Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 80 - When Friends Fall Out

"Oh ... Merlin! What on earth did you do?"

Ron had no good answer for Hermione. He was still in the mutely contemplating his wand stage - trying to puzzle out the same question. The book had never failed him before, but this was very different....

When Ron failed to respond, Hermione bypassed him - her inquiry was largely rhetorical, anyway.

The scene Hermione faced was even more disturbing than her last visit, which took some doing. Harry lay crumpled in a pile of rubbish - like a broken manikin dumped for the dustmen. Stark naked, unconscious, his face and body battered and bruised, Harry still clutched his wand in one hand and a team Firebolt in the other.

All that paled against a great bleeding gash disfiguring Harry's body from his right hip to his left shoulder.

"Oh Gods.... Immaculatous!" Instantly, the trash strewn about Harry took flight and soared into the Gryffindor clubhouse's several rubbish bins. The Snitch simulator, a bit worse for wear, hopped back into its mount. Hermione had learnt cleaning from the best - Molly Weasley. "Tergeo!" She tried cleansing his wound.

Pointing her wand at Harry's injuries, Hermione shouted one incantation after another. "Finite! Finite incantatem!! Ennervate!! Episkey!" Unlike her domestic magic, none had the slightest effect on Harry or his gaping wound.

Increasingly frantic, she turned to Ron, "You cast it; maybe you have to end it...." When he hesitated, she almost screamed at him, "DO IT!!"

Ron echoed Hermione's repertoire of spell enders, with no greater success. The book was light in that area.

"For goodness' sake, Ron," Hermione, a hair's-breadth from panic, shrieked after his repeated failures, "get the team's first aid kit, now!"

Ron started to move, but hesitated and asked over his shoulder, "Shouldn't we call Madam Pomfrey?"

"Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!" Hermione directed the same spell that had dismantled Harry's four-poster at her own robes, slicing them to pieces she could use to apply direct pressure to Harry's massive gash. "Honestly, Ron, do you want to be expelled? You're already on probation from your last fight. Anything she learns goes straight to Dumbledore and McGonagall - you know that!"

Ron hustled off. Hermione managed to prise Harry's hand from the Firebolt.

"A priori! Reversus incantatem! Nihilo incantatem! Terminium!" Hermione tried less common incantations for ending spells, looking for something, anything, to reverse Ron's unknown spell. "Tergeo!"

In a few seconds, Ron brought the team's kit. After today's multiple-injury match, it was a mess, which the elves had yet to replenish. Almost no heavy duty tape or anything else usable, such as large bandages, remained. Looking around frantically, Hermione spotted a certain someone - still paralysed - lying against the lockers behind a bench.

"Ennervate!"

The red-headed witch moaned and started to move.

Still kneeling beside Harry, Hermione glared at her all-too-successful rival through narrowed eyes. Coldly she ordered, "Ginevra Weasley, if you hope to have Harry for more than the last hour, do exactly what I say. Get me all the clean towels you can find - NOW! MOVE!"

With grim satisfaction Hermione noted how quickly Ron's younger sister scuttled away.

Unless Hermione somehow managed to staunch Harry's hemorrhaging, that satisfaction would be cold comfort indeed.

"Tergeo!"

Turning to Ron, whilst also struggling to Spellotape conjured bandages over Harry's still freely bleeding wounds, Hermione demanded, "Ron - tell me every damned thing you know about that blasted spell."

"It's called Sectumsempra, and it's used against enemies," he responded.

She waited, expecting him to continue. When Ron volunteered nothing more, she bore in. "That's not very helpful, Ronald. What's it supposed to do?"

"Cut people, I guess," Ron replied dully.

"Tergeo! Well, it bloody worked! That's obvious ... from the etymology," she snarked whilst pressing another jerry-rigged plaster into the angry slash at Harry's hip. "'Sectum' means to cut, and 'sempra' typically means always - like Rictumsempra. Now, how do you end it?"

"Don't know - thought you knew that."

"What's the counter-curse?"

"Don't know."

"How long do its effects last?"

"Don't know."

"How strong is it?"

"Don't know."

"Thanks for the help, Ron," Hermione snapped, her nerves frayed beyond civility. "On the last, I have some idea...."

Although she knelt and Ron loomed over her, Hermione totally dominated their conversation. Grabbing the Firebolt, now lying next to Harry, she thrust it at Ron. "Look at the handle. See how your curse scored it. That was no student's curse. You could have killed him - you may yet. Tergeo!"

Almost robotically, Ron took the proffered broom. The enamel, magically enhanced to protect against nicks and chips during rough Quidditch matches, was gouged clean through into the wood, almost to the core. "Umm ... I guess."

Hermione could scarcely believe what she heard. Whilst her plasters slowed Harry's blood loss, they could not stop it. "Ronald, you mean to tell me that in fighting Harry, you used a curse you didn't know what it did or how powerful it was?"

Ron blushed to his toes. "Umm ... I guess...." With Harry bleeding out before his eyes, he seemed in a daze - barely able to comprehend the enormity of his action and helpless to undo it.

"Where in Merlin's name did you learn it?" Hermione howled in frustration as she replaced yet another plaster soaked through with Harry's blood.

"Tergeo!"

Ron paused. Before he could answer, Neville and Luna pelted into the room.

"Merlin's ghost!" Neville exclaimed, seeing Harry unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely despite numerous bandages. "What the hell happened here?"

Instead of adding to the confusion, Luna quietly began disposing of bloodstained material.

At the welcome sight of reinforcements, a plan gelled in Hermione's mind.

"Neville, you were at the pre-match Prefects' meeting," Hermione urgently addressed him. "Do you remember where Dumbledore said the goblins were encamped?"

"Yeah, I definitely do.... Oh my...." He gawked.

Ron glared.

Ginny Weasley stepped carefully into the room, carrying a stack of white towels piled high enough to prevent her from seeing in front. "This is as many as I could carry.... Where do you want them?"

"Put them here, next to Harry." Hermione tapped a spot beside her whilst continuing her struggle to staunch the flow of his magic-resistant wounds. "Tergeo!" Before Ginny could act, Hermione yanked a towel from the girl's load and started to use it. She stopped and gave it a sniff. "Wait! Are you sure they're sterilised? "

"They're clean," Ginny answered, obviously annoyed. "That's what you asked for. I don't know how to sterilise anything. I'm not in Healing."

"If you're serious about Harry, you'd be well advised to learn," Hermione hissed, resentment seeping into her voice as surely as Harry's blood seeped through her inadequate bandages. "Hold still, then. I'll do it."

Hermione pointed her wand at the pile of towels in Ginny's arms. A fleeting thought of retribution against the traitorous Weasley witch entered Hermione's brain. Whilst she had never attempted a certain Lesson 128 hex, it could supposedly sterilise much more than just towels.

But at this juncture hexing Ginny would only worsen the confusion and delay - with Harry in serious condition. It was beneath her. Hermione was not that cold-blooded.

"Æsepticus!" Hermione incanted. "All right, leave them here.... And for heaven's sake, Ginny, put on your clothes. You're distracting Neville."

Ginny dropped the towels where she was told and skittered off.

Neville did concentrate better without Ginny's bits on display. Hermione motioned for Luna to take over keeping direct pressure on Harry's wounds. She stood to talk to Neville.

"Neville, the goblin commander is named Slamdor. Use my name. Tell him to come at once and bring every Healer he has. Tell him Harry's been hurt and -" She stopped for a moment, pained at what she would say next. "- Savini wants, no needs, them right away."

"I'm on it." Neville obeyed without question. He turned and ran out the door.

"Ron, you need to go, right now." Hermione told him sternly.

"Go where?" he asked.

"Just get out!"

"Get out?"

"Get ... back to the Castle," she ordered. "The goblins are your last chance to avoid expulsion. They have good Healers and won't tell anybody anything that Harry and I ask them not to. But when they learn you cursed Harry, they might do worse to you. So you'd best not be here when they come. Tell everyone - oh, hell - that goblins surrounded the clubhouse, which they will, and are protecting Harry's and Ginny's ... privacy. Tell them I'm in seclusion ... which I will be when done here."

Ron had seen enough of the goblins to believe Hermione's every word. He hurried for the door....

She stopped him cold with a direct question.

"Ron, did you learn Sectumsempra from the Half-Blood Prince?"

He stiffened. "Umm ... yeah."

Hermione took no pleasure in her suspicions being proven right. "Listen to me, Ronald, I'm only saying this once," she growled. "I know you did this for me and my honour, and for that I'm grateful. But just look at Harry - that book is dangerous."

"Bollocks, Hermione," Ron snapped back. "Not this again.... You just can't stand being second best in anything."

Hermione saw red. Instantly, she was almost as angry at Ron as with Ginny and Harry. Had her wand not been monitoring Harry's vital signs, she might have sent a hex or two Ron's way. "Don't dare accuse me of that, Ronald!" she replied hotly. "That's trivial! Look at what you've done, dammit! Don't you see? It's Dark. That was a Death Eater curse! Your Prince was almost certainly a Death Eater! You don't - really don't - want anybody wondering about you...."

Ron stood there stupidly, but at least stopped resisting.

"...And unless you turn that awful book over right away, I'll personally tell McGonagall what you did," Hermione threatened. "Am I quite clear?"

She heard Ron's breath hitch from across the room. "Yeah, absolutely." He gave in.

"Now get going, before the goblins get here."

Ron took off running.

Ginny wandered back into the room - demurely dressed at last. "Shouldn't I go for Madam Pomfrey?"

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Not unless you fancy explaining to your mum exactly why Ron was expelled," she spat. "Just ... just don't - just ... don't...."

Hermione refocussed on Harry, Luna, and more serious matters. "Any luck?" she asked.

"Very little, I'm sorry," Luna answered. "This is quite resistant to everything I've tried...."

"Same here," Hermione sighed.

"...I think - whatever Ronald did, he used Dark magic." Luna stated flatly.

"What! How do you know?" Hermione shivered at the thought. Screaming that at Ron was primarily hyperbole - for emphasis. But if Luna were right....

If Ron's spell were truly Dark, he had no future at Hogwarts. Not only was using such magic against another student an expulsion-mandatory offence - regardless of probation - but Dark magic lacerations took forever to heal. Hermione recalled the injuries she suffered from Dolohov's curse at the Ministry. It would be impossible to keep Harry's wounds hidden from the authorities.

"I'm an empath," Luna reminded her. "I feel darkness when I touch him near the cut. I'm not very good yet, but this is obvious. You need...."

Agitated, Hermione cut across her. "That settles it. I want you to get that blasted book from Ronald tomorrow and bring it directly to me. It's a menace."

"Okay, but I think you should...."

WHAM!! BAM!!

The door splintered. Ginny shrieked and fled into the captain's office as four grey granite boulders smashed the (unlocked) front door, rolled to a halt, and transformed into four extremely jittery goblins. Slamdor was first; followed by a vaguely familiar senior goblin. The two others were obviously Healers. One goblin Healer darted for Harry, shooing Luna aside. The other kicked the rest of the door out of the way and stood by, waiting.

After a few seconds, a trolley of sorts, laden with goblin Healing equipment, floated into the room. More goblin Healers entered, swarming around Harry. Feeling useless and in the way, Hermione led Luna outside into the evening air. She welcomed the chance to breathe again and not to stare down at the boy - no, the man - whose infidelity could still cost everyone far more than a wrecked relationship.

Behind them, in the darkness, they could hear goblins deploying - surrounding the Gryffindor Quidditch clubhouse just as Hermione predicted.

Hermione approached the nearest goblin and addressed him with an air of command she did not feel. "I need your help for a moment."

"Uh ... Savini. Of course."

"I need to find my way back once I'm beyond your Cloaking spells."

The nervous goblin, not used to serving royalty (or close to it), carefully led Hermione and Luna beyond the perimeter.

"I need to try something," Hermione told Luna. "Assuming the goblins can stop Harry's bleeding, he'll need quite a bit of Blood Replenishing Potion. As Madam Pomfrey's Institution of Excellence official pre-Healing designate, I'm keyed into the Hospital Wing's supply charms, so I think this will work. Be ready to help me catch...."

Hermione turned towards the Castle, pointed her wand and incanted, "Apparecium Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Blood Replenishing Potion."

For a long, agonising moment Hermione wondered whether her spell had worked. She found out the hard way. From the nocturne, a substantial carton slammed squarely into Hermione's chest, nearly knocking her down. Recovering, she quickly opened it and found a dozen single-dose ampoules of Blood Replenishing Potion packed securely in the same ærogel that had cushioned her in the Founders' Chamber.

"Think that will be enough?" Luna commented on Hermione's Summoned trove.

Too intensely focussed to catch her friend's try at humour, Hermione replied, "Circe, I hope so. I don't think there's any more."

"Really, Hermione, that's plenty."

D'you think?" The Institution of Excellence official pre-Healing designate asked the Ravenclaw fifth year.

"If you aren't sure, I certainly can't help you."

"It will have to do." Hermione sighed. She Transfigured a bit of brown paper packing tape from the carton into a piece of parchment, produced a quill, and started scribbling. "Once the goblins stabilise Harry, he'll need some of this, and I'm sure it's not in their apothecary," she nervously babbled. "I won't to be there, so Ginny will just have to follow...."

"Savini?" inquired the other senior goblin, who was approaching her. Hermione did not immediately recognise him. "Humble apologies, but interrupt may I?"

"Sure, no problem." Hermione instantly gave him her full attention. "How is Harry?"

"Most humble apologies, Savini," the goblin repeated himself. "Impratraxis cannot cure we. Most certainly with Dark wizard magic cursed was he. Our experience beyond it is."

Hearing the goblin's words, Hermione felt her world falling apart. Having just lost Harry as her lover, she was now facing the prospect of losing him altogether. If Harry died, expulsion was the least of Ron's worries. With untoward ends now looming for both of her best friends, she started shaking. Her breathing became fast and shallow. She found it impossible to speak.

"Savini?" The unfortunate goblin had no idea what to do.

Beside her, though, was a friend who had helped Hermione through a similar crisis. "Hermione?" Luna asked firmly. She took the shocked girl's hand, flinched at the emotions she felt, and whispered something in Hermione's ear.

"What!?"

Luna whispered something else, so that the confused goblin did not overhear.

"Oh, Circe! Are you sure? Only me?"

"If he's right, and it's Dark magic, then yes. It's probably the position's major function."

Hermione's tremors abruptly ceased. Her revised mission was inescapable. To become the official pre-Healing designee, Hermione had accepted the Healer's Oath from Madam Pomfrey. Provided it was safe, those simple words: "Above all, I shall preserve life and health," demanded that she respond - the patient's identity was immaterial.

Even Dolohov....

Even Ginny....

Hermione turned to the goblin. "Are you...? I'm sorry I don't know your name."

"Kamarak am I." He identified himself. "In Dumbledore's office met, we did when the Dark wizard's Pensieve as tribute brought we."

"How certain are you that Harry was cursed with Dark magic?"

"My field is it," the goblin answered more confidently. "Wizard Dark magic, trained am I to recognise and combat, but in goblin ... physiology only. Against risk of Dark wizard attack, attended today's match did I. But Impratraxis ... physically not goblin is he. Detect, but not help can I."

Kamarak was fidgeting. Hermione suspected he was on the verge of prostrating himself, something she found personally repulsive. "Anyor!" she directed, averting that possibility.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked to Luna. Their eyes locked, until Hermione nodded. "Very well, then. Take me to Harry, please. I can't see through your Cloaking spells."

Wordlessly Kamarak complied. Taking Hermione's hand, he led her, and she Luna, back inside. With a few words in Gobbledegook, Kamarak split the crowd about the goblin trolley where Harry rested.

He looked little better than before. The goblins had practically mummified him in self-rolling tape, but their plasters were as ineffective as hers. Blood oozed through in many places. What she could see of his skin had a porcelain bluish cast.

Hermione looked at Luna as if to say, 'Now, what?'

"We must remove as much of the wrappings as possible - consistent with keeping his bleeding controlled. Skin to skin contact is essential," the blond Ravenclaw instructed.

Hermione blanched. After his betrayal, she was ill-inclined to touch Harry more than she had already. But with no other choice, she directed the goblin Healers to strip off all Harry's bindings except those atop his body's awful diagonal wound.

They complied, after receiving a confirmatory nod from Kamarak.

"No!" she squeaked when they reached his crotch. "Just leave those covered."

Luna agreed.

Leaning over Harry, Hermione gulped. She placed one hand on his chest, and laid the other on his abdomen, with that hideous gash, constantly dribbling blood, between them. She looked at Luna.

"You know the first part," Luna replied calmly. "Search for the Stone. Since it's quite close, that shouldn't be hard."

Luna was right. Closing her eyes, Hermione connected almost immediately. Feeling the thrumming ambient energy, she hesitated.

Luna practically read her mind. "Don't worry. You'll draw off only as much power as the cleansing requires. Consider the source."

Hermione did. Ron had acted angrily and vengefully, but he was not evil.

"Now, repeat after me, and feel yourself drawing it out - but not to you - away from all of us." Luna began incanting a complex spell, in ancient Keltoi, of which Hermione understood not a word.

Hermione could follow directions just as competently as could give them. In the semidarkness of the clubhouse, her hands soon began emitting the same blue glow as at Stonehenge - only with much lower intensity.

Save the two witches' words, the onlooking goblins' silence was deafening.

As Hermione continued reciting the foreign words, the bluish glow spread to Harry's injury, lighting up the remnant goblin bandages from below. A distinct hiss began, and the white goblin bandages gradually discoloured as they caught whatever Hermione's magic expelled.

The hissing continued after the incantation was complete. The moment it stopped, Kamarak sprung into action before Hermione could ask Luna what to do next. He shot forward, stripped off Harry's bandages, and stuffed them into a tube he had at the ready.

He spouted orders in Gobbledegook. The goblin Healers rushed forward with their salves and fresh plasters, almost knocking Hermione out of the way.

"It's done," Luna told her.

Hermione retreated, uncertain what else to do. She felt a pair of eyes almost burning a hole in her back. She turned to Ginny, staring at her, halfway screened by the door to the captain's office.

Hermione's eyes hardened. Her voice turned frostier than her best Freezing Charm. She eyed the girl who had violated every concept of romantic ethics that Hermione lived by. "He should have broken up with me first," Hermione declared. "Then it wouldn't ... hurt so much." Despite her best efforts, her voice betrayed her.

Hermione drew her wand. Ginny cringed, but revenge was not on the menu. Hermione simply Summoned the carton of Blood Replenishing Potion from beside the door.

"He'll need this," she clipped. "I've written some basic instructions for you to follow. Once he's recovered, you two are to stay here all night. Do what you please, but the price of my peace is that neither of you darken the Castle's doors until morning...."

She would have said more, but Karamak interrupted. "Savini - come ... please..."

Harry was conscious. His wound, now completely slathered in goblin ointments, no longer bled as far as Hermione could tell.

"Hermione," he rasped. "I'm ... sorry that it...."

"No, Harry," Hermione interrupted. She willed herself not to break down - not in front of the goblins - never in Ginny's presence. "You had your chance to explain. You didn't even try. As least you ... that was honest. Tell it to Ginny. Don't start with me...."

Hermione turned on her heel.

"Savini...?" Slamdor started uncertainly.

"I'm not Savini any more!" Hermione shrieked as the dam burst.

She fled Harry's presence. He was no longer hers. He had betrayed her with that ... that scarlet woman. For a second occasion this wretched evening, she ran for the Castle. This time, in tears, Hermione's stamina failed. A two-by-four sized stitch in her side forced her to a walk. Luna caught her.

"Hermione ... you're a mess," she puffed. "Do you really want to go in there, just now?"

"I'm sure ... I don't," Hermione panted, utterly winded. "That's why ... I'm not.... I'm not going back to ... Gryffindor Tower ... tonight."

Luna accepted that instantly. "Do you want company?"

"NO!" Hermione shouted before calming down. "I'll ... I'll be okay - I promise. Just make sure you get that accursed book from Ron."

* * * *

Hermione was not ready to face her house mates just yet. She felt torn into tiny pieces. She wanted nobody's sympathy - real or feigned. Even less did she think she could sleep listening to Lavender and Parvati gloat over her comeuppance, or worse, hearing them plot to steal Harry for themselves.

Nor did she want "consoling" - if that were the word - from Professor McGonagall or, worse Headmaster Dumbledore. They would be nosy, and in her current state, Hermione was afraid she would let something slip that could lead to Ron's expulsion.

She trod Hogwarts' deserted corridors to the only sure sanctuary she knew - the Room of Requirement.

Mechanically, Hermione retraced her steps the required three times. The Room's door appeared. She entered - and stopped.

Tonight, the room provided her ... an unadorned cloister, virtually cubical, its floor, walls, and ceiling uniformly covered with white padding. It resembled the training compartment where the Unspeakables taught her the Suturc spell.

The Room read minds - becoming whatever a user required most. Its inanimate Legilimency judged that Hermione's greatest need was a padded cell. Without entering, she gawked at the quarters being offered.

Was she really a threat to harm herself?

Not long ago, she had been prepared to die at the thought of losing Harry. But was this the same?

Hardly.

Then, she believed Harry was dead, and was absolutely convinced of her culpability in that event. Now ... well, even Hermione could not plausibly blame herself for what just happened. She was miserable, even desperate - but suicidal?

No.

The Room fluttered. Simple furniture appeared in Hermione's custom-magicked padded cell.

Still, she was extremely depressed. Harry had promised her ... forever ... and reneged - without even the decency of breaking things off before moving on. Her scheme to prevent Ron's expulsion had all too many moving parts and could fail for any number of reasons, most notably Ron's tendency to incriminate himself.

If she tried bottling up all these emotions, she might explode.

Hermione needed an outlet. After having a good cry, she spent this very first, very black night of the rest of her life writing to her mum in Australia. With everything else, Hermione had been dreadfully remiss in family correspondence. Beyond the catharsis, the letter helped organise her mind and obligated her to consider her suddenly changed circumstances in a more-or-less rational manner.

The Room flickered again, providing a stand-up writing desk complete with quill and parchment.

Hermione shut the door firmly behind her. The end result, the product of a night of tears and fears, was her longest letter since writing to her parents in first year, before she had any friends to distract her.

Dear Mum:

Since I haven't written since my last explaining how reports of my death were exaggerated, I think you should be the first to know that Harry and I are no longer romantically involved. It happened earlier today, and caught me totally by surprise. I truly thought he was happy and satisfied with me.

Apparently not.

The gory details are of no consequence, except to me. Suffice it to say, Harry is now seeing another witch, Ginny Weasley. Ginny's mother sent Harry that memorable Howler (the loud letter) the night Harry visited our house. You met her parents, briefly, on one of your trips to Diagon Alley. I don't recall if you met Ginny or not. She is very pretty, very athletic, and extremely ruthless - everything I am not.

Whilst I am devastated by what happened, I don't regret my relationship with Harry, or that he was my first. Yes, I did exactly what I told you, within a month of our talk. My only regret is being naïve and taking to heart promises from a sixteen-year-old boy who had never before known love. His love was too immature, too inexperienced, for him to know what conscience is.

I would have been happy just dating for a while, but he offered more. Like a fool, I believed him. I let my expectations run wild. Again, the Bard probably put it best:

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

I can't blame Harry, not really. Only because we flew so high does coming back to earth hurt so much. I hope I served him well. I hope whatever road he chooses, Harry ultimately finds happiness, righteousness, and truth. He deserves it; I mean that. In the fullness of time, when he's built his ladder to the stars, I hope he'll regard his dalliance with me with fondness.

Pain or no pain, I'm staying friends with Harry. He was my best friend before we became involved, and I hope that once I've had time to heal, he'll remain so. We promised each other that at the outset, and it's one promise I believe we both intend to keep. Realistically, anything else would be foolish. He's still the number one target of that mad Dark wizard Voldemort.

As you well know, I'm right behind Harry in Voldemort's sights. I'm sorry you found out the hard way, but my Ordinary Wizarding Level marks were the highest ever recorded, and I broke Voldemort's record. I'm sure he plans to make good on my hoaxed killing. Thus, no matter where our personal lives lead, Harry's and my fates remain inextricably linked to the outcome of the war. Neither of us can have a secure future until that war is won.

However much it hurts, I will be carrying on here. You needn't worry about money. Between my school prizes, and the awards that accompany the Order of Merlin (I won a second not too long ago - don't ask), I should have plenty enough to get by without having to rely on Harry. I won't be a burden, I promise. I can and will make my own way in life.

Anyway, look on the bright side - I think that for the foreseeable future, Harry has sufficiently queered the pitch (in more ways than one) against my getting involved in any other romantic relationship. You can be thankful for that, and eventually I might even feel the same way.

But for the present, I'll be grieving for what was, what might have been, and what now will never be.

Your loving daughter,

Hermione Jane

Hermione was adding the finishing touches to her letter's final draft as dawn broke. Rather than lose Athena for however it took to fly to Perth and back, Hermione chose a school owl and addressed her post to Remus Lupin. He would tender her letter to the Muggle post because, upon due consideration, Hermione was loathe to risk Death Eater interception of post addressed to Mum. Best to do it the Muggle way.

* * * *

As confused as the strange quasi-Quidditch Cup party had been - unattended by two of Gryffindor's seven starters, and only belatedly by a third - the next morning was even worse. Gryffindor House woke up short 125 House Points and two prefects, more or less.

The portraits alerted Professor McGonagall to a strange tale being spun by Ronald Weasley, after he showed up alone almost an hour after curfew. She dispatched Hagrid to the Gryffindor Quidditch clubhouse to reconnoiter.

Hagrid could not even locate the place, which was goblin Cloaked. The two goblins he encountered were most unhelpful. When Hagrid persisted with questions, they simply turned into boulders.

Faced with deliberate misuse of Harry's goblin connexions to facilitate blatant rule breaking, McGonagall ordered the Fat Lady to notify her immediately when the miscreants returned to Gryffindor Tower - no matter what time that might be.

That time turned out to be a little before six the following Sunday morning.

Technically, intentional flaunting of the rules involving use of magic that frustrated the staff's authority over student conduct was an expellable offence. Thus, Professor McGonagall considered the punishment she meted out to be lenient.

Those on the receiving end begged to differ.

Harry and Ginny lost fifty House Points each. To underscore her disapproval of their actions, she added a week of detentions - on alternating days - with Mr. Filch. Ginny also lost her Prefect position, all but guaranteeing a Howler (if not worse) from her mum.

That unpleasantness dealt with, Professor McGonagall returned to her quarters only to have another portrait - this one from her office - notify her that one Hermione Granger was in attendance. Frustrated about her lost sleep, McGonagall retraced her steps to deal with this development.

Their conversation was not at all what she expected. Instead of a distraught Hermione needing consolation, Professor McGonagall encountered a contrite girl admitting that she, too, had broken curfew and been out all night. Hermione's excuse was her need to come to terms with what had happened without being pestered by meddling housemates.

Nor did Hermione provide any opportunity for McGonagall's meddling. She deflected the professor's attempts to discover just how this unexpected and appalling breach in her relationship with Harry had occurred. Hermione offered no excuses, so Professor McGonagall had no choice. She docked her 25 House Points, placed her on probation as a Prefect, and imposed three detentions with a staff member of Hermione's choice.

When the girl chose Professor Vector over her, it was clear that she intended to keep her peace concerning recent events.

* * * *

Still recovering from probably the wildest non-Voldemort night of his life, Harry shrugged off Professor McGonagall's lecture and wandered into his dormitory, looking for a kip. He flopped into his bed. Something was peculiar - out of place - or more correctly, too much in place. Sleepily, he rubbed the back of his neck, whiles trying to put his finger on the oddity.

On one side, he heard Ron's faint snores. Ron had drawn his hangings tightly but not bothered soundproofing them.

On the other side.... "You're lucky the elves work fast."

Harry turned with a jerk and came face-to-face with Neville.

"Wha...?"

"Too bad they fixed almost everything," Neville's dull monotone continued. "My choice would've been to let you find it exactly how Hermione left it."

"Neville, what are you on about?"

"What d'you think?" Neville snorted. "You just about destroyed her. She came up here and returned your bed the favour. Forty seven Diffindos - counted very precisely - Hermione-style. She reduced it to rubbish."

"Oh."

"But the elves fixed it, mostly," he droned. "'Cept the painting. They had to send that out ... and this...."

He handed Harry the pennant.

"Thanks, Nev."

"I don't want your bloody thanks," Neville spat. "I'd take this back if I could. You don't deserve it. I thought you were better than that...."

"Than what?" Harry remained more confused than angered by Neville's insults.

"Why, Harry?"

"Why, what?"

"Don't play dumb," Neville said more sharply. "You may be an idiot, but you're not stupid. Why'd you do that to Hermione ... and to Ginny?"

"Geez, Neville...," Harry tried to articulate. "I can't help it. You know how it is; I fell in love with Ginny ... and out of love with Hermione, I guess. Can't help who I fall in love with, you know...?"

"No, I don't know." Neville's voice turned icy. "I hope I never do. But I know bloody well that anybody can help who they do or don't shag whilst supposedly being with somebody else."

"Neville, I...."

"And ... Hermione ... bloody hell," Neville continued, his voice rising as he had his say. "Merlin, she nearly died for you - I was there, and now you treat her like dirt. You're not the Harry Potter I thought I knew. You hurt her, Harry, badly ... and mark my words; you'll hurt Ginny, too, before this is finished."

"You're mental. I love...."

"Oh yes, you will," Neville pressed on. "Ginny can't handle you. Even after what you did, Hermione saved your ungrateful arse. Ginny was at sea...."

"But ... but that's not what love is about...."

"Don't talk to me about goddamn love!" Neville almost shouted. "You wouldn't know love if it hexed you in the arse!" Neville yanked his hangings closed - forcibly ending the conversation.

"Well, hell...." Harry retreated to his own excessively orderly chamber. As he leaned back to yank off his shoes, something sharp dug into his hand.

"Ouch!" With a glance, the source was all too apparent.

Beyond wrecking his bed, Hermione had returned his ring - and her Auror partner ring.

"Bloody hell ... guess I should have expected that," Harry mumbled.

Harry absently turned the glittering, three-stone ring over in his hand. He was not about to give it to Ginny. No way would he make that mistake a second time.... Since Hermione did not want it, he should probably return it to the goblins.

Speaking of goblins....

Hermione's Auror partner ring seemed a proper size - and he had delayed too long doing something with those garnets keyed to Château Blackwalls' wards.

The goblins could fix things.

Making sure, Harry whipped off his shirt and tested his idea.

Close enough. He would write Bladvak, the goblin he knew best.

* * * *

Deducted points, detentions, even loss of her Prefect position - nothing dimmed Ginny's elation. She finally achieved her longstanding ambition of attracting Harry Potter into a relationship. For years she had saved herself for this moment, and it was worth it. She was now a woman, courtesy of her life-long love, and nothing else mattered.

True, it had been chemically induced, but Ginny was confident that, after a decent interval, the Love Potion would become superfluous, just as with Mum and Dad.

For now, Ginny stayed glued to Harry's side, both in the Gryffindor common room and in Great Hall at meals. Harry, seemingly dazed at the turn of events, or maybe just pixilated from lack of sleep, was inclined to accede to whatever Ginny wanted.

What Ginny wanted was an appropriate announcement of their new relationship to the school, and eventually to the wizarding world - something with enough panache to match her soaring feelings.

She considered re-enacting how Harry and Hermione revealed their relationship - snogging in the Great Hall in front of the entire school.

That was hardly original, and she would be copying Hermione.

Never that. Not any more.

Also, Professor McGonagall regarded them sternly from the High Table. Undoubtedly she would not be as charitable as she was before. Ginny's bile rose. McGonagall always favoured Hermione over her. Her own Head of House had not, and would not, support her being with Harry.

Come to think of it, nobody had - save Draco for his own bigoted reasons.

She would have to devise some other avenue to announce her relationship with Harry; something not susceptible to punishment - or sabotage.

Ginny was running out of ideas when she discovered that Hermione - of all people - also had that well in hand.

Ginny's D.A. mirror vibrated, as did Harry's, both announcing receipt of a message.

Hermione was the sender. The notification was entirely businesslike:

All D.A. members:

If not known before, you now know that Harry has a romantic relationship with Ginny Weasley, and consequently is no longer in such with myself. I wish to assure you that these developments will have no adverse effect on the D.A. Harry and I remain friends, and I intend to continue carrying out my role with the D.A. in the same fashion as before.

Hermione Granger

'Typical Hermione,' Ginny thought.

Correctly.

Hermione had take refuge in rationalism. Her note was short, to the point, addressed precisely what she intended, and that only. It contained no histrionics and cast no aspersions. Plainly, Hermione gave the appearance of taking everything in stride - that since Harry had moved on, so would she.

Ginny knew Hermione better than most. She knew Hermione could scheme with the best. She had watched Hermione outsmart and wrong-foot Cho Chang when Hogwarts' quondam most popular girl once had designs upon Harry.

Either Hermione was feigning her rationalist approach, or she had given up. Ginny hoped for the latter. The Draught of Despair was a powerful potion, and despite being an annoying prima donna, Draco knew potions very well.

She still needed to watch her back.

At least the in-Castle announcement was completed. A large majority of Hogwarts' higher forms were in the D.A. - even a few Slytherins - so news that Harry was her boyfriend would soon percolate downwards and outwards.

The wider community was another matter. She would tell Mum, but what about everyone else?

When Harry and Hermione became a couple, it had been front-page news on the Prophet and many other publications. Ginny had even been asked to comment.

An interview with that loathsome Skeeter cow would turn Ginny's stomach. Besides, the Headmaster had banned Skeeter from the Castle.

Giving the situation additional thought, Ginny realised that there were other, more palatable, alternatives.

* * * *

Hermione's message to the D.A. effectively notified all four houses of Harry's new romantic preferences.

No recipient of her message was more surprised than Daphne Greengrass, the least Dark (and second most blonde) Slytherin.

That she was shocked was an understatement.

From prolonged exercise of well-honed observational skills, Daphne strongly suspected Ginny Weasley of dosing Harry Potter with some sort of Love Potion.

Being as Slytherin as she was, Daphne was content for her to carry on. Daphne would have numerous opportunities for revealing her discovery - after Weasley induced Harry to stray from the straight and narrow.

But first, her discovery needed confirmation. In hot pursuit, Daphne had spent several hours in the main potions laboratory yesterday. With almost everyone else distracted by a silly Quidditch match, she had few interruptions.

Only one, actually.

That creep Malfoy dropped by when Daphne was almost finished, acting as contented as a Kneazle in cream. He tried drawing her back into his orbit, as he had with Cambo, Spott, and quite a few other housemates since his remarkable (and probably Dark-induced) financial rehabilitation. She, however, wanted none of it. She had tasted freedom, and liked it. Besides, Daphne could do much better than that arrogant twerp.

Still, Draco Malfoy had little to do with her leaving the laboratory annoyed and frustrated.

Contrary to everything she had seen and suspected, Weasley was not dosing Harry with Love Potion. Check that, she had not dosed this particular soup with any Love Potion that her - or her aunt's - Detection Spells were able to detect.

Whether Weasley was, or was not, using Love Potion on Harry was irrelevant if Daphne could not prove it. That had been the plan.

The plan had failed.

Daphne promptly convinced herself that her idea had been rubbish from day one. Love Potion or no, Harry was not about to be separated from Hermione - now or any time soon.

That was Saturday.

So Daphne thought until, the very next day, she received that fateful mirror message - from Hermione herself - that Harry and Weasley were now the hottest item at Hogwarts.

To call Daphne Greengrass astonished was yet another understatement. Right at the Slytherin table, in public, she almost lost her legendary cool. She barely stopped herself from marching up to the happy couple and demanding that Weasley confess how she did it.

Instead Daphne sat and fumed. Weasley offered nothing of value to Harry. By contrast, she had so much - family Auror connexions, a nose for power, the inter-House cooperation thing, and, even saying so herself, the Castle's best combination of brains and beauty, save perhaps the witch Harry had just tossed aside.

Besides all that, Daphne was just plain bored. Being with Harry would be so complex and exciting; just thinking about it gave her tingly feelings deep inside.

She needed a backup plan.

But first, it helped to have chits to call in. The more the better.

* * * *

Ginny could call in chits, too.

After breakfast, she whisked Harry away for another snog session. In its hot and heavy midst, she asked how they should handle the inevitable press attention their relationship would draw - with him being the Basilisk Slayer, Proprietor of Château Blackwalls, and all the rest.

She was beyond relief when he revealed that they would never suffer the tender mercies of Rita Skeeter. Still, the reason for escaping that cow's clutches was unnerving. Skeeter had been - somewhere between forced and tricked - to swear an Unbreakable Vow to Hermione never to write anything about either her or Harry without both of their consents.

Neither Harry nor Hermione would ever speak to Skeeter about anything personal.

Ginny was again reminded of being a bystander to so much of Harry's life. Her protection against Skeeter was purely secondary to yet another of Hermione's accomplishments.

Involuntarily, Ginny once again found herself praying that the Draught of Despair would be strong enough.

In her anxiety, Ginny almost forgot why she had broached this subject. It was hardly uppermost in her mind when alone with her new lover (odd that he did not know the location of the best broom closets), but Harry was not remotely like any other boy in the Castle.

"Harry, I think I know how to do this ... you know, about us ... in the right way without having to go through it over and over again."

Harry grunted, "Sure, Ginny, whatever you want. As long as it's one and done."

"Whilst the Death Eaters had you, I entered a contest co-sponsored by Teen Witches' Weekly," she revealed. "When I won, I met a wizard there named Ernie Wilmot. I'll bet I could get them to interview us - once. That way, everyone would know, and we won't have to keep answering questions."

Harry abhorred press interviews - not surprising since his media exposure was mostly courtesy of the infamous Rita. But if he could handle Rita, Harry assumed he could handle just about anything.

Doing this only once did have its advantages.

He authorised Ginny to use her connexion, to see if Teen Witches' Weekly would be interested in a joint interview (Harry was not doing any interview alone) on the matter of his new romantic relationship.

He imposed only one caveat - no questions about Hermione. Otherwise, he would walk out. Harry meant that literally.

Whenever he thought about it, that being as little as possible, Harry was ashamed of how that relationship had ended. He had lost control, and Hermione arrived at precisely the wrong moment.... Harry felt like a cad. He agreed he should have ended things with her before carrying on with Ginny.

Harry could not change things, but he could avoid having to talk about it.

Not talking did not mean not feeling - or thinking - thinking about how he acted, and how he wished he had acted. Harry had no answer why things had spiraled so, at least none he was comfortable with....

To say that Teen Witches' Weekly was interested in the proposed interview, notwithstanding Harry's precondition, would be an understatement on the order of saying that Snape needed better hair care products or that Voldemort (or Snape) had anger management issues.

Ginny sent the inquiry, via Hedwig, to TWW on Sunday afternoon.

In less than twenty-four hours, TWW's most experienced interviewer, Dorian White, met the pair in the Hogwarts Ceremonial Library for the interview.

Before the first question was asked Harry checked the interviewer's Quick-Quotes Quill settings. He had learnt the hard way from his experiences with Rita Skeeter. Harry gruffly insisted that the quill be on "verbatim." Ginny was of quite a different mind. She cheerfully allowed Mr. White to record her answers in "embellish" mode.

The interview took two hours - every minute until Ginny's first detention. For her it was fun and games. She could finally tell the world about her years-old infatuation with Harry Potter and how, at long last, her childhood dreams had come true. She even "confessed" - her word - to the "fresh pickled toads" incident his second year. Ginny was so voluble about her feelings for Harry, and how she had (and had not) acted on them over the years, that Mr. White wondered if his poor quill could actually embellish her words.

The interviewer religiously obeyed Harry's stricture not to mention Hermione, but he could not possibly anticipate all the nuances of his questions. Even a simple inquiry, "When did you first feel attracted to her?" caused Harry significant issues, because of certain feelings he remembered - whilst still engaged to Hermione.

He had kept that from Hermione, because (he thought) he could handle it, and it would only upset her. In retrospect, everything looked different. Now, he could only interpret those episodes as the first stirrings of feelings for Ginny. Those feelings led him to her, did they not?

Such issues ate at Harry's self-confidence and self-esteem. As the interview progressed, Harry's answers - always shorter than Ginny's - became ever terser. Whenever possible, he simply agreed with Ginny's response.

As the interview closed, Mr. White complimented Harry on being the "strong, silent type," and observed how obviously "opposites attracted."

Harry diplomatically kept his "sod off" response to himself. Thank Merlin he only had to undergo this once.

After the interview, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room whilst Ginny had to serve her first detention with Filch. Harry had a welcome Tuesday morning free period, but with nothing else to do, he began revising his copy of Arithmancy Made Easy. After about fifteen minutes, Harry had once again convicted Albert Hawking of false advertising.

Maths had never been Harry's strong suit.

The only logical solution? In her note to the D.A., Hermione averred that she intended to stay his friend. She would not lie about something like that....

Swallowing his pride, Harry slunk towards the table Hermione and Neville occupied. Almost everyone in the common room had at least one eye on this first public post-break up encounter between the two former lovers.

Sadly for gossip-mongers, it was anticlimactic.

"Umm ... Hermione...? Thanks for your ... I guess, message to the D.A." Harry tentatively addressed his ex. "Sorry to bother you ... but do you ... could you explain how to do these Chaldean method divisions ... they're in base twelve ... I think...."

As Hermione went pale, Neville went purple. He interposed himself between the sundered pair. "Merlin, Harry, haven't you done enough to her? Just shove off ... ask Ginny to help you." He spat Harry's new (and his old) girlfriend's name like an undeleted expletive.

Harry's eyes narrowed at the implicit challenge. "Neville, I didn't ask you...."

Hermione quickly righted herself. "Neville, don't," she interrupted calmly. "It's not worth it."

"Harry, I'm sorry but ... it's just too soon," she addressed her betrayer for the first time since the chaotic scene in Gryffindor's Quidditch clubhouse. "I need some time ... and some space."

"But Hermione, I thought you said...."

Harry used to find Hermione worrying her bottom lip brilliant. Now she was just scary. "Don't tell me what I said," she hissed. "I will, but I just ... don't want you around at the moment. We've too much baggage."

Neville again sought to intervene. "You ought to shove off...."

She laid a steady hand on Neville's wrist. "No, Nev, don't. Look, Harry, I'll go this far. Once you've completed your assignment, if you send it with Hedwig, I'll review and comment tomorrow morning before you have your class.... Oh, and remember to drop nine."

"Umm ... okay, Hermione." Harry started turning away.

"I'm sorry, that's the best I can do right now."

"Hermione...," Neville spoke sharply, but Harry anticipated what he was going to say.

"Nev's right," he sighed. "You have no reason to be sorry. I do...."

Hermione had no desire to jab that raw wound. "Don't, Harry, not here...."

"All right, but I guess all this means you're not coming to Bavaria this weekend."

Hermione's eyes flashed, as Harry shifted seamlessly from apology to obligation. "If that's meant as a question, it's in extremely bad taste - and you just answered it. That would be a spectacularly poor idea. You'll have to find someone else for companionship." Her eyes hardened to brown chips of ice.

Harry did as told. Once Ginny returned from detention, and had a quick shower, Harry drew her to the common room's most secluded corner - behind the D.A. Central Station. Ginny wet her lips, expecting a snog session, but instead Harry incanted, "Muffliato!"

"Harry, what's going on?" she asked, rather wide-eyed.

"Umm ... I've got something to ask," he began.

She flashed him a come hither look, thinking he was propositioning her. "You know I'll do whatever you want, Harry."

"Great. Will you come with me to Bavaria next weekend?"

"What's this all about, Harry?"

"Something I've promised to do," he explained. "Some of the Black family gold, they got in really ... well, evil ... ways from some Nazi Muggles. I've arranged to return it, and I have to meet with the Sisters of the Moon and the goblins next weekend. Hermione was going to go, but she won't now ... for obvious reasons...."

As Harry made his request, colour progressively left Ginny's face. Finally, she had enough. "Harry, I'd really rather not," she told him. "The goblins, well, I don't know them much, but the Sisters.... Harry, they're.... Well, I thought you wanted me to do you some new way, but the Sisters, they'd rather do me than you. I'm not into that, and I hope you're not either...."

Molly Weasley had thoroughly poisoned both Ginny's and Ron's mental wells with rumours about the Sisters' sexual practices.

"No, Ginny," Harry tried convincing her, "this is strictly business. I'm acting as middle man between the goblins and the Sisters because they both trust me more than they trust each other."

Ginny's visceral distaste for the Sisters sent shivers up her spine. "Please, Harry, don't make me do this. I'll do anything you want when you get back, but please don't make me go. They're powerful. I'm afraid that they might try to get me alone...."

"Ginny, they wouldn't. I'd be there. And the goblins...."

Ginny started to cry. His first request of her was for this! He forced her to deny him, to let him down. It was so unfair!

Harry could handle many things, but not crying girls - especially crying girlfriends. He gave in. "Ginny, don't. I'll go by myself then. Let me tell the Sisters."

"Thank you, Harry," Ginny cooed, her tears disappearing as swiftly as they once threatened to flow. "I'll finish my Muggle Studies assignment - something about their National Health Service - whilst you're away, and do lots of revising for my O.W.L.s." She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "When you're back, I'll have plenty of time for you. If you get those goblins to teach you that Cloaking magic that worked so well on the Gryffindor clubhouse, we won't have to worry about getting caught."

* * * *

Other interested parties reacted. Within a day, Shak summoned Harry to his DADA office. Harry arrived not sure what to expect.

Shak put aside the third-year essays he had been marking, and gestured, "Sit down, son."

His tone of voice left Harry suddenly very sure what to expect.

He sat down.

Wearing his most serious expression, Shak began, "I've received disturbing information from reliable sources concerning your conduct after the last Quidditch match - specifically that you spent the night in the Gryffindor clubhouse in the company of one Ginevra Weasley. Is that correct?"

Harry protested immediately. "Shak, I thought you said when you decided to be my guardian that my sex life wasn't your concern. You raised that yourself."

"Alright, let me rephrase the question," Shak replied magisterially. "I am told that you had your goblin guards prevent the Hogwarts staff from interfering with your decision to stay out all night in violation of curfew - regardless of what you were doing. Correct?"

"Umm ... when put that way ... yes." Harry had to admit.

"Harry, you know better than that," Shak admonished. "I don't care what you were doing - I really don't - but I'm disappointed in your flaunting the rules. You know that much is required from those to whom much is given."

"I ... I've heard that," Harry mumbled whilst paying undue attention to a stray curse mark on the front of Shak's desk.

"You can't behave that way," Shak declared. "You're too high profile to be permitted that kind of latitude, even were we so inclined."

"I didn't," Harry replied glumly. "I lost a bunch of House Points, and have a week of detentions.... Ginny does too."

"Theoretically, you could have been expelled...," Shak informed Harry bluntly. Then he switched gears. "Look, I don't enjoy berating you. When I was young and irresponsible, I made similar mistakes, except I didn't have a goblin army assisting my follies. Sometimes I - and you - just didn't think. So I have a proposal. I've talked to your Head of House."

"Better you than me, right now."

"If you think you've disappointed me, try to imagine how Minerva ... Professor McGonagall feels right now," Shak shut Harry up. "But for now, she's consented to forego detentions with Filch...."

"Thanks, Shak." Harry dreaded the senseless drudgery of mucking out the Castle moat or polishing trophies.

"Don't thank me yet," Shak warned. "Instead, you'll take training sessions with me. Your time is too valuable to waste cleaning latrines with Muggle toothbrushes, or whatever else Filch might devise. I'm warning you, I'll work you harder than Filch - but it'll be productive."

"Doesn't matter," Harry spoke as soon as Shak finished. "I don't mind hard work if I'm accomplishing something."

"I wish ... no forget that.... Let's shake on it," Shak offered. "But it'll be a binding magical contract. No backing out."

They did - then Harry remembered something. "What about Ginny?"

"Sorry," Shak answered in a voice not sounding sorry at all. "I only have one exemption."

At lunch, Hermione and Neville, Harry's usual tablemates quite ostentatiously ignored him. Ron briefly shot daggers at him before making himself extremely scarce. Harry and Ginny wound up sitting with some of Ginny's friends, her fellow Chaser Demelza Robbins, Kelly Comerford, and Jessica Carmichael.

Working through a mince pie, Harry noticed an unsmiling Professor McGonagall descend from the High Table, striding briskly in his direction. To his surprise, the Deputy Headmistress had no business with him. Instead she addressed Ginny with exaggerated formality. "Miss Weasley, due to the unusual volume of your morning post, I took the precaution of having our house-elves sort it. That which passed inspection is being delivered to your dormitory."

"Umm ... thanks, professor."

"Standard procedure, Weasley." McGonagall shrugged. "Should this persist, however, I shall expect you to make alternate arrangements - as did Potter and Granger." Her message delivered, McGonagall stalked away.

Back in her dorm, Ginny inspected the neatly stacked piles of mail the elves had left on her bed. Her correspondents were mostly pure-blooded witches congratulating her for getting Harry into a "proper match" or something similar. A few were critical, usually jealous. According to Harry anything truly dangerous would have been removed and binned.

Ginny flushed red as she perused the Weasleys' Wanton Witches catalogue the twins had sent along, probably as a joke. The more she looked, the more she found items that would hopefully tempt Harry.

But Ginny feared repercussions - even blackmail - if her brothers knew she purchased this sort of merchandise. An alternative might be that Hogsmeade store she occasionally overheard Rommy discuss with her older friends....

"Oh." Ginny squeaked when she found a large envelope addressed in her mum's hand. Ginny felt both relieved and worried - relieved that Mum sent a letter rather than a Howler, but worried about what she had to say.

Gaining Harry meant losing her Prefect's position. Ginny had vivid memories of Mum's reaction when Ron resigned his.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny slit the envelope and withdrew a letter memorialising her mum's opinions. Whilst Dad also signed, it was obviously Mum's creation.

Ginny,

Right now we don't know whether to congratulate you or ground you. Why didn't you tell us yourself? This morning we received your Head of House's owl informing us that for "serious misconduct," you were sacked as a Prefect. Merlin, what have you done? The letter did not say, but you surely must have broken major rules.

Molly was ready to send you a Howler, followed by a personal visit, to uncover what had happened and to ensure that it never happened again. Then, with no warning, we receive this morning's Prophet, and our jaws drop. The lead article is that you and Harry suddenly have become an item. Are these two things related?

Don't think either of us isn't well aware that you've fancied Harry for years. We are so happy for you. He's been a friend and more to you, and us, for years. We will never forget how he saved you when everything seemed hopeless - and others in our family, including Arthur and Ron. Whatever the two of you want, rest assured you have our blessing.

So even if whatever happened cost you a Prefect's badge, if necessary to bring you and Harry together, I'm sure we'll live with it. We just hope that the two of you were careful not to hurt Hermione. She's been part of this family for years, and we would prefer that to continue.

Love and kisses to our lovely daughter and her intended boyfriend.

Mum and Dad

'That wasn't so bad,' Ginny thought as she put her parents' (mostly Mum's) letter aside.

She heard a faint rustling noise and saw the envelope squirming. Carefully, she lifted it, edgewise between the palms of her hands. Leery of what might still be inside, she squeezed the envelope to widen the opening. With a gentle shake, a second folded piece of parchment fell onto the bed. It read simply, "Read Me."

Wary of paper that could move, Ginny prodded it with her wand. The parchment unfolded and lay quietly, blank and unmoving. It seemed harmless, so Ginny picked it up.

Immediately, words began forming - a private note to her from Mum:

Ginevra:

This is all so sudden! I hope you didn't throw yourself at Harry like some scarlet woman. I pray that I raised you better than that.

Ginny smirked. Mum had no idea how modern witches behaved. Half the witches in Gryffindor would have done the same, or worse, given the chance. Rommy was quite open about it. Lavender's Silencing Charms whilst gossiping with Parvati were not as robust as either witch thought. She had overheard Katie scheming as well.

Even more, I hope you didn't do what we discussed when you were last home. For good reason, those items are easy to detect, so if anyone bothered checking, the consequences could be severe.

Ginny smirked again. She had that covered. She used no ordinary Love Potion. Even Malfoy had immediately been impressed by its stealth and power.

I'm not particularly proud of what I did, but your situation is nothing like mine. Arthur was simply clueless. He wasn't seeing any other witch. Harry was, and you should already know that Hermione is not one to trifle with. If you did anything underhanded, she'll find you out - I guarantee it.

Ginny scowled. Her own mum was praising her rival. Anyway, she had that covered, too. The Draught of Despair, triggered in sufficiently traumatic fashion, would paralyse her. That part of her plan had worked perfectly. Hermione had run away - had given up. She could tell from her note to the D.A. It was evident in that girl's eyes, every time Hermione saw her and Harry together.

So for now, I'm reserving judgment. But one more thing, daughter of mine, remember I told Arthur the truth before anything irreversible occurred. If you've done anything - anything at all - that you would not want to see on the front page of the Prophet, you'd best tell him, too. This is not just motherly advice. Arthur has a high-profile position, and I don't have to remind you about Harry.

Angrily, Ginny drew her wand. "Incendio!" Her mum's note flared, and was gone. Who was she to offer such advice? Their situations could not differ more. Harry Potter - the Harry Potter - could not be compared with her dad in his seventh year. Unlike Mum, Harry had been the love of her life for as long as she could remember. She would tell Harry, sure, but only once the threats to their relationship had been eliminated.

"Ginny? Is everything all right in there?"

Damn. It was her roommate Connie Marpeth. She must have smelt that burning letter. Ginny kicked herself for not being more discreet.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered. "I've got all this post.... Just an aggravating note from some jealous hag."

* * * *

Klamdok scowled as underlings brought the requested dossiers. The mere sight of them meant bad news - threatening his plans for finally collecting the overdue debts owed to Gringotts. Recent events were troubling ... quite troubling, indeed.

The largest dossier was bound in ochre coloured leather. Ochre meant a longstanding arrearage; precisely what he had dared hope to eliminate.

What hath Impratraxis wrought?

Klamdok thought the world of the Impratraxis. Eyewitness to the Ashrak attack, he considered this human's unique investiture entirely deserved. The returning warriors' recent tales of Impratraxis' snatching victory from defeat at Stonehenge only cemented Klamdok's admiration. The Impratraxis' mature handling of the Black Estate, his testamentary provisions benefitting the Gablankansta, and his effort to eliminate the Potter family's ancestral debts to Gringotts - everything confirmed the Impratraxis as trustworthy and steadfast.

But this recent romantic development...?

Granted, Impratraxis was not in line for the throne; he would have to marry a goblin.... Hmmm ... an Illyrian realm Imprexi was rumoured to have certain characteristics pleasing to....

Enough speculation.

For the first time, Klamdok doubted Impratraxis' actions. Sav ... rather, Jistiri (the goblin term for "ex") Hermione, with her Muggle background, was a natural ally against the pure-blood deadbeats. Her actions, especially her willingness to abide Impratraxis' testamentary intent, reinforced Klamdok's view. And what of Impratraxis' comment at the Alitserat? Could his Jistiri have somehow induced the Stonehenge battle's spectacular denouement?

Jistiri was a powerful witch. Her latest accomplishment was saving Impratraxis' life, despite being scorned. Reports indicated she defeated a Dark curse that Gablankansta Healers had been powerless to stop.

Why, then, had Impratraxis moved on? And so suddenly? It created uncertainty at a very delicate time.

This new girl.... Klamdok needed a reason to trust her. He had none.

Klamdok opened the top dossier. Ginevra Weasley. Gryffindor, like Jistiri Hermione. Presumably brave; she received an Order of Merlin in connexion with the Ministry affray. Somewhat above average student. Good at Charms and Defence; average at Transfiguration; below average at Potions. No other marks worth mentioning. Athletic. Played on same Quidditch team as Impratraxis.

Not bad.... But compared to Sav ... Jistiri Hermione, Klamdok saw nothing explaining Impratraxis' abrupt change of heart.

A picture. Now here was a possible clue. This Ginny was indeed pretty in the way humans viewed beauty ... perhaps too lithe and thin than optimal for procreation, but human views on such subjects were impenetrable. She held that advantage over the Jistiri.

Klamdok read the next report.

Hmm.... This was disconcerting. Corner, Cornfoot, Thomas, Longbottom.... The girl was quite free with her favours, and not as discreet, and perhaps not as clever, as she thought she was.

Klamdok growled, literally. The latest addendum mentioned Draco Malfoy as a possible dalliance. That name was an Asterlik in his craw. The Malfoys took as much advantage of Gringotts as any wizarding family.

"Quastri...." Klamdok muttered. Was she why Impratraxis sought to learn goblin Cloaking?

He turned to the second, thicker dossier - an ochre-bound summary of the Weasley family line. The green stripe across the bottom, being relatively rare, piqued Klamdok's interest. That meant, although significantly behind on repayment, this debtor family had recently made some effort to repay principal.

So, these Weasleys exhibited more merit than most wizards with Gringotts mortgages. Was it the late William's doing? Such repayments would certainly have increased his advancement opportunities at the bank.

He opened the Weasley dossier.

They were an old pure-blood family - more fecund than most. Dissipation through multiple inheritances could be one reason they had fallen on hard times.

The arrearages originated with one Roland Weasley, well over a century ago. He participated in building the magical railroad line from London to Hogsmeade. Success generated plans to construct other lines, and Mr. Weasley mortgaged his property to the hilt. None proved financially viable, given the British Isles' relatively small magical population.

No repayments were forthcoming for over a century.

Within the last year, the situation changed. The Ministry promoted Arthur Weasley to department head. He recommenced 500-Galleon monthly repayments. These barely dented the outstanding debt, but meant something. About six months ago, a more substantial one-time payment - 10,000 Galleons - was made against principal by Fred and George Weasley, with an "in memoriam" notation, presumably for William.

Klamdok remembered those two Weasleys. They were twins, and more importantly, Impratraxis' business partners.

Hope, perhaps.

Despite hopeful signs, the fundamental conflict of interest remained. With Arthur Weasley now a high political appointee, he could be even more susceptible to pressure from the deadbeat pure-bloods.

Thankfully, Klamdok's wink-and-nod arrangement with Bladvak gave Gringotts plausible deniability. Bladvak could be trusted to find an appropriate property for setting a precedent. If anything happened, Bladvak would unhesitatingly assume the role of sacrificial Chyropt - and would eventually be well compensated.

Klamdok also trusted Impratraxis to protect Gringotts. Jistiri Hermione had conceived the original plan.

This new girl was not Jistiri Hermione. That was troubling.

Klamdok would wait and see. Perhaps this Ginny would prove a passing fancy. Impratraxis, he was bound to obey. The word of royalty was law.

But obeisance, like most things, was a matter of degree.

Klamdok would wait. Gringotts would not be proactive. For the moment, Impratraxis' extant financial arrangements favoured Jistiri Hermione. Gringotts was content for matters to remain that way.

Should Impratraxis seek a change, Gringotts, of course, would obey. Anything less would be treason.

Klamdok could ensure than nobody - at least no goblin - would suggest any such thing to Impratraxis.

* * * *

Professeur des Charmes Fleur Delacour was a no-nonsense instructor. When she noticed two fifth-year girls giggling about something at their shared desk, she promptly confiscated it and docked five House Points each - even though the double period had only five minutes left, and those two had finished and handed in their assignments.

Not surprisingly, the offending material was Hebdomadaire de Jeunes Sorcières, the new French-language version of an English gossip-mongering tabloid Fleur had occasionally seen at Hogwarts. That rag was bad enough in English. If anything, it plumbed new depths in French. To snatch market share from established French competitors, it lowered its already minimal content standards.

Fleur was binning the thing when "Harry Potter" in a screaming headline caught her eye. It was no warmed over Basilisk story. Tutting turned to frank disbelief when the article delivered exactly what its headline promised - an exclusive joint interview featuring the aforementioned Basilisk-conquering wizard and his "nouvelle petite amie," Ginny Weasley.

"Je ne peux pas le croire," Fleur muttered. She had up-close-and-personal familiarity with Harry and Hermione's relationship: first as Bill's consultant, then as Hermione's would-be rival after - her lips trembled - Bill's death, and finally as the girl's quasi-mentor, following Fleur's realistic assessment of her own prospects.

Incredibly, the story seemed true. The interview was rife with Ginny's lengthy effusions of being hopelessly in love with Harry Potter for as long as she could remember. Bill used to joke about precisely that. Harry's laconic confirmations of his recent feelings for Ginny also bore the ring of truth.

If false, this story promised to become the mother of all libel litigation.

Something monumental must have happened. Professing concern for Hermione's "privacy," neither mentioned how Harry's prior romantic relationship had ended. Other Hogwarts students - not merely anonymous sources - confirmed the basic, shocking fact that Harry and Hermione were history.

Rather than discarding the fish wrapper, Fleur showed it to Alicia Spinnett, still Hogwarts' representative at Beauxbatons despite incapacitating curse injuries suffered during the Basilisk attack. With a couple of Floo conversations, everything was confirmed.

That tipped the balance.

Fleur respected Hermione. She was in awe of her intellect - everyone was. But even more, Fleur admired the girl's pluck. She had seen Hermione best Harry in a duel, despite having but a fraction of his power. She had witnessed her dogged determination when Death Eaters kidnapped Harry. She had heard about Hermione's role in the Battle of Stonehenge, once again her fighting and overcoming impossible odds.

Harry featured prominently, sometimes exclusively, in all these incidents.

Now, somehow, Harry was involved with Ginny Weasley.

Fleur barely knew, and did not respect, Ginny. She was simply the baby of Bill's six siblings. Nor had Ginny been friendly when Fleur visited Bill's home. "Phlegm" was decidedly not a term of endearment.

The story portrayed Ginny as vivacious and athletic, also describing her as beautiful.

Fleur snorted. Beauty was something she knew about.

Beauty? Fleur would put hers against anyone's. She was incomparably more beautiful than Hermione. Hermione had not bested her with beauty, but with other qualities - attributes that earned Fleur's abiding respect and reluctant fealty.

Since returning to Beauxbatons following the Basilisk attack, Fleur had sought something to bolster the school's shattered morale - something to begin the arduous process of restoring her alma mater's tarnished self-esteem and reputation.

From the beginning she had questioned the precipitous cancellation of the return ball. The staff - not the Headmistress, who was incapacitated - reached that decision within hours of the attack. A postponement was certainly justified. But outright cancellation?

To Fleur, it was an implicit admission that Beauxbatons' attackers had won.

Fleur could rationalise with the best.

She had assumed the Charms position at Beauxbatons' express request. She could have taught Defence, had she desired, using what she had learnt from Harry Potter's group. Olympe would listen to her recommendations.

Once the ball brought Harry to France, Fleur would handle the rest. Her implicit agreement not to pursue Harry Potter was solely with Hermione. She had no such understanding with Ginny Weasley.

A new game was afoot.

* * * *

"Caractacus? Yes, send him in," Lord Voldemort agreed, when the arrival of this faithful servant was announced. Moments later the graying Borgin and Burkes proprietor was ushered in.

"You may leave us," the Dark Lord commanded the others.

After the obligatory abasements, Caractacus Burke divulged his news. "I have word from Draco Malfoy. He reports success in his latest project. Potter and the Mudblood have separated. I know no details, but I presume the little blood traitor and their potion brewed from your ingredients did the job."

"Yes, I have read the Prophet's version of these events," Voldemort hissed, his face bearing an evil grin. "That threat appears well countered - for the moment. Now I shall undertake a ... permanent solution to that problem."

"How may I serve you, my Lord?"

"Other than continuing to act as go-between, you need not trouble yourself with this particular endeavour any further," the Dark Lord dismissed his offer. He was re-compartmentalising. "You and young Malfoy have done well. I shall release another quarter of the gold as - shall we say - a progress payment. You may keep your usual ten percent. Tell Malfoy that the remaining quarter, and concealment of his ancestral home, await successful completion of his mission's final objective."

"Any operational instructions, my Lord?" Burke asked.

Voldemort ran his fingers along his chin in thought. "Tell him the new moon in June. Further instructions will follow in the usual way. You are excused."

Once the door clicked closed, the Dark Lord went to work. His first raven was to Ludo Bagman. Ludo was to alert Troy that Operation Endgame was a go. With the match rescheduled, everything was in place. Troy was to act, at his discretion, upon a suitable opportunity within the next week.

He called for Lucius, who was to create the diversion that would keep Potter busy and out of pocket. Given the main event's unavoidable location, the boy's attention must be kept focused elsewhere - until it was too late.

Lord Voldemort had an enchanted object that would prompt the Muggle-Loving Fool to enlist Potter as his cat's-paw. He handed it to his long-time henchman and told him the location - explaining how it was conveniently accessible only at new or full moon.

All must be in readiness before the new moon in June.

Then the Dark Lord brought in Snape. The former Hogwarts professor would lead the strike force that would assist Draco. For reasons kept secret until everything was over, Snape was to believe that his and Draco's mission was the evening's main event. In truth, it was merely another, more elaborate, diversion.

Lord Voldemort himself planned every detail of the true main event. He would simultaneously restore his most faithful servant and ensure that what young Malfoy had rent asunder would never, ever be re-established. Success would forever nullify one possible outcome of Abigail's unfortunate reading, and would also render Malfoy's continued presence at Hogwarts unnecessary. Ultimately, success would usher in the emotional obliteration of the Boy Who Had Lived Far Too Long.

His red eyes glinted in anticipation. With luck, he could manœuvre Potter into being required personally to end the pitiful life of that overly clever Mudblood. The choice would be her - or a piece of him. Her death would be the only solution.

Either her death would undo Potter, or her continued life would ensure his death.

* * * *

A busy day began what promised to be a busy week. He had consulted about a perplexing case of a wizard grown allergic to his own wand. He had also conducted the first set of grand rounds that occasioned the reopening of the Janus Thickey Ward to ordinary medical use. Its elaborate re-warding, prompted by that Death Eater invasion, had required several months. After the rounds were finished, he had a long list of patient consultations.

Not until well past three in the afternoon, could Chief Healer Paracelsus Huxley take sanctuary in his office, dictate his notes, plan his schedule for the rest of the week, peruse the latest Healing journals, and sketch out the presentation he would give this Friday before the European Paranormal Healers' Society annual convention in Majorca on long-term consequences of artefact accidents. That speech and the wands-out breakout sessions that followed would satisfy most of his annual Continuing Healing Education requirement.

Hlr. Huxley had just opened the current edition of Annals of Clinical Healing when he heard tapping at his window pane. He performed the usual incantation, and an unfamiliar Aluco tawny owl fluttered in, bearing a substantial package. This was odd. His post was usually processed by the St. Mungo's repository.

This package was marked "Personal & Confidential." Practising his own version of constant vigilance, Hlr. Huxley thoroughly inspected the delivery for curses or other potentially dangerous magic before unburdening the increasingly impatient owl. For her troubles, he fed the owl the remainder of his lunchtime muffin.

He noted the intriguing return address. His first reaction being, 'Harry Potter is a fool' - followed immediately by, 'What she could want?' "A summer intern's post if I'm terribly lucky," he amusedly answered his own question. Hlr. Huxley had not exaggerated, much, in his earlier willingness to hire her immediately; the Devil take the N.E.W.T.s.

No such luck.

Hermione Granger was not applying for a Healer trainee's position - or any other position. Instead, she had sent a battered and worse-for-wear copy of his namesake's tome, The Joy of Potions.

Perplexed, he perused the note that accompanied the book.

Dear Healer Huxley:

I trust you are well and I apologise for my interruption. I have enclosed a heavily annotated copy of Paraselcus' Joy of Potions. I am concerned because some of these annotations involve Dark magic and spells (see the example on page 157).

However, the great majority of the annotations appear to be superior methods of brewing potions discussed in the text. So I am loath to destroy this book altogether.

Your evaluation is undoubtedly superior to mine. With your prestige and wizarding connexions, I am sure you could arrange for publication of an updated version of Joy - minus the darker aspects of this unknown wizard's ideas.

Again, I apologise for burdening you with this, but I trust no other wizard to do the right thing.

Hermione Granger

"I'll be damned," Hlr. Huxley muttered. He flipped through the first couple of chapters. Every so often he remarked, "that should work," "I wish I'd thought of that," or simply "wow!" Turning to page 157, he examined the spell that worried Hermione. "Sectum...!" He stopped. Without completing the curse, he knew she was correct. The leftward wand motion was sufficient confirmation.

Closing the cover, Hlr. Huxley exhaled. Assuming the rest of the book was similar, it contained more than enough material to justify a revised edition - if not a completely new work. That unknown Dark wizard was possibly the best instinctive Potions brewer he had ever encountered.

Hlr. Huxley flipped through his planner. As befitting one of the most distinguished Healers in the British Isles - and all Europe - his schedule was full to bursting. He had no time to redraft one of wizardkind's most venerable Potions treatises.

'I could engage one of the younger Healers,' he thought. That was how he completed his latest article, "A Case Study of the Sacrifice of the Phoenix Used to Counteract Magical Spontaneous Combustion," which should be ready for peer review in a couple of months - provided he obtained the necessary consents.

All roads led back to Hermione Granger.

Why not this one? Merlin knows, Hlr. Huxley needed no more accolades to burnish an already stellar career.

With a knowing smile, Hlr. Huxley swivelled his chair to an oak paneled cupboard behind his desk. He slid in the book and closed the door. It would be safe until an appropriate author was found - an up and coming Healer, unquestionably brilliant, but who could use the cachet of authorship of a definitive work on one of magic's central subjects, perhaps to overcome a disadvantageous blood background.

Turnabout - Hlr. Huxley believed - was definitely fair play.

57

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 2/12/2011