made me concerned."

"It was that sir--Hermione didn't like that I was doing better than her in class, and Ron was jealous that Professor Slughorn seemed so keen on me but couldn't remember his name. It was also because I was so obsessed with finding out what Malfoy was up to, when they thought it was nothing. But I think I was also beginning to realize just how dangerous the tasks ahead of me were, and I didn't want anyone--Ron, Hermione or Ginny for that matter--hurt because of it."

"Harry, no one understands that impulse better than I do, I promise you. But I assure you as well that pulling away from those we love in order to save them does a disservice to their love, and to your responsibility."

"I know that now, sir." Harry glanced around and peered out the entrance to the kitchen. Ginny was laughing with Luna, Fred and George. "I don't like it, but I do understand."

"Ah, my boy, do not be too hard upon yourself. It is a lesson we all must learn over and over again, the alternatives being to cease to live, or to cease to love. And Tom Riddle is an object lesson in the dangers of that choice, I believe." A hand stroked a painted beard. "Harry, you cannot protect those that you love, though it does you credit to want to. Argentia... My daughter. Do you know how she died?"

Harry shook his head. "Luna told me she was experimenting with a spell."

"Yes, Harry. She was a quite gifted Defense researcher--she worked in the Department of Mysteries attempting to find counter-spells for the Unforgivable Curses. She died seeking to perfect a shield against the Avada Kedavra, using your own survival as a basis for her research." The portrait loosed a long sigh. "She was killed, in fact, attempting to fight the very evil that her mother and I had attempted to shield her from. It was an irony that both Minerva and I appreciated keenly, I promise you."

"I'm so sorry, sir." Harry tried to imagine losing a daughter; Molly Weasley's weeping face filled his mind's eye.

"What I am trying to say, Harry, is that she died fighting for what she--and we--believed in. And she would rather have lived, I know, but she would not have changed her choices, this I know too." Dumbledore gave a small smile. "What I suppose I'm truly trying to tell you, Harry, is that the best love that you can show is to allow those you love to love you too--and to act as they needs must act. You have at your disposal as excellent a team of young witches and wizards--and friends--as you could possibly want."

"I understand, sir. I think." Boy and portrait nodded solemnly to each other. "I just have two more questions, sir."

"Yes, Harry?"

"The first, I'm... Well, it'll be easier just to show you, I think." Fingers trembling, he went to unbutton his shirt. Why am I nervous about showing a painting my chest?

"Oh, my." The grey-and-ginger brows of the portrait flew up beneath his thatch of auburn hair. "Quite impressive. I assume that that remarkable set of markings was made by Miss Weasley? You are aware, I suppose, that she has a matching set upon her--"

"Her shoulders, yeah," Harry muttered quickly; he knew that Ginny had not told the headmaster, and didn't want to think too deeply about how much the professor might know about his girlfriend's skin. "The thing is, sir, the Weasleys have thought since that whole mess with the diary that the handprints were the mark of a Life Debt that she owed me."

"Oh, did they now!" The headmaster was back in fine form, eyes twinkling, a smile causing the edges of his mouth to disappear under the tips of his impressive mustache.

"But Hermione said that Life Debt doesn't have any outward mark, that these couldn't be that..."

"A very clever, well-read witch, Miss Granger. Yes, Harry, she is correct. Your marks are not the signs of a wizard's debt, neither yours nor Miss Weasley's. They are extraordinarily rare, young man, rare and beautiful as phoenix song, but they are not unheard of. To my knowledge they do not have a name, these marks, but they do denote a deep bond, something deeper than any debt. I see that this does not surprise you."

Again Harry's gaze strayed to Ginny. She was talking with George, but her eyes were on him. She gave him a smirk that clearly said, Go ahead, Potter. Open your shirt again. Show everyone you're mine. "No, sir. I don't think it does. I think, without realizing it, I marked her down in the Chamber of Secrets, and now she's done the same to me."

"Ah! Good! Well done, Harry. You've worked out the causality of it. Not many do. It is easy to see the marks as a sign of the bond on the one bearing them, when in fact they are more in the way of a promissory note, if you will forgive my return to the language of debt and commerce."

"You mean... They're about something I promised her in the Chamber? And she promised me last night?" Harry furrowed his brow. "But..."

"But you were not aware that you had made any such promise at the time. Yes, Harry." The headmaster gave a quick smirk. "Of course, I was aware of it, knowing as I did the nature of lovely set of openhanded markings that you had left upon Miss Weasley--which is why I wagered upon you as I did. Gambling is one thing. A sure thing is another." The portrait's expression became serious again. "Harry, no one knows quite what causes these marks to appear, nor has anyone been able to identify whom they will appear upon. Is it a sensitivity in the person who gives, or who receives? Is it a particular electricity between them? You and Miss Weasley are the third couple that I have known to be so marked, however, and I will tell you this: it always happens to both members of the couple--perhaps not at once but eventually, each member of the pair will mark the other; and it always marks a bond not only of passion, but of compassion. The first is a very necessary ingredient in bringing a couple together, it is true--especially a young couple--but the second is essential in keeping them together. I need not ask you whether you would die for Miss Weasley or she for you, since it is self-evident, even without the handprints that you each bear."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, and a heat rushed through him as he considered all that the headmaster had just told him. "Do you mind my asking, sir? But, um, who were the other couples?"

"Your parents, of course, were one. Your father's marking looked like a rather jagged letter S."

Involuntarily, Harry's hand flew up to his scar.

"Yes, Harry. Evidently, both were your mother's doing. As to the other couple... Well, I am afraid that modesty forbids my showing you my handprints--or informing you where Professor McGonagall bears hers. But I assure you she bears them still."

The excited heat that had been flowing through Harry all seemed to rush to his face as he tried desperately not to think about how hard it would be to look the headmistress in the face the next time he saw her. "Oh. Thank you, sir." Time to change the subject. "Just one more question, sir. How did you know Hermione and Ginny wouldn't be the ones to act?"

Dumbledore's smile broadened. "Ah, Harry, but they had. Very clearly and more than once. It was then a question of when and if you and Mr. Weasley would find yourselves ready to reciprocate. In Minerva's words, to pull your thumbs out of your posteriors. And I am very pleased that you have both seen fit to do so. More pleased than I can say."

"Uh, I'm glad sir." Harry gazed at the kindly, painted face for a moment and realized that, truly, there was nothing left for them to say, and that saddened him. Well, one more thing to say, I suppose. "I... I miss you, professor."

The portrait regarded him for a long moment, the edges of its mouth turning slowly down, the eyes no longer twinkling quite so brightly. "Ah, Harry. As someone who saw almost seven generations come and go, I know the feeling all too well. I am sorry that I cannot be at your side as you prepare yourself for the battle to come. I am sorry that I will not see you continue to blossom from the lovely, brave young man that you have always been to the remarkable wizard that you are destined through your own actions to become. But know, Harry, that as much as I have stepped to the other side of that veil, what I told you five years ago nonetheless holds true: help will always be given to those who ask for it. Those who loved you in life have never abandoned you, my boy. Nor will we. Now," said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together, "I believe it is time that Molly Weasley and I had a little chat."

Harry nodded, murmured a quick goodbye and walked towards the kitchen.

By some intuition, Mrs. Weasley had stationed herself immediately outside the sitting room, and passed Harry with a quiet touch to his shoulder when he told her that the portrait wished to speak with her.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gazed into the kitchen. The twins were listening to Luna with clearly exaggerated seriousness. Bill looked lost in bliss as Fleur brushed out his hair, and Ron was speaking to Hermione in the kind of hushed, intent tones that he usually reserved for discussions of Quidditch strategy. Hermione looked torn between joy and tears, as did Neville, who was talking with Charlie, while Mr. Weasley sipped at his tea and read The Daily Prophet. In the center of the table sat Ginny, still staring at Harry, her hair wild around her shoulders, her eyes blazing, and the light of the hidden handprints on her shoulders--of the small marks and nicks that he knew that he had left elsewhere on her body as she had left some upon his--sang through him and the creature within Harry trumpeted out, and its song was glorious and filled him and the room with a beautiful and unearthly sound that soared beyond his senses and yet seemed terribly close, and terribly familiar. Harry's vision swam, and he cleared his glasses.

Fine, warm fingers found the spot on his shoulder that Mrs. Weasley had touched just a moment before; a red flame burst blurrily into the scope of Harry's vision. As he put his glasses back on, he saw Ginny's small, fierce face peering up into his. "Okay, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said, and a smile seemed to overcome his whole body. "Yeah, I'm fine."