The Last Days at Hogwarts

That summer seemed set to be one of the wettest on memory, intent on breaking all records. The seventh years were, in one way, quite happy with the dreadful weather, since it meant that there were no distractions from their revision. Even so, it seemed that the rain - at least at Hogwarts - scarcely stopped. There would be the occasional fine day before new storm clouds were blown off the Atlantic, but they were few and far between. The streams that normally trickled down the steep slopes of the hills had long since burst their banks, and had become dangerous to cross as the water tumbled past. The lake was the highest Harry had ever seen it, and had taken on a dark sullen appearance.

Harry was also struck by what seemed to be Dumbledore's strange behaviour: on many an afternoon he could be seen standing at the doors to the entrance hall, staring out to the grounds, watching the rain lashing the fields. Yet when Harry spoke to him, he quietly deflected Harry's questions as to his apparent fixation on the weather, and remained standing gazing out. Harry could see that despite his unconcerned expression, Dumbledore was somehow, indefinably, worried.

Harry was never at his best early in the morning. And early for him meant getting up just in time for lessons. He would stagger out of bed and shower with his mind on autopilot, before dressing and going down for breakfast. But somehow that particular morning seemed, indefinably, a little different from the others. He glanced out of the window as he buttoned his shirt. For once it wasn't raining, but he noticed that the sky seemed to have an odd opalescent appearance. Mind you, this was nothing new after the soakings of the past few weeks. But still, the sky looked somehow, indefinably, odd. He and Ron made their way downstairs with the other Gryffindors towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The sky in the Great Hall reflected what he had seen from the window: a dull, uniform light grey, a gloominess which did nothing to lift their spirits as they munched their way through breakfast, reading the Prophet or letters from home.

All their lessons now were preparation for their exams, revising and going over work that had already been covered - covered, but not necessarily understood. Professor Flitwick took them through a particularly tricky Concealment charm for the umpteenth time with his usual unflagging patience. Ron and Harry managed to get it to work on their third attempt.

"I hope this never comes up in NEWTs," muttered Ron. "I'm sunk if it does."

"There's plenty of time to practice it this evening," said Hermione, watching their efforts.

"Oh yeah? When we've all that Potions stuff to revise?"

Wisely, Harry kept out of the ensuing bicker.

By lunchtime, the sky had darkened further, and somehow seemed lower, almost pressing in on them as they sat and ate their way through their curry. For some reason known only to the house elves in the kitchens, Tuesdays seemed to have become a curry day. Since Harry quite enjoyed the spicy food, he tucked in.

If anything, he had eaten too well: Professor Wynne's talk on the origins of centaurs was no doubt sound stuff, but he felt his mind wandering despite his best efforts to keep awake. Midway through the afternoon, he became aware of rain lashing at the windows yet again, and knew that any idea of getting any revision done sitting down by the lakeside would be a forlorn hope. Still, he thought, if they did have to stay indoors, he'd probably get more work done.

When the bell rang for the end of the afternoon's lessons, he packed his books away with a feeling of relief. Hermione, inevitably, had gone up to the front desk to talk to Professor Wynne: Harry caught Ron's eye, and Ron jerked his head to the door. Waiting for Hermione when she was talking to Wynne would take for ever.

They made their way down the stone staircase towards the entrance hall, intending to take tea and a bun before heading back to the common room and more revision. Harry stopped, though, as he saw Professor Dumbledore yet again standing at the entrance, gazing out into the rain sodden grounds. The spots of rain he had heard spattering at the windows of the classroom had now become a fully fledged downpour.

Something about the way Dumbledore was standing there struck him as odd - or odder than before. He couldn't say how, but there was something different this time about the way Dumbledore was just staring at the falling rain, seemingly without moving. He walked up to him, but then stopped, feeling a little foolish.

"Harry?"

He was taken aback. "Professor?"

"You wanted something?" Dumbledore asked without turning round.

"No - well, it's just that -" He didn't know how to put this into words without seeming foolish. "Well, you seemed very intent on the weather."

"Not just the weather, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Oh?"

"This is no ordinary storm."

And even as Dumbledore spoke, there was a long low rumble of thunder from far away.

Harry took a few steps further forward, and stood by Dumbledore's side, gazing out. It was certainly pouring down; yes, the clouds were as low and grey and glowering as Harry had ever seen them, but storms were nothing out of the ordinary in this part of the world, and were nothing new this summer.

"There is something else," said Dumbledore, his voice as soft as ever. "Hogwarts is an ancient building, and has wards and protections that date back many centuries. It is as secure a place as you can imagine. But today there is something new in the air, something pressing in on those protections."

Harry was at a loss. "How do you know?" he asked curiously.

"Empty your mind, Harry, and feel the castle."

Still slightly bewildered, Harry cleared his mind as he had learned to do during his lessons in the holidays, and became aware of the building around him, of the magic buried deep in the stones. And yet, and yet ... he could feel protest in those stones. Something indefinable, but something not quite right.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore sighed and turned to look at him for the first time. Harry was struck by his careworn expression, the lines etched deeper into the old face.

"I do not know. Not yet. But it bodes no good."

"Is it ...?" Harry did not have to complete the sentence.

"Again, I do not know. But there is certainly some Dark force of some sort out there. This weather is certainly not natural." Then Dumbledore turned to him again and smiled. "But then, perhaps it is the imaginings of an old man. Go and join the others for some tea."

Harry knew that Dumbledore didn't really believe this - his instinct told him otherwise, told him that Dumbledore was just trying to re-assure him that nothing was wrong. But Dumbledore was once more staring steadfastly out into the sodden grounds as if Harry were not there. Harry hesitated, but knew he would get no more out of Dumbledore for the moment. He turned on his heel and went through to the Great Hall, where, after a quick cup of tea, he joined the others on their way up to the tower.

They were kept busy for the next hour or two revising antidotes for their NEWT practical, and ironically it was Neville who was the best prepared. His practical skills might be somewhat limited, but he had been determined to make up for it by learning his notes more thoroughly than anyone else except, of course, Hermione.

The room got darker as time passed, lit now and again by sudden flashes of lightning. Tired to the point where his mind had almost become blank, Harry got up and went to the window, but could see almost nothing outside due to the continuous rain lashing at the walls of the castle, driven almost sideways by the wind.

"Time for supper," said Ron, leaning back in his chair and stretching. "I've had as much of this as I can take for the moment."

Even Hermione looked grateful for the break, and they headed down for the evening meal. But as they entered the Hall, Harry was shocked by what seemed to be the sheer malevolence of the sky: the thick dark clouds seemed to be almost in the building itself, and almost continuous lightning was illuminating everyone like a gigantic strobe light. He could see the teachers on the top table looking up at sky almost fearfully, and everyone was strangely quiet - not that they could really hear each other against the sound of the rumbles of thunder that seemed to go on for ever.

They sat down at the Gryffindor table, but had hardly started on their supper before Harry saw Professor McGonagall leave her seat and head down the Hall. Harry looked past her: the doors to the Hall were open, and further into the distance he could see Dumbledore standing as he had been earlier, staring into the Stygian gloom, his figure silhouetted by the flashes from the clouds. He saw Professor McGonagall speak to him, and the two had a brief conversation before McGonagall headed back into the Hall. She stopped in the doorway and surveyed the assembled students before clapping her hands several times to draw their attention. Gradually the Hall quietened, other than for the sound of the thunder, and every face was turned to look at her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I must ask you to remain here in the Hall for the moment, and not to return to your Houses just yet." She hesitated, then went on: "As you can see, the storm is getting worse. We think it better if you stay in here for the moment."

A murmur grew and swelled as her words sank in, and people turned to look at each other, wondering what could be so bad about a storm as to stop them going back to their Houses. Hogwarts was, after all, a very solid stone building.

Harry came to a sudden decision: rising to his feet, he strode towards McGonagall.

She held up a hand as he approached. "Potter, I must ask you ..."

But he interrupted before she could finish. "Sorry, Professor, I really need to know what's happening out there."

"Potter ..."

Before she could stop him, Harry was past and walking towards Dumbledore. He slowed as he approached the figure of his headmaster, now somehow taller, more upright, his wand gripped firmly in his right hand, as he stood guard at the door.

"Go back to the Hall, Harry," said Dumbledore softly, without even turning round.

"No, Professor."

He wasn't being defiant: he needed to be there for whatever might be threatening the castle.

"Go back to the Hall, Harry," said Dumbledore again.

"No, Professor," he repeated.

Above the noise of the torrential rain and the booming thunder, he heard Dumbledore give a very soft sigh.

"If you are to stay here, Harry, then listen to me now. If anything untoward begins to happen, you will do as I say. Exactly as I say. That is not negotiable. Do you understand me?"

Harry gulped. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore was silent for a few moments. There was nothing to be seen outside but swirling rain. The noise of the wind roaring past the castle, and the rumble of thunder, made it difficult to hear anything else that might be going on.

"What do you think is going to happen, Professor?" Harry had to raise his voice.

"I wish I knew, Harry. But something will happen soon."

"How do you know?"

"Feel the castle, Harry."

Again he relaxed his mind, and could feel the protest from the ancient rocks. Some immense force was being brought to bear on them, but what it was he could not tell.

"What's causing this, sir?"

"I do not know, Harry, but I think we can both guess who is causing this."

And indeed Harry could.

But as they stood there, Harry noticed that the driving, pelting, rain seemed to easing off slightly. The sky was hardly much lighter, and the lightning still nearly as frequent, but he could now see out dimly into the grounds. The sound of the falling rain began to die away, to be replaced by the gushing of water from many drainpipes, of dripping and splashing as water fell from the walls of the castle. The wind seemed to have dropped too: it was certainly quieter now, and the trees in the distance were less bowed.

Harry gripped his wand more tightly, and brought back to his mind the lessons he had learned from Ollivander. 'Flow into your wand, Harry, and let your wand flow into you. Hold it just so ...' He might well need his wand very soon.

The air was definitely clearing now, although there was no break in the clouds. And yet - there was a light in the dim distance. But not the light of a sun peeking through the clouds; instead, it was a distant point of bright green light, diffused at the edges. And the lightning - some of the lightning flashes were beginning to acquire that same green tint, even though the thunder seemed more muted.

He heard Dumbledore sigh.

And now he could feel the protests of the stone walls surrounding him, bending, but not yielding, under enormous pressure from somewhere or someone.

The light - whatever it was - was very slowly becoming brighter, and drawing nearer. Whatever was behind it, he knew that it was not good news. The green glow began to refract eerily from the drops of water all around in a ghastly monochromatic rainbow. The fields and trees outside were now being lit up by that ghastly green light, and the outline of a figure was becoming more and more visible within the glow, a figure Harry began to recognise, a figure Harry knew all too well.

He saw Dumbledore square his shoulders for the coming encounter, an encounter that might set the future of the wizarding world for generations to come.

Voldemort stopped some twenty or so yards from the great doors of the Entrance Hall, encircled by his nimbus of light. Harry could not work out what was supporting him: he seemed to be somehow floating in the ball of harsh emerald green light that surrounded him, and the spectral figure seemed to be glowing from inside. The haze cleared further, and Voldemort's features became sharper now.

Voldemort was the first to speak.

"Dumbledore," came whispered in that high hissing voice.

"Tom," Dumbledore answered politely, evenly, not moving from the doorway.

Even at that distance, Harry could see the spasm of annoyance crossing the white face, its red eyes glowing as if lit from within, at being addressed in this fashion. Tom Riddle was another person now, Tom Riddle had recast himself in this new and dreadful form.

"It has been a long time since I was last at Hogwarts. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I think not, Tom."

"But I have come all alone. Surely you do not fear a solitary wizard returning to his old school?"

"You do not cross the threshold of this castle, Tom Riddle."

Voldemort gave the slightest of smiles - although to describe that rictus movement of the face as a smile was fanciful. "I thought that might be the case. It would be a pity if I were not invited. I might have to - well, force my way in."

"You could try, Tom. Whether you would succeed is another matter."

Then Voldemort's gaze moved passed Dumbledore and alighted on Harry. He tensed himself, then remembered his lessons from the holidays before. He began erected the defences in his mind, ready to block any attack.

"And Mr Potter too. Well, now, two for the price of one."

Harry checked his grip on his wand. 'Flow into it.' That was the advice he had been given. 'Make it part of yourself.' He raised his arm and looked back into that face which had been in his dreams all too often. The defences in his mind were now ready: he stared back: green eyes into red.

Voldemort concentrated his gaze onto him, those red eyes glowing ever brighter, then Harry felt something burst into his mind, and he staggered under its impact. This was not like fighting an Imperius curse cast by Moody or by one of his friends. This was something altogether different, an whole order of magnitude different. But he remembered what he had to do, remembered his training: fighting the mind that was trying to take over his, he began strengthening and rebuilding the mental barriers that could protect him before he was overwhelmed.

And then he became aware of something else, of another mind entering the fray. A golden light suffused his mind, as Dumbledore used his own mental powers. The savage, naked raw ambition of Voldemort to dominate was being replaced by the warmth and humanity of the older man, helping him to exclude Voldemort, giving him breathing space to raise the barriers further within his own mind. Then, as one mind pushed and probed against another, back and forward, he was suddenly conscious of another hand touching his, and with that, yet another mind entered the fray. A guileless mind, full of unconditional love for him, a mind there to protect him against evil. Susan was standing by his side.

And what Susan had brought was something that Voldemort could not cope with, something that was utterly foreign to him. Love and loyalty. Trust and warmth. Even so, he felt the pressure on him renewing, that savage insatiable pressure from a mind that needed to hurt and to dominate, a mind that would take no other as its equal, a force from something that had once been a man who could trust no one, who could love no one.

And now he felt more minds entering the tussle. Friends who had learned the Imperius curse with him, and knew how it worked, friends who had stood side by side with him before, friends who were standing by his side now. He feel the robustness of Ron, with his steadfast loyalty. He could feel the warmth and power of Hermione. Behind them was the more reticent but equally steadfast presence of Dean, his mind filled with the love he had for his family and for Olive. And towering over them all came the suffusing glow that was Dumbledore, full of love and concern for his charges.

Now Harry was conscious that the defences that surrounded Voldemort's own mind were somehow beginning to weaken. It was almost as if they were beginning somehow to burn away - anger, fear, mistrust, hatred were all dissolving before the power of love and trust. He felt Voldemort try to disengage himself, to pull away from the forces that were starting to cauterise his very mind and being. But they would not let him. Recoil they might from the slithering evil they had found, but they would not let him go. And then from Dumbledore come the emotion that broke the mind in front of them for once and for all.

Pity. Pity for Tom Riddle. For what Tom Riddle had become. For what they were dealing with now was not Tom Riddle, but a foul and loathsome creation; made all the more loathsome by Riddle's conscious choice to make himself into what he was now.

Harry could feel the mind in front of him collapsing in silent shrieks as the presence of Dumbledore, Harry and his friends washed over it. It did not understand love and loyalty; it could not cope with them; and as love and loyalty fought against malice and hatred, that malice and hatred dissolved before them. He feel the consciousness left in Voldemort's mind shrinking further deeper and deeper, and relentlessly he pursued it. The bright green glow that had been Voldemort's essence had now shrunk to a pitiful glimmering ember, and as it finally winked out into blackness, so did the golden glow around them all. Harry was vaguely aware of Dumbledore sagging to the ground, exhausted by the struggle, before he too sank into oblivion.

He had been having a dream: a wonderful, marvellous dream. Like all dreams, the details seemed hard to grasp now he was awakening. A dream with himself, and Dumbledore, and Voldemort. Susan was in there somewhere. Ron and Hermione and Dean, as well. And Voldemort had been finally destroyed, expunged as if he had never been. The relief was indescribable. That cloud that hung over him for three years now - it had gone, vanished, and it was a wonderful sensation. Except - was it a dream? Could it have been real? Could it be that he hadn't dreamt it, that this was what had really happened? Surely not.

He lay there imagining it had actually be true. How wonderful it would be if it were true. Lying there thinking about his dream, it took him a long time to open his eyes. His mind floated slowly to the surface until he finally realised that he was at last fully awake. And that it hadn't been a dream. It had been reality. And the weakness of the muscles in his body told him how much effort, how much striving, had been needed.

He blinked as he opened his eyes for the first time. The room was bright with sunlight shining through the windows, and he found himself in an unfamiliar bed. It didn't take a lot to work out where he was now. He stretched out an arm for his glasses, somehow surprised at the effort that was needed. It was as if every single muscle in his body had been weakened and enfeebled. Each muscle ached as if he had been using it for hours on end without relief. He fumbled his spectacles onto his nose and looked around. In the bed to his left lay a figure instantly recognisable by its red hair. Ron seemed asleep, an arm stretched out across the blankets. The bed on his other side was empty, but even as Harry looked, he heard a shuffling sound, and Dean appeared in his pyjamas and slippers, stopping to sit on the end of his bed.

"Harry? You're awake?"

"I think so."

It was an effort even to speak. He saw Dean gesture into the distance, and heard the sound of hurrying feet. No guesses as to who this would be, either. Madam Pomfrey came into sight, clutching a large beaker.

"Ah, Mr Potter. Conscious at last, I see. Now, I have an Invigorating draught for you, freshly prepared by Professor Snape!"

Now why did that not fill him with confidence? But he tried to raise himself onto his elbows. Dean hastened to fetch some pillows to prop behind his shoulders.

"Thanks."

He took the beaker and slowly sipped its contents. He had expected something that had been made by Snape to taste worse, but this potion had a curiously bland taste to it. The warmth began to spread through him, and he felt a little strength returning to his limbs.

"What about the others?" he asked.

"Ron and I were the first to come round, and now you. Susan and Hermione are still out of it, but they'll be okay."

Harry relaxed a little, then: "Dumbledore?"

Dean's face creased up a little, then he said: "He's okay, we think. But it took more out of him than us. And he's a lot older, of course."

Harry looked up enquiringly at Madam Pomfrey.

"He's in a separate room off the main ward. We have some mediwizards from St Mungo's keeping an eye over him. But there's not a lot we can do for the moment. He was in a poor shape when I got to him, but he's breathing easier now, and his heart seems to be stronger." Harry nodded. "I expect that the rest of you will be up and about in a day or two - as for him, I cannot tell. But you will have to take things easy for some time yet - this has taken a lot out of you."

He didn't need telling that. He handed the empty beaker back, then made himself more comfortable. He was asleep again in a few minutes.

When he woke again, it was dark, with just a few candles to light the ward. Ron and Dean were sitting in a corner, talking quietly. They saw him stir, and quickly walked over to his bed.

"Hi, Harry, how you doing?"

He looked up at Ron. "I feel like a new born kitten."

"I think we all do. There's some more of that potion for you. It's good stuff, even if it was brewed by Snape."

And Ron was right; again he felt its power seeping through him. He struggled upright, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Take it easy, mate."

"I'll be okay. How long have I been out?"

"About two days."

"What?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know. It seems ages ago - when all that happened."

"You can say that again."

He tried to stand, but wobbled too much, and collapsed back onto the bed.

"You'll have to give me a hand."

"Oh?"

"I need to get to the loo."

"Right," said Ron, slightly embarrassed now.

By the time he got back, he was completely exhausted. He sank back onto his bed gratefully.

"How are the girls?"

"Still out. They're looking better, though."

"Don't look now," said Dean in an undertone, "but I think we've got a visitor."

Despite Dean's comment, Harry looked round to see the Minister, Arbuthnot, striding towards them. He looked buoyant, and his face lit up at the sight of them.

"Harry! Dean! Ron!" He addressed each of them in turn. "I'm glad to see you're recovering so well." He reached over for a chair and took it to their bedside. "Your mother was here earlier, Ron, but you were sleeping, so she's gone down to see Ginnie. I'm afraid I'm keeping your father rather busy, as well." He looked over to Dean. "Arthur's been to see your parents, too. Told them you're all right, and about what had happened. Sorry they can't be here but ..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's okay," said Dean. "They've been told about the other night then?"

"Yes, indeed. That you played a important part in the events, that you're well, and that you should all be safe now."

Dean nodded. Arbuthnot looked at Harry.

"Quite extraordinary, the whole thing. Apparently Arthur got an inkling of what was happening from your underground network, and arrived from the Ministry with a hit squad to find you lot being carried up to the hospital wing, and Snape guarding what was left of You Know Who. And the whole place in pandemonium, of course."

"What is left of Voldemort?" Harry asked quietly.

"Well, there's a body which is still breathing - just - but the mediwizards reckon the mind is gone completely. Wiped out, you might say." Harry nodded. "Still, we're keeping it in one of the lowest dungeons we can find, and guarding it night and day. Some lunatic might try to break in an attempt to revive it."

"Is there any chance of that - reviving it, I mean?"

"Our experts reckon not. Still, we still don't really know what went on. I was hoping you could shed a little light on that."

Harry thought about this for some time. "My guess - and it's only a guess, you'll have to ask Dumbledore when he comes round - was that he was trying to take over our minds. But there were too many of us, and we had something that he couldn't cope with."

"Which was?"

"Love. Ron will blush when I say that." He did. "And loyalty. And all those other sorts of things. Not only couldn't he understand them, they wiped out all the hate and malice in him. And once you've wiped the hate and malice from Voldemort, what was there left?"

Arbuthnot nodded. "I see what you mean. I gather it was quite a spectacle."

"You can say that again," said Ron. "The whole entrance hall was lit up - all these colours and flashes of light, and they kept on changing - then Susan runs past McGonagall and clutches your hand, and more colours appear."

"I could see Hagrid coming up, and knew we'd never get past him," added Dean.

"So we all made a run for it too. McGonagall had no chance."

"It was really frightening - like, weird. The place seemed to glow. And he was there, all green."

"I'd never seen You Know Who before. No idea he'd look like that."

"And it wasn't only the lights. You could feel the heat coming from you and Dumbledore."

"I grabbed Susan's hand - and it was really weird. Getting into his mind like that."

"But we could tell what you were trying to do - and with that training and all ..." Dean's voice trailed away.

Arbuthnot looked at him enquiringly, but Harry stepped in.

"Minister - we'll tell you something - on two conditions."

"Oh?"

"You promise no one will get into trouble over this?" Arbuthnot nodded. "And you won't tell anyone?"

"All right then."

"Someone's being teaching us about the Imperius curse - how to use it, and how to block it. I think that's what Voldemort was using - a sort of Imperius curse. He used it on me first, then Dumbledore came in. Then this lot. If I hadn't known how to begin to block him, I'd have crumpled straight off, even with Dumbledore to help me."

"Hmm. Interesting. A certain ex-Auror isn't involved, by any chance?"

"My lips are sealed," said Harry firmly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Fair enough."

"But what I don't understand," said Ron, after a moment or two's silence, "is what he was up to? You Know Who, that is. I mean, coming here like that, all by himself."

"My guess this time," said Harry, "is that he could see no other way out. We'd rounded up anyone who was going to be really useful to him. I think to him this was the last throw of the dice. It was going to be him against us - one last stand, so to speak. And he damn nearly pulled it off. If he really had got to me, or if Dumbledore had collapsed earlier, or if you lot hadn't come along ..."

There was complete silence. Finally: "I think we'll never know," said Arbuthnot quietly. "But for what it's worth, I think Harry's right. He'd tried and tried and failed. The head on assault wasn't really his style. But if he had nothing else ... well, then, yes.

"We've all a lot to thank you for. Without the help of his friends, Harry may not have pulled it off. So, well done, all of you."

Dean was looking embarrassed again, and Ron was reddening.

"By the way, you lot ought to be grateful you're here and not in St Mungo's," Arbuthnot added.

"Oh?"

"It's chaos out there. Reporters and half the world. It hasn't really sunk in yet. But McGonagall and Snape are keeping them all at bay, so you've been spared."

Harry caught Ron's eye. They could well imagine Snape manning the gates, turning reporters away with a supercilious curl of his lip.

Arbuthnot stood up. "You'll have to excuse me. There's a lot to do at the moment. And by the look of you, you could do with some rest."

Harry nodded. The effect of the potion was wearing off, and there was nothing more he wanted to do now than to close his eyes once more. He found himself drifting off as Arbuthnot muttered something to Ron and Dean before departing.

It was morning again when he next woke. The beds either side were empty, but he had no real idea of the time. He felt stronger than he had before, and this time managed to get to his feet unaided. He walked over to one of the screened off beds, and put a cautious eye round. Ron was sitting with Hermione. She was sleeping, looking completely exhausted, with dark rings under her eyes.

"She was awake a little while ago," Ron said quietly. "But she's dozed off again. And you were lucky - Mum came in not long after you'd gone to sleep. Honestly, she didn't half carry on." Harry gave a smile at the thought of it. "Susan's in the next bed, if you want to look in."

Harry nodded and withdrew. He parted the curtains to Susan's bed and saw she too was still asleep. Her face was wan, and her fair hair seemed limp, strewn as it was across the pillow. Harry sat down by her bed and took her hand, which at least was warm. Susan didn't stir.

There was a lump of guilt deep in his chest. He knew from what she'd done, from when their minds had met, how much she loved him, and he knew that whatever he felt for her, it wasn't that. Yes, he cared for her, but not with the deep and strong love he had felt from her. He couldn't lead her along with false hopes, yet he dreaded having to tell her the truth - that what she felt for him was not what he felt for her.

He sat there in silence, thinking things over for perhaps a quarter of an hour, before putting her hand back onto the blanket, and making his way out.

Inevitably he was waylaid by Madam Pomfrey when she caught sight of him. She forced more potion on him despite his protests. He was grateful for it, however, as it revived him further.

"How is Dumbledore?" he asked.

Madam Pomfrey frowned slightly. "Not as well as I'd like him to be, but he is improving. He is an old man, you know - and after what he did out there ..."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry quietly. "He held us all together. Somehow we knew that while Dumbledore was there to hold us together, we'd win."

"I thought we'd lost him," Madam Pomfrey said frankly, "when I first got to him. It was Hagrid who brought him up here, then he went back to fetch the rest of you. The state you were all in ..."

"Can I go and see him?"

"There's not a lot to see - I mean, he's still unconscious. And - well, you might find it a little distressing."

"Maybe," said Harry, "but I'd still like to go and see him."

Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together. "Very well, then. Follow me."

She opened a door off the main wing and showed Harry in. It was a small room, plainly furnished. A mediwizard stood up as Harry went in. In the centre of the room was a bed, and stretched out in the bed lay the figure of Dumbledore.

He looked shrunken, and his skin seemed white and paper thin. If Harry hadn't been told he was alive, he would have thought the figure in the bed was an effigy, until he noticed a slight rise and fall of Dumbledore's chest as he breathed.

He stepped up to the bedside then knelt down. That kindly face was more deeply lined than ever now. He reached out to touch Dumbledore's hand and whispered, "Thank you, Professor."

Somehow he felt a contact between the two of them. He knew then that Dumbledore was alive, was only sleeping, and would awake in due course, his eyes twinkling, his face full of mirth once more. And as he took his hand away again, another lump of guilt formed in his chest. He remembered back to his fifth year; how badly he'd behaved to Dumbledore. Now he knew why Dumbledore had kept his distance, but then - then it had been very hard.

The healer behind him stirred, and Harry, rather painfully, got to his feet again.

"How's he been?" he asked quietly.

The healer made a seesaw motion with his hand. "Improving. But slowly. It'll be a long time before ..."

"Yeah." Then he gave the man a smile. "Look after him."

He closed the door behind him and made his way back to his own bed. Tired though he was, he didn't want to sleep just yet. Instead he reached for his clothes, and slowly changed. As he laced up his trainers, he heard low voices. Hermione must be awake again. He walked over to see Ron holding her hand. She saw his face through the curtains and gave him a weak smile. He came in and sat on the other side of the bed. She held out her free hand, and he took it in his.

"Thanks," he said.

"It was worth it," she said. "Now he's gone."

He nodded. "Yeah."

He didn't think she had the strength to say much more: soon she lapsed back into sleep. Harry himself dozed off sitting there, until he was woken again by voices outside. He looked across to Ron, who rolled his eyes and mouthed: "Mum!"

"I'll go," he whispered back.

He stepped out from the curtains to see Mrs Weasley talking to Madam Pomfrey. At the sight of Harry, she broke off and ran towards him, enveloping him in an enormous hug. Weak as he still was, he staggered slightly in her grasp.

"Oh, Harry! You're all right!"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He disengaged himself and solemnly handed her a handkerchief to mop the tears running from her eyes.

"It's so good to see you. You've no idea! The fuss people have been making!"

Harry thought it better to nod and smile as Mrs Weasley continued, until Madam Pomfrey came up to hush her.

"There are people still recovering in here, Mrs Weasley," she said in a shocked tone.

Harry took Mrs Weasley's elbow. "Let's go outside."

"How's Dumbledore?" she asked, once they were in the corridor.

"Not well. But he should pull through. That's what they say. I've been to see him - and I know he'll be alright."

"Oh, that is good news! Arthur's been so busy I haven't heard anything at all - and it's been mayhem out there!"

"I'm sure. How's Ginny?"

"She's fine. They're carrying on with normal school - McGonagall thought it best."

Harry repressed a smile. With McGonagall - what else?

"Ron's alright, is he?"

"Yeah. Sitting with Hermione at the moment."

"How is she?"

"She was awake for a minute or two earlier."

"And Susan?"

"Not yet."

"Oh, dear, I am sorry."

"We're all okay really - it's just taken a lot out of us."

"I can imagine. We're so proud of you all."

"Well - we didn't have a lot of choice really."

"Even so - to face up to ... him ... like that."

"It was either that or be slaughtered." Mrs Weasley pressed the handkerchief to her mouth at the thought. "But it's all over now."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really. Just give us a bit of time. It's not just the physical thing - I think we're all a bit wiped out mentally too."

"I'm sure. Well, if there's nothing ..."

"Honestly, Mrs Weasley, there isn't."

"Right. Well. Sorry to have cried all over you, Harry."

"It's fine. It really is. And I can understand how you feel."

"No, Harry, you don't. You may when you have a family yourself. To know your children are safe. That's the main thing. And that their future is safe."

"You can be proud of Ron."

"He's had a hard time of it in some ways, with all those brothers to live up to. But he's come through, hasn't he?"

"Without him and the others, I'd have had it."

"It's good of you to say that, Harry."

"No, honestly, Mrs Weasley, it's true. I really couldn't have done it without them."

Mrs Weasley looked at him, uncertain for a moment, then nodded. "I always underestimate my husband and my children, don't I?"

"Sometimes, yes."

She smiled ruefully. "Alright, Harry, I'll give you that one." She became brisker. "Now you take care of yourself, and make sure Ron does too. All right?"

Harry nodded his agreement. "Sure." He watched her walk away down the corridor.