Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Bexis

Story Summary:
Harry's summer and sixth year. Examines H/Hr in context of his unwanted wealth and fame, and her need for independence, requiring them to save one another's lives. H struggles to control a mysterious fifth element, receives an inheritance and finds OC summer romance. Hr knows everything and nothing. The brain encounter changes R. D is dispossessed and vengeful. CC is not what she seems. Featuring H/Hr affinity, Auror training, poor parenting, treaties, really evil Death Eaters, goblins, kidnapping, death, a crash, a fire, an explosion, bribery, funerals, testimony, a Sufi witch, tarot, pensieves, secret engagement, ill-gotten gold, Stonehenge, a succubus, love potion, battles, triads, Druidism, and foreign entanglements.
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Chapter 87 - Casualties Of War

Chapter Summary:
Wherein the match is cancelled, McGonagall makes an offer, Harry accepts but at first not Hermione, they talk, but Hermione has a relapse, the remaining Weasleys survive, Neville and Luna arrange their summers, differences are partially resolved, physical therapy is conducted, funerals are held, 7th year plotting begins, a Horcrux is destroyed, and an exile starts a new life.
Posted:
09/19/2012
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Author's Note:
Only one more after this.


Wherein the match is cancelled, McGonagall makes an offer, Harry accepts but at first not Hermione, they talk, but Hermione has a relapse, the remaining Weasleys survive, Neville and Luna arrange their summers, differences are partially resolved, physical therapy is conducted, funerals are held, 7th year plotting begins, a Horcrux is destroyed, and an exile starts a new life.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, Mathiasgranger, and Chris Backus.

Only one more after this.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 87 - Casualties Of War

Death Eater Fiendfyre came perilously close to undermining Gryffindor tower before being contained. The tower remained intact, but Fiendfyre had scorched and weakened nearby floor joists. The flagstones tilted downwards, now incapable of bearing the weight of the sagging and now immobile staircase. The sunken flooring was awash in water from all the firefighting.

At a bit past three in the morning the trio separated at that sad, sodden scene. To Ron, this sorry mess was providential. To ride out tomorrow's - no, today's now - inevitable Mum-plosion, he planned to seek sanctuary in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey would surely consign him again into traction, whilst berating his additional abuse of his gimpy, thrice-injured ankle. She would undoubtedly demand to know how Ron had managed to soak his leg enough to disable her Restraint Charm. His excuse would be the deep puddle at the foot of Gryffindor tower.

With luck he would receive some potion that would leave him fast asleep when Hurricane Molly came ashore.

After Ron splashed off to the infirmary, Harry and Hermione trudged up to Gryffindor Tower seeking a few hours of richly deserved sleep. However, with all the disruptions, and Fiendfyre separating them from the fighting, Harry's fellow Gryffindors were mostly wide-awake. Their epinephrine rush had not been depleted by the exhaustion of battle.

Harry's housemates stared at his unfamiliar, battle-scarred goblin armour. They gawked at the mere sight of Hermione, after her daylong absence and plethora of rumored fates. The weary pair's terse response to queries was that, yes, danger was past; Dumbledore really was dead; and Ginny was missing and had done things they did not care to discuss. Totally knackered from too many hours of cheating death, they collapsed in their respective dormitories.

Hermione had shared with Harry some Dreamless Sleep Potion "borrowed" from the Hospital Wing. Both needed it.

Befitting this singular situation, Harry set no alarm clock for the first time in months. He was unlikely to be disturbed, between the goblin guard at the door and the goblin Cloaking magic he cast on his four-poster....

* * * *

The late spring sun rose over Hogwarts Castle on 6 June, 1997, its rays caressing ground thoroughly soaked by overnight rain. The warming soil willingly surrendered its moisture, producing an almost impenetrable blanket of ground fog. The all-enveloping mist concealed a chaotic scenes.

The largest magical sports crowd since the World Cup was converging on the Castle, intent mostly on rooting for the British underdogs in their widely publicised Challenge Match. The Hogwarts all-House team were competing against long odds - barnstorming professional Quidditch stars led by World Cup hero Viktor Krum and captained by the Irish champions' chaser Mervin Troy.

It was not to be.

Most would-be spectators never ventured closer to Hogwarts than the Hogsmeade train station. On the platform, they encountered a distinctly haggard Minister Scrimgeour. He sent the great bulk of arrivals back to London with the terse explanation that, because of an overnight Death Eater attack on the Castle, "for security reasons" the match was cancelled.

The Minister was in poor spirits. He could sense his political position evaporating faster than the fog as one influential wizard after another learnt of the latest Death Eater fiasco. Coming so soon after the Beauxbatons massacre, this attack made a mockery of the Ministry's claims of superior security. Aurors who were to have guarded the now defunct match were hastily reassigned to investigate the previous night's events.

Adding insult to injury, everyone with the clout to access Hogwarts Castle could tell immediately that goblins, not Aurors, were currently responsible for security.

The Quidditch crowd could not disturb Harry, but the many cups in his cauldron ensured that his slumber was inevitably interrupted. He awoke to scratching on his bed curtains. "Impratraxis. Impratraxis, sir."

Harry groaned. Maybe after staying in bed for a week, things would not be so ... unsettled.

"Impratraxis...?"

Shaking cobwebs from his mind, Harry reluctantly eased back the hangings. Wearily, he asked, "What is it?"

"My apologies, Impratraxis." A contrite goblin shuffled his clawed feet anxiously. "But insist does Savini ... er ... Jistiri."

Seeing Harry's pained expression, the goblin was an instant from prostrating himself when Harry anticipated him. "Anyor," he sighed, shaking his head. "Can't but hope you were right the first time.... Anyway, what's up?"

"A message received has Jistiri Hermione," the goblin offered. "A secret. With you, privately, to speak wishes she. Send in her may I? Or to her will go you?"

Moodily, Harry shambled out of bed. The first thing he really wanted to do was grab his Valkyrie (helpfully returned by the goblins) and fly the hell out of it until coming to grips with Dumbledore's death, Hermione's near death, and all the previous day's miseries.

Then, maybe, he would be prepared to face Hermione.

In equal parts he dreaded and desired their inevitable full and frank discussion. Everything revealed last night - from Ginny's confession, from Snape, and most profoundly from the depths of his own heart - pointed toward her. He badly needed to reconcile with Hermione. Yet his actual encounters with her had been calamitous. In six hours, she had nearly been killed twice in his presence.

On neither occasion had he successfully saved her.

Evidently, Hermione harboured no such doubts. Did she intend their talk to be here and now?

The goblin waited patiently for an answer.

Why not, then? Harry's dorm room was quite deserted. Dean and Seamus had left. Their trunks were gone, and their beds had been stripped.... Odd....

Ron was in the Hospital Wing, and Neville ... was wherever he had goblins take him - definitely not in the Castle.

To hell with the Valkyrie.

"Yeah," Harry decided. "She can come ... if she wants."

Inevitably, she did.

Within thirty seconds, Harry heard her approaching footsteps. He recognised Hermione's cadence.

"Harry, are you decent?" she asked from the threshold.

"Fully clothed, anyway," he responded. "You're welcome here."

"Please ensure that we're not disturbed," he requested unseen goblin guards posted just outside the door.

Not surprisingly his quondam lover looked troubled. She shut the door and, with a squelch, sealed it.

"Hermione," Harry began quickly, before she could hit her stride. "I know I've messed things up in many ways, great and small...." Gently, he touched a finger to her lips to forestall immediate response. "No, please just listen for a second. You've no good reason to trust me, but I ask you, beg you, to believe two things. First, what you felt came from me, not Krum. Second, please believe me - please - those feelings were honest because they were ... how I really feel...."

Looking anguished, he allowed his finger to trail down her chin as he finished.

Hermione was surprised, pleasantly, by his declaration. She had chatted with Luna once Harry had left the Château for Hogwarts. The Ravenclaw had strenuously confirmed Harry's central role in what Luna described as "calling her home." Hermione's rationalist mind also knew, and accepted, that Viktor was several hours' dead before Harry's calling. Still, Harry's opening plea prompted something similar from Hermione.

"Harry, I do believe you. I trust you more than you might think, but in the same vein, please ... please - take me off your pedestal. I'm not perfect, but you seem to think that I can handle anything. Your expectations force me to try, and when I inevitably fail.... Well, I've found my breaking point...."

"I'll try, Hermione, but you're the most amazing person I've ever met - including Dumbledore.... Rest his soul."

Hermione winced. "There you go again, Harry. Anyway, I would have let you sleep, but I have some good news and some bad news."

"Merlin, I could use some good news right now." Having spoken his piece, Harry let her lead their conversation. "What's happened?"

"Neville contacted me earlier, on my D.A. Mirror," Hermione recounted. "He convinced You Know Her. He kept what we did secret. Apparently. she thinks it was you. What happened was impossible, or so she believes. And impossible rescues, well, that's what you do...."

"I wish."

Hermione shook her head. With a sad smile, she added. "She's right about that one thing, I guess...."

Harry's smile was equally sad. "Well ... sometimes. I try, anyway...."

Before Harry could follow with some remark about blind pigs and truffles, Hermione continued. "As for helping Death Eaters, Neville says she absolutely denies anything of the sort, and that the ghost in the loo can confirm. Presumably, that means Moaning Myrtle...."

"I'll go see Myrtle, then," Harry voiced continuing suspicion. "Nev may believe Ginny, but I don't trust anything she says - not without confirmation."

Hermione mentioned, slightly more upbeat, "Apparently she's agreed to exile, Neville didn't say where, only that he'd like you to send McAllister at once. Nev also has something for you, but wouldn't say exactly what. It's probably important. Maybe he and Dumbledore found what they went looking for...."

Harry genuinely smiled. "Well, at least that's good news. Maybe we can destroy them both at once. The sooner and farther she's away from us, the better. We should owl - no, better, send a goblin - to Jerry ASAP. Umm ... what's the bad news?"

"Professor McGonagall wants to see you, in her office, also ASAP."

Harry groaned. Once again, outside events were interfering with their heart-to-heart. Wearily, he opened his now neatly packed trunk (house-elves were amazing) and removed a fresh set of school robes. "Well, let's go."

"She didn't ask for me, Harry, just you," Hermione demurred.

"Don't care," Harry responded, clearly unhappy. "I just invited you." He donned the robes without changing clothes.

"I'm sure there's a reason...."

From his wand, Harry squirted shaving cream on his face. "And I don't care. I'd rather stay here with you, frankly. Raz-me!"

Hermione's expression was not encouraging. "With all that's happened, Harry, I don't think you should keep the acting Headmistress of Hogwarts waiting."

"I agree," Harry replied. "We shouldn't keep her waiting." He motioned ambiguously with his arm, either an "after you" gesture at the door or an offer of his hand.

"Oh, all right," Hermione gave in. With a show of exasperation, she stepped through the door, not attempting to take Harry's hand.

* * * *

They took a slight detour, attempting to visit Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. No luck. That loo was an Auror crime scene - off limits even to them. Myrtle was nowhere to be found.

Stymied, Harry turned to one of Roxtar's goblins (overnight, the nine-fingered goblin had assumed command - under Harry's suzerainty, of course - from Māktrax) to inform McAllister when and where his vow-casting services were needed.

Shortly, the pair presented themselves to the Acting Headmistress.

Harry started. "You asked to see us, Professor? I'd say 'good morning,' but I know it isn't."

"I asked to see you, Potter," Professor McGonagall answered curtly. She looked awful; surely she had been awake all night. "Granger may return later. My business with you is more urgent...."

"I asked her to come with me," Harry refused to be intimidated. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of her."

McGonagall rubbed her eyes. Indeed, she had not slept a wink, and her tiredness, combined with the wrenching loss of Albus Dumbledore, provided her little patience for impertinence. "Not this, Potter, I'm afraid," the Acting Headmistress insisted. "It would not be advisable for this discussion to occur in Granger's presence."

"I said that...."

'It's Ginny. If you want this to work, start acting now like you don't know....' Hermione's silent voice echoed in his mind. Aloud, she stated, "I don't mind. I'll wait in the classroom next door. I'm expecting a private owl." She stood and left.

The professor stared after her, aware of something passing between them, but not what.

Once the door closed, Professor McGonagall went straight to the point. "Potter, I've no way to sugarcoat it. I wish to offer you my condolences. Ginny Weasley is dead...."

Harry had given some thought to his reply. "Oh fu - ... Merlin! We, Ginny and I, damn, we broke up yesterday. She wouldn't let me leave once I found out where Hermione was ... something happened, and I knew it was over.... But I never.... I hope she died a hero...."

It sounded trite and staged, even to his own ears.

Professor McGonagall's initial show of interest - how had he learnt about Granger? - rapidly hardened into a stony frown. She had worse to tell him.

"Not exactly, Potter. She committed suicide." McGonagall stated with grim finality.

Harry tried to look shattered. "Over ... over me...?

"No, Potter - don't think that for a minute. Something convinced her that ... this is not easy ... Voldemort possessed her again.... Given yesterday's events, frankly we cannot rule that out...."

Whilst Harry's face reddened, he reacted less furiously than Professor McGonagall had feared.

"So that's it.... I think she's been giving me love potion," Harry revealed sullenly. "I basically burnt it out of myself yesterday. I'd done something like that before ... when I was kidnapped. Then I told her to leave, and I left for Hermione...."

"Love potion, Potter?" McGonagall seemed unfazed at this unexpected turn.

"Think so. During my duel with Snape on the roof of Hogwarts, he confirmed it."

That fazed her. "Snape? You? On the Castle's roof?" McGonagall babbled, sounding shocked. She knew of Snape's traitorous role in the Headmaster's death. "How would he know about that?"

"Malfoy told him, and Snape said ... er ... some things that clinched it ... for me ...." Harry almost revealed more than he intended and hoped not to be pressed on the point.

For once he thought he was lucky. Professor McGonagall was not just knackered but had more consequential matters weighing on her ordinarily perceptive mind.

Very thin-lipped, the Acting Headmistress responded. "Then the worst apparently did happen. Weasley admitted as much before she died. She left a note, which I have read, confessing to using love potion on you and ... something else on Granger as well...."

'Here goes,' Harry thought. "On Hermione...?" he growled, not having to act for his voice to sound threatening.

"Yes, a very dangerous potion," Professor McGonagall responded. "Draught of Despair, but I wonder...."

"Shouldn't she be here to hear this, then?"

"...does 'Half-Blood Prince' mean anything to you?"

That drew Harry up short, but only for a moment.

"Umm ... yeah. That's something else Snape said ... at one point he called himself the Half-Blood Prince. There was this book...."

His answer drew Professor McGonagall up short, but again only for a moment.

"Well ... Weasley also mentioned that in her farewell note...."

"Hermione definitely should hear this along with me," Harry once again stated, now more forcefully. "This plainly concerns her." He crossed his arms, striking a pose indicating he would not utter another word without her.

Professor McGonagall was overtly frustrated at Harry's insistence. "Oh, very well," she huffed. "I would have summoned her later - on matters that concerned her." She stood and released her tabby cat Patronus. Within seconds the office door opened and in stepped Hermione, looking preoccupied and upset. She tossed an empty bottle in the professor's paper bin, where it immediately vanished.

"Hermione, did something happen?" Harry asked, seeing her face.

"Granger, have you received disturbing news?" Professor McGonagall joined, having spotted the parchments in one hand and a fat envelope in the other.

"No! Er ... yes! Oh, bother!" Hermione was uncharacteristically ruffled. "Here!" She thrust the top page at Harry.

Whilst Harry read, Hermione attempted to explain. "It's from Healer Huxley. He promised to test some extracted potion residue. These his test results...."

"For Draught of Despair?" Professor McGonagall inquired.

Hermione paused. She knew how McGonagall knew, but was not supposed to. "Umm ... yes, but how...."

"She tried to kill you," Harry broke in, his voice authentically low and dangerous.

"I know what it says, Harry. I just ... I still can't believe she.... Anyway, I think it was an accident," Hermione finally offered the benefit of doubt.

"These levels..., if I understand this, were high enough to cause suicide attempt in 98% of the cases...."

"That's only an estimate."

"According to Huxley, a bloody conservative one...."

"Potter, language!"

"Harry, calm down," Hermione insisted. She did not want an emotional Harry saying something that gave the game away. "It must have been the Bake Off. Her Japanese food.... I ate so much...."

"She risked it, not you! Don't blame yourself, dammit!"

"It no longer matters," Professor McGonagall broke into their argument. "The Weasley girl is dead - a suicide."

Hermione took a deep breath before responding, as her reply would be closely scrutinised. "She must have been afraid of Azkaban, then." Hermione looked furious but kept her anger in check. "If she potioned me, I suppose she also potioned Harry...."

"She claimed possession by Voldemort," McGonagall interjected.

"Then she's definitely better off dead," Hermione reacted crisply. "If that's right, she'd be Kissed. No other alternative."

"Probably correct, but entirely irrelevant," Professor McGonagall moved to retake control of the conversation. "Many things compete for my limited time at the moment. I have the Headmaster, two of the staff, and several students dead. Our Minister will commence an inquiry into our security. The Bulgarian Minister is up in arms about his star Seeker going missing. The Board of Governors meets shortly in emergency session to decide whether and under what auspices Hogwarts will reopen next Term, so please allow me to get through this. I have for you...."

"I can help with one of those," Harry responded grimly. "Viktor Krum is dead. He became a marked Death Eater. He was killed last night at Château Blackwalls."

"By Voldemort," Hermione added. "I saw it. Oh, and I doubt the Board can close Hogwarts unilaterally."

"What? Are you sure?" Professor McGonagall looked shocked, which either of Hermione's revelations could have accomplished.

One thing at a time - Krum first.

Trembling with rage, Harry revealed the late Bulgarian Seeker as a fully-fledged, tattooed-on-the-arm Death Eater who kidnapped Hermione and ultimately brought her to the Château. There, Krum connived in Hermione's blood being used to restore Bellatrix Lestrange to something that passed for human, all facts that caused McGonagall's complexion to become even more ashen.

Hermione explained more patiently that Viktor still carried a torch for her, and had been brainwashed to believe that the only alternative was her death at Voldemort's hands. So motivated, he had acted in spectacularly inopportune fashion. In the end, Voldemort killed him, not her.

Neither explained exactly how Krum died or, for that matter, how Hermione escaped. The Acting Headmistress was too busy to pry. Her shoulders slumping upon receipt of yet more bad news, Professor McGonagall responded. "Very well, I shall inform the Minister. The last thing we need is a diplomatic incident over a corpse. We need Krum's body returned as soon as possible...."

"Ummmm...."

"After you left, Harry, I told Roxtar to preserve Viktor's body," Hermione revealed. "You know how the goblins are...."

Harry most certainly did. Still, Hermione's solicitude for Krum's remains did not particularly help his morale.

"Indeed, Minister Stambolev will undoubtedly appreciate the courtesy," Professor McGonagall commented dryly. "I suppose I should return the favour by informing you about what happened here...."

Professor McGonagall revealed upsetting details of last night's Death Eater attack. Three students were known dead. Ginny's suicide they had discussed, and now they learnt Molly Weasley was under sedation in the Hospital Wing. Harry, but not Hermione, had known of the death of Megan Jones. The other fatality was Stephen Cornfoot, the first Ravenclaw who doubled back to assist Cho.

Draco Malfoy fled with the Death Eaters.

Of the staff, Filch lost a leg to a snake bite. Hagrid and several others were injured, either by Death Eaters or by Dark magic their attack had unleashed. Either they were out of danger or had been moved to St. Mungo's.

Three staff members had not been so lucky. Dumbledore, of course, everyone knew. Hermione had been present when Professor Vector, struck by several curses, lost two limbs and bled to death in the Hospital Wing. She had attempted to stop the Death Eaters near the stairway to the Headmaster's office and paid for it with her life.

The third casualty was something of a surprise. Professor Slughorn had been incinerated in his office. It had the hallmarks of a targeted assassination. To kill him, the Death Eaters used Fiendfyre after trapping the Potions master. Against a magic-consuming conflagration, Slughorn's feeble camouflage abilities provided virtually no protection.

The Death Eaters badly wanted Professor Slughorn dead - badly enough to endanger their own children. They had to know that Slughorn's office was directly above Slytherin House. Whilst the blaze also isolated Gryffindor, in its tower, at least some Gryffindors could have Apparated with the Castle's wards inoperable. Any Slytherin doing the same would have passed through Fiendfyre and been consumed by its magic-devouring fury.

The pair looked at each other. Slytherins would never give them credit, but indirectly, their liquid nitrogen spell had prevented immolation of everyone in Slytherin House.

Dumbledore, before his death, had never indicated that Professor McGonagall knew the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Nor had Professor McGonagall ever independently suggested such knowledge. She simply said Slughorn had been "in hiding." Harry and Hermione kept mum about why they thought the Death Eaters had targeted Professor Slughorn.

Not so Hermione's blurt-out about the prospect of Hogwarts closing.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall returned to that subject. "Granger, please explain your comment that the Board of Governors lacks power to close Hogwarts. Even as we speak, they're meeting, and I fear precisely that will be proposed. The Castle's reputation as the safest place in Britain has been shattered."

"In third year, I undertook extensive legal research to defend the Hippogriff that purportedly gored Malfoy...."

"Too bad Buckbeak wasn't really as vicious as Malfoy claimed," Harry muttered darkly.

"...Yes, Buckbeak. Whilst trying to stop his execution," Hermione pressed on. "I read the entire Hogwarts Charter, unsuccessfully looking for some loophole...."

"Skills that would stand you in fine stead as a barrister," Professor McGonagall commented.

Seeing Harry's uncomprehending glance, Hermione began, for his benefit, "After Slytherin left and Gryffindor died, the remaining Founders created and empowered what has become the Board of Governors to administer Hogwarts. This Charter establishes the Board's rights, powers, and responsibilities in respect of Hogwarts as an educational institution."

This was old news to the harried Acting Headmistress. "Yes, yes, please go on," she prodded.

"Maintaining Hogwarts as an educational institution is fundamental to the Board's existence. That obligation is a condition of the Board's continuation," Hermione explained. "Were the Board ever to fail of this existential function, they must offer the Castle and its grounds for sale to anybody in magical Britain upon proof that the buyer can perpetuate the school's educational mission...."

Having never read the entire Charter, Professor McGonagall was intrigued. "Prove? To whom?"

"I believe that committee would include the Headmaster, the heads of the four Hogwarts Houses and a - it would now be the Ministry's delegate, the Head of the Department of Magical Education...."

"With Albus and Horace deceased, that means, that what you call...."

"Not me, the Charter," Hermione reminded. "I'm sure you've a copy handy...."

"Not here. One resides in Albus' office, but unless and until I am formally named his successor, I cannot exercise the Headmaster's perquisites of office," Professor McGonagall explained. "That's another reason the Board is meeting. Only the new headmaster can restore the main wards. We're on backup, so I haven't objected to the goblins' presence."

"Anyway, for the time being, assume I'm right," Hermione moved on.

"I always do," Harry commented, drawing Hermione's withering glance.

"The vacancies imply a committee consisting of yourself, Mister Tarbert...."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry's Education head," Hermione paused only briefly, "...and Professors Flitwick and Sprout to evaluate the sufficiency of any such proposal. Should the Governors default, the committee's majority vote would approve any outside offer of continuation...."

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"I mean, nobody's made any offer," Harry clarified.

He had company. "I must agree with Potter. This is Thestralspotting ... pointless," Professor McGonagall concurred. "We should...."

"I don't think so," Hermione disagreed. "If the Board were to close Hogwarts...."

"Who this side of Malfoy could even think about...?"

"You." Hermione's one-word answer was simple and direct, and left Harry gawking.

"Me, what?"

"Harry, you could offer to buy Hogwarts," Hermione drove her point home, resisting any eye roll at his cluelessness. "You have means, you don't care about the money, and last year proved you're quite capable of teaching...."

Professor McGonagall stood in shock. "Granger, you know that's ... that's ... not at all ... preposterous...."

'Harry, say yes,' Hermione Legilimenced.

"If I have to, and Hermione will help me, I'll do it," Harry declared. The purchase price of Hogwarts was a small price to keep Hermione involved with him.

"Of course, the Board ... would never allow it," Professor McGonagall cautioned. "You're still a student. Besides, your reputation ... they'd be afraid you'd admit goblins ... or something."

"Or something." Hermione winked at Harry and added, "True, and confronting the Board with Harry as the alternative, I rather doubt they would vote to close Hogwarts...."

Professor McGonagall cracked her first smile of the meeting. "Granger, that is a brilliant suggestion, although more worthy of Slytherin than Gryffindor. I shall endeavor to inform the Board...."

Hermione returned her favourite professor's smile. Harry thought Hermione even looked rather self-satisfied - a good thing after her lengthy period of depression.

"...This brings me to a final matter, which I would have discussed later with you both. Assuming that Hogwarts remains open, I fear it may be difficult to attract a full complement of students after the Headmaster and several students were killed by Death Eaters within these walls. Several parents have already owled that they are ill-inclined to return their children next Term."

"Who," Harry asked reflexively.

"That's not important, Potter," Professor McGonagall turned his question aside. "What matters is unless you two - particularly you, Potter - return; Hogwarts may not have enough students to be viable. Hence, I'm acting somewhat earlier than Albus would have, and despite it being technically ultra vires...."

As Harry uttered the inevitable, "ultra what?" the Acting Headmistress reached into her robes and placed the Head Boy and Head Girl badges, gleaming, side by side on the desktop.

"I have no doubt, and Albus would surely concur, that you both deserve these."

Harry snatched his eagerly. "Head Boy, really?"

"Yes, Potter," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "All you need do is return for your final year.... Granger?"

Hermione had frozen, surprising Harry. He regarded Hermione the odds-on, prohibitive favourite for Head Girl - virtually since the day they were sorted into Gryffindor. Even her initials, H.G., matched the position.

Now, with one of her life's ambitions there for the taking, Hermione was not taking.

"Granger, is there a problem?"

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I - I don't know if I can do this," she sniffled, struggling to keep from shedding most un-Gryffindor-like tears. "I just don't know.... I'm not sure I can make the commitment, to ... to this...."

"Granger - Hermione - I assure you that the Heads' duties are not at all onerous," Professor McGonagall resorted to her most soothing voice. "You will certainly have plenty of time for your studies, and for..." The old professor glanced at Harry. "...for whatever other activities you may undertake."

Harry winced. He admired Professor McGonagall, including because Hermione saw her as a role model. Now, though, the woman was definitively out of sync with their situation.

"No!" Hermione wailed. "I mean I don't know if I can do this," she waved her arms in a sweeping arc.

"Hermione...." Harry tried to intervene.

He was unsuccessful.

"I - I mean, do I even want to be a witch anymore?" Hermione could no longer stem her tears. "I'm seventeen, dammit; I shouldn't have think about being poisoned, killed, or worse, every other day. Can't I be happy and safe? Don't I have that right - or is that too much for a 'Mudblood' to expect? Why stay here, fearing for my life, when I should be applying to uni's?"

Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

"Hermione, whatever...."

Professor McGonagall was rarely rendered speechless, but Hermione's tearful declaration nearly did that. "But ... I was sure ... the internship ... Healer Huxley said...."

The internship only reminded Hermione of another source of guilt. "I know I accepted his offer," she almost sobbed, "but I've let no premises ... made no arrangements. I can't decide.... I don't even know where I'm going when I leave here...."

"Grang ... Hermione, I'm sure something...."

What that something might have been was never expressed, because Harry was on his feet. He had to do something; something that would affect the rest of his life - and hers - profoundly. "I'm sorry, Professor, but Hermione and I need to talk ... really need ... right now. I'm sure you've many other things that need doing...."

He took Hermione, gently but firmly, by the shoulders, and began steering his weeping best friend from the room. She did not resist.

"Potter, you're right," Professor McGonagall acceded, "but please, before you go, take these...."

Harry turned and gaped at his Head of House, rummaging through her desk's top drawer. She seized some items. "The Headmaster left you some things...."

Harry lost it. "I don't need another bloody inheritance!" he bellowed. "Damn his money, anyway!"

Hermione wailed more loudly.

Professor McGonagall raised her voice in response. "NO! Albus bequeathed his wealth to the school. He simply left you this...."

She offered a dog-eared black-and-white composition book. "It details the status of certain projects - I don't know what - that he apparently was 'working on' with you."

"T-t-ake it, Harry," Hermione mumbled. "Y-y-ou'll need to know what's going on."

Harry did.

"And these tickets, this Muggle passport, I know he promised them to you," Professor McGonagall held out an unsealed Muggle envelope with papers, some turquoise, visible.

Harry momentarily hesitated before snatching what was offered and shoving them into an outer pocket. Not seeing Professor McGonagall holding her breath, with a second sweeping motion, Harry snatched the two Heads' badges from the desk.

Professor McGonagall exhaled with profound relief.

The Acting Headmistress' sole option was to place her faith in Harry Potter.

* * * *

Hermione shuffled out, willing for once to be led. Harry, doing the leading, had no idea where to go - except that they needed privacy. They finished where they started - the deserted Gryffindor sixth-year boys' dormitory.

Harry instructed the goblins that no visitors were allowed - not McGonagall, not Scrimgeour, not Ron. Nothing short of Voldemort leading a full scale Death Eater attack or the second coming of Albus Dumbledore could disturb them.

After casting Soundproofing and Locking Charms, Harry turned to Hermione. She hunched disconsolately on his bed - where, before she reduced it to splinters, they had made passionate love more than once.

Harry sat down beside her - neither too close nor too far away. "Hermione, I had no idea how far things had gone. I'm - I'm sorrier than you have any right to believe."

"Don't be sorry, Harry," Hermione sighed. "This, at least, isn't your fault. It sort of comes with being dosed with Draught of Despair until it runs out my ears...."

"Hermione, that's over...." Harry tried reassuring. "She can't hurt you, hurt us, anymore."

Hermione did not seem to hear. "Still, beats the alternative, I guess.... With a 98% suicide rate...."

"You're stronger than that," Harry tried again, somewhat more firmly. "You're no 98% - you're way more unique, more special!"

"Pedestal, Harry."

"...You did not kill yourself. Instead, you aced two N.E.W.T.s and learnt phoenix transformation ... a whole lot more than I accomplished."

"How do you know?" Hermione shot him a pained look. N.E.W.T. scores were not released until late June, and during Charms....

Harry was not concerned with grade point averages.

"If you'd tried to commit suicide, believe me, I'd have known ... somehow," Harry declared, starting out more confidently than he finished.

Hermione looked back at him, almost pitying - of him, or of herself, he could not say. Her eventual reply shocked him almost beyond words.

"Knowing full well what could happen, I sought comfort in the Mirror of Erised, Harry. That's slow suicide. Fortunately, Luna - and Cho - intervened, and the staff moved it...."

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione, why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Your greatest desire...."

"...Was you - fully and gloriously in love with me."

"I hope more than anything it still is."

Hermione's eyes rose. She stared, unblinking, at the underside of his canopy. Her body sagged. "I just don't know, Harry. That scares me more than anything else. My heart feels like a limp dishrag wrung out with a Twisting Charm. Is anything left inside? Death Eaters used Viktor to get to me. Voldemort told him personally that unless he brought me for that resurrection ritual, I would die...."

"All because of me, I suppose."

"If only I could blame you, Harry. That would be so easy. I could pack up and leave, without regrets." Hermione shook her head. "But it's his fault, really. Even if I'd told the truth, why I stopped writing, he'd probably still have returned once you were with...." Hermione trailed off, wanting to mention her betrayer's name.

"Can you blame him? Merlin, Hermione, you're the most amazing witch I know - hell, that anybody knows. It's not just me. I can't believe...." The Head Girl badge was in his pocket.

"Harry, I'm just tired of playing a game I can't win. The best I can do is break even, and if I lose the consequences can be so horrible that death is a relief."

"Hermione, you're the strongest...."

"Take me off the goddamn pedestal, Harry, please." Hermione demanded, fighting back both tears and rage. "It used to be so grand, you and Ron thinking I was perfect. I was so damn conceited I thought I could do even better. What good is it? When ... when I saw you with... that harlot that night, something inside me broke. I'm not sure how to fix it...."

"Let me help, please," Harry echoed her plea. "Doesn't that blasted potion she fed me mean anything...?"

"Harry, it means everything," Hermione reacted. "Without it, we wouldn't be talking. After what happened yesterday, I'd have left - screaming - and you'd never see me again."

"I'd come for you. You know that," Harry declared.

"You could try," she snarked. "I know far more about the Muggle world than you. My damn father vanished from the face of the earth pretty effectively, and...."

"He had years to prepare and prison as the alternative," Harry growled. He could not help it. He detested Hermione's father.

"I've had weeks; I'm cleverer than he is...."

"True, but who's....?"

"...and what Voldemort almost did to me makes a prison cell look like your chateau's grand bedroom." She played her trump card.

Why was Hermione always right - so indisputably right? "Merlin, Hermione, please don't run," Harry wrung his hands. "I don't know what I'd do."

"You're stronger than that." Hermione looked at him fiercely. "You'll go and finish that bastard Voldemort. You and I both know that. What you won't do is jump in front of any more Killing Curses with my name on them. You're too important. I don't matter...."

"You matter to me, more than anything!" Harry protested fiercely. He paused, unable to maintain the pose. "...I need a reason to go on," he confessed.

"So do I, Harry."

"I need you to go on."

"Oh, Harry," she regarded him tragically. "I can't be responsible for every aspect of your life and happiness. I'll crack under that pressure. I'm afraid I already have...."

"Let me support you for a while, when you need it," he rasped a bit shakily.

"Like you supported me when that bitch decided she wanted you for herself?"

Cut to the quick, Harry stumbled. "Hermione, please...."

"You've no idea what that was like! I was pleased and happy with arrangements for us to shag, and there you were, that little bint servicing you...."

"Hermione...."

"You ... just let me get this out of my system, okay? That slag's kneeling before you like you're some kind of god. Is that what you want from a woman...?"

"Umm ...nuu..." Harry decided just to shut up, as Hermione asked. Arguing with her - even in self-defence - would only aggravate things. He also knew how richly he deserved every rebuke she had in store.

"Yes, I know - the potion. Ginevra Weasley is a dreadful, backstabbing hag. Hell, even hags have more morals. But put Ginny-dear aside. Yes, she potioned you, and me. But she didn't potion Daphne. I know you shagged her. Ginny screamed enough so everybody in the Castle bloody well knew. Thank Merlin you could keep Rita quiet."

An icy silence passed before Hermione advanced her argument. "Daphne...."

That name rolled off her tongue like a Cutting Curse.

"A pretty, hell - beautiful - face. Blonde, with an amazing, thin, beautiful body. Like Eliza," she recalled resentfully. "And a thoroughgoing Slytherin. But no potioner, that I'm sure. The moment she had you alone, resistance was futile, I suppose."

"Hermione, I can't...."

"And what about Fleur? I don't know what exactly happened - I don't want to - but she was into your robes somehow. Veela-power, maybe? Then she stops, or did she? Maybe she just wanted to use me to wreck your relationship with dear, sweet You Know Her to take you for herself. Another blonde; another beautiful body. And you came running...."

Hermione's grievances had her so agitated she could barely see. She certainly did not see Harry, slack jawed, his eyes wide in shock. He had told nobody - not a soul, and certainly not Ginny - about his near-orgasmic encounter with Fleur Delacour at Beauxbatons.

Somehow - amazingly, appallingly, and typically - Hermione knew about that, too.

Hermione ranted on. "Then what? Once you defeat Voldemort. And you will, not the least because sweet, gormless Hermione will never let you die...."

"Not letting me die means staying," Harry muttered glumly.

"Staying. Yes, staying.... What happens to Hermione? Every witch in Britain will want a piece of Harry the Conqueror. Love Potions. Compulsion Charms. Pigmy Puff musk. Flying knickers. Pretty, shapely blondes batting pretty, shapely eyelashes. You name it, they'll do it. Merlin, Diana bloody Spencer's after you! How can Hermione Plain-Jane Granger possibly compete with that!? I'll be left alone - again! I'll be fodder for the Mirror of Erised, again!! I'll be ... I'LL BE DOSED WITH DRAUGHT OF DESPAIR, AGAIN!!"

Hermione's eyes were wild; her nostrils flared in near-hysteria. Her left hand squeezed her right wrist so tightly that her thumbnail cracked and drew blood. Harry could feel magic - Dark feelings he was ashamed to have triggered - surging from the increasingly distraught witch sitting on his bed. Warily he checked his wrist holder for his wand.

"OH, WHY!! MAYBE I SHOULDN'T BOTHER WAITING FOR THE DRAUGHT...!! Draught ... oh, Merlin ... Harry, please, a Cheering Charm, please...!"

Instantly, Hermione's voice dropped from screaming to strangulated.

"Please?"

Harry asked no questions. With a practised flick, his wand was in his hand. The next instant, "Buenis animus!" he complied with her hasty request.

A faintly puce-coloured spell enveloped her. Every aspect of Hermione's form relaxed. From rigidly sitting, she toppled to one side, ending on all fours, panting as she shook her wild-haired head, trying to find an even keel.

Harry was bewildered. He had never, ever seen Hermione rave that way. Standing beside her, on the floor by his bed, he placed a hand tentatively, ever so gently, on her heaving shoulders. "Hermione, what just happened?"

"Flashback," she gurgled. "Umm ... I'm glad I recognised it before driving you away forever ... I was so miserable.... That, or I might have jumped out the tower window...."

"What?"

"Healer Huxley's prognosis warned about these," Hermione spoke somewhat more coherently.

She sat up. Harry sat down again, facing her, on the bed. He badly wanted to take her hands in his, but was afraid. "Hermione, let me help you...."

"You can't - I can't.... Hah!" Her laugh was bitter. "Nice and clinical ... one can't recover instantly from that large a dose of powerful, borderline Dark potion. These flashbacks could occur for quite some time...."

"Do you ... what sets them off? What did I do just then?" Harry struggled to understand.

Hermione did not answer right away, letting Harry's Cheering Charm flow through her. Gradually, her thought processes and pulse rate approached normal - post-Draught normal. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Harry, Hermione was calm enough to voice her worst fears - the motive force behind her recent flashback.

"Harry, I'm okay with ... hell, I'm anything but okay with, but at least I understand what the Love Potion did.... Daphne and Fleur - them I simply don't get. They didn't... well Fleur probably did her Veela thing, but you betrayed, umm..., You Know Her, so quickly. That really unnerves me, because I don't see what happened.... Can I trust that it won't happen again ... and so easily, it seems...?"

Harry felt his heart breaking, because that heart held no good answer. "Hermione, me neither. If I understood it, understood me, I'd do anything to stop it. I don't know. I ... both times I was far from home, feeling lonely and out of sorts. Then I was with them, and they were, you know - more than willing.... I wasn't thinking straight...."

"More like not thinking with the proper head, I'd say.... You weren't alone at the ball, Harry," Hermione archly reminded him.

"Well, this head, anyway," Harry pointed at his skull, "thinks you're more beautiful than any of them - not even a contest."

Hermione had to smile, but Harry's declaration was still just that. She could not accept what remained a non-explanation. "Thank you, Harry, but that sentiment doesn't account for what you did."

Harry exhaled and wrung his hands. He had nothing, except.... Could he believe that slimy snake bastard Snape?

He had little to lose and everything to gain.

Wariness and reproach coloured her stare. Harry flashed Hermione a sad smile and started again.

"Yeah, I know, but assuming I can believe anything she said, she got drunk and had to sleep it off.... I can't rightly ask you to trust me, because now I don't trust myself. I.... I don't...."

She did not like seeing him flounder. "Harry...."

"The only other thing sounds like an excuse, which I don't like any more than you. Not only that but ... it isn't exactly from the most ... umm ... I can't say I believe him myself.... So I don't know...." His voice trailed into incoherent mumbling.

"Harry, what are you on about now?"

He took a deep breath. "Snape - he seemed to know something."

"Snape?" Her incredulity was manifest.

"Yeah, like I ... you already know, I duelled Snape on the Castle's roof," Harry reminded.

Hermione knew little more than a duel had occurred. "You said he admitted being the Half-Blood Prince," she accurately recalled.

"So he said, and it made some sense, his knowing potions and all. It was a duelling distraction, I'm sure. He also boasted that ... that Ginny's Love Potion was his own special brew.... He's such a hateful bastard, I'm not inclined...."

"That I can check out," Hermione interrupted, the cogs in her brain turning once more. "It must be written in that wretched book I sent to Healer Huxley. If it's not there, then Snape's a liar, and if he lied about that...."

"The scumbag probably lied about everything," Harry finished her thought. "Why would he tell the truth?"

"Dumbledore trusted him," Hermione allowed.

"Dumbledore's dead," Harry pointed out. "Lotta good that did him. Nev said Snape was right there when it happened."

Hermione winced at the undeniable truth in Harry's response. "Still, what did he say?" she asked.

"Let's see.... Snape said he gave up his potion because it worked poorly. It failed away from Hogwarts, and in other places it ... it, well ... it made me ... he said 'peckish,' and he didn't mean food. Then he said 'nostalgia'.... I wouldn't mention it except, dammit, that was exactly my feelings. I think I wanted you ... and since I couldn't, I just wanted somebody...."

"Daphne and Fleur were available," Hermione closed the loop.

Harry shook his head. "Available doesn't do it justice. Daphne didn't wear anything but...."

Hermione cut him off. "Some details I can do without."

"I'm no expert, Hermione, but the idea of a potion working, or not, depending on where it is brewed, or used, or whatever.... Never heard of it.... You know I'd never trust Snape, but dammit, he described my feelings better than I could.... Does this make any sense? Could a potion do what Snape said...?"

Hermione's breath hitched as Harry asked his questions. She started feeling warm all over.

A potion could act that way, if brewed and used initially at Hogwarts - she had discovered the reason.

The Castle was the focal point of some sort of ley line spiral. A potion administered at Hogwarts could, at least theoretically, have limited geographic scope ... if it ... especially with magnetic ingredients, she surmised. The spiral's axis matched the earth's magnetic field.

Something stronger and more personal than logic prompted Hermione's reaction. She wanted - no, needed, with all her being - to believe Harry. Finally, a plausible basis had emerged for behaviour that still seemed incomprehensible. Harry had an explanation, something verifiable, for his repeated, inexcusable, and heretofore inexplicable (she believed) sexual misconduct.

If that were so, then....

All things were possible.

Before, he told the truth about Chang's pornography, and that Brookings woman. She had not believed him.... Disaster resulted. From then on, she promised herself always to hear him out.

She was feeling very warm. Would Harry noticed her blushing?

"Hermione, are you okay?"

Nope, Harry was not that clueless.

"You've heard, I'm sure, about Hogwarts' ambient magic," she began, trying to stay calm, speak slowly (always a problem), and neither overstate nor understate the facts. "Harry, it's not generally known, but it has a physical basis. Hogwarts is the centre of ... I guess you could call it a magical vortex. Ley lines from all over Europe converge here in a fashion closely approximating the Golden Ratio."

Harry responded with his usual incomprehension when Hermione described matters like this. "What does that mean?"

"It means Snape could well be telling the truth, Harry, even if not knowing why his potion behaved that way. I discovered this vortex using polar coordinates on my Arithmancy N.E.W.T. - neither Vector, nor McGonagall, nor even Dumbledore, knew about this."

"If Snape's telling the truth...?"

"Then, a flawed, Hogwarts-specific Love Potion could generate precisely the symptoms you've described," Hermione declared. She kept a straight face, but saying it magically made it more real.

Hermione started feeling tingly all over, almost lightheaded. She reached a decision. She had underestimated this man before. She would not repeat the same mistake.

Snape's claim, corroborated by her ley line discovery, convinced Hermione that Harry deserved the benefit of her doubt. Irony of ironies - second-hand information from a hated Death Eater, a conniver in Dumbledore's murder - weighed most heavily in her decision.

That certainly played a greater role than anything Harry could say on his own behalf.

Clueless about the workings of Hermione's magnificent mind, Harry waited apprehensively. They had talked for quite some time without her exactly rejecting him, which seemed like progress.

If Hermione carried through her threat to leave, emotionally he might as well return to that cupboard under the stairs.

With Hermione seemingly hesitating, Harry took his turn - and a deep breath. He needed that answer - an answer that, for better or worse, would chart the course of both their futures.

His smile was tentative. She had, after all, raged at him not long ago. "I do know something else, too."

"That is?"

"I want you to stay."

"Harry, I think we...."

For once, Harry talked over her. "No, hear me out - please. You've had your say; please give me the same chance. I promise not to be as loud."

She started out exasperated. Reference to her recent loss of control was a low blow. Seeing his earnest expression, her pique faded. Harry was at his cutest trying to be earnest.

"Everything you said - just then - it scares hell out of me, too. Hermione, that bastard Malfoy got to me through a Weasley ... a Weasley, dammit. If I can't trust the Weasleys, who can I trust...?"

"I hope...."

"You, that's who. You and maybe nobody else. Hermione, what you just said.... It's every bit as bad for me. I don't want to be love potioned, Veelaed, ambushed in a hotel room, hit with a Compulsion Charm, or by some slag's knickers. You sussed it exactly. After what's happened, how can I trust any woman again...?"

Hermione could not help herself. "Well, there's Luna, and after last night I think we can both trust Jazzy with our lives...."

Her interruption annoyed Harry. "Fine, Hermione. But you know bl... full well what I mean. If either of them started hinting of their willingness to replace you, I doubt I'd trust them either. Don't you see? The point is I can't really trust anyone anymore. They either want my stupid money or my stupider fame.... That is, if I'm lucky and they aren't trying to haul me off to Voldemort like Krum did to you. It would only ... Merlin how much worse would it get if I beat Voldemort...?"

"When you beat Voldemort," Hermione interrupted grimly, not caring if Harry glared at her. "I must believe that, or I would never stay."

Harry flinched at that remark. "Okay, when I beat that sonuvawitch it only gets worse. I mean, you said yourself that Lady Di's alliance offer was only a ploy to get at me...."

"I didn't say that," Hermione corrected, hoping to make this conversation more of a conversation. "I only said she might. Even if she's interested, you can say no - that's the point."

"Ginny didn't let me say no.... Fleur neither, well, pretty damn close. Why would she? I mean Muggles have stuff for doing the same thing don't they?"

Hermione almost had to smile at the image of Princess, no Lady, Diana slipping Harry a roofie. "Yes, they do, but I seriously doubt that's how the Royals' operate...."

Yet another tangent annoyed Harry. "Fine, but.... That's not really the point. The point is: I love you. I'll always love you. I don't want to love anybody else, and I don't...."

"Harry...."

"Please, let me finish. I know what you'll say, but my 'if' won't ever become your 'when' unless you stay. Please, Hermione. Please trust me again - just enough to stay - I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I did to you. You don't, you know, have to do anything you don't want.... I mean, you'll have your own bedroom and all at the Château, or if not there, somewhere else. You're hurting, Hermione. You know it. I know it. We both just saw it. Let me help you ... please."

For Hermione, Harry's offer suddenly simplified things, although Harry could not have known that - yet. "Harry, my recovery could take longer than you think," she warned. "Luna probably saved my life, but her beginner's luck couldn't possibly have removed all that potion."

"I repeat, I'll help you."

"I'll need potions and durable medical equipment. Healer Huxley gave me a list."

"I'll brew them," Harry vowed, drawing Hermione's stern glare. "All right, Jerry will go to the apothecary, and I'll ... help you - I'll manage your schedule."

"I may have to bathe in some of them."

"Umm ... I'll draw your water...."

"I'll need physical therapy."

"I'll be your personal trainer."

"You promise? You don't even know what that entails...."

"Absolutely. We'll run together, if that's it. Calisthenics. Cycling. Spell-casting. Swimming. Whatever, we'll do it together ... promise - on my honour."

Hermione flashed a knowing smile. "Deal, then.... Healer Huxley indicates I might need sweating."

"The Château has a sauna. I'll personally cut your wood."

"Harry ... pedestal."

"No, Hermione, you'd do all that and more for me were the cauldron turned, and you know it."

"Point, that." Hermione could not deny that Harry was entirely correct.

"More than anything else, I want you back ... that is, to recover," Harry emphasised. "But if you have to go, tell me where, and I'll be there."

"You can't."

"You can't stop me. If you've had it, so have I."

"Harry, I can't put you to that choice."

"It's no choice, Hermione," Harry spoke quickly, sweat breaking on his brow. "Neville can be a git sometimes, but he was right last night. I do love you - always. I could have stayed with ... You-Know-Her. I came for you. I don't know who I am without you. I need you to stay with me...."

"Harry, stop, I will."

"...but if you can't, then seriously I will go with...." His brain finally caught up with his tongue. "You will?" Harry's green eyes lit up like a traffic light on "go." "Oh, Merlin, thank you!"

For all the world, Harry wanted to wrap Hermione in his arms and never let go. He hesitated, unsure if his touch would offend her.

"Oh, Harry, of course you can do that!" she declared. He received a patented Hermione hug.

Harry relaxed. For the first time since learning that Hermione had gone missing, he could hope that things might ultimately be okay. Life is for learning, after all....

...Until Hermione mentioned how she needed to pick up potions Healer Huxley had prescribed.

In the Hospital Wing.

Where the Weasleys undoubtedly were.

"Harry, they've been like family to the both of us. We need closure."

* * * *

The Castle seemed forlornly vacant as the pair trudged to the Hospital Wing. Stopping by the Owlery, Harry dispatched Hermione's owl Athena to the Château with instructions to turn over Krum's body - not mutilated, they (or at least Hermione) hoped - to the Aurors. Visiting Professor McGonagall, they found the professor magically packing her things. She informed them that the Board of Governors had met, and after rather heated debate, decided tentatively to keep the school open with her as Headmistress.

Hermione told the new Headmistress that she would return as Head Girl.

Their acceptance of the Heads' positions greatly simplified Headmistress McGonagall's first assigned task from the Governors - within the month she was to complete a feasibility study involving Hogwarts' continuing operation.

Professor McGonagall's next official act as Headmistress had been unhappy. She cancelled the graduation ceremony and sent the entire student body home as soon as their families could make arrangements. The Hogwarts' Express would make an early run south, with heightened security arrangements both en route and at King's Cross.

Like the rest of the Castle, the Hospital Wing had emptied since the night before. Privacy screens hid any remaining patients, except for Ron. His parents looked like they had not slept all night, which (save Molly's involuntary sedation) was undoubtedly accurate. They also had company. Tonks was present, in wrinkled maroon Auror's robes, holding an international-grade Quidditch broom with a sheared-off handle.

Tossed on a side table was a copy of this morning's Prophet, its lead story previewing the now-cancelled Quidditch match. A column below the fold summarized extensive speculation, hearsay, and innuendo concerning Hermione's sudden absence. More purple prose discussed her supposed affinity for star Seekers. Hermione barely spared the fishwrap a glance. Never had the Prophet's front page been so thoroughly out-of-date prior to delivery.

Everything else stopped once the Weasleys espied Harry and Hermione.

A long moment, when one could have heard an owl's feather drop, ended with Molly's wails of grief and pain. "Oh, Merlin, why did she get involved with all that? Why couldn't she just get over you! Why didn't I try harder to stop her?! And what she did to you ... awful ... oh, I'm so sorry!"

Tears in her eyes, Molly rushed towards Harry, arms apart. Harry braced for a full-bore, bone-crushing hug, but Molly stopped short, uncertain whether Harry would welcome her embrace after her daughter's perfidy. She looked to Harry, and he looked back, startled.

Harry knew exactly how she felt. "I can't blame you for anything," he muttered.

"Oh, Harry, you don't know. I suspected," Molly choked out as she gathered him in her arms.

She burst into tears.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

In Molly's state, she could neither continue a conversation nor let go of Harry. Resignedly, Arthur rose from his seat beside Ron's bed virtually to prise his bawling wife from Harry.

For different reasons, Tonks and Hermione both felt extremely embarrassed as this scene unfolded.

Tonks' response was to leave. "Umm ... we're continuing our investigation, and I'll inform you of further developments." The young Auror headed for the door.

Hermione's response was to change the subject. "What happened to that broom?" she asked nobody in particular, hoping futilely that Tonks would stay.

"Seems they were out to kill me, too," Ron answered bitterly. "Troy's done a runner. That's his broom. The Aurors think that bastard...."

"Ronald, language," Hermione tutted reflexively.

"...was a Death Eater, and charmed his broom handle to split during the match so he could kill someone. I was the obvious target - for a Chaser, anyway." He lifted a goblet of steaming potion from the nightstand beside his bed. "Anyway, Pomfrey's revenge ... I have to take this rancid stuff; I hope for the last time. It's gonna knock me out, but I've heard most of this before."

Ron downed the potion with unusual relish. For a moment he looked like he might spew, but he went unconscious almost immediately.

When Ron was explaining the broom, Arthur tenderly led his still weeping wife to a nearby vacant bed. Molly lay down without protest. "I'm sorry, too, dear," He sighed. Moving behind her, so she could not see, he drew his wand. "Somnius." He softly incanted a Sleeping Spell.

Then he turned to Harry and Hermione - whom his daughter had so grievously wronged.

Taking the Re'em by the horns, a gaunt and grim-faced Arthur Weasley looked the pair straight in the eye. "Harry, Hermione, you must be incensed, to put it mildly. How much do you know about...?"

His voice wavered and tears glistened at the corners of his eyes.

"...Ginny and what she did?"

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

Hermione Legilimenced, 'Careful, Harry.'

Harry gritted his teeth. "Enough," he replied. "I've been told about the note - the potions ... possession by Voldemort."

"You saw Tonks. The Aurors have been updating me on their investigation," Arthur continued in a tone of enforced calm. "It probably won't change your feelings, but would you like to know more?"

"Okay," Harry grunted. "Can't hurt now."

Barely audible, Arthur requested, "Can I trouble you for a Security Charm or two?"

Hermione immediately cast Muffliato. Harry made them all literally vanish with goblin Cloaking magic.

Arthur told Harry that Death Eaters had penetrated the Castle through a Vanishing Cabinet hidden in the original Chamber of Secrets entrance, which required connivance by someone inside - someone who spoke Parseltongue.

Hogwarts' only known (albeit former) Parselmouth was Harry, possessor of the most ironclad alibi imaginable. Draco Malfoy was essentially the sole suspect.

Hermione shuddered - Harry's Parseltongue had arisen from a Horcrux, could Ginny...?

Arthur continued, assuming that Hermione had paled in response to his information. Splintered remnants of a Vanishing Cabinet were found in the lower tunnel; that being the Death Eaters' means of ingress. Destroying the cabinet precluded tracing its twin.

More importantly, investigating Aurors had done precisely what Neville recommended - interview Moaning Myrtle. Ghost testimony might be judicially inadmissible, but Myrtle definitively fingered Draco Malfoy and his two sidekicks, Cambo and Spott.

Malfoy had fled with the Death Eaters after personally murdering the Headmaster.

Under Veritaserum, Cambo and Spott confessed to relatively minor roles. They acted Malfoy's lookouts, unaware of his plans. Ignorance did not exonerate them, at least from charges of aiding and abetting.

These statements completely exonerated Ginny from Death Eater collaboration. After Cambo mistakenly Stunned her, he and Spott shoved her unconscious body into a stall. The Stunner was poor and Myrtle revived her. Ginny then surprised the two Slytherins and bested them in a short duel. She was then surprised by Death Eaters. She even tried fighting them - one of whom was Snape - but Draco did something that caused Ginny to collapse screaming.

Hermione relaxed as the eyewitness account ended. Cambo and Spott fled to Slytherin. Moaning Myrtle had a long-standing and well-founded aversion to large snakes. When one appeared, the ghost retreated fled down the pipes.

A couple of second-years later noticed Ginny enter Gryffindor Tower, appearing unsteady. In the general uproar that followed, nobody gave her much thought - save Jazzy, who found her suicide note.

After debris blocking the new entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was cleared, Ginny's body was found. The Horcrux's destruction had ... well, it was not a pretty sight.

Harry winced. Goblins had supplied the debris, but Hermione had been rather ... umm ... overenthusiastic in preparing the faked body. She claimed she wanted to discourage anyone from examining it too closely, but he suspected rather more mixed motives.

He did not really blame her.

Spott and Cambo were also aware that Malfoy was peer tutoring Ginny in Potions, corroborating Ginny's suicide note. The Potions assignment records were gone - incinerated with Professor Slughorn in Death Eaters Fiendfyre.

"...and that's all I know," Arthur concluded. "My only daughter's dead, and as much as that hurts, it's probably for the best. Permanent possession by You-Know-Who...." That sentence remained incomplete. Instead, he dropped his face into his hands.

Harry had never seen Arthur Weasley cry - not even at Bill's funeral.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all.

Arthur recovered with impressive speed. He looked at Harry and, briefly, at Hermione. "I have only one question for you, if I could...."

Hermione's fingertips lightly brushed the back of Harry's hand - a "be careful" gesture not requiring Legilimency.

"...You were with her more than anyone, obviously. Did anything, anything at all, suggest her possession? We've racked our brains and can't recall anything...."

"No," Harry could answer totally truthfully. "I've asked myself that same question, and drawn a complete blank. She seemed herself to me." Harry did not add that, partly addled by Love Potion, he had not been himself, and thus was less likely to notice aberrant behaviour.

"Doesn't surprise me," Arthur sighed. "Somehow she was manipulated, but I doubt we'll ever find out how."

Hermione stood, watching the exit. Talk of manipulation made her skin crawl. "Harry, I need my potions from Madam Pomfrey. You can stay if you want...."

"Harry, if you'd rather not speak to any of us again, I'll understand," Arthur frowned, shaking his head. "Ginny acted inexcusably, and we're responsible for her. But you should know that I offered Rufus my resignation.... He didn't accept it."

Hermione had stopped when Arthur mentioned his own situation. "Would anything be better if this Ministry fell?" It was a safe, non-Ginny question.

"Don't think so, no," Arthur answered, shrugging his shoulders. "With the successful Death Eater attack on Hogwarts, I don't think Kingsley could overcome Thicknesse. Kingsley would be blamed, simply for being here...."

"Then the Minister was right," Hermione insisted. "You shouldn't resign. I don't blame you."

Arthur almost smiled. "Evidently, the Minister agrees. If you care to come, and we won't blame you in the slightest if not, we're having a family-only service on Wednesday...."

"No slight intended, but I think I'll pass," Hermione demurred. Harry did as well.

"Again, I can't blame you," Arthur replied solemnly. "One last thing. The Aurors will surely seek to debrief you both about the Death Eater invasion of Château Blackwalls. It's undoubtedly related to the Hogwarts attack. Where can they contact you?"

"Umm ... the Château, probably," Harry answered. "All students must leave by tomorrow. I don't know about ... Hermione...." He looked at her hopefully, almost pleadingly.

"I'll let you know," Hermione answered noncommittally.

They left, relieved that things had gone as smoothly as they had.

"Hermione...."

"Come," she took his arm. "Neville stuck his head in. He's outside the door. Go find him whilst I see Madam Pomfrey about potions and treatment."

Hermione was right. Outside the Hospital Wing Harry spotted Neville and Jerry McAllister cooling their heels, obviously waiting for him.

"Are you both ready?" For McAllister, the question was rhetorical. Neville nodded assent. "Yeah. The other half's finished."

No classrooms were in use, so they grabbed the nearest one with no window in the door. After the room was secured, the Unbreakable Vow's language was the first order of business.

Harry had specified no particular terms, so McAllister suggested using the formulation he had used for Neville and Ginny. Identical vows were both cleaner and safer for the vow takers.

Harry agreed after perusing Neville's terms, which his friend had helpfully copied in long hand. They provided that without Harry's consent Ginny would never reveal what happened to anyone. As long as Harry and Hermione lived, she could not return to Britain without both their express written consents, delivered in advance to Neville. Under the same terms, she could not be present in any other country where Harry or Hermione happened to be.

The Vow required Ginny to have a British passport - immediately. McAllister offered to "handle" it, as magically faked passports could be obtained much faster than real ones. A passport for Harry, issued through proper channels, had been inching through the Muggle bureaucracy for weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, with the Vow firmly in place and tested, Jerry McAllister broached another subject, the Château's condition. "Sir, I know Mister Longbottom wishes to speak with you alone, and far from me to hold anyone up, but could I have some instructions in respect of your return, so the Château can be repaired for your arrival?"

"We have to be out of here by midday tomorrow," Harry informed him.

"That doesn't leave much time, doesn't it?" Jerry remarked dryly.

"No, but I've but one instruction."

"Yes sir."

"The side that collapsed, that's where I want the new elves' quarters. No more basement rooms. Without the elves, very little of the Château would still stand."

"You're ... you're sure - I, I mean they're still elves?" Jerry stuttered.

Harry was adamant. "Absolutely. The elves' new quarters will be above ground. The staff can deal with it or leave."

"Then it will be so.... Will anyone accompany you to the Château?"

Mr. McAllister's question was harder than he could possibly have imagined.

"Umm ... I'm pretty sure Jazzy - the younger girl who likes to fly - will. So make sure she can get in. Nev...?"

"Not me - not anytime soon," Neville declined. "For the next six weeks, I'm supervising construction of a new manor house; a lot more practical than old Longbottom Castle. At the same time, I'll be looking after my Uncle Algie. He's gone rather barmy, I'm afraid."

"Later, then?"

"Probably not," Neville shrugged. "Professor Sprout arranged for an internship over the second half of the hols, to categorise and sample endangered magical plants in Madagascar and Mozambique. Some other time, I guess."

"Anybody else?" McAllister asked.

"I don't know about Luna...."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Neville chided.

"All right," Harry growled testily. "I'm hoping Hermione comes, too, but I don't yet know for sure, okay?"

"Sir, I've found that more planning avoids problems," McAllister observed. "Should Miss Granger grace us with her presence, what accommodations would you prefer?"

"Hermione will be interning at St. Mungo's for the summer. Please arrange for she can take the splixat from the Château to Gringotts. From there, it's a short walk, and even shorter Floo, to the hospital. The goblins will provide whatever security she needs."

"Well and good, sir," McAllister acceded. "With the redesign you've ordered, and our elves under strength, we must prioritise our repairs. Shall I configure the Proprietor's Suite for one or two bedrooms?"

"Two, I think," Harry sighed. "Like you say, better safe than sorry."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Neville repeated. "Have some faith, will you?"

Mr. McAllister had his directions. He desired no part of this new conversation. "I'll be off, then," he bade farewell.

Harry gave full attention to his friend. "What is it, Neville?"

"Just ... don't sell Hermione short, okay?" Neville demanded. "I'm sure she'll forgive you, now that she knows what really happened. Hell, even I am."

"I never sell her short," Harry responded.

"Bullshit, Harry. You just did with McAllister - twice."

"Seriously, Neville. I'm pretty sure she's forgiven me as a friend, but that doesn't mean she wants me for anything else...."

"Oh, really?" Neville scoffed. "Mind if I try?"

"Bullshit, Neville."

"Anyway, I came to you because I don't know who's safe to tell about Horcruxes. You get the bloody miserable results of the trip that killed Dumbledore."

"Shite," Harry realised. "No Horcrux?"

"Zilch," Neville confirmed. He removed a gold locket from his robes and handed it to Harry. "Just this useless fake."

"How do you know?"

"Go ahead, open it," Neville directed. "It's not hard."

Harry did. "What's this?" He fingered a piece of paper.

"A note telling anyone and everyone that it's a bloody fake."

"Who's R.A.B.?" Harry asked, his spirits sinking further than he thought possible - now that Hermione was staying.

"No idea, but with a bit of poking around, Hermione should be able to tell you," Neville speculated. "Probably won't do much good, though, since it's a fake and the mysterious R.A.B. is almost certainly dead."

"So it was a bloody trap?" Dumbledore, a bishop if not the king, sacrificed for nothing....

"Seemed like it from everything I saw," Neville allowed.

Harry kicked at the ground. "Umm ... sorry, Nev. I think so, too. What else, with all that happened whilst Dumbledore was conveniently out of the way?"

Neville sympathised. "Damn.... He's really dead."

Harry shook his head, "Yup, hardly believe it myself." He pocketed the locket. "Just to make sure, I'll destroy this thing along with Ginny's scarf tonight. You're welcome to come."

"Ordinarily I would, but I'm trying to act really, really normal until the worst of this blows over," Neville politely turned Harry down. "I'm going to her memorial at the Burrow. You coming...?"

"Sorry, I really shouldn't be around lots of Weasleys right now," Harry admitted. "Hermione's right, I'm a lousy liar. I survived my one visit by saying as close to nothing as possible - that and Molly ... umm ... left."

"Okay, what really happened to her?" Neville asked. "You are pants at lying."

"She saw me and went hysterical. Arthur had to cast a Sleeping Spell on her," Harry admitted.

"Anyway, I'm assuming you don't care to know ... the travel plans," Neville inquired. "Should be overseas already."

"No," Harry concurred. "The less I know, the better. Here, you'll want this, I suppose."

Harry pulled Ginny's wand from the back pocket of his Muggle jeans (Mad-Eye must have turned over in his grave), unrolled the swatch of Demiguise cloth keeping it invisible, and offered it to Neville.

"Gee ... thanks Harry. I wondered where it had gotten off to," Neville accepted the proffer. "Umm ... the owner will be pleased - not having to be a Squib after all."

"I've heard enough that I'm comfortable giving it back," Harry revealed. "Just make sure I never see it again."

Harry wanted to leave. This conversation had lasted much longer than expected, and he wanted to find Hermione. "One other thing," Neville stopped him. "I'd like to join the Order. I've discussed it with Gran. She approves, and I think it's time...."

"You've got my vote, Nev," Harry assured him.

"Then will you propose me?" Neville requested. "Too many members probably think I'm pathetic...."

"Nev, you have two Orders of Merlin. Two more than most members," Harry reminded him.

"I know, but that only makes people jealous. Gran says members proposed by the Order's leader always get voted in."

That nugget prompted a quick response.

"What?" Harry was incredulous, and more than a little displeased. "Since when?"

"Since Dumbledore's death, duh," Neville parried. "Gran was once in the Order, when it fought Grindelwald. The previous leader was some Frenchman, but not long after the Fall of France, Fawkes left him and chose Dumbledore. The Phoenix chooses who leads the Order."

Harry wanted no more leadership positions. "You're asking the wrong person, then. That makes Hermione leader of the Order - but I'm sure she'll propose you."

"Not so, Harry," Neville resisted. "I was there, remember. It happened less than a metre from where I stood. Fawkes didn't choose Hermione. Fawkes is Hermione, and vice versa. Her mastery of the transformation clinches it."

"But, then...."

"Hermione will always choose you, Harry," Neville told him. "Provided you let her."

"But...."

"Don't be stupid, Harry.... Bye, for now."

Despite, or because of, Neville's unexpected talking to, Harry felt a lot better. He used the Marauders' Map (don't leave home without it) to locate Hermione, whom must have finished with the Hospital Wing by now.

Her dot appeared in the hallway outside the Ceremonial Library, next to Luna's dot and someone vaguely familiar whom Harry could not quite place. He picked up the pace.

Harry encountered Hermione walking in the opposite direction, looking for him - wearing an enigmatic smile.

"I'm done, Hermione. How about some supper - last of the year. Too bad the Leaving Feast was cancelled...."

"Yeah," Hermione signed. "Too bad. Gryffindor locked up the House Cup for another year - even without any Quidditch points."

"Umm ... where've you been?"

"Sorry," Hermione apologised. "You took longer than I expected. After I finished with Madam Pomfrey, I received a Patronus message asking me to meet with Luna...."

"Really? That's advanced. I didn't know she could do that - I couldn't send a Patronus message in fifth year."

"Wasn't her. The Patronus belonged to Elder Dromit," Hermione disabused him.

"Oh.... That was who you and Luna were with when I finally finished with Neville - everything's okay with Nev by the way...."

"Good," Hermione told an anxious Harry. "There's news - things are actually better than okay with Luna."

"I could use good news," Harry replied, looking a little sad. "Who's this Dromit wizard? I can't place him...."

"He's senior Druid for Luna's grove. The news is he ran some magical tests - first on me, and then Luna. I'm not Druid High Priestess anymore ... Luna is. Thank my lucky stars!"

Harry was surprised, but happy. Hermione had never been comfortable as involuntary leader of a religion she did not believe. "Well, good on you. Luna's far better.... But how?"

Hermione grimaced. The reason would surely stimulate Harry's robust guilt feelings, but he needed to know. "The Druid Magicks considered me dead when the Killing Curse hit me. The ancient Druids created those spells before Phoenixes ever came to Britain."

Harry remained dumfounded, but no longer happy. "You ... you actually died?"

"Only as to the Druids," Hermione hastened to clarify. "I'm told that the fancy consecration spell is required only to raise a new High Priestess - essentially from nothing. In the pre-Roman days, a laying on of hands between a dying High Priestess and her chosen acolyte was an accepted means of transferring the powers of the office."

As Hermione had feared, the colour drained from Harry's face. "Yeah, Luna jumped on you after you'd ... you'd.... Hermione, I'd really rather talk about your living than dying.... Can we change the subject, please?"

"All right," Hermione sighed. She was relieved that the whole Druid complication was out of her overly complex life. "That means Luna will be training all summer. She promises a more thoroughgoing effort to remove any remaining potion from my system once next Term begins. Just don't expect her at the Château. She's serious about her new role."

"No problem, but I do hope to see you," he invited her obliquely. "Let me tell you about my arrangements. The Château's getting some remodeling...."

"Let's do it at dinner, Harry," Hermione suggested. "I need to eat before starting my therapy.... Last chance to back out - some of it's strenuous."

"Hermione, I'll duel Voldemort for you any day of the week. A little workout doesn't bother me."

* * * *

The Term's last evening meal was a subdued affair. Over half of the student body had already departed. With many extra seats available, Headmistress McGonagall issued a rare invitation for parents to attend. Adult attendance deterred any boisterous conduct all the more.

All remaining students were invited to a memorial for Albus Dumbledore, tomorrow, on the Castle's grounds. Following his final instructions, Dumbledore would be buried (after the Demagification Ritual was performed on his corpse) privately in his family's cemetery plot at Godric's Hollow - with his family beneath the same simple marker. The Headmaster's accomplishments spoke for themselves and did not require ornate marble remembrance.

Harry and Hermione had just selected their afters when a house-elf delivered a missive from the Headmistress, a request to announce their appointment as Heads. Neither was in any mood to draw more attention to themselves. Hermione, in particular, had barely assented to accept her appointment. They turned the publicity request down - flat.

The Headmistress' note included an interesting addendum that was emphatically not public. Thanks to a late Draught of Despair-driven surge, Hermione had accumulated an astounding thirty nine percent of Gryffindor's non-Quidditch House Points. The previous record had barely topped thirty three percent - Tom Riddle, in the year of his award for Special Services to the School.

Similar awards were probably in the offing for next Term - perhaps even another Order of Merlin, or three.

Almost too easily, Harry persuaded Hermione to use the Room of Requirement for her physical and magical therapy, since it could adjust to its occupants' needs at any particular moment. He arrived early, pleased that Hermione at least trusted him to aide her rehabilitation.

The Room of Requirement resembled a cleaner - far less smelly - version of Dudley's old gym. As he inspected the wide range of workout equipment, Harry hummed a popular song into which he substituted his true love's name. "...Call on me, Her-mi-nee. Come and see me. I'm the same boy I used to be...."

Suddenly, he halted in mid-air-guitar, frowning. Whatever else Harry was, he was not the "same boy" as before. Nor could Hermione possibly be the same girl.

The past few weeks, culminating with her abduction and their mutual near-death experiences, had irrevocably changed them both. Harry could only hope that, through parallel maturation, they still shared enough to share each other's lives. Harry was far more subdued when Hermione arrived.

Upon her arrival, the Room helpfully provided a privacy screen. "I'm going to change into my ... workout clothes, Harry. Here, you can read Healer Huxley's physical therapy instructions whilst I'm busy...."

Hermione slipped out of sight, counting to herself, 'One ... two ... three ... four....'

"Hermione!" Harry's shocked explosion came on schedule. "These instructions.... They're mostly talking ... shagging...!"

"Yes, 'vigorous sexual intercourse to orgasm is optimal therapy for the chronic hypo-endorphinism and acute dopamine deprivation that are characteristic sequelæ of extreme overexposure to Draught of Despair.' I've memorised it...."

"Hermione, you mean you want me to have sex ... make love ... with you as physical therapy?" Harry sounded disbelieving.

"You volunteered. Would you rather I ask someone else?" Hermione retorted from behind the screen. She had expected as much.

"NO!" Harry spluttered. "It's just that ... I thought ... something like this ... you would have told me directly...."

"Would that have changed your mind? If it would then I...."

"NO! I never intend to change my mind about you! I love you!"

"Then what's your problem with shagging? Healer's orders after all."

"That's just it," Harry tried again. "I don't just want to shag you. I've never wanted that, well, not by itself...." He paused, then continued in lower but still desperate tones. "I want you ... well you know what I want, you know where it is, and it's yours whenever you want it. Hermione, what the hell do you want?"

Hermione did not want to be separated from Harry.

The Room of Requirement sensed that the privacy screen was no longer desired. It vanished. Hermione stood facing Harry.

Without a stitch on.

And not the least bit shy about it.

Eliza had done that. Harry had felt ... had been stoned out of his gourd.

Ginny had done that. Harry had felt ... under in thrall of a strong Love Potion.

Daphne had done that. Harry had felt ... overcome by lust - due to a bizarre knock-on effect of that strong Love Potion.

Fleur had done that. Harry had felt ... Veelaed within an inch of his life.

When Hermione did it, Harry felt ... voluntarily yet totally captivated. She was a dream come true.

"What do I want? I want you, Harry. I've been badly hurt - I'm still hurting - precisely why Healer Huxley says I need this therapy. But you ... you've never hurt me physically.... I trust you with my body, and what I need right now is to be shagged senseless on a regular basis. It's been a month...."

"Hermione, you deserve more...."

"Harry ... pedestal," Hermione reminded him. "I have needs; accept them, please. You should know. I was afraid I could never trust you with my heart again, but once you ... Daphne and Fleur, you could explain them, I decided to chance it. Nobody could possibly make me feel the way you make me feel, Harry. That's both good and bad.... I've decided to try...."

"Hermione...."

She was not done. "I know full well, I'm putting myself in a position where you could hurt me again." She took a deep breath. "I'm praying that you won't. I know you respect me, so please take what I can give. Let's shag, Harry."

"Forever, Hermione," Harry declared, softly but firmly. "I'll love you that long - till the end of time. For me it'll never be shagging, I want you to know that."

Hermione was impatient with Harry's latest Gryffindor grand gesture. "I can't ... just can't ... deal with forever right now, Harry. Let's sleep on it - on each other - for a while and see what happens? Can't you at least try? I'm randy, dammit."

"Okay, Luv, so am I." Having made his position clear, Harry accepted Hermione's terms. He could scarcely do otherwise.

"Oh, my!" Hermione squeaked. Harry turned and saw something black and rather tangled beside him, hanging from the Room's ceiling.

"What's that?"

"I ... umm ... wasn't exaggerating about being randy - well, for you," Hermione blushed. Her sudden embarrassment spoke volumes, as she had been parading about in the altogether for several minutes. "That's a, well, a swing ... used for shagging...." She had seen one once before, at Samson's Option in Hogsmeade.

To Harry it all seemed surreal. "You use a swing for shagging...?"

"Yes, Harry. Let me show you." She hurried to the swing and pushed its various straps this way and that. Settling in, Hermione made herself comfortable and favoured Harry with a truly stupendous view of her arousal. "Please, Harry, I need you right now...."

Dear Merlin! Harry must be in heaven - Voldemort must have killed him after all.

Harry never figured out whether he, she, or the Room, removed his clothes. It hardly mattered. With minimal talking, thinking, or analysing, the pair sought to recreate what they had enjoyed before Death Eater perfidy, and Ginny Weasley's outsized ambitions, had sundered it.

An hour or so later, one thing was clear. Both Harry's and Hermione's bodies were better attuned to their hearts than were their minds. Thinking could be overrated. Overthinking a litany of errors and omissions certainly was.

Hermione's first physical therapy session was a success by any standard. She vociferously approved as her endorphin levels received one boost after another. Fortunately, this part of the Castle was virtually deserted.

Only one issue marred their frolic. Harry was in the swing, and Hermione moved to service him as he repeatedly had her. He objected; as her personal trainer, his job was to pleasure her - full stop. Hermione, taken aback, protested that it made her feel powerful, but Harry would not budge.

Hermione's mutuality proposal settled the problem, so she climbed on top. One thing led to another, and with Hermione straddled him. It happened as she was giving the swing's stirrups (magically appearing when needed) a strenuous workout. Her body embraced what her mind was not yet prepared to acknowledge. Hermione was too far gone, howling too loudly, to notice the telltale pink flash that illuminated the Room and tested Hogwarts' newly rebuilt wards.

Their combined passions generated a Harmonic Convergence, something Harry had missed during his entire month with Ginny. He would tell Hermione that, eventually, but not just yet....

The Harmonic Convergence could not be attained chemically. It required genuine love.

Finally, their energies spent, they lay together in blissful post-coital languor - boneless and painless.

"Merlin, Harry, you were brilliant.... But then you always are...."

"Me? Brilliant? That's you, not me. I just use whatever you allow me."

"Harry, you've helped me ... immensely. With all the endorphins I've just synthesised, I'll be free of flashbacks for a month. Still, I'd love to be able to help you."

"Well, you could always.... No, that's for you, not me, to decide. But ... well you do help me."

"I'm glad. How am I - I mean apart from the obvious?"

"It's ... well, you being here keeps me...." Harry failed to complete the sentence.

"Keeps you what? You can tell me, Harry. You can tell me anything. I want you to."

Hermione heard Harry exhale. "All right. Well, you keep me from going Dark."

"Dark? Harry, you're not Dark, and never could be."

He shook his head. "I just don't know. The other night, the first time in my life, I ... tried to kill someone. Not stop, not catch- but kill...."

"You witnessed Lestrange hit me with the Killing Curse, didn't you?"

"Yes, and I tried my dead level best to end her life, except she Disapparated."

"Harry, I can't possibly blame you. I'd have done the same were the tables turned," Hermione said soothingly. "Wanting someone like her, or Voldemort, dead hardly means you're turning Dark."

"Wanting and doing are different," Harry pointed out. "And she wasn't the only one."

"Harry, you can't kill Voldemort - yet," Hermione warned.

"No, Ima Hogg, and every other Death Eater still in the Château after you'd been.... To kill them, I would have burnt it to the ground, but Dobby and the free elves beat me. The Château survived, but every freed elf save Dobby died ... threw themselves out windows knowing they couldn't use magic...."

"Free elves can be just as loyal as slaves ... and more powerful." Hermione returned to one of her favorite refrains.

"Still, I hate how I felt," Harry moaned. "Thinking you were dead, I considered going Dark."

"You won't go Dark, Harry. I won't allow it."

"Hold me. Let me tell you something about how I'm rebuilding the Château...."

"Don't worry. I'll come with you...."

Eventually they exhausted each other, if not the swing's many possibilities (Harry promised to owl-order one for the Château as "durable medical equipment"), they spent their most restful night in months in a featherbed provided by the Room of Requirement.

* * * *

Twelve hundred kilometres south, on a nearly five-hundred year old balcony overlooking an eternal city, two similar men conversed. Similarly aged and overweight, both wore similar red robes and white skullcaps. Both worried about the same things. Chance brought them together that evening, but design would have soon enough.

"It is true, then? The wizard Dumbledore is dead."

"It is true."

"May his soul find redemption. Indeed, an unfortunate development."

"It is. Although a heathen, and driver of hard bargains, when finally committed, his word could be trusted."

"And what of the heretical Gospel of Truth?"

"It remains in the hands of the two children. Another ancient work, represented as from the same collection, has been confirmed as genuine."

"Also unfortunate. We must assume that it, too, is genuine. What do we know of these children?"

"Harry Potter, the possessor, to whom we addressed our correspondence, is sixteen years old, underaged, and from all evidence a non-believer. According to Dumbledore, he is also the most dangerous adversary of the demonic wizard Voldemort."

"The one whose essence is imbued in the chalice?"

"The same. Our exorcists tested the chalice. Its demonic possession is confirmed."

"Has the demon been cast out?"

"Unfortunately not. For the first time, our International Association of Exorcists lost a member in the line of duty."

"These ... children.... Can they do better?"

"So Dumbledore believed - and on such matters he was rarely wrong."

"This is indeed serious - on several levels. What about the other ... the girl?"

"The girl is seventeen, extremely intelligent, and we believe highly dangerous to the Church."

"What is the basis of this extremely disturbing assessment?"

"Our confidential investigators report that the girl is not merely a non-believer, but is affiliated with pagan remnants in Britain ... Druids...."

"Do you believe she could influence the boy to make the heretical work public?"

"Nothing is certain; a distinct possibility exists."

"Worst case, that risk could destroy the Church."

"As long as the heretical gospel exists, so does that risk, yes."

"That settles it. They already know too much. Offer to exchange the chalice for the heresy. Invite them here.... Do anything and everything necessary to protect the rock and end the risk. Leave nothing to chance. Exodus twenty-two, eighteen."

"It shall be done."

* * * *

Following Dumbledore's quite private (no politicians, not even the Minister) memorial service, Harry and Hermione left Hogwarts feeling sombre. Despite his maddening manipulations, Dumbledore had been a true mentor to Harry. Although Shak remained as legal guardian, emotionally and practically, Harry was on his own, with one huge exception - Hermione.

As Harry's coach flew to Château Blackwalls, their sombre mood turned distinctly grim. They had to destroy, once and for all, the Horcrux that had twice possessed Ginny Weasley. This time, they would leave nothing to chance.

To distract them from that unpleasant, yet inexorable, task, Hermione suggested that they revise the notebook Dumbledore left Harry.

It contained an incomplete agenda - a litany of half-finished tasks.

The most significant directly affected Harry's ability to finish Voldemort. Negotiations with Church authorities concerning the Hufflepuff Cup were pending. An agreement in principle existed - a swap of the ancient manuscript called the "Gospel of Truth" for the Cup. Dumbledore had sent Blackie Howe's report confirming the authenticity of the Basilides manuscript to the Prelature, as requested. Receipt had been acknowledged. Dumbledore's last notation was that, Harry would likely have to complete the transaction in person.

The Church sought a meeting in Rome. Dumbledore's notes suggested a more neutral site. Avignon perhaps...?

"It's necessary, but I'll never like this," Hermione complained. "It's history, and they'll destroy it, because it's inconvenient history."

"Not really our problem, innit?" Harry challenged. "Unless we destroy that Horcrux, I'm history."

"Couldn't we at least make a copy - for posterity?" Hermione wondered. "I know I could duplicate the parchment and ink. You could hide it someplace, with instructions to make it public after your death, which I trust will be many decades from now."

"That's why they want it, though. Badly enough to give us the Cup. The story vanishes forever, and they can claim it never really existed," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, and that's just wrong," Hermione insisted. "But they'd claim it's a fake anyway, since the carbon ratio wouldn't match."

"What's that?" Harry asked, as much to encourage one of her factfests, as for any other reason.

He succeeded. "The earth's atmosphere is constantly bombarded by high energy cosmic radiation. Some strikes carbon atoms in carbon dioxide, creating a radioactive isotope, carbon 14. It's chemically identical, so all living things absorb it equally. As a result, the ratio of carbon 14 to carbon 16 gradually shifts towards the 16 isotope after something dies and the carbon 14 disintegrates...."

"Wait a minute," Harry broke in. "There's a spell for that."

"What?" Hermione countered, incredulously. Harry rarely knew any spell she did not.

"The Sisters have one," Harry insisted. "They used it on the wood and paper that was with the Nazi gold. They tinkered with some carbon ratio so everything looked abandoned for fifty years. That has to be the same thing, you think...?"

"Almost certainly, Harry," Hermione finished his thought. "Not to mention, Jewish witches like the Sisters undoubtedly have a long history with noxious Catholic anti-Semitism."

"Hmmm," Harry thought. "Payback could be a bitch. Lilithu acknowledged the Sisters' debt. I'll bet she'll help us...."

They turned to other unfinished business. Harry's training in France, starting the beginning of July, was high on that agenda.

The problem was not the training, but rather Harry's French living arrangements. Dumbledore had initially favoured an invitation from Fleur Delacour; the same invitation that Fleur had made - personally, very personally - to Harry at the Beauxbatons Ball.

Both Harry and Hermione now questioned that option. Fleur's forward behaviour at the Beauxbatons Ball was of paramount concern to them both.

Almost on the eve of his death, Dumbledore had written an addendum.

Immediately after the Beauxbatons ball, Fleur had attached a new condition to her invitation. Harry could only stay at Château Delacour if Hermione accompanied him.

That condition forced reconsideration of Fleur's motives. Could she possibly be acting altruistically?

Regardless of Fleur's motives, her invitation remained difficult. Hermione had her own internship with Healer Huxley at St. Mungo's. Commuting from Central France to Central London would be impractical, if not impossible.

Harry resigned himself to living in the Groupe d'Intervention's barracks.

Compared to that dicey situation, Acromantula hunt preparations were simple enough. Dumbledore had parlayed with the centaurs, who were pleased (to the extent any human action could please them) at possibly being rid of those eight-legged menaces. Their one non-negotiable item was that the hunt not take place until the second half of August, so this year's foals would be old enough to migrate to a safe location during the hunt.

Dumbledore's views also aligned with Harry's concerning the ex-Princess of Wales' proposed alliance. Given the strong potential for extensive Muggle entanglements and repercussions, the late Headmaster recommended Muggle legal counsel with knowledge of the Wizard World. He provided three names and recommended that Kinglsey vet them, with input from Hermione.

The Headmaster's notes did not reveal reasons. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had entertained the same concerns that troubled Hermione. His strong recommendation that Hermione be involved all negotiations indicated as much, but was inconclusive.

Unwanted publicity could endanger Lady Diana at least as much as Harry. Dumbledore therefore suggested that negotiations occur in an out-of-the way venue. Limoges, where Harry would already be working with the French elite Aurors, was the suggested choice.

That clinched it. They would speak to the goblins about transportation. Some way had to be found for Hermione to travel quickly between London and Limoges.

The Dursleys.

Dumbledore had accomplished something significant.

The Order had made firm sanctuary arrangements for Harry turning seventeen - after which the magicks that had protected them from Voldemort, not perfectly but adequately, would expire.

No, they would not be exiled to Coober Pedy. Dumbledore had vetoed that, and even Hermione admitted that, perhaps, her recommendation had been a tad vindictive.

Australia, yes, but not the middle of the Outback. Instead, they would receive new identities and be moved to Erinsborough, some Melbourne suburb.

The Order had offered to Obliviate them - so they would not remember Harry at all. Vernon readily accepted, but Dudley, and surprisingly Petunia, had declined.

Dumbledore's notes mentioned that Vernon sought to impose mutual Obliviation - that Harry's memories also be altered to forget his uncle.

Hermione's response was caustic. "He's worried about you, Harry, when he should really be worried about me."

Harry was curious. "What's that about?"

"That fat pig has a lot to hide," Hermione spat. "I'm convinced he was one of those who bribed my father."

Harry had not heard this before. "You're sure...? You know for a fact?"

Not yet, but we can find out," she answered confidently. "I'll wager you galleons to gobstones that, somewhere on that computer he gave you - that "birthday" present - is evidence tying Grunnings, and him, to payoffs to my father. I believe he gave it to you so Scotland Yard couldn't find it...."

"We'll take a look, then," Harry agreed, not happy about being used like that. "The elves probably put it back in my trunk, when they cleaned the mess I made tossing everything...."

"Not a problem, Harry," Hermione tried to get Harry to relax, instead of brooding over that horrible period when her life hung in the balance. "It's no rush."

Hermione was right. Details could wait until after the Pacific Magical Gathering of the Polynesian Confederation of Covens was concluded.

The Covens' Gathering.

To be held in Hawai'i, on the comparatively ancient island of Kauai, at the ancient magical location of Honopu - also known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribes."

As they finished reading Dumbledore's notes, almost as if magically prompted, a Hogwarts envelope slid from the back of the Headmaster's notebook and plopped into Harry's lap.

It contained two sets of tickets, for Harry and Hermione. One set was magical, two turquoise VIP passes for the Gathering. The other set was thoroughly Muggle - first-class Air Canada tickets, changing planes in Vancouver, from Heathrow to Honolulu.

Two tickets to paradise.

International Apparition, even if within their capacity (Harry and Hermione remained novices, able to Apparate only where they had been before), was a bureaucratic hassle. Portkeys could not jump oceans. Compared to other magical means, Muggle airliners were faster and far more comfortable.

They were travelling - now literally - in Dumbledore's stead as representatives of the recently deceased Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Their assignment, however, was pretextual. Harry and Hermione had no official duties.

For all intents and purposes, the Headmaster had arranged, for want of a better word, a much-deserved vacation.

Was Dumbledore omniscient? Probably not - otherwise he would still be alive. But abnormally frequently, his powers of anticipation did seem uncanny.

* * * *

The time drew nigh for the task Harry viewed with equal parts dread and determination. He had never, deliberately and intentionally, set out to destroy a Horcrux.

From the Château, the goblins efficiently escorted them both - Hermione had no intent of letting Harry do this alone - into their territory via splixat. Lava damage to the tunnel was largely repaired, with only cosmetic work uncompleted, meaning some fifteen metres of rough, unpolished floors and walls.

The splixat delivered them to an equally roughhewn corridor deep within the goblins' catacombs. One door in the hallway stood open, to a room that probably started as a cave. Dug out and otherwise modified, it now was oblong with a ceiling that peaked in the centre at about five metres.

This room was utterly barren save for two things. By the back wall was the white polystyrene chest containing the cryogenically imprisoned Horcrux. Overshadowing it was a gleaming cauldron a bit more than a metre across and almost that in depth. Neither Harry nor Hermione were so gauche as to inquire, but they assumed the great basin was solid gold. It had the colour and, as was apparent when checked for tipping, the weight.

In short order, a crew of goblins using self-turning rollers brought in one massive stone block after another - Easter Island style. They piled the blocks to create a barricade between the cauldron and the door. The redoubt reminded Harry of the Order's similar structure built on the day he and Hermione received their first Orders of Merlin.

Hermione worked through remaining details with the goblins. At Savini's direction (she did not contradict the goblins' resumed use of that term), goblins filled the cauldron with a solution of nine parts hydrofluoric acid to one part distilled water. She conjured a hot fire that burnt with almost painful, blue-white intensity. When the cauldron's contents began bubbling, she admonished Harry to "leave nothing to chance."

By that, she wanted him to use all the crystallised Basilisk venom. Perhaps a lesser amount would destroy the Horcrux, but with this magic both improvised and untested, Hermione was against skimping on the most essential ingredient.

They would deal with additional Horcruxes in due course.

The crystals hissed, snakelike, as Harry emptied the precious phial into the simmering cistern. Meticulously, the goblins wheeled in a gigantic stone lid elevated by a counterweight attached to a ten-metre long bar. When they cut the weight loose, the lid would slam down atop the cauldron, sealing its contents.

Now for the Horcrux itself. From behind the barricade, Harry trained his wand on the polystyrene chest, as two goblin volunteers warily removed the top. Hermione Levitated the ice-encased shawl as beside her Harry dialed his Freezing Charm to maximum strength.

The two goblins, acting as forward observation officers, stayed by the vessel to verify that the evil iceball hovered directly above the cauldron. Then one of them tossed the fake locket Horcrux into the cauldron. They quickly retreated to safety.

In unison, Harry and Hermione incanted "Finite." The moment the object splashed into the liquid's surface, a goblin Asterlik whirred through the air, neatly severing the rope connected to the counterweight. The huge stone lid slammed down upon the golden cauldron, visibly bending its sides. Everyone ducked behind the bulwark.

Almost immediately, the cauldron began emitting a low hum. Harry first thought its boiling contents were responsible. As the hum rapidly rose in pitch and volume, its connexion to Voldemort's Horcrux became painfully evident.

Hermione covered her ears. As Harry was about to emulate her when a loud THUMP rumbled through the room, feeling like a stiff breeze. The intolerable whine abruptly ceased.

Besides their breathing, the only sound in the room was the quiet hissing and popping of the fire beneath the cauldron.

Conjuring Protego Shields, Harry and Hermione cautiously raised their heads above the wall.

The stone lid remained intact and covering the cauldron. The vessel itself, however, was totally transformed. Instead of glittering gold, it barely reflected anything at all.

What had been gold was now lead.

The Horcrux - the soul fragment that twice possessed Ginny Weasley - was no more.

* * * *

A bleary-eyed woman had just deplaned into the bustling Jo'burg International Airport from her early morning SAA flight from Madrid. With a layover in Dakar, Senegal, Graciana Ferers had been travelling almost twenty-four straight hours. It was her first long-distance plane flight, and her first with her newly-minted Spanish passport. Her first flight ever - a few days ago from London to Barcelona - had been a puddle jumper by comparison.

Slipping into an institutional restroom that could just as easily have been in Dublin, Djakarta, or Delhi, she still did a double-take at her appearance. Her skin was two shades darker, her face thinner, her eyes hazel, and above all her hair was brown and fell only to her shoulders. Her entirely new look took more getting used to than her new identity.

Neither was as disorienting as her new circumstances. She had no choice. Her formal magical education had ended abruptly. She would never be a fully accredited witch. Her new occupation required her to pass for a Muggle most of the time.

It could have been worse. For two depressing days, hiding out near Zaragoza, she had resigned herself to a Squib's existence. Then came an unexpected package containing her beloved wand.

She could scarcely believe it. Neville had made the terms of her future starkly clear - flee abroad or face almost certain execution due to Voldemort's Horcrux. Nobody would believe her that, once (actually, twice) possessed by a Horcrux, she no longer was, but still lived. Death was the only known way to end Horcrux possession. Her life would be forfeit should the UK (or any) ministry discover her true background.

Her magic was a small price to pay for her life. Now, even that price was discounted. She did not deserve Harry - or, she had to admit, Hermione. Harry would not have returned her wand without his better half's consent. Had their roles been reversed...? She doubted she was that good a person.

Only one more flight to go, a regional to Gaborone. There the goblins would meet her, and she would commence her new life as their intermediary - selling gold and diamonds to the Muggles. Goblins and Muggle colonialists had both come to this place at about the same time. The goblins allowed the Muggles some reasonably decent deposits, Witwatersrand and Kimberley being two, but goblins being goblins, they kept the richest sites for themselves. Whatever production the goblins' own uses did not require, they sold to the Muggles.

This sales function was her new job - in Botswana. The goblins were quite familiar with caching away inconvenient mistresses.

She faced a two-hour layover. It was mid-winter here; too cold to leave the terminal. Spotting an honour box for the Engineering and Mining Journal - only in Jo'burg, she imagined - she decided she might as well start getting acquainted with her new line of work.

The weekly broadsheet's headline brought her up short - SEVEN TONNE NAZI GOLD FIND COULD DEPRESS MARKET. The story described the largest discovery of looted Nazi gold since just after the big Muggle war. An avalanche had uncovered the trove, and some amazingly honest spelunkers had contacted the Simon Wiesenthal Center after noticing the swastikas.

She recognised the cover story immediately. This had to be the consequence of Harry's trip to Bavaria. Having excluded herself, she knew only vaguely what had transpired - except in that damned castle - but this article corroborated what little she knew. With the furore that would follow the Death Eater murder of Headmaster Dumbledore, this relatively minor, seemingly Muggle, event would surely pass unnoticed in wizarding England.

She sighed, accepting her fate but nonetheless wishing everything could have been different. Even here, near the bottom of a separate continent, she could not totally escape the influence of Harry Potter.

* * * *

Author's notes: It's hurricane season in the US, at landfall they are most dangerous

Diplomatic shouting matches are described as "full and frank"

"There you go again" - Reagan quote

Harry's other incident was in Ch. 35

The Bake Off was Ch. 78

Slughorn knew too much about Horcruxes, see Ch. 62

"Looking for a loophole" - description of Richard Nixon reading the US constitution

Demetrius Tarbert was mentioned in Ch. 4

Thestralspotting = trainspotting

Ultra vires = beyond one's legal power

In Ch. 7, Hermione decided to stop writing Victor as it seemed to bother Harry

Best can do is a tie - the expectations for Lew Alcindor at UCLA

Ch. 52 mentioned Hermione's striving to be better than perfect

Lodestone as an ingredient in the love potion is mentioned in Ch. 58

Roofie = Rohypnol, a "date rape" drug

Durable medical equipment is more Medicare than NHS

Drawing water/cutting ("hewing") wood - a description of menial duties (Joshua 9:21/23)

Don't know who I am/Life is for learning - CSNY's "Woodstock"

The broom plot against Ron was in Ch. 78

Owl feathers specially evolved to be quiet

House elves this way is more radical than freeing them

Jazzy will need a way in

Neville has a good job location

R.A.B. are faked initials; see Ch. 54

France fell in late spring 1940

Dromit met Hermione in Ch. 74

I never liked Dumbledore's ostentatious tomb

Demagification was discussed in Ch. 38

The lack of publicity will help both H/Hr and McGonagall

The song was Steve Winwood's "Valerie"

Eliza, Ch. 27; Ginny, Ch. 79; Daphne, Ch. 81; Fleur, Ch. 82

Till the end of time/sleep on it; from Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" but with sex roles reversed

The sex swing was seen in Ch. 52

St Peter's was built between 1506 and 1626

The Gospel of Truth was discovered in Ch. 58

The International Association of Exorcists actually exists; its leader denounced the Potter series, so in this fic H/Hr are better at exorcism

Exodus 22:18 - thou shalt not suffer a witch to live

The Basilides manuscript was discussed in Ch. 73

Carbon 14 dating is accurately described

The carbon altering spell was used in Ch. 81

Coober Pedy is from Ch. 74

Erinsborough is from the Australian TV show "Neighbours"

Harry got the computer in Ch. 23; bribery investigators mentioned Vernon in Ch. 65

Harry was invited to the Hawai'i meeting in Ch. 47

Honopu is real, and is known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribes"

"Two Tickets to Paradise" is an Eddie Money song

Wooden rollers for moving massive Easter Island statues contributed to disastrous deforestation

The earlier barrier was in Ch. 56

This concentration is more effectively acidic than pure HF

Harry obtained crytallised venom in Ch. 54

A British Forward Observation Officer ("FOO") targets artillery fire, at considerable risk

Reverse alchemy, turning gold to lead, is appropriate for a Horcrux

SAA = South African Airlines

Graciana begins with a "G"; Ferers is close to "ferret"

Witwatersrand and Kimberley are two very rich mining areas

There is an Engineering and Mining Journal, but it might not circulate in South Africa

The Simon Wiesenthal Center exists, and deals with Shoah-related matters

79

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 12/26/2016


Author's notes:It's hurricane season in the US, at landfall they are most dangerous

Diplomatic shouting matches are described as "full and frank"

"There you go again" – Reagan quote

Harry's other incident was in Ch. 35

The Bake Off was Ch. 78

Slughorn knew too much about Horcruxes, see Ch. 62

"Looking for a loophole" – description of Richard Nixon reading the US constitution

Demetrius Tarbert was mentioned in Ch. 4

Thestralspotting = trainspotting

Ultra vires = beyond one's legal power

In Ch. 7, Hermione decided to stop writing Victor as it seemed to bother Harry

Best can do is a tie – the expectations for Lew Alcindor at UCLA

Ch. 52 mentioned Hermione's striving to be better than perfect

Lodestone as an ingredient in the love potion is mentioned in Ch. 58

Roofie = Rohypnol, a "date rape" drug

Durable medical equipment is more Medicare than NHS

Drawing water/cutting ("hewing") wood – a description of menial duties (Joshua 9:21/23)

Don't know who I am/Life is for learning – CSNY's "Woodstock"

The broom plot against Ron was in Ch. 78

Owl feathers specially evolved to be quiet

House elves this way is more radical than freeing them

Jazzy will need a way in

Neville has a good job location

R.A.B. are faked initials; see Ch. 54

France fell in late spring 1940

Dromit met Hermione in Ch. 74

I never liked Dumbledore's ostentatious tomb

Demagification was discussed in Ch. 38

The lack of publicity will help both H/Hr and McGonagall

Eliza, Ch. 27; Ginny, Ch. 79; Daphne, Ch. 81; Fleur, Ch. 82

Till the end of time/sleep on it; from Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" but with sex roles reversed

The sex swing was seen in Ch. 52

St Peter's was built between 1506 and 1626

The Gospel of Truth was discovered in Ch. 58

The International Association of Exorcists actually exists; its leader denounced the Potter series, so in this fic H/Hr are better at exorcism

Exodus 22:18 – thou shalt not suffer a witch to live

The Basilides manuscript was discussed in Ch. 73

Carbon 14 dating is accurately described

The carbon altering spell was used in Ch. 81

Coober Pedy is from Ch. 74

Erinsborough is from the Australian TV show "Neighbours"

Harry got the computer in Ch. 23; bribery investigators mentioned Vernon in Ch. 65

Harry was invited to the Hawai'i meeting in Ch. 47

Honopu is real, and is known as the "Valley of the Lost Tribes"

"Two Tickets to Paradise" is an Eddie Money song

Wooden rollers for moving massive Easter Island statues contributed to disasterous deforestation

The earlier barrier was in Ch. 56

This concentration is more effectively acidic than pure HF

Harry obtained crytallised venom in Ch. 54

A British Forward Observation Officer ("FOO") targets artillery fire, at considerable risk

Reverse alchemy, turning gold to lead, is appropriate for a Horcrux

SAA = South African Airlines

Graciana begins with a "G"; Ferers is close to "ferret"

Witwatersrand and Kimberley are two very rich mining areas

There is an Engineering and Mining Journal, but it might not circulate in South Africa

The Simon Wiesenthal Center exists, and deals with Shoah-related matters