Circle's Close

Chapter Twenty-Five: Flight of Death

***

"Harry, you need to eat," said Hermione with an anxious look his way.

Food is really the last thing on my mind, thought Harry, but he felt that it would be very callous to say something like this to his girlfriend, who was only trying to look out for him out of her deep love and concern.

"You haven't eaten since early this morning," Hermione persisted, not to be dissuaded by Harry's silence. "And it's already well past lunchtime, and I really don't think it's wise that you begin to starve yourself."

Harry continued to ignore her, stirring his cold soup abstractedly, his dark brows pulled together as he sat at the table in the Great Hall, so deep in thought that he barely noticed as Ron reached across the table and pulled towards him a steaming plateful of sausages that had just appeared at Harry's elbow.

Hermione pushed her salad away, folded her hands on the table, and gave Harry a penetrating look. "I know what you're thinking, and for the last time, there is nothing that we can do. We should ... just try to get on normally with our day. We still have our Golden Eagle reservations to look forward to, right? And Remus will be expecting us to drop by, too. Please, Harry, try to focus on something else. Eat something."

Harry pushed his bowl away instead. Unlike Ron, who appeared to be masking his unusual quietness with a fervent appetite that would alarm Harry under normal circumstances, Harry found he couldn't so much as take in a spoonful of his soup. In fact, he felt that if he ate a bite of anything, he might throw it up.

"In case it has slipped your mind, Hermione, Lucius Malfoy has your ring," Harry told her in the calmest, most matter-of-fact voice he could summon, despite the sense of foreboding that had settled over him since they had exited the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office almost two hours ago.

"Yes, I know he has it, Harry," Hermione said just as calmly, before sighing as she glanced around the nearly vacated Great Hall. As it was well past lunch at this point, most of the students had come for lunch and left already to return to their schoolwork. "But this is not the place or time to have this conversation –"

Harry was already up before she could finish her sentence, and Hermione sighed as she stood up as well. Ron looked up at them, apparently debating over whether or not he should take his plate of food with him. At the last minute, he decided against it, stood up and followed Harry and Hermione out of the Great Hall, looking immensely disappointed.

It was proving to be no small task to distract Harry from his self-declared mission to find and punish Lucius Malfoy, not only for stealing Hermione's ring, but violating both Hermione and Ron by doing so. Harry understood fully now why the Imperius Curse had been labeled an "Unforgivable" along with the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, either of which seemed far more heinous on the surface than the first. But what Ron had endured at the hands of Mulciber was nothing less than spiritual rape. Ron's confidence stood on unsteady ground at the best of times, and Harry found himself worrying more for Ron than for Hermione in the aftermath of this morning's revelation.

Earlier, when they had left Dumbledore's office, Hermione had attempted to divert Harry and Ron from what they had seen in the Pensieve by discussing Ginny instead – hoping that Ron would take the hint and search for his sister to talk things through with her. Hermione had even reassured Ron that Leah had probably already spoken with Ginny, and was probably – at that very moment – convincing Ginny to talk with Ron.

In the end, it had almost worked. At first, Ron had argued with Hermione, telling her that the last thing he wanted to do was talk with his sister – especially with the knowledge that the Pensieve had revealed. Hermione had been understanding and sympathetic and had gracefully countered all of Ron's points, telling him that his situation with Ginny was far more important than worrying about the theft of her ring. She insisted that she would feel better if he worked through his family issues first, and then they would work together to find a way to retrieve her ring.

Ron hesitantly agreed to this, and when he asked Harry for the Marauder's Map so he could find his sister (knowing that she could very well be anywhere within the castle), Harry reminded him that Ginny had his map, which prompted Ron to fall into a sullen silence that not even Hermione had been able to break through. Even when she offered to help Ron find his sister the old fashioned way, he refused to agree to this and hadn't spoken since.

That was an hour and a half ago, and Hermione had only recently given up trying to get Ron to communicate with them about his feelings, allowing him to satisfy his ravenous, almost inhuman appetite, instead. And though Harry was concerned for his best friend – he also knew that Ron would talk to them when he was good and ready. Harry knew that Hermione's intentions were good, but there was no sense in badgering him.

"Don't do anything rash, Harry," Hermione said to Harry once they reached the empty, yet very safe seclusion of the Gryffindor common room. Harry had privately been hoping that Ginny and Leah had returned of their own volition, if only to bring Ron to his senses, and hopefully to distract Hermione from her continuous probing. But the two girls were not there, nor was there any hint or sign that they had returned.

Harry sighed. Nothing seemed to be going his way today.

Ron dropped down in the cushy armchair by the fireplace while Harry remained standing, digging his hands into his pockets, pacing up and down the length of the hearth while Hermione sat down on the sofa, looking up at Harry anxiously.

"I won't do anything rash, Hermione," Harry finally told her. "I only intend to do what anyone else in my position would do – I'll find Lucius and get your ring back –"

"Harry, please be reasonable," Hermione implored desperately. "I know you're upset – I am, too!"

"Listen, Hermione," Harry said, looking at her with all the seriousness he possessed at the moment. "I've had the past two hours to really think about what we found out in the Pensieve and I –"

"-- Chasing after Lucius Malfoy is not the answer, Harry, despite what you think," Hermione cut across, looking both urgent and determined to get him to listen to her. "You're not the only one who's had the past two hours to think about this."

"Alright. Then what is the answer?" Harry asked her, pausing in his steps only for a moment to pose the question that had been burning his skull since their journey into the Pensieve. "I beg you to tell me what I should do."

"The only thing we can do is to wait for Dumbledore to return so he can retrieve the Ring from Lucius," Hermione suggested in what was meant to be a pacifying, sensible tone. "He'll know what to do, Harry."

"That's your solution?" Harry asked, staring at her in complete astonishment. "You want me to wait for Dumbledore to return? Hermione -- there's no time for that. He won't be back until later tonight!"

"There is no hurry to get the Friendship Ring back," Hermione told him forcefully. "Dumbledore will know how to get the Ring back – and he'll be able to sort Lucius out. As much as I truly appreciate your determination to get it back for me --"

"Hermione -- this isn't about getting back a simple little trinket," Harry said agitatedly. "Don't you see? It's not as though Lucius nicked it because he's a little short on gold." He stared at Hermione, as though expecting her to suddenly grasp what he was implying, but she said nothing, indicating that she had not figured out what he had.

"The theft of your ring is not for any ordinary purpose!" Harry exclaimed, thoroughly bewildered as to how the smartest witch at Hogwarts had not come to this conclusion on her own. He paused for a moment, and then he added without even realizing it, "And I'm willing to bet my entire Gringotts vault that Trelawney's prophecy is connected to it."

"What?" Hermione asked helplessly, shooting a brief glance at Ron as though looking to him for some sign of rationality. She returned her puzzled gaze to Harry after receiving nothing from the unnaturally subdued red-head. "I can concede that the Ring is meant for some purpose. But what would make you draw a connection between the Ring and the prophecy?"

Harry dropped his shoulders slightly, sparing Ron a glance as well. Ron was staring into the empty grate, looking as though he would much rather be back in the Great Hall satisfying his hunger. He knew that Ron was miles away in his own thoughts and that he probably wasn't even aware of what he and Hermione were discussing at the moment.

"I don't know," Harry finally admitted, looking back at Hermione, feeling thoroughly bewildered, himself, as to why he had said what he had. "It's just ... a feeling."

Hermione seemed to be fighting the urge to give him a skeptical look, and though he knew how completely unsatisfactory this explanation was for her, there wasn't a doubt in Harry's mind that he was speaking the truth, even if he didn't know how the Ring was connected to the prophecy.

"The Friendship Ring is just a ring, Harry," Hermione finally said in a voice that suggested she was trying to convince herself of the fact. "The Princess said so last year, remember? Why do you think Lucius was able to use Ron to steal it? It's because there's no more magic binding it to me. Not like last year. The only thing about the Ring that makes it special is the sentimental value it holds -- because it was a gift from you."

Harry watched as Ron's head jerked slightly at the mention of his name, but he remained silent, keeping his head low, his eyes staring vacantly into the fireplace. Harry returned his attention to what Hermione had just said and realized that some of it didn't make sense to him.

"Just because the Ring has no more magic doesn't mean it's useless," Harry argued. "Lucius didn't go to all that trouble and planning for nothing. Artifacts don't have to be magical to be used for magical purposes. I have been paying attention in class, you know."

To this Hermione had no immediate reply. Her momentary hesitation prompted another thought to the front of Harry's mind.

"Didn't you tell me a few days ago that you felt some kind of a connection to the Friendship Ring?" he pointed out. "A connection, you said, that bonded all of the remaining Eternals to it?"

Hermione stared at Harry for a moment and then nodded in a hesitant matter. She then averted her eyes, proving to Harry that she had already considered this, and was only slightly distressed that he had managed to contradict her.

Harry added, "Then how could it be 'just another ring' when you couldn't deny the strange power you felt when you wore it?"

Hermione sighed softly but didn't say anything, yet Harry had the impression that she was now in agreement with him -- that the Friendship Ring was more than what the Princess had told them it was.

Harry continued pacing the floor, thinking out loud. "It's clear by what we watched in the Pensieve that Lucius wanted the Ring delivered only when he was ready to put his plan into action."

"Well ... maybe he aimed for this date because he knew that Dumbledore would be gone," Hermione reasoned calmly. "For all we know, whatever he plans to do could be months away --"

"No," Harry interrupted, shaking his head firmly as he continued to pace the floor. "Whatever he has planned will happen tonight, I can guarantee it. Lucius will want to act quickly before anyone can catch onto his plan and interfere." He paused for effect, looking directly at Hermione. "The attack on Azkaban will happen tonight."

For a moment, no one said anything. Hermione appeared to be thinking about Harry's declaration while Ron appeared more indifferent than ever.

"You mentioned the prophecy," Hermione finally said, pulling out a small piece of parchment from her pocket and unfurling it. Harry recognized the sheet of parchment immediately and knew that it contained Trelawney's prophecy in its entirety. Hermione had written it down word for word when Harry recited it to her shortly after he had heard it, if only so they could study it in hopes that they would learn the true meaning of the words.

"Yeah," Harry said weakly.

"It says: The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free," Hermione recited, her brown eyes darting across the piece of parchment as she read. "At midnight, the door -- meaning Azkaban -- will be unlocked to set the Death Eaters free."

"We've already established that," Harry said, his head slowly beginning to throb. "What about it?"

Hermione sighed, suddenly sounding very hesitant as she turned her eyes back onto Harry. "I just want to point out that both Dumbledore and Sirius will be back before midnight. It just makes more sense for us to wait and let them handle things. They can round up the Order of the Phoenix and even contact the Ministry to have Aurors brought in, couldn't they?"

"Hermione --"

"-- And Dumbledore is more than capable of going straight to Hogsmeade and Apparating to Azkaban -- he can even travel via Fawkes --"

"But wouldn't it be just as easy for US to Apparate from Hogsmeade right now?" Harry cut across. "We know how to Apparate -- we can leave immediately and warn Azkaban ourselves. Hell, we went through five grueling months of Auror Training, didn't we? The sooner we warn them, the better they'll be able to defend the fortress. We can even stay to help when Lucius attacks --"

"Absolutely not," Hermione said very firmly, her timidity vanishing instantly. "First of all, we don't know where Azkaban is, do we? Only witches and wizards from the Ministry know its location, and perhaps other wizards like Dumbledore. But in order to Apparate, we need to ‘see' where we are going, making Apparation completely out of the question.

"Secondly, Dumbledore didn't suggest that we should go through Auror Training just so we can go out and pick fights with extremely skilled Death Eaters," Hermione continued bracingly. "Dumbledore wanted us to be able to protect ourselves in case they ever attacked us."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but seeing the resolved look on Hermione's face, he quickly decided against it. And besides, she had a point, even if he didn't like it. Feeling thoroughly displeased, Harry shot Hermione a disgruntled look and continued pacing up and down the length of the hearth, wondering what they were going to do now. It was another few minutes before the silence was broken.

"What about Malfoy?" Ron suggested quietly from his spot on the armchair.

Harry and Hermione each gave a slight start and turned to face Ron, who hadn't lifted his eyes to either of them, but continued to stare into the hearth, his face fixed in determination. It occurred to Harry that perhaps Ron had been listening to their conversation and was now ready to contribute to it.

"What about Draco, Ron?" Hermione asked him.

Ron shrugged in a nonchalant manner, still not looking at either Harry or Hermione. "He's Lucius's son, isn't he? Wouldn't he know what his father is up to? We can go find Malfoy right now -- hex him until he gives you the information you want – such as the whereabouts of the Azkaban fortress."

Harry didn't say anything, wondering if there was a chance that Ron was actually right about one thing. Maybe there was a slim possibility that Draco did know where the fortress was. Harry didn't, however, approve of Ron's suggestive tone. No matter what Ron believed, Draco was not in league with his father.

And apparently, Hermione was thinking along the same lines. She sighed softly, looking at Ron with a mixture of sympathy and apology. Exchanging a brief look with Harry, she moved so that her knees bumped Ron's, her eyes fixed on his face.

"Draco doesn't know anything, Ron," she told him in soothing tones. "You heard with your own ears what Lucius truly thinks of his son. There's no way that he would trust Draco with that kind of information -- the kind of knowledge he would give to fellow Death Eaters. He would not give that information to someone who could – and would -- potentially betray him."

Harry, who had stopped pacing the floor for a moment, took it up again, feeling a little more rational, but still tingling with the kind of adrenaline that only came with the knowledge that something bad was going to happen -- and the feeling of powerlessness to prevent it.

He wasn't going to lie to himself. He had been secretly hoping that there was a slim possibility that Draco could know more than what he was letting on. But now that Hermione had confirmed his original thoughts, he was back to questioning what they could possibly do to prevent Lucius from carrying out his plan.

"Ron," whispered Hermione as Harry continued to pace the floor. "I know what you're thinking -- but you must believe me when I say that there was nothing you could do. Mulciber is an extremely powerful wizard -- his specialty is the Imperius Curse. No wizard would have stood a chance against him."

"If it had been you or Harry -- you would have thrown it off," Ron argued in a low mumble, still unable to meet Hermione's eyes.

Harry stopped pacing and turned to look at him. And for the first time since they had left Dumbledore's office, he truly understood where Ron was coming from. Ron wasn't upset because he had been used by Lucius Malfoy in his current scheme. It was because he felt inadequate as a wizard, and very possibly as a friend, too.

"I mean," Ron continued with a bitter laugh that punctuated Harry's thoughts, "If you hadn't been able to throw off the Imperius Curse, then why didn't Lucius choose either of you?"

"He never had the opportunity," Hermione pointed out. "He didn't choose you because he believed you to be weaker than us, Ron. The thing is, Harry and I have spent months reading about all known Death Eaters. It was a part of our Auror Training – it's how we were able to recognize Mulciber.

"And we learned that Death Eaters spend just as much time studying us as we do them. Lucius knows you, Ron," Hermione said apologetically. "He knows your strengths and your weaknesses. He knows that you are, at times, an insecure person who feels overshadowed by your brothers. He probably even knows about your falling-out with Harry in Fourth year."

"Yeah, and who told him that? Draco Malfoy is who!" Ron shot out furiously, clearly not impressed that Hermione had reminded him of that solid month, long ago, when his jealousy had been so powerful that he had stopped talking to Harry altogether.

"Maybe," Hermione amended calmly. "But if Draco gave that information to his father, it would have been a long time ago, before Ginny even came into Draco's life. Lucius would have stored that information in the back of his mind, so that if he needed to access it, it would be there for him to use against you, to suit his means."

For a moment, no one said a word. And then, to Harry's immense surprise, Ron lifted his head and shook it slowly back and forth, staring at Hermione.

"I'm ... I'm really sorry," he murmured. "If I had just been more careful ... I really let you down, Hermione – and if Harry is right – if the Ring is going to be used to help Lucius free the other Death Eaters – it'll be all my fault –"

"Oh, don't you dare, Ron Weasley," Hermione cut across furiously. "Don't you dare take the blame for something you had no control over. You are innocent. And I do not, nor will I ever, hold you responsible." She sighed at that moment, lifting herself from her seat and squeezing herself onto the edge of Ron's armchair, gently wrapping her arms around him. "Please stop blaming yourself. Please."

"Hermione is right," Harry affirmed, looking at Ron as Hermione pulled away. "The most gifted wizards have been under Mulciber's influence, including professional Aurors. You were caught off guard, Ron -- which is the way they planned it. It's the way Voldemort would have wanted it," he added acidly.

Ron flinched automatically at the sound of the name and Harry shot him a dark look, sighing with aggravation.

"Harry --" Hermione said warningly, giving Ron's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm just getting sick and tired of everyone still flinching at the sound of his name!" Harry exclaimed, his temper rising and his earlier frustrations suddenly re-surfacing. "Voldemort is gone -- people should start saying his name! And it's a stupid name, anyhow. What kind of a name is Voldemort?"

"It's not a stupid name, Harry," Hermione said patiently, while Ron remained entirely silent. "It's anything but stupid. It quite literally means 'Flight of Death' --" She broke off instantly and gave a gasp of pure horror that managed to chill Harry's very blood.

"What's wrong?" Harry hurriedly asked her, approaching the sofa where she had been sitting. He dropped down into her vacated seat, his knees now bumping against Hermione's as he exchanged an alarmed look with Ron.

"I ... I'm not entirely sure," Hermione whispered, looking thunderstruck as she lowered her eyes to the piece of parchment still gripped in her hand, which was now shaking almost violently. "The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free," she repeated in slow, urgent tones, skimming the parchment with her wide eyes, and Harry knew that she was seeing something that he could not, which only intensified his concern. "And Voldemort means Flight of Death. Oh ... but that can't be right ... it must be a coincidence ... Please let it be a coincidence."

Harry's eyes slowly met hers and he seemed to comprehend almost immediately what had just occurred to her. And just as instantly, he wanted to give himself a firm lecture for not having figured this out sooner. After all these years – why had it never dawned on him? But he realized that now was not the time to berate himself for his ignorance. Right now, his heart was pumping with feverish excitement as he began to wrack his brain.

He stood up again, slowly pacing the floor where he had been walking back and forth only a moment before. He was thankful that he knew the prophecy by heart, which meant he didn't have to rely on Hermione to repeat everything to him.

"By blood, by wood, by dragon fire."

Hermione and Ron looked at him from the armchair, the piece of parchment placed on Hermione's knee so that Ron could have a look at it as well. Harry stared back at them, his stony, yet determined face looking from one set of eyes to the other. "Alright, let's start with the first one: By blood -- unicorn blood."

"Unicorn blood," Hermione whispered, meeting Harry's emerald eyes with sudden comprehension as she gasped again. "Oh -- of course!"

"What?" Ron asked, clearly puzzled as he stared at the piece of parchment as though hoping the answer would reveal itself at his request.

"It happened months ago, remember?" Harry reminded them, though he knew that Hermione's memory did not need refreshing. "Just before Halloween, Hagrid found the dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. And it was Firenze who once told me in First year that unicorn blood will keep a person alive -- even if he is an inch from death. Voldemort did it once before – and he could do it again."

Ron laughed shortly. "That might be the case – if he wasn't dead. But you said yourselves more times than I can even count – You-Know-Who is gone."

"Exactly," Harry said firmly. "He's gone – but that doesn't necessarily mean that he's dead. If Voldemort means ‘Flight of Death', then who's to say that he'd give up after one try? He's likely to come back again!"

Ron stared at him, his blue eyes widening with intense incredulity. "But You-Know-Who was destroyed! You two saw it with your own eyes -- you saw it happen!"

"But do you remember what Sirius told us?" Harry said to Ron, trying to remain calm and balanced in all aspects. "He said that death and destruction are not the same thing, and Voldemort obviously understood that. I -- I once heard him boast that he had gone to great lengths to prevent his own death."

"It's the reason why Voldemort didn't die when he attempted to kill Harry when he was a baby," Hermione added to Ron. "The power of the Killing Curse merely destroyed his body – it didn't kill him."

"And what if he's in a similar state right now?" Harry said. "What if he's clinging to life like he had so many years ago? And what if the unicorn was killed to provide blood in order to sustain Voldemort until he could be brought back?"

"Blimey," whispered Ron, his eyes wider than ever as he stared at Harry.

"And the location where Voldemort was destroyed by the Ring-Spirit," Hermione said in a soft whisper, her eyes also on Harry. "There's a hole where Voldemort's ashes had been scattered – Hagrid tripped into it, remember? Yet we never understood why the hole was there. We just forgot about it ... But it looks like maybe someone ... a Death Eater most likely ... dug up Voldemort's ashes and has been keeping them preserved all this time – just like you said, Harry, with the unicorn blood."

They all seemed to pause a moment in thought, allowing this information to sink in. Harry found it almost impossible to think that none of this had registered before now. The signs had all been there, hadn't they? But it all made sense, he thought. In fact, there was no other conclusion that they could come to.

"By wood," Harry finally continued, breaking the awful silence.

Hermione looked up, but it was Ron who spoke. "The Hanging Tree?"

Harry nodded. "What else can it be? Only the most powerful Dark magic can bring someone back from death's door. Sirius said the Hanging Tree was full of Dark magic."

"Enough to bring You-Know-Who back?" Ron asked, his blue eyes going wide.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "By itself? I dunno. But..." He shook his head. "Do you remember the last time Voldemort was brought back? Well, I know that you didn't see it happen, but I told you how he was returned to his body through a ritual which included the ingredients of Wormtail's flesh, his father's bones – and my blood."

Hermione closed her eyes at Harry's statement, barely managing to repress a shudder of terror. When she opened her eyes again, they were glossed over with tears and when she spoke, it was in a shaky voice, as though it was a strain for her to remain in control of her emotions.

"A tree inhabited by the damned souls of dozens -- probably hundreds -- of those Dark witches and wizards who were executed," she said softly, "would most likely be overflowing with Dark magic that Voldemort's servants might – or would -- use to their advantage."

"But ... what about the third part ... the dragon fire?" Ron asked, anxiously looking back and forth from Harry's face to Hermione's.

Harry wracked his brains once more, but couldn't seem to find an adequate answer. He knew now, though, that his visions were all tied together, he just didn't know how. The unicorn blood, they had determined long ago, tied into Harry's first prediction, when they had studied crystal-gazing. And the Hanging Tree had been Seen through the use of Smoke Divination, just before Christmas.

But what of the dragon fire? He and Hermione had already agreed that the stolen mother-dragon played a role, and had decided that the Death Eaters intended to use the dragon's heartstrings or whatever else that they could get from her. And he wouldn't be surprised if that included her fire, especially when the Bulgarian Devil's Bane was known to be the foulest breed of dragon in the world, able to be controlled only by Dark magic.

What he did know for certain was that the mother-dragon was also connected to his third prediction, when he had been in the greenhouse and had believed that he had seen nothing more than a thestral soaring across the sky through the reflection of the water.

"I don't know where the mother-dragon fits in," Harry reluctantly admitted. "Originally, Hermione and I thought that the combination of dragon heartstrings and the wood from the Hanging Tree was intended to create new -- possibly better -- wands for the Death Eaters to be released. But we might have been wrong, after all. If the wood is being used for some other purpose, then the dragon obviously wasn't taken to be cut up for its heartstrings." He paused, and a shadow seemed to pass across his brilliant emerald eyes. "What if the prophecy wasn't just being poetic? What if it's not the dragon that the Death Eaters need, but just her fire? But what could they..."

"Trelawney once mentioned fire-scrying," Ron said suddenly, apparently keen to put forth his own theory. "You know, seeing visions in flames. She had to call it off, remember, when Neville set fire to his table and burned up one of her favorite lampshades." He looked at Harry hopefully. "Maybe Lucius will look into the dragon's fire and You-Know-Who will appear and tell him how to set him free."

Harry swiveled his eyes inquiringly toward Hermione, only to find that she was not looking at either him or Ron. Her face was turned toward the fire grate. When she finally looked his way, Harry saw a look of dawning realization on her face.

"I think we're looking too hard for complicated answers and missing the simple ones. Cursed or not, wood is still wood. And what do we do with wood? We toss it in the fireplace and set it alight. The house-elves do it every day. We're so used to it, we hardly give it a thought." She looked back and forth between Harry and Ron, both of whom were regarding her intently. "Like all physical matter, wood contains energy waiting to be released. When we set fire to a log, the energy inside is released as heat and light. It's a simple chemical process. But the wood of the Hanging Tree contains something else besides heat and light waiting to be liberated. Why shouldn't that be released by fire as well? But not ordinary fire -- magical fire -- Dragon fire!"

"That's why they kidnapped the dragon," Ron said, his own realization matching Hermione's. "The Bulgarian Devil's Bane has the hottest magical fire in the world. If anything can release the Dark magic in the wood from the Hanging Tree, that'd do it."

Harry had long since stopped pacing the floor. He was leaning against the fireplace mantle, his arms folded across his chest, his head bent broodingly, as he recited the prophecy in his mind once again. Blood, wood, dragon fire ... and the Key.

"The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. "And yet ... Lucius would not have gone through so much trouble to steal a ring ... unless it was for a very good cause ... right?"

"That sounds about right," Ron agreed half-heartedly.

Hermione was frowning at Harry. "I know you're trying to make a point, Harry, but I'm not entirely sure that we're on the same page here."

Harry looked at her, feeling the final piece of the puzzle clunk right into place. His mind wanted to reject the idea – but his gut feeling was telling him otherwise. And he had never been one to ignore his instincts.

"I'm saying that the Friendship Ring is the 'Key' that the prophecy speaks of, Hermione," he said with unassailable certainty. "It's the only thing that Lucius lacked. And now he has it. There's no other answer that fits. The prophecy says it all." His eyes fell onto the parchment still clutched in Hermione's hand. "It's not the Death Eaters that will be released tonight from Azkaban. It's Voldemort who will be released from whatever magical 'prison' has been holding him since his destruction last year."

"Can Hermione's ring really do that?" Ron squeaked, the weight of his guilt seeming to increase until he felt as if he were carrying the whole of Hogwarts castle on his shoulders.

"It had the power to destroy him in the first place," Harry said, his voice dry as dust. "Lucius must believe it also has the power to bring him back. If he didn't believe it, he wouldn't have gone to all this bother to steal it, would he?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and if Harry got past the positively petrified expression on her face, he could tell that she believed him without question. Ron, too, looked as though he would much rather that Harry hadn't voiced his final conclusion, but apparently couldn't find anything to say to contradict him.

"But," Ron said at last in a halting choke, "why tonight? Why not tomorrow -- or next week?" Judging from the desperation on Ron's face, Harry got the impression that his friend's courage would be better served by an interval where he could prepare for such devastating news. Having it sprung on him in such an abrupt manner was simply too much for his senses to accept.

"For one thing," Harry answered, "Lucius wouldn't have stolen the Ring until he was ready to use it. Less chance of the Aurors or the Order finding out until it was too late. And today is the one-year anniversary of Voldemort's destruction. I learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts that the alignment of the heavens exerts a powerful force on magic. There would be no better moment to bring Voldemort back than the anniversary of his destruction."

"How did we miss it?" Hermione exclaimed in despair, looking positively petrified. "The Key unlocks the door to set Death free. To set Voldemort free!"

"And if they're bringing Voldemort back tonight through some kind of ritual or ceremony," said Harry fiercely, "then that gives us all the more incentive to stop them right now."

"Oh," said Hermione, her terror instantly evaporating to be replaced by a fierce determination that matched Harry's. "No, Harry. Absolutely not. We have even less information about the whereabouts of the ceremony than we did when we thought Azkaban was going to be attacked!"

"We can't just sit here!" Harry bellowed, furious that Hermione could still insist on doing nothing when the situation was now more serious than they had previously anticipated. Their eyes locked and held each other with an intensity that caused Ron to shrink back in his chair as from a bomb with a burning fuse.

"Fine," Hermione said unexpectedly in a voice keen as the edge of Macnair's axe. "Let's go, then."

"What?" Harry said, his mouth falling open in astonishment.

"You and Ron run upstairs and get your brooms and we'll all fly off straightaway and throw a great spanner in Lucius Malfoy's plans," Hermione said in a voice sharp as Professor McGonagall's. "It's too far to run down and get Ginny's school broom from the storage shed, so I'll ride double on yours. But I need to know something first. Where are we going? Where is Lucius Malfoy holding the ceremony that will bring Voldemort back? Well, Harry?"

Harry was struck speechless. His mouth moved soundlessly as he sought in vain for the one critical answer he could not supply. With one stroke of her verbal sword, Hermione had sundered the wings from the metaphorical hippogriff of his polemics. Fairly quivering with frustration, he balled his hands into fists and muttered through clenched teeth, "I can't -- just -- do -- NOTHING!"

"We have no choice!" Hermione exclaimed determinedly. "What can any of us possibly do if we don't know where the ceremony is being held? And if it comes to that, we haven't done 'nothing.' We figured out the meaning of the prophecy. If not for us, no one would know that Voldemort is being brought back. Do you honestly believe that Dumbledore and Sirius would have gone away if they suspected something this big was going to happen tonight? Done 'nothing,' Harry? We've done everything!

"And even knowing what we know, there's no need for us to lose our heads. The prophecy said that the ceremony will take place at midnight, didn't it? Dumbledore and Sirius will be back before then, and when we tell them what we've learned, they can go off and stop it before it starts. I'm sure they must have gathered enough information from their spies to pinpoint the exact location. We'll simply wait until they come back and -- "

Harry glared at her. "Wait for Dumbledore!?" he exclaimed furiously. "How am I supposed to wait patiently when we actually know that at this very moment Lucius is preparing the ceremony that will bring Voldemort back to life!?"

"Maybe ... maybe Hermione's right," Ron spoke up softly from the armchair. He wasn't looking at Harry, but he had a look about him that suggested he didn't believe Harry was thinking all that clearly. "Maybe ... you need to sit down and really think –"

"Stop treating me like I'm losing my mind!" Harry shouted at the both of them, and Ron recoiled slightly. "I'm rational, OK? I've never felt more sure of anything in my entire life except for –" He broke off, taking a deep, steadying breath. Now was most definitely not the time to bring up the past.

"Except for when?" Hermione pressed, looking up at him with a questioning look in her patient, brown eyes.

Harry ran his fingers through his persistently untidy hair as he turned away from them, feeling slightly mollified as his thoughts automatically traveled to that day – one year ago.

"Tell me, Harry...why..."

"Because I promised I would protect you with my own life. Remember: Trust, Loyalty..."

"And...?"

"And I love you."

This confession was followed by a pause ... a soft sigh ...

"I love you, too."

Yes, he had been at the height of his certainty during that moment – and every hour, minute and second that followed with Hermione by his side. Presently, he was only slightly grateful that Hermione didn't push him to answer her. Instead, she stood up from the armchair she had been sharing with Ron and approached Harry by the fireplace.

"You need to stop dwelling on it, Harry –"

"You don't understand," Harry said brokenly as Hermione stepped into his arms, the warmth of her reassuring closeness effectively calming his rattled nerves. He held her close to him and rested his chin on her bushy head, his heart seeming to beat in concert with her own. "Voldemort can't come back – not again, Hermione. Not now when --"

He wanted to say ‘Not now, when everything is so perfect.' But when had anything ever gone his way? When had Voldemort ever allowed him to keep one shred of happiness for his own? Harry should have known better. He should have known that the past year he had shared with Hermione was simply too good to be true. He should never have let his guard down.

"Voldemort won't even get the opportunity," Hermione said, looking up into his face as though reading his thoughts. "Dumbledore won't let it happen – and neither will Sirius or anyone else from the Order. I promise, Harry."

When she kissed him briefly on the lips, he somehow managed to place his panicked thoughts on the back burner. Hermione was right – how could he be so irrational? Voldemort wouldn't come back – and Harry would not only have the past year of incredible memories to cherish – he would have many, many more to come.

"Let's all of us try to take our minds off of it, alright?" Hermione suggested, forcing a bright, reassuring smile to her face as she pulled back from the warmth of Harry's arms. "We still have some homework and studying to do, don't we? Don't the two of you have some Divination work to finish?"

Harry gave his girlfriend a dark look through narrowed eyes. The very last thing he wanted to do was work on the very subject which had gotten him in this mess in the first place. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Hermione was right. Maybe what he needed was something to distract him – at least until Dumbledore returned.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Ron returned from their bedrooms after retrieving their schoolwork. They sat together on soft cushions in front of the empty fireplace, crowding one side of the coffee table, Harry and Ron's books and star charts spread out before them while Hermione withdrew her Arithmancy work.

Quietude settled over them as Harry and Ron worked respectively on their assignments. Harry was so used to working with Ron on their Divination work that the lack of their teamwork merely intensified the anxiety he still felt over the horrific situation on their hands.

No, he thought. Hermione is right. There's nothing that you can do. Dumbledore and Sirius will return in time and Voldemort won't come back. He can't return because ... because he just can't. Stop thinking about it, Harry, because Hermione will notice that you're not focusing on stupid Divination, then she'll get cross with you and that's the last thing you want right now.

Harry was impressed with himself when he managed to resolve himself to finish his star chart, no matter what was going on outside of Hogwarts. When more than half an hour passed, Harry looked up and realized that Hermione was no longer concentrating on Arithmancy. She was glancing from her watch to Harry in a continuous manner.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked her.

"Nothing," Hermione replied, looking at him with a faint smile. "I was just wondering what time the dinner reservations were for."

"I made them for 6:30," Harry replied. And then he frowned worriedly. "Is that alright?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, smiling quite brightly now. "I'll go upstairs in a short while to get ready – and I strongly suggest you take the time to get ready, yourself."

Harry glanced at Ron, who shot him a discreet, clandestine look and Harry felt a sudden panic seize him that had nothing to do with Voldemort's possible return. He wondered now if it would still be appropriate to propose to Hermione with the facts they had just uncovered.

Hell, he wasn't nervous because of that. He was nervous because he strongly feared (now more than ever) that Hermione would reject his proposal.

He could almost see it now. He'd sit across from her at table number one in the Golden Eagle, he would take her hand in his, gaze adoringly into her eyes and tell her how much he loved her, how much he would always love her and he would make sure that she knew how important she was to him. He hadn't exactly planned what words he was going to use. He knew that when the time came, he would speak from his heart – not from a rehearsed speech.

Now he was beginning to wish that he hadn't taken that route. He felt his palms moisten at the mere thought of Hermione turning him down. In his head, she explained to him that she wanted to put her career first and then she might consider marriage and a family.

He knew that she loved him. He knew that she wanted the same things he wanted. But what if she wanted more, but was more interesting in sparing his feelings than being honest with him?

That's not the Hermione you know, Harry firmly reminded himself as reason kicked in. Hermione wouldn't keep anything from him – even if it meant that she would be telling him something that he didn't want to hear. It was one of the many things that he loved and respected about her.

Harry paused in his thoughts, staring blankly at his textbook, wondering how he could even think of school at a time like this. His mind was so preoccupied that it made it very difficult for him to focus on his star chart. It was simply a feat he wasn't going to accomplish today. He found himself almost reluctantly listening to Hermione and Ron talking over Ron's star chart, and he eventually gave in, welcoming the distraction.

"Think of the heavens as kind of like a huge clock, Ron," Hermione was explaining to him. "Dumbledore's pocket watch even works the same way, telling time by the arrangement of the planets and stars."

"And how do you s'pose they told time before clocks were even invented?" asked Ron.

"Well, the ancients used sundials to tell the time by day, and they told time by night by noting the relative distance between planets and stars," Hermione promptly answered.

Ron nodded interestedly, frowning slightly as though recalling something. "Didn't you once say that the stars in the sky turn like a gigantic wheel, and that today the stars are in the exact same position that they were one year ago? You could almost compare the sweep of the stars to the sweep of the hands on a clock, couldn't you?"

"Exactly!" Hermione replied brightly.

"And how would one know when it's noon or when it's midnight?" asked Ron, jotting down notes on his star-chart as they continued the back-and-forth discussion. "How did they figure that out before clocks even existed?"

"Midnight would be determined by the first tick of the clock on January first, providing one used a calendar," Hermione explained.

Harry began to wonder where Ron's immediate, deep enthusiasm in stars and planets came from. He never made a habit of expressing any interest in schoolwork, so why was he starting to now? And then he realized that this was not for Ron's benefit. This was for Harry's – to distract him. And oddly ... thankfully ... it was working.

"And if one didn't use a calendar?" Ron asked. "Before calendars even existed, I mean," he elaborated.

Hermione tapped the edge of her quill against the coffee table, taking a moment to think. "Before calendars, people judged time by the seasons, by planting and harvesting, by full moons and rising tides," she explained. "Time is a relative thing, Ron. Taken purely subjectively, one could choose any time at all and declare that to be the start of the stellar cycle. One year later, the stars would be back where they started and a new year would begin."

"Just like the hands of a clock pointing straight up to midnight, signaling the end of a day and the beginning of another!" Ron added triumphantly, grinning at Hermione as though proud of himself for understanding Hermione's explanation.

But Harry had noticed, as well as Ron, that Hermione had gone completely stone-cold, just as she had a while ago when the topic of Voldemort's name had come up. Her brown eyes were filled with such a fear that Harry felt it just as acutely.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered, reaching across and grasping her cold hand in his warm one as Ron poked her in the arm with the end of his quill to jar her out of her reverie.

It worked. Hermione jerked slightly and slowly turned to Harry so he could see straight into her horror-stricken eyes.

"Harry," she said with slow, rhetorical certainty as she turned her brown eyes onto him. "When did Princess Amara destroy Voldemort?"

Harry felt slightly taken aback by this question. Hadn't they agreed a while ago not to bring up Voldemort? "A year ago today, of course," he finally replied, frowning. "But what does that --"

"When exactly?" Hermione emphasized, with that same look of fear gripping her.

Harry wracked his brains yet again and then said, "Sometime in the evening -- I remember we had just finished eating dinner and that's when I felt the connection that told me you were in danger."

And before he had even finished his sentence, he knew exactly what Hermione was trying to imply. Except that he didn't want her to say it ... he didn't want it to be true. If it was true, then –

"Evening," Hermione said; an odd gleam in her eye. "It wasn't yet quite dark yet – I remember that as well. And it was shortly after dinner – sometime in the 7 o'clock hour, wouldn't you agree?"

"What's going on?" Ron asked uncertainly, his good-natured humor slowly sliding off his face to be replaced by a slightly panicked look.

"The Ring-Spirit destroyed Voldemort one year ago today, less a couple of hours, Ron," Hermione explained in a steady voice which betrayed the truly horrific expression on her face. "At the very moment of the anniversary, the stars will have made one complete circle in the heavens. One year will end, and another will begin. Simply put, the celestial clock will strike midnight at the precise moment the one-year cycle is completed."

"But what does that mean?" Ron asked, though judging by the genuinely petrified expression on his face, Harry figured he knew exactly what it meant.

"It means that the ceremony intended to bring Voldemort back will not take place at midnight according to the clock, as Harry and I assumed," Hermione answered in a deadly whisper. "It will take place at midnight -- according to the stars."

A thick silence followed this proclamation, Harry, Hermione and Ron each gripped by sudden desperation. They knew now that the ceremony was going to take place in only a couple of short hours. Harry immediately thought of owling Dumbledore, but knew that logically, Hedwig – or any other owl -- would never get to the Ministry in time.

"We could go to Hogsmeade," Harry quickly suggested. "And Apparate straight to the Ministry --"

Hermione jerked herself from her petrified state immediately. "Harry, London is hundreds of miles away from Hogsmeade. We've never attempted Apparating such a long distance before, and right now is not a good time to start, unless you want to splinch yourself?"

"Well, sitting here waiting for the worst to happen isn't an option, either!" Harry exclaimed vehemently. "Hermione -- we are the only ones who know what's about to happen and I don't quite enjoy feeling helpless to prevent it."

"Then let's go tell Snape," Hermione suggested, already pulling herself into a standing position.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, standing as well. "There is no way I'm going to tell that greasy git a single thing!"

"OK, let's all calm down," Ron said, tapping his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Maybe we don't have to talk to Snape at all. Remus is in Hogsmeade, right? He's a member of the Order – and what's more is that he won't think you're mad, Harry."

"Remus isn't in Hogsmeade," Harry said in a defeated voice.

"I thought you were supposed to meet with him –"

"Yes, yes, we are!" Harry exclaimed in frustration. "But that's not until after dinner. Remus owled me this morning to tell me that if we arrive at his flat earlier than 7:30 this evening, he won't be there. He's doing some work for the Order – he's been pulling double-duty all week-end because of Sirius's absence. By the time Remus gets back, it'll be too late."

"Then Remus might be at Grimmauld place –" Ron started, his eyes darting toward the fireplace as if expecting to see Remus's face looking back at them, surrounded by crackling emerald flames.

"He's out – he's not going to be lurking about Headquarters when his job is to gather information given to him by fellow agents and spies," Harry said quietly. "Don't you think I would have contacted him first and foremost if I knew that there was a chance that he could help?"

Ron didn't say anything and Harry turned away, fuming. He was, of course, furious that they couldn't turn to Remus Lupin when they needed him most. For a while, no one said anything, and all Harry could hear was the tick-ticking of his wristwatch as time steadily moved on. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"We still have Snape, Harry."

Harry snorted without really looking at her.

"He's a member of the Order," Hermione reasoned. "He might be able to do something!"

"The only thing Snape is good for is getting in the way of those people who are in need of help!" Harry spat furiously. "Snape can't be trusted -- he probably won't even believe me, and I will not put myself in that position again!"

"Harry -- what are you --"

"Fourth year!" Harry exclaimed exasperatedly as he spun around to face her. "That day, when Mr. Crouch appeared out of the Forbidden Forest having gone completely mad from his son placing the Imperius Curse on him so many times, I went to find Dumbledore. But Snape -- in his infamous way -- stalled me from doing so. If he had given me the password to Dumbledore's office like I had asked, instead of being the bastard that he was and still is, Dumbledore might have reached Mr. Crouch in time and everything that followed -- Cedric's death, Voldemort's resurrection – never would have happened."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said in placating, apologetic tones. "You can't know for sure what would have happened. Snape can't be held accountable for Cedric's death or the many deaths that followed. And what other option do we have? I know you hate it, Harry. But this isn't about your feud with Snape – this is about stopping the most powerful Dark wizard who ever existed from returning to life."

"But, Hermione –"

"We have to try," Hermione pleaded. "You said it yourself -- we can't simply do nothing. And if Snape is our only option..."

Harry looked at her and sighed deeply, feeling that he had already wasted enough time arguing with her about the issue. He nodded shortly in reluctant agreement.

The three of them abandoned their schoolwork and exited the common room through the portrait hole. Not wanting to waste another moment, Harry dashed down the corridor and down many flights of stairs and he found himself wishing that the stone gargoyle which guarded Dumbledore's office entrance wasn't located so far down.

Finally, they reached the gargoyle on the second floor and Harry panted, "Peppermint humbugs!"

Nothing happened.

Hermione and Harry exchanged wide-eyed looks and Hermione stepped up to the gargoyle, speaking loud and clear. "Peppermint humbugs!"

Again, nothing happened. The gargoyle, which was supposed to immediately spring out of the way so they could use the rotating staircase, remained entirely solid and immovable.

"PEPPERMINT HUMBUGS!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed together.

When the gargoyle refused to budge, Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth in horror and looked at Harry apologetically just as realization dawned on him. He let out a loud roar that seemed to reverberate up and down the corridor, echoing back at them.

"HE CHANGED THE PASSWORD!" Harry shouted, giving the statue a mighty kick and ignoring the sharp pain that immediately traveled from his foot and up his leg. "That arrogant, self-righteous, selfish son-of-a-bitch! How is he supposed to play sodding Headmaster if he closes his office to the Head Boy and Girl? Exactly what are we supposed to do now?"

"Let's go back," Ron suggested quietly, daring to give Harry a very pointed look which he couldn't correctly interpret at the moment. Harry glowered at him instead.

"Back? Back where? To the common room? Do you not realize that Voldemort is fifteen minutes closer to being resurrected? Do neither of you care?"

"Harry, we care," Hermione said. "Really, we do. But the fact that we can't get hold of Snape doesn't change anything! We are no closer to stopping the inevitable than we were fifteen minutes ago!"

"Inevitable?" Harry breathed, his heart pounding in his ears, blocking out sense and rationale. "I will not stand here and wait for the inevitable to occur."

And not waiting for either of them to reply, he marched off, not sure what he was going to do, but knowing that he had to do something. And then an idea came to him instantly -- he would go back to his room, grab his Firebolt and try to Apparate from Hogsmeade after all. He could hear Hermione and Ron dashing along the corridor behind him, but he didn't turn to acknowledge them. He had no doubt that Hermione knew what he intended to do, and he didn't want to hear her talk him out of it.

The common room was still empty when they returned together, and Harry immediately dashed up the boys' dormitory stairs, thankful that Hermione and Ron had opted not to follow him. If Hermione chose to stay behind when he left the castle, he was fine with that. It might be better that way, he reasoned. He didn't want her to risk her life. Ron ... well ... he wouldn't be able to follow, as he couldn't Apparate, but that was better, too, he decided.

His Firebolt would get him to Hogsmeade in a minute, compared to the 15 minutes it usually took him to walk to the wizarding village, though he didn't know what he was going to do with his broomstick when he attempted to Apparate from Hogsmeade. He had never attempted to Apparate with an object before. He figured he'd get to that when the time came. He might have to leave it behind. As precious as his broomstick was to him, its value was nothing next to the prospect of Voldemort's impending return.

Taking Hermione's caution to heart, he would not attempt to Apparate straight to London. His only other option was to make the journey to London in "jumps", Apparating short, safe distances in succession until he reached his destination. It was problematical whether so many successive Apparations would drain his strength to the danger level. The weaker he grew, he knew, the greater the risk of splinching. But he had run out of options. The one thing he simply could not do was nothing at all!

His heart pounding with painful anxiety, he dashed back down the stairs and stopped momentarily, seeing the look of mute horror on Hermione's face as her eyes landed on the Firebolt slung over his shoulder.

"Harry -- what do you think you're doing?" she finally gasped, and Ron's eyes widened as well when Harry's plan came into light.

Harry averted his eyes from both of them. "I have to do something," he muttered, feeling distinctly red in the face.

"You'll get yourself killed!" Hermione shouted, her eyes now brimming with tears. "If you honestly believe that I'm just going to let you walk out of here --"

"You have no choice, Hermione!" Harry told her, suddenly imagining himself dropping his Firebolt, pulling her into his arms, and doing exactly what she suggested earlier: wait for the inevitable. But for the life of him, he couldn't do it. Hermione may not approve right now, but she would understand afterwards. At least, he hoped so.

"Really?" Hermione whispered coldly as she stepped up to him, her hand closing over something hidden within her robes – something that strongly resembled her wand. "If you can get past me, I won't stop you from leaving."

Harry stared at her, looking into her fiercely determined eyes, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would use whatever means necessary to stop him from carrying through with his plan.

"Hermione – I'm not going to fight you," he said in exasperation.

"Good," Hermione said promptly. "Then you can return your Firebolt upstairs, please."

"No, Hermione," Harry said loudly. "Please move out of the way."

"I will NOT!" Hermione shouted, her eyes still sparkling with tears. "Unlike you, I am prepared to do whatever it takes to keep you from leaving this room –"

Their argument was interrupted by the sound of something bumping repeatedly against the window. Ron eagerly jumped up and dashed over to it, apparently looking grateful for the intrusion, and when the window flew open, Pigwidgeon zoomed inside, circling around Harry and Hermione with excessive energy.

"Not now, Pig," Harry snarled irritably, but Pig appeared indifferent to Harry's unenthusiastic welcome, and Ron seized the minute owl in his hands, disguising his look of apology meant for Harry with a look of irritation of his own.

And then Ron said, "His leg is empty, Hermione. That must mean Charlie got his letter."

Harry looked at the tiny owl and then at Hermione, the Firebolt in his hand and the argument with Hermione suddenly forgotten. "What letter?"

Hermione looked at Harry, still teary-eyed and apparently deliberating over whether her irrational boyfriend still intended to leave the school and Apparate from Hogsmeade.

"I sent a letter to Charlie saying that the baby dragons are old enough to be released now," she told him in a shaky voice. "Charlie and his friends will arrive the weekend before Final exams to pick them up, and since everyone will be too busy with exams, no one will notice anything odd happening in the Forbidden Forest."

To the surprise of both Hermione and Ron, Harry was now standing as still as the gargoyle steadfastly guarding the Headmaster's office, his eyes staring fixedly into space. Coming alive suddenly, Harry gripped his Firebolt fiercely and dashed up the boys' stairs almost as fast as his broom could have carried him. He burst through the door of the seventh-year dormitory and made straight for the trunk sitting at the foot of Ron's four-poster. When he returned to the common room a minute later, he was carrying a second broomstick in addition to his Firebolt. He was met by a thoroughly bewildered Ron and a very wary Hermione.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked as Harry thrust Ron's Nimbus 3000 into his hands. "You're not getting Ron involved in this crazy scheme of yours, are you?"

"No," Harry answered truthfully, already leading them toward the portrait hole. "I promise, I'm not going to Hogsmeade. If it makes you feel any better, you can hold your wand on me. But do it while we walk. There's no time to waste."

"Why do I need my broom?" Ron asked, more confused than ever.

"Not here," Harry hissed. He turned to face them, adrenaline pumping fuel into his veins. "If we run into anyone, we're going to tell them that we're going for a little practice at the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione is coming with us to watch. It is imperative that no one finds out where we're actually going."

"Couldn't tell 'em even if we wanted to," muttered Ron as he and Hermione obediently followed Harry through the portrait hole.

No one spoke again until they reached the outdoors, having only encountered a few younger schoolmates who didn't feel it their place to question the actions of their Head Boy and Girl. As they marched across the sloping lawns together, Harry didn't want to so much as look at his watch, because if he did, he would only be forced to acknowledge the late hour they were fast approaching. It seemed impossible to him to think that more than four hours had passed since they had exited Dumbledore's Pensieve. Could so much have possibly have happened in so little time? Surely even a Time-Turner could not distort his perception more than it had been in the last few hours.

Harry stemmed the rising panic dwelling inside of him and led Hermione and Ron to the Quidditch stadium. But as they reached the outside of the pitch, Harry glanced over his shoulder towards the castle. Convinced that they had not been observed and were not being watched, he turned abruptly and walked straight past the pitch, Hermione and Ron following closely behind until they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Alright," Harry breathed, chancing a glance at his watch and immediately wishing he hadn't, because it reminded him that time was growing short. "After everything the prophecy revealed to us earlier, I am left with the conclusion that the mother-dragon is in Death Eater hands. This much we have determined. And it's not her heartstrings that they want. It's her fire; the hottest fire in the wizarding world – and everything points to the fact that they intend to use her fire for the ceremony. We're agreed on that, right?" Ron and Hermione both nodded mutely. "Therefore," Harry concluded, "where we find the mother-dragon, we'll find Death Eaters, and where we find Death Eaters -- we'll find the location where the ceremony will take place."

"So?" Ron said, sounding slightly irritated. "How does that help us? We don't know where the bleedin' dragon is, do we?"

"We don't," Harry said, his head nodding in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "But they do."

Ron's confused look deepened, but Hermione's face melted into a mask of quiet horror.

"Harry -- you can't possibly mean -- "

"When we release Hagrid's dragons," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's eyes as he continued to look straight ahead, "they'll follow their instincts and fly straight off to their mum. And where she is, Lucius and the other Death Eaters are."

"You want us to follow the dragons?" Ron asked, sounding positively horrified at the thought as he shot a wary look at his broom. "On our brooms? But Hermione doesn't have one -- we'll have to --"

"We can't follow the dragons on our brooms," Harry said. "There's no way we can match a dragon in flight. There are too many variables. A broom has superior speed, but it can't match a living creature for maneuverability. Dragons can dive and turn on a razor's edge, and they can tack into a wind that would blow a broom off course. Add to that it's getting dark fast. We'd be lost before we got ten miles."

"Then what in the name of Merlin's wrinkled bum are we doing?" Ron said in exasperation.

"The only way to go where the dragons go," Harry said carefully, "is to go with them. And the only way we can do that -- " Harry hesitated, as if he himself could not believe the words he was about to speak, "-- is if we -- ride them ourselves."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"You've actually done it," Ron finally choked, looking distinctly green in the face. "You've officially gone mad. You expect us to ride a Bulgarian Devil's Bane like a -- like a bloody hippogriff!? You've gone round the bleedin' twist!"

"Harry," Hermione said, looking equally worried and frightened. "I think you're right that the Death Eaters intend to use the mother-dragon's fire. I think you're right that the baby dragons could lead us straight to the ceremony. I even think you're right that we have no choice but to use the baby dragons so that they can lead us straight to the ceremony. But I don't believe that you're thinking very clearly. There is no way that we can ride the dragons – we're food to them. Ron is right -- we can follow them on brooms if we have to --"

"You two have forgotten one very important factor," Harry cut across, realizing that every moment he stood here trying to explain everything to them brought Voldemort closer to being resurrected. "The baby dragons understand and obey parseltongue. Don't you remember when one of them tried to attack you, Hermione? And it moved away at my command? Likewise, they will listen to me if I ordered them to let us ride them."

Ron still looked green, but Harry watched the look of fear and doubt slowly slide off of Hermione's face. She no longer had the look of a person who feared her boyfriend was officially losing his mind. If anything, she looked immensely relieved that he had found the answer to their predicament and appeared almost pleased that they would be able to do something about it.

"Then what are our brooms for?" squeaked Ron. "I mean, if we're riding..." His voice trailed off, as if his sanity would not permit him to finsh the thought.

"We'll need them for the trip home," Harry told him. If there's a trip home, his brain echoed ominously. "Once the babies find their mother, their use to us is finished. My Firebolt has a Charm on it that allows it to remember where it goes and return along that same path. I can place the same Charm on your broom before we go. Even though we won't be riding our brooms, the Charm will still remember our flight path. So keep a good grip on your broom handle. Wherever we're going, I expect it's a long walk back."

Ron was still hesitant and doubtful, but it seemed that Hermione had already fully accepted the situation. This silent vote of support and confidence was all Harry needed to spur him on.

"Look, Ron, we're all out of options," Harry told him resolutely. "If we don't act right now, Voldemort will return and I know you don't want that. I know it won't be easy fighting off skilled Death Eaters, either, but as most of them are still in Azkaban, it's not likely that there will be very many of them. And we'll have surprise on our side, remember."

"And Harry and I have months of Auror Training behind us," Hermione told Ron, stepping up and standing next to Harry, briefly meeting his eyes before turning them onto Ron.

"But even so, there's still a chance that we could be flying to our deaths," Harry said quietly. He was hardly conscious of the fact that his arm was wrapped around Hermione's waist protectively, and that she, too, had slipped her arm around him. "I'm not forcing either of you to go. I just know that I have to."

He knew that Hermione had already made the decision to go, and he wasn't surprised at all when Ron nodded with determination.

"Someone has to watch your back," he said with mocking exasperation. "It might as well be me."

"And me!"

Harry, Hermione and Ron swung around to find Draco Malfoy dashing toward them, panting and gripping a familiar piece of parchment in his fist. Ron made a violent move toward Draco and Hermione seized a fistful of his robes, yanking him backwards and shooting him a firm, warning look.

Draco stopped a few feet away from Harry, his knees bent as he doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. Harry saw the parchment in his hands and realized that it was the Marauder's Map -- he could see four dots on the edge of the Forbidden Forest labeled with their names.

"Where did you get that?" Harry said, though he thought he knew the answer already.

"Ginny ... gave ..." Draco gasped, clutching at a stitch in his side. He shook his head, as though to dismiss the Map. Having no further use for it, he thrust it at Harry, who folded it mechanically and tucked it into his robes. "I know what you're going to do, Harry. I know that my father is planning to restore Voldemort and I know that you're going to try to stop them."

"Plotting with Daddy, are we?" Ron sneered contemptuously.

Draco, having finally caught his breath, slowly straightened and looked coldly at Ron. His voice suddenly had a slight edge to it as he spoke. "My father told me about the plan ages ago. I thought he was mad to attempt it, and I knew right then and there that I wanted no part in it. My father saw this as a betrayal of the deepest kind and all but disowned me."

Ron snorted disbelievingly.

"Since that day, I heard little to no news about his plans," Draco continued; his eyes alight with the same kind of feverish desperation Harry was feeling at the moment. "The only thing he ever mentioned was some object he needed, something he always called "the key". But I had no reason to believe that it had anything to do with his scheme to resurrect Voldemort. At my house, Father was always collecting items – usually illegal ones. Needless to say, I was foolish enough to believe that he had actually listened to me and had given up on his hopes of restoring his master to his body."

"Go on, Draco," Hermione encouraged, shooting Ron another look after he opened his mouth to retort. Ron closed his mouth, glaring back at her defiantly.

"But then Ginny told me about your Friendship Ring being stolen, Hermione," Draco added to her. "And I knew right then and there that my father was responsible."

"No kidding," Ron muttered sarcastically, unable to restrain himself.

"Only now do I realize my mistake in believing that my father had given up on the plan," Draco resumed, shooting Ron another cold look, as though indignant of the fact that Ron doubted him. "I was convinced that since so much time had passed without him getting this 'key,' he would never retrieve it. And now I know how wrong I was. Now I understand that if I had shared this information from the beginning, the theft of the Ring might have been prevented, and if Voldemort does come back, I will be just as responsible as my father."

"That's a lovely story," Ron replied sardonically, but Harry cut across. Now was not the time for Ron and Draco to settle their differences. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.

"You're not here to stop us from going, are you?" Harry asked him sharply. "Because Hermione and Ron sang that tune a short while ago without success and we're running out of time."

"Take me with you," Draco told them determinedly. "I can fight just as well as – well – if not better than Weasley."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said through gritted teeth.

Draco merely shrugged. "I'm only saying ..."

"No one cares which one of you can fight better than the other," Hermione interrupted before things could – and most definitely would – get out of hand. "Draco – just get to the point."

"I want to settle the score with my father," Draco said. "Once and for all."

"And why should I believe that?" Ron retorted.

"Because of Ginny," Draco said sharply.

"What? What's she got to do with this?"

"Don't you understand what will happen if my father succeeds tonight?" Draco shot at Ron. "It'll be wholesale slaughter, just like the last time. And the first thing they'll do is reduce the Ministry to a smoking hole in the heart of London. I've heard my father say it many times."

"Dad," Ron gasped, his face going white, freckles and all.

"Exactly," Draco said. "Our fathers hate each other. When the time comes to settle old grudges, your dad will be at the top of the list. And if you think I'm going to stand by and see the girl I love put through that kind of horror, you're thicker than Goyle."

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, who gave a short nod. Harry returned his eyes to Draco and sighed heavily.

"Fine."

Ron opened his mouth in furious protest, but Harry silenced him with a commanding look.

"We don't have time for this," Harry said commandingly. "We still have a ways to go into the Forest, and we don't even know how far away the ceremony is. If you want to argue, do it while we walk. But do it softly. If Bane or Magorian hear us, it won't matter one way or the other."

This warning silenced everyone, even Hermione. As Harry turned and led them into the forest, Draco appeared to be bursting with questions, but he remained silent for a time. His lone foray into the Forest six years ago had left him keen to avoid a second, a fact that Harry knew well. Finally, however, Draco's curiosity could no longer be contained. He sidled up to Harry and spoke in a low, cautious whisper.

"It almost sounds like you don't know where we're going."

"I don't," Harry said flatly, his eyes never leaving the path.

"Then how are we supposed to get there?"

"You'll see."

"What happens if we don't arrive in time?"

"Your father succeeds," Harry replied shortly. "Voldemort returns."

There being no response to this, Draco eased back his pace and allowed Harry to lead the way with no more distraction.

Patches of golden light from above slipped through the cracks of the forest, guiding their way. Harry's heart was pounding harder than ever and it only eased slightly when he felt Hermione fall into step beside him, her fingers slipping reassuringly into his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his heart squeezing painfully.

Hermione shot him a mystified look. "What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"Everything," he replied in a low voice. He didn't really want to have this conversation with Hermione while Draco and Ron were no further than ten paces behind them. "But I'm mostly sorry for my temper and taking it out on you. And ... and not being able to take you out tonight, after all."

I am most definitely sorry about that, he thought, trying to settle his panicking heart. And if – when – we come out of this alive, Hermione ... I will ask you to marry me.

"Don't be sorry," Hermione whispered back reassuringly. "It seems that Voldemort has different plans for us. And as long as we're together, that's all that matters to me."

And as long as we come back together ...

The words hung in the air between them, unsaid. Yet the power of those words resounded in their hearts as though they had just shouted them from the highest tower in Hogwarts castle. Harry tightened his hold on Hermione's hand, hoping that somehow, she would know and understand – would feel – that she was everything to him.

They walked silently around closely knotted trees; branches and brambles scraping across their hands and faces. Harry stepped forward, parting a branch back for Hermione so she could pass by unharmed, and he let the branch fall gently as he took step beside her again; Ron and Draco lagging behind them in bitter silence.

"It's not that much further, is it?" Hermione asked, trying to recollect the exact spot where the magical barrier was located.

"No," Harry said, knowing that she was just as worried about the time-frame as he was. "It's just a few more–"

"OW! Bloody hell, Weasley!" Draco exclaimed behind them.

Harry and Hermione spun around to find Ron grinning smugly while Draco clutched at his face. When his hand fell, there was a large red welt across his pale cheek. Apparently, Ron had allowed one of the branches to snap back into Draco's face, and looked thoroughly pleased about it.

"Ron," Hermione groaned in exasperation.

"Oops," Ron said with a cold look Draco's way. "Clumsy me."

Hermione made a move to continue walking towards the barrier, but Harry stopped her, turning to face Draco and Ron. The two wizards stopped walking as well, and judging by the look on Ron's face, he could see what was coming.

"I'm going to say this once and for all," Harry said with forced calm as he looked at the two of them. "We're not going on some boring field trip, alright? We're going to attempt to stop the darkest wizard who ever existed from returning to life – do you both understand that?"

Ron and Draco nodded, though Draco was on the verge of pleading complete innocence on the matter, but Harry cut across before he could even get a chance.

"It's not only important – it's vital that the two of you set aside your differences until we return. We are all we have – if we can't trust each other and work together to stop the worst from happening, not only will Voldemort return, but we won't even survive long enough to warn anyone else. Got it?"

"Yes," Ron and Draco said together, the two of them looking thoroughly ashamed.

"I'm going to ask you two to do something Dumbledore once asked Snape and Sirius to do three years ago," Harry said. "I want you to shake each other's hands and trust each other from this moment on. Remember, you are both on the same side. It's time you two start acting like it."

Ron and Draco hesitated for only a split second before they each reached out a hand and shook briefly while barely meeting each other's eyes, and then they let go almost instantly.

"Good," Harry said, managing a smile for them both, feeling better. "Let's go – there isn't much time left. We've already wasted enough of it." He and Hermione led the way once again and Harry caught the smile on Hermione's face as Ron and Draco quietly followed.

"Nicely played, love," Hermione whispered to him.

Harry grinned.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing in this bloody Forest," Draco said softly, his senses alert for the fall of a centaur hoof or the swish of an arrow cleaving the air. "And how in Voldemort's name are we getting there? Even I don't know where the bloody ceremony is taking place."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Ron said, his eyes twinkling in a manner that Fred and George would have envied. "The dragons know where they're going."

"The what?" Draco exclaimed, his head jerking sharply toward Ron.

"Didn't Harry tell you?" Ron said through a hard, thin smile as he spotted a familiar opening in the trees ahead. "We're riding dragons."

Draco laughed out loud, catching himself suddenly and smothering the rest of his outburst under his breath. But his silent laughter was choked off suddenly when Harry looked back at him with a smile and promptly vanished before his eyes. Hermione followed a moment later. Draco halted in mid-stride, only to feel Ron's hands on his back as he was propelled through the magical barrier surrounding the glade and into the presence of --

"Dragons!"

"What, didn't I speak clearly?" Ron said casually. His enjoyment at the astonishment spreading across Draco's pale face momentatily swept away his own fears, and he grinned broadly.

The four dragons seemed to realize that they had company, because they reared their ugly heads and blinked hungrily at their four guests. It was, of course, dinner time and Hagrid would soon be arriving with their supper, which meant that Harry would have to make this quick if they were to leave before Hagrid arrived. Harry handed his Firebolt to Hermione, so that the dragons would not mistake it for a weapon and grow restless. Draco seemed to notice Harry's and Ron's brooms for the first time.

"We'll need the brooms for the flight back," Harry explained, reading the question in Draco's eyes. With a wicked smile, he said, "You can double up with Ron."

It was now Draco's turn to enjoy a laugh at Ron's expense. As Ron began to mouth a wordless protest, Harry turned and approached the cage, his palms open before him.

The dragons had grown since Harry had last seen them, and each one was now the average size of a pony. He slowly and confidently approached the cage. "I'm going to let you out," he told the dragons in parseltongue, his voice coming out as a soft hiss. "And when I do, I forbid you to harm my friends." He pointed to Hermione, Ron and Draco to indicate who he was talking about. "And you are going to stay ON THE GROUND. You are not going to fly until I tell you to do so. Do you understand me?"

The four dragons slowly nodded comprehendingly, and Harry could somehow sense that their disappointment didn't come from the command they were not allowed to fly immediately, but that Hermione, Ron and Draco were not, in fact, their dinner. Harry pulled out his wand, flicked it once, called, "Alohomora" and with a loud ‘click', the cage door flung open.

The dragons sprang out immediately and Hermione gave a short cry, but the dragons, following Harry's direction, didn't move forward. They stretched their long necks, flexed their scaly wings and made loud noises from their mouths that sounded like a mixture of a screech and a wail.

"It's alright," Harry told Hermione, Ron and Draco in English. "They won't hurt you."

Harry turned back to the dragons, and they appeared to be waiting for him to say something. Harry thought about what he wanted them to do and conveyed it in another message through parseltongue. Once he was sure they had understood him, he motioned for Hermione to approach.

"Don't worry," he told her as Hermione's quivering form advanced. "He won't touch a hair on your head, I promise." Taking his Firebolt back, he took her gently by the hand and brought her around, the eyes of the other dragons watching them intently. He helped Hermione mount her dragon, which had lowered itself in order to make it easier for her to climb its back.

"Oh, dear," Hermione whispered, half awed, half horrified. The moment she was on the dragon, she placed a Sticking Charm on herself so she wouldn't slip off mid-flight. She closed her eyes, looking thoroughly nauseated.

"Take care of her," Harry said to the dragon in parseltongue, daring to touch the dragon's rough hide alongside his pointy snout. "She's special to me."

The dragon's red eyes flickered, indicating that he understood. Feeling satisfied that Hermione was in good hands – or claws -- Harry moved on to the next dragon, motioning for Ron to follow. Harry took Ron's broom and removed it from the dragon's sight as it surveyed Ron with a dark, surly expression. Ron stared back for a moment, then he laughed somewhat nervously.

"He looks like Krum," Ron said, and Harry heard Hermione giggle softly from atop her own dragon.

Draco watched with a petulant expression as Ron mounted his dragon, though with no small amount of trepidation. After Ron was secure on his dragon, his Sticking Charm in place, Harry Charmed Ron's broom for the return journey he hoped they would all be making and handed it to him at an angle away from the dragon's line of sight. Ron promptly secured his broom to his lap with another Sticking Charm, which spell he had learned to perfection under Hermione's relentless tutelage. Smiling, Harry now turned his attention to the last member of their mismatched party.

"Alright, Draco?" Harry said, nodding his head from him to the third dragon. "You can have that one."

"That is ... unless ... you're too afraid?" Ron said challengingly from his mount. But when Harry looked up into Ron's face, he was relieved to find that there was no trace of hostility on his face. Ron was merely taunting Draco, not out of spite, but out of sheer amusement, rather as Fred and George had teased him all his life. "Well, that's not surprising, is it? I mean, the Sorting Hat put all the blokes with courage into Gryffindor, didn't it?"

Draco narrowed his eyes to slits and took the challenge, strolling purposefully over to the third dragon without showing an ounce of fear. He stared at the dragon, which regarded him placidly with eyes black as onyx.

"How is this possible?" Draco asked in an awe-struck voice as he recognized the dragon for the dangerous breed it was.

"Baby dragons understand and obey parseltongue," Harry said. "They outgrow it after a time."

"And when exactly do they outgrow it?" Draco asked in a controlled voice.

Harry saw Ron come alert. In truth, he himself had no idea when the dragons' surly natures would ultimately thrust themselves to the fore, rendering parseltongue useless to arrest the beasts' violent instincts.

"Not today," Harry said calmly as he helped Draco mount his dragon.

I hope.

Harry repeated his instructions to the dragon in parseltongue, and only when Draco was secured to his dragon with a proper Sticking Charm, like the others, did Harry turn to the fourth and last dragon, which was already crouched low for Harry to mount him. There being no one to hold Harry's broom for him, he held it just behind the dragon's right shoulder, where it hovered obediently, humming slightly. But where his companions expected him to mount his "steed," he turned instead and plunged his hand into his robes. He drew out the Marauder's Map and sent it toward the cage with a Banishing Charm. It slapped against the cage door, and a twist of his wrist applied a Sticking Charm, holding it fast against the wooden bars.

"We don't need it where we're going," he said. "And when Hagrid comes out to feed the dragons, he'll see it and know who took them." As he said this, he wished he could leave behind a proper note to explain where they had gone, and why. But there was no time. And if they did not succeed, he realized, that simple phrase would assume a meaning more terrible than he could imagine. When the "midnight hour" struck, it might be the death knell for the entire wizarding world. There would, quite literally, be no time left...for anyone.

Harry was just about to swing his leg over his dragon's back when a sudden thought seemed to strike him. Whirling, he drew his wand and, sweeping the three dragon-riders with his eyes, he said, "Take your wands out."

The commanding tone of Harry's voice swept away all questions as the three complied without hesitation. Harry touched the tip of his wand to Draco's, then to Ron's. Each felt his wand hum when Harry's made contact. But where this produced a look of bewilderment on the boys' faces, Hermione responded with a look of understanding when Harry's wand touched hers.

His final task completed, Harry climbed aboard his dragon and secured himself to its back with a Sticking Charm. But when he caught up his Firebolt and fixed it across his knees, he wondered exactly what he was going to hold onto, now that they were all ready to take flight. When he looked at the others, he noticed that they looked just as uncertain, their hands hanging limply by their sides. Now that Harry was staring at the back of his dragon's head, he noticed two small horns protruding from the back of its head. And what was more was that they were in perfect reach for him to grasp – like handles from a bicycle.

He hesitated only a moment before gently reaching out and touching one of the horns – a question of permission to the dragons without using parseltongue. His dragon reared his head and made a loud noise which bore no hostility whatsoever, from what Harry could tell. Harry slipped his hands more firmly around the horns and his dragon didn't protest in the slightest. He seemed to remember something Hagrid had once said about dragons rubbing horns as a sign of kinship and fraternity. If'n yer wan' ter make friends with a dragon, Harry, jus' rub their horns an' they'll know yer don' mean 'em no harm. Mind they don' bite yer hand off, o' course. Harry grinned. It appeared that the Hogwarts gamekeeper knew quite a bit about his favorite creatures after all, their misadventure with Norbert notwithstanding.

"Take their horns on the back of their heads," Harry instructed the others confidently. "They don't mind."

Hermione, Ron and Draco obeyed, albeit with intense reluctance. It struck Harry that neither Ron nor Draco had ever ridden a bicycle, both having grown up in wizarding families. Not that the Dursleys had ever bought Harry a bicycle, of course (though he had sneaked occasional rides on Dudley's bikes when his cousin wasn't looking). He was pleased when they caught on quickly, following his example and Hermione's.

"Tell them to fly in a straight line," Ron said anxiously as he gripped his set of horns with white-knuckled fingers. "No fancy loops and stuff."

Even knowing that time was pressing them mercilessly from all sides, Harry could not restrain a smile. Speaking in loud, clear parseltongue that the four dragons could all hear clearly, Harry said commandingly: "Fly straight. Fly home."

In unison, the dragons flapped their great, scaly wings, squawked loudly and pushed up from the ground and into the sky, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do, even though this was technically the first time that they had ever flown. The Forbidden Forest quickly fell behind them and they soared higher and further, leaving the castle and everything else behind, leading Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco to whatever awaited them.