Full Circle

Chapter 1
Somewhere the sun rose, o'er dunes in the desert
Such was the stillness, I ne'er felt before
Was this the question, pulling, pulling, pulling you
In your heart, in your soul, did you find rest there?

Elsewhere a snowfall, the first in the winter
Covered the ground as the bells filled the air
You in your robes sang, calling, calling, calling, calling him
In your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

-Loreena McKennitt, "Full Circle"

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Attacks Hogwarts
Albus Dumbledore Dead

The wizarding world was shocked by the surprise attack of You-Know-Who on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last evening. In a statement released this morning, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed the rumours that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had indeed attacked the school.

"Yes, it is true that Lord V - well, You-Know-Who - attacked the school last night, resulting in heavy damage and the death of Albus Dumbledore," said Fudge from his office in the Ministry of Magic this morning. "We believe that Dumbledore used a self-sacrificing spell in an attempt to defeat You-Know-Who, however at this time we have no way of knowing whether or not the spell was successful. The Ministry encourages everyone to be on their guard, but to go about their business and activities as usual. Any suspicious persons or activities should be reported to the Ministry immediately."

You-Know-Who apparently took advantage of the fact that many top Ministry officials and members of the Dark Force Defence League were attending the wedding of Angelina Johnson (Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies) and Fred Weasley (co-owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade). A music-based curse of unknown origin was used to "stun" the wedding party and guests. The musicians in question are apparently Death Eaters and are currently being held in a secure Ministry facility for questioning. Not all of the wedding guests were affected by the musical curse and were able to disrupt the musicians, lifting the curse, and were able to contact the Aurors for assistance.

A memorial service will be held for Albus Dumbledore later this week. Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall will be releasing details of the service as they become available.

"Right now, we're working as quickly as we can to repair the school," said McGonagall in a statement owled to us this morning. "Our students, and many of their parents, are helping to repair the damage caused by the attack."

"You reading that again?"

Harry Potter looked over the top of the almost-month-old copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading to see his best friend, Ron Weasley, watching him curiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, folding the paper and laying it aside.

"You seem to read it a lot lately," said Ron, easily manoeuvring his wheelchair through the Burrow's crowded kitchen to park himself beside Harry.

Harry propped his elbows on the table. "Yeah, well…it's just hard to believe that after not believing me for more than three years, Fudge is finally seeing the light. I have to re-read that sometimes to be able to wrap my mind around it." He frowned at the paper. "Though, you think they would have mentioned you and Hermione - if you two hadn't figured out what was happening and put a stop to it -"

Ron shook his head. "Oh no. No way. It was just a freak thing that the music didn't affect me." He reached for a bowl of fruit on the table and picked out an apple, but gently shifted it from hand to hand instead of eating it. "I didn't even know I was tone deaf until that accident landed me in St. Mungo's," he said slowly. "They said it probably happened because of some head injury - only thing I can think of is way back first year, when we played McGonagall's giant chess set and the queen knocked me in the head." Ron shrugged and bit into the apple.

"Well, still, they could have said something," said Harry.

"Oh, honestly, Harry," said Ron, in such an accurate imitation of Hermione that they both burst out laughing so hard they almost didn't notice the large brown owl tapping at the window.

Harry got up to let the owl in and took the letter from it. "Oh, it's from Hermione," he said, grinning. "It's addressed to both of us."

"Well, let's see it then," said Ron around a mouthful of apple. "No telling where she's off to now, you know."

Harry smoothed out the parchment and they read Hermione's small, neat script together.

Dear Harry and Ron,

First of all, I miss you both very much!

Second of all, New York is very interesting. It was a bit boring at first, as Mum and Dad were attending a dental conference which didn't leave much time for sightseeing, but I did find a library to keep me occupied. Be QUIET, Ron, I know you're laughing! ("How did she know I was laughing at her finding a library?" asked Ron, amused. "She just knows, Ron," Harry answered. "Hush and read.") The conference is over now and so we've plenty of time for looking around. It's very noisy and crowded here, and though that has charms of its own, I can't wait to be back. I don't think I will be back in time for your birthday, though, Harry. I'm very sorry, but my parents want to spend another couple of weeks in New York before heading back. I feel like I've seen them so little during my Hogwarts years that I need to spend this time with them now. We'll do something special though, just the three of us, when I get back. I promise.

Have either of you got your N.E.W.T.s results back yet? I got mine here in New York, so you should have yours by now as well! I did pretty well - O's in Potions, Transfiguration, DADA, Herbology, Healing Arts, and Charms - though I only got an E in Ancient Runes (Here Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at each other). Oh well, it's over and what's done is done.

I hope you are practicing for your Apparation license test. I've been practising every day since I got my Practise Permit. It's really not that difficult; I don't know why all witches and wizards don't learn to Apparate. It's most convenient! It's a shame one can't Apparate across the ocean. The transatlantic flight was horrid and I don't look forward to repeating that on the return trip. It's a good thing the Anti-Motion Sickness Charm is very simple to perform.

I must be off - Mum and Dad want to do some more sightseeing. I'll see you both in a few weeks!

Love,

Hermione

"Not coming back for your birthday!" said Ron, tossing his apple core into the bin across the room. "Well!"

Harry carefully re-folded the letter and laid it on the table. "It's not a big deal," he lied. He was happy that Hermione was traveling and having a great time, but he had been looking forward to being able to spend his birthday with his friends for the very first time. It had been a month since the attack on Hogwarts, and there had been no sign of Voldemort whatsoever, but Harry still felt very ill at ease and unsettled. Even though a large portion of the wizarding world believed that Dumbledore's self-sacrificing actions had rid them of Voldemort for good, he knew that they had only bought him time.

....and neither can live while the other survives....

He knew he hadn't done anything that day, and he also knew that he alone would be the one to have to defeat Voldemort.

Harry and Ron had both had serious misgivings about Hermione's trip with her parents, though neither of them had been foolish enough to voice them. He knew something Ron didn't about Hermione's trip, however. She had gone with her parents to New York for sightseeing, but she had also gone to check out the largest wizarding library in the United States for more information on time travel. And after seven years of knowing Hermione, he had enough sense to know better than to try to stop her from doing anything remotely involving books and libraries - especially when it involved a subject she was deeply invested in.

"Hello.... Earth to Harry...."

He looked up to see Ron waving his hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. "Oh, er… sorry, Ron," he said. "Just, er… thinking."

"Uh-huh," said Ron suspiciously. "Right. I think it's really bothering you that Hermione won't be here for your birthday, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I've an idea that might take your mind off things for a while," said Ron. "Let's go up to the joke shop."

"What for?"

"Oh, just to go," said Ron. "Either that or sit around here all day and go stark raving mad!"

Harry got up from the table and prepared to Apparate. "What do you think Hermione will say when she finds out we went and got our Apparition licenses before she did?"

Ron burst out laughing and then he and his wheelchair disappeared with a 'pop'.

*****

"Well, look what the kneazle dragged in," George said, grinning. He popped the rest of his snack in his mouth and brushed his hands off on his robes. "What brings you two by? It can't be a burning desire for a case of Skiving Snackboxes… oh! I know! You need - " He pulled out a few small, green jars. Harry couldn't make out the labels, but the contents looked absolutely horrid.

"Ugh, no!" said Harry, pulling a face. "That's disgusting!"

"I think that's the point, Harry," said Ron. "Um, thanks but no thanks - " Ron was cut off by an enormous crashing sound from upstairs and two loud, muffled voices that could only be Fred and Angelina.

"Uh oh, they're at it again," said George, looking darkly in the direction of the stairs. "Ever since the wedding it's been one row after another and I'm bloody sick of it. Nothing but constant arguing. You'd think people would learn to get along when they get married, but evidently not. I wish they'd get their own place to live already. Why married people want to live over a joke shop with someone else is beyond me."

"Er... maybe we should clear out for a bit?" suggested Harry, sidling towards the door. The argument from upstairs was growing louder by the minute.

"Yeah," said George. "Come by in a couple hours if you want, the coast should be clear then."

Ron and Harry headed out into the hot summer sun, taking their time making their way up the main street of Hogsmeade. It seemed most everyone was staying inside, trying to stay cool, because the street was largely deserted save for two small boys running along the opposite sidewalk chasing a crup. They went into the Three Broomsticks for some cold butterbeer, but it was rather crowded and the cooling charms on the building were overloaded, so they didn't hang about long. It was actually more tolerable outside than inside, with the soft breeze that was blowing, so they took their butterbeers and went up the street, not saying much.

Harry was having a hard time finding things to say to Ron. It had been a very long time since he and Ron had sat down and had any kind of talk at all - not since long before Ron's accident, when they'd had their huge misunderstanding and everything had gone horribly wrong. Ron had been convinced that Harry and Hermione had betrayed him, and the evidence had been so damning Harry hadn't been able to blame him at all. Harry had replayed the scene in his head many times - Ron returning early from Christmas holidays to find Harry and Hermione asleep in the same bed, the argument, the shouting, the thunk of Ron's watch hitting the floor as he threw it down and stormed away - and never in any time that he'd replayed it had he been able to see how Ron could have interpreted it differently. A stupid, stupid misunderstanding that almost cost him the thing that the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament had showed him would be the thing he missed the most: Ron.

They'd talked some in the month they'd been at the Burrow together, of course, but never about their fight or Ron's accident or even the attack on Hogwarts. Whenever Harry would attempt to talk about Ron's accident, Ron would either get very quiet or immediately change the subject, and whenever Ron even got close to the issue of Voldemort, Harry would do the same. It was almost as if by avoiding discussing these things, they could pretend that none of it had happened.

Along those lines, they never discussed Hermione except in the most general of terms. For his part, Harry felt very uncomfortable saying anything about their relationship to Ron because he was fairly certain that Ron's and Hermione's relationship had never come to any sort of closure, and he didn't want it to seem as though he were saying 'Hermione's with me, and not with you, so there!' It wasn't like that at all.

If he'd learned anything over the past few months, it was that life without Ron in it was not something he wanted to have on a permanent basis, even with his new relationship with Hermione. A part of him was hoping that Hermione would extend her holiday just a bit longer in order to give him time to work up the nerve to talk to Ron about it all, even as he was missing her greatly.

"... for sale around here lately," said Ron, jolting Harry out of his thoughts.

"Say what?" said Harry, stopping in mid-step.

"I said," repeated Ron, finishing off his butterbeer, "that there seem to be a lot of houses around here for sale lately."

Harry looked up at the slightly rambling brick house they'd stopped in front of, which had a hand-lettered "For Sale by Owner - Enquire Within" sign tacked to the low fence lining the edge of the yard. Up and down the street he could see a few other houses with similar signs. "It must be the ... what happened, you know," he said, realising that Voldemort's attack had had an effect on more than just Hogwarts. "Maybe people here in Hogsmeade aren't quite so certain he's gone after all."

"Likely not, since they were closer to it," said Ron.

"Let's go have a look," said Harry, without even knowing why, and a few seconds later he was walking up the somewhat overgrown path to the front door. Ron was right behind him - the Levitation Charm on his chair making short work of the few steps up to the small porch. Harry knocked three times on the slightly rickety door.

"Dunno if anyone's here, mate," said Ron, looking around. "Doesn't look like it...everything looks a bit, er, run down."

Harry shrugged, stepping off the porch and peeking into a window. "It's not so bad, really." And it wasn't - while the house did have a bit of peeling paint and weeds in the flowerbed and what appeared to be a missing shingle or two, it was almost as if those things were what was drawing him to the house. The Dursleys' house had always been neat and pristine, like a museum display; this house looked lived in. "I like it."

Ron frowned. "Why are you on about houses all of a sudden, Harry?"

"I don't know," said Harry, stepping back onto the porch and knocking again. "I just had this thought all of a sudden that I don't - I can't ever remember living somewhere that was my home, you know? I've either been at the Dursleys', Hogwarts, your house, Sirius's...."

"You know you can stay at the Burrow for as long as you want," said Ron.

Harry nodded. "I know, I know, and it's brilliant. But I reckon ... it would be nice to have somewhere that was mine."

*****

Harry was totally surprised by the sight that greeted him when he and Ron Apparated back to the Burrow some hours later. He felt his mouth hang open dumbly and heard Ron let out a smug snicker beside him.

"What - ?"

"Happy Birthday, Harry," said Ron.

The back garden of the Burrow was filled with people - the entire Weasley family, many of their former Gryffindor classmates, various Order members - so many people they all seemed to blend together in front of Harry's eyes, from the shy, stuttering Claire Murphy to the batty, cat-obsessed Arabella Figg. Someone had strung fairy lights from one corner of the garden to the other, there were tables piled with food and drinks and presents, and a wizarding wireless propped up against the side of the house spilled out a Celestina Warbeck ballad.

Ginny was the first to step up and hug his neck, grinning from ear to ear. "Do you like your surprise?"

"It's brilliant," croaked Harry, feeling his throat tighten up oddly.

"Well, you've never had a proper birthday party, mate," said Ron, "and we thought it was about time."

Harry opened his mouth to reply that he really didn't need a birthday party, he was eighteen and far too old for such things, and besides, his birthday was over a week away, but he found his voice wasn't working properly and everyone was hugging him and showering him with birthday wishes and he found he didn't need to say anything at all. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had made all of his favourite foods (and then some he'd never had before and discovered he liked very much), and he ate until he thought he was about to explode.

He was enjoying everything immensely, but a small, nervous part of him stayed hyper-alert, looking around the crowd for anything even remotely suspicious. After all, the last huge gathering he'd been a part of - Fred and Angelina's wedding - had been disrupted by Death Eaters disguised as a string quartet. The fact that there was not a single musician in sight only alleviated his fear slightly, as did the fact that everyone present seemed to be a familiar face; he knew all too well that there were many magical methods of disguise and that Death Eaters were all too skilled at using them.

Almost as if reading his mind, Ron leaned over halfway through the treacle tart and said, "Stop being so jumpy, Harry. It's completely safe. Trust me. Dad and the rest of the Order have been working on this for the last couple weeks, security's tight...."

He nodded slightly to the edge of the garden where Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones were leaning against the garden wall, holding butterbeers and appearing to be chitchatting, but upon closer inspection Harry saw that they each had their wands in hand and that their vantage point allowed them to see the entire garden and into half the windows of the house. Harry turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody wandering the edges of the party, stopping now and then to take a swig from his hip flask and scan the crowd with his magical eye.

"A birthday party with security guards," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and leaned across the table, piling some more treacle tart onto Harry's plate. "Never you mind about that, Harry dear. Everyone else may think that he's gone but us, but that's no reason for you not to have a proper birthday party for once. And what kind of birthday party would it be without presents?" she added brightly, waving her spoon in the direction of the house.

The most ostentatious display of gifts Dudley had ever had paled in comparison to the mountain of presents piled on the table closest to the house. The table sagged a good three inches in the middle under the weight of them, and there were more presents heaped underneath it.

"Well, Harry, what'cha waitin' for, luv?" said Tonks, beaming at him. "Open 'em up already!"

"Er," said Harry, feeling very small, and remembering -

A mountain of presents on the Dursley's dining room table, wrapped in brightly coloured paper with garish bows... peeking out through the half open cupboard door to watch Dudley take three tries to blow out the six candles on his enormous chocolate birthday cake... rummaging through the rubbish bin after everyone was asleep to salvage a bit of paper and a piece of ribbon to rewrap an empty box and pretend it was a present for himself...

"Harry?" said Ginny, elbowing him in the ribs, jolting him back to reality. A quill hovered over a piece of parchment in front of her. "I've charmed this to write down who's given you what... you better get started or we'll be here all night." She grinned. "Get your arse over there and get to opening, Potter."

Harry felt very much in the spotlight as he began to unwrap his gifts, the scrutiny making him wish he hadn't had that second helping of treacle tart as his stomach churned uncomfortably. He hated being stared at, even if it was for a good reason. His discomfort melted away after he got into the rhythm of opening gifts - some practical, some luxurious, some just plan fun, and all carefully inspected by Moody's magical eye before Harry could lay a hand on them. ("Constant vigilance," he muttered, scanning the pile.) A Nose-Biting Teacup popped out of George's gift, startling him into laughter, there were dragonhide gloves, assorted new quills, and a new leather money pouch, to name just a few; there was a book from Ginny entitled So You've Left Hogwarts and Now Have No Idea What To Do With Your Life: What In Merlin's Name Do You Do Now?, and various Order members chipped in to get him a new broom (a top of the line Windstorm III) to replace his smashed Firebolt. He lifted the gleaming broom out of its wrappings, feeling it hum and vibrate in his hands as if it were itching to fly.

"Wow... thanks..." he breathed.

"Thought you might be able to use one of those, considering," said Bill.

"It's been thoroughly checked for hexes and curses, Potter," said Moody, still scanning the remaining presents on the table with his magical eye. "Anything odd, though, you let me know at once."

Harry nodded, looking up to gauge Ron's reaction; after all, it was Ron's near-fatal Quidditch accident when Harry's Firebolt had been smashed beyond repair, and Ron hadn't been able to walk since then, much less fly.

Ron was looking at the broom with a look of pure longing, but it vanished with a grin as he realised Harry was looking at him. "You might as well open mine, now," he said, handing him a small, oddly shaped package messily wrapped in blue paper and sealed with what appeared to be nearly an entire roll of Spellotape. Harry peeled the paper away with some difficulty, and a small golden ball dropped into his lap, unfurled its silver wings, and attempted to zoom away before Harry caught it out of sheer reflex.

"Just for fun, you know?"

"Thanks," said Harry, turning the Snitch over to reveal the inscription on the underside: Property of Harry J. Potter.

Ron shrugged, his ears red. "Don't mention it."

Almost an hour later, Harry reached the end of the pile. The last present was a flat, square package that said, To Harry, from Remus, and a smaller, cube-shaped box on top of it.

"Open that one first," said Remus quietly, pointing to the smaller box.

Harry opened it to find a heavy gold key, very much like his Gringotts vault key. "What...?" he asked Remus, confused.

"Your parents had two vaults, Harry," explained Remus. "The one that's supported you throughout your school years, and another one, to be turned over to you on your eighteenth birthday. This is the key. I thought, perhaps, we might take a trip to London sometime next week to have a look inside."

Another vault? What could possibly be in there? Harry wondered, nodding and slipping the key into his pocket. His parents had left him a substantial fortune that had supported him over the last seven years; he couldn't imagine what else they could have left behind.

He almost dropped Remus's second present when the wrappings were only half off. It was a wizard photograph of Harry and Sirius at Grimmauld Place, the last Christmas Sirius was alive. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and as various people walked in and out of the picture, Sirius reached over and ruffled Harry's hair and grinned. Harry could almost remember the feel of Sirius's fingers in his hair, and his overly-cheerful attempts at singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" at the top of his lungs.

Harry looked down at the picture in his lap, feeling his eyes prickling ominously and wishing everyone would look away.

"I wanted to give it to you earlier," said Remus, "but...."

Harry looked up to see that Remus was looking very hard at a spot somewhere behind Harry and biting the inside of his lip, his hair looking even greyer than usual; and on impulse, Harry got up and waded through the sea of discarded wrapping paper to give Remus an awkward hug.

"Thanks, Remus," he mumbled.

"Sure thing, Harry," said Remus hoarsely.

A moment later, the silence was broken by Mrs. Weasley puttering about gathering the discarded wrapping paper, assisted by Tonks, whose Banishing Charm caused half of the paper to scatter across the garden and rain down on the guests' heads. Harry laughed as he batted away a large piece of red paper that caught on his glasses, obscuring his vision.

"I think you forgot a present, Harry."

Harry turned around to see Hermione standing there, holding a very large, gaily wrapped present, and smiling as if she'd just heard the world's funniest joke.

"But - you - you said -" sputtered Harry, looking from Hermione to Ron. "Did you know anything about this?"

Ron held his hands up in a 'don't look at me' gesture. "I'm saying nothing, mate," he said, affecting an innocent expression.

"Honestly, Harry, what kind of welcome is that?" said Hermione teasingly.

Harry blinked. "I just didn't expect - you said - you wouldn't -"

Hermione made a tutting noise, set her present down carefully on a nearby table, and threw her arms around his neck. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't show up for your first proper birthday party?"

Her breath on his neck made Harry shiver. "Well, you were with your parents and all, and so, yeah, I didn't expect you…."

"I'm here now, so not another word about it," said Hermione briskly, letting go of him and turning to Ron. "Thanks for keeping my secret, you," she said, and bent down to hug him as well.

"The look on his face was worth it," said Ron, his ears going red again as she hugged him.

"Aren't you going to open that?" asked Hermione, straightening and smoothing down her skirt. She nodded to the present on the table.

Harry picked it up and immediately set it down again; it was quite heavy. He ripped off the paper (Hermione's wrapping was neat and precise, with sharply folded corners and a minimal amount of tape) and lifted the lid.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, lifting out the heavy Pensieve from the box. "You didn't -"

"Yes, I did," she said, moving the box out of the way so that he could set the Pensieve down on the table. "I thought it might come in handy from time to time."

"But these are incredibly expensive," he protested, running his finger over the intricately carved rim.

"And rare," added Ron.

"Well, if anyone has an excess of thoughts swirling around up there, it's likely Harry," Hermione said practically, gathering up the discarded paper and sending it to the rubbish bin against the side of the house with a wave of her wand.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, though 'thanks' was beginning to seem rather inadequate for all the wonderful presents he'd received tonight. "Thanks, both of you... really... I don't know what to say."

"You can say that there's a bit of treacle tart left," said Hermione. "I knew Mrs. Weasley would be making your favourite and I've been looking forward to it ever since I heard of the party."

"Indeed there is," said Ron, and the three of them set off for the food table.