Threads

    “Dumbledore?” asked Harry timidly.

    Albus shook his head slightly and blinked at Harry.

    “What does it mean? Why did they come? Why-”

    “I wonder, Mr. Potter, if I may see that thread you have carried so religiously since your return to Hogwarts last week?”

    Puzzled, Harry withdrew a long thin cord from his pocket. The light in the room reflected off of it in many colors; red, gold, emerald, sapphire….it was impossible to trace the true color of the thread.

    “May I hold it?”

    Harry’s first instinct was to say no and snatch the thread back. But his eyes met with Dumbledore’s passive own and he held it out with shaking hands.

    Dumbledore took it carefully, studying the thread. He lapsed into thought, and Harry had to say his name to shake him out of it.

    “May I have the thread back now?”

    Dumbledore looked sadly at Harry for a moment, then said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep it for a while, Harry. I have never heard of something like this happening when an illusion leaves us, and I’ll need to make sure it’s not dangerous.” He sighed. “Normally when an illusion leaves Earth, it’s cocoon of light does not make it back to Earth in a spacial sense; that is, it doesn’t occupy space. It’s a mere memory…light.” Dumbledore peered despondently down at Harry. “It might not be safe, you know.”

    “Safe!” yelled Harry. “Of course it's safe! It’s my dad!”

    “You will have it back before long, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore.

    “No! I want it back now!”

    “I’m afraid not, Harry.”

~

Six weeks later-

    Harry Potter stared at the letter in his hand. It was written in a neat scrawl - Lupin’s - and read:

    Harry-

        I know it’s early, but I just wanted to say “Happy Birthday” to you. I know you haven’t been to Grimmauld Place in over a year - with good reason, of course - but I thought you might be ready. Dumbledore’s fixed for you to come and celebrate your seventeenth birthday over here, so if you think you can, be packed by midnight on the 30th of July and I’ll come over and get you. You’ve taken your Apparition test, haven’t you? I’ll bring a Portkey with me just in case, though.

        Remember- midnight on the 30th. You can stay at Headquarters for the     rest of the summer hols if you’d like, so make sure to bring your school things as     well.

        -Remus Lupin

    He looked around his room. He had his trunk packed, with Hedwig sitting in her cage on top of it, and his Firebolt was carefully propped against his trunk. He hadn’t taken his Apparition tests yet, though. The date was set for the seventh of August, and he couldn’t wait.

    He sighed contentedly. He had just started looking forward to his birthdays a few years ago, but this was beyond excitement.

    A soft breeze played across his face through the open window. Harry blinked out at the moon and remembered distantly that he hadn’t been planning on seeing Grimmauld Place again in the near future. He knew it was likely to put a damper on his spirits, but he tried not to think about it.

    There was a low “Pop!” behind him and he said, “Hi, Professor,” without turning.

    “Hello, Harry,” said Lupin.

    Harry turned. Lupin was carrying a tattered book under his arm, but it was the only old thing on him. Harry was shocked. Lupin’s robes, once ragged and frayed, looked new and extremely expensive. He raised his eyebrows in confusion.    

    Remus laughed. “Don’t looked to surprised, Harry,” he said. “They used to belong to Sirius. It was in his will. It hasn’t been formally read yet, but I was in charge of all that - stuff - and I figured I could bend the rules a bit. Like them?”

    Harry nodded, grinning. Then his eyebrows knitted together and he asked, “Will?”

    “Oh, yes, didn’t you know? Sirius had a will. It’s going to be formally read next week, and the ministry’s going to clear his name,” said Remus. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but I had to get everything in order, and the Fudge refused to read the will formally until Sirius’s name was cleared, which took Dumbledore quite a bit longer than we expected.”

    Harry nodded again. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that, so he didn’t say anything.

    “Well, let’s get going,” said Lupin. “All packed? Got Hedwig and your Firebolt? Good…Oh, and by the way,” he said. “Are we going to need this?” He waved the book in his hand a bit.

    “Yeah, I think so. I don’t get my license till the seventh, and I don’t think I want to find out first-hand what splinching feels like.”

    Lupin laughed. “All right then,” he said. “It’s going to activate in about a minute, so get all your stuff. I’ll get Hedwig if you like,” he added, as Harry struggled with the cage.

    “Thanks,” Harry replied gratefully, handing the owl over and grabbing a corner of the book in his free hand.

    “Twenty….fifteen….” said Lupin, watching his watch. “ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…”

    His last words were drowned out by a powerful gust of air. Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his stomach and knew he was going back at last.

~

    Harry held his arms out at his sides to keep from falling. He grinned. It was his first time traveling by Portkey that he’d managed to stay afoot the whole trip.

    Or so he thought.

    Perhaps he would have been successful at completing this minor feat if it had not been for the fact the Hermione - now quite recovered from her bout in the hospital wing - entered the room, let out a shriek, and quite literally bowled Harry over.

    “Ouch…” Harry groaned from the floor, which he had landed on when he had fallen backwards.

    She hugged him; she was lying on top of him, and though the pain in his back was rather excruciating, the overall experience was rather nice.

    “Oh, I missed you so much!” she said, kissing him on the cheek and helping him into a sitting position.

    “I missed you too, Herm,” he said absentmindedly, rubbing his backside. She peered at him timidly.

    “Oh, who am I kidding, I’ve been dying to see you!” he exclaimed, hugging her so enthusiastically that she, in turn, fell over backwards as well.

    She giggled, her cheeks turning a very becoming shade of pink. Harry took a moment to notice that she had developed a bit over the summer.

    This very pleasant thought was rather rudely interrupted by Ron, who charged into the room and swept Harry into an equally large hug.

    “How’ve you been?” he asked, patting him on the back and grinning ear to ear.

    “Pretty good, Ron,” said Harry, breathless but at least standing, the thought of Hermione’s maturing shape still fresh in his mind. He grinned, more at this thought than at the sight of his other best friend. “Pretty good.”

~

    “Presents!” exclaimed Ginny, bounding back to the basement kitchen after dinner.

    “Now Ginny, act your age,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly.

    “Or rather, your shoe size,” chimed in Fred, grinning and shoving a huge wrapped box onto the table in front of Harry.

    He beamed weakly. “Honestly, you didn’t have to-”

    “Well we did, so too late now!” cried George. Everybody around the table nodded, so Harry set to unwrapping.

    He grabbed the twins’ first. Inside was a gigantic sampler of all their trick sweets, as well as a full Skiving Snackbox, a few fireworks, and a piece of parchment that insulted anyone who touched, spelled, or wrote on it.

    “You gave us the idea for that one, you know,” said Fred. “You said that’s what Lupin suggested the map was when it insulted Snape, four years ago.”

    Harry half-smiled and half-grimaced at the memory.

    “Look at the back,” whispered George, and turning it over, Harry saw the words: “Dedicated to and named for Mr. Harry Potter, whose own unfortunate events led to the development of this product.”

    “It has a name?” asked Harry skeptically.

    “Well, of course it has a name,” said George.

    “Potter Parchment,” said Fred.

    All three burst out laughing.

    Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shoved a lumpy package at him. He grinned; he could always do with another Weasley sweater.

    Peeling off the brown paper to reveal a vivid green sweater with a gold snitch stitched across it. He gave Mrs. Weasley a hug, and, though Mr. Weasley declined a hug, a handshake.

    Next came Ron’s gift - his own personal golden snitch. It had a lightning bolt emblazoned on one side and the initials H.J.P. on the other. It came with it’s own purple- velvet-lined box and a card with the maker’s name on it. Harry barely had time to wonder inwardly how Ron had ever afforded something like this when the next box was shoved towards him.

    Charlie sent a pair of real dragon hide boots, all black except for the scarlet and gold lions on the outsides of the ankles.

    Bill’s gift was a sachet of Egyptian gold that he said came from a famous tomb. The pieces could only be spent by Harry, as they had a charm over them. There was also a brief letter that made Harry grin - Bill, apparently, had had a pair of twins, Emma and Leo, with Fleur Delacour, who was taking care of them in France at the moment.

    Percy - to Harry’s utter surprise - had sent a present as well, by owl that morning. It contained a two-foot long apology and underneath the extensive letter was a key chain with a tiny mirror attacked to it. A note on the back read: “This is a miniature foe-glass. I hope I don’t appear in yours anymore.” There was a splotch on one corner of the note that looked suspiciously like a tear drop.

    Ginny peeked around the corner of the kitchen, carrying the last Weasley gift. She was bright red in the face and looked positively petrified at the thought of giving Harry a present. She held it - being a small box - out to Harry.

    He opened it and let out a gasp. It was a pin, small and gold. The metal formed the word “Marauder”.

    “How-?” he began, wondering how she knew about the Marauders.

    She giggled, relieved he liked the gift. “Sirius told me in fourth year about it…He told me about it a few nights after Dad was attacked. I kept having nightmares, so he told me all of the adventures they had.”

    He wrapped his arms around her, and she actually managed a grin through her shock. Harry was quite sure he heard Mrs. Weasley murmur an affectionate “awww” to her husband.

    Lupin gave Harry a box full of things that had belonged to Sirius. A note was taped to the top of the colossal box, stating what was inside it.

    “I think I’ll open that one alone sometime,” he whispered, his eyes welling up a bit. He shook his head to clear it.

    Many of the members of the Order - Kingsley, Tonks, Mundungus, Moody, and Lupin, to name a few - had all pitched in and pooled their money to buy his last gift. It was held in a long, thin box wrapped in brown paper. Harry had a feeling he knew what was inside of it.

    He ripped the paper off and pried the lid of the box off and his suspicions were confirmed:

    A brand new broomstick lay there, shining with polish, and the words “Unison 42” emblazoned in gold on the handle. He could hardly believe his eyes.

    He picked it, feeling it vibrate under his fingers. It was light - in fact it barely seemed to weigh a thing.

    He ran a hand along the handle until he came to the “Unison 42”.

    “I’ve never heard of this brand before…”

    “You wouldn’t have,” said Tonks, looking quite as excited as Harry. “Unison is a small branch of the company that makes Firebolts…Based in Ireland, which is ironic enough, given the name,” She grinned. “They’re like…the elite; you can only owl-order them. They aren’t advertised except in Quidditch magazines. They cost way more than the Firebolts.”

    Lupin slapped her playfully on the arm. “It’s not polite to compare prices, Tonks, especially seeing as Sirius gave him his Firebolt.”

    She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Harry.”

    “It’s okay!” he said. “This is wonderful! But-”

    “It’s not meant to replace your Firebolt, Harry,” said Lupin. “We just thought you might like another broom, too.”

    “I do!” exclaimed Harry. “But, honestly, you didn’t have to-”

    “Well, you look here, boy,” said Moody gruffly, though a smile tugged at his lips. “We’ve got it now; it’s the least you could do to thank us and shut up about how much we shouldn’t have.”

    Harry grinned. “Well…thanks, then!”

    And he proceeded to shake hands with - or in Tonks’ case, hug - all the members of the Order who had pitched in.

    He was leaned back in his chair, flushed with happiness, toying with his own snitch when Hermione poked her head around the kitchen door.

    “Harry?”

    He turned in his seat to see her. She was glowing with radiance and clutching a box in her hands. It was only then that Harry realized that she had neglected to give him a present.

    He beckoned her over, and she came. Amid the party, she was not noticed.

    “I’m sorry I missed all the gift-giving,” she said, a little forlornly. “I was too busy finishing your present to come down.”

    He smiled as she handed him the box. He could feel it contained some sort of magic- it was practically shivering under his hands.

    He banged on a glass with his wand, sending mad sparks ricocheting off the walls and grabbing the attention of the majority of the party.

    And then he proceeded to unwrap Hermione’s gift. Pulling off the paper, he saw it- a cloak, made of some thread that refused to show it’s original color. It shimmered in shades of gold, silver, copper…emerald, sapphire, amethyst…

    He pulled it out of the box and swirled it around him. It was long - the longest cloak he’d ever seen - , coming within inches of the ground. He pulled it on, clasping it with Ginny’s “Marauder” pin, and felt the slight chill he had been feeling evaporate. A warmth that he could only truthfully say he’d experienced once - last year, when he was accidentally “standing” in Sirius’s illusion - enveloped him.

    “Hermione-”

    “Do you know what it is?” she asked, smiling gently and shyly.

    He couldn’t speak, but Hermione knew what he meant.

    “It is, Harry, it is.” Her smiled widened as Harry threw his arms around her and spun her around in a hug.

    “It’s your dad.”

    A thin tear slid down his left cheek.

~

    That night Harry sat alone in his room. It was much nicer than before - cleaned and re-painted and re-decorated. Red and gold satin adorned the bed.

    Harry sat cross-legged in the center of his bed, the last light of the candle flickering atop his bedside table.

    He opened the box Lupin had given him. On the very top was a picture of Remus, Sirius, and his father at Hogwarts. It wasn’t moving and was fading slightly around the edges, but Harry didn’t care.

    He laughed out loud at it.

    James, ever the arrogant one, was in the very center of the picture. He was standing at his very tallest, one hand extending to the heavens, the other balled into a fist against his chest. His eyes were shut, but Harry could see the merest trace of laughter at his lips. He reminded Harry of a Greek goddess.

    Sirius and Remus, likewise, were pretending - Harry hoped - to fawn madly over him. Sirius was really getting into it; he was down on his knees at James’ feet with his hands clasped together under his chin.

    Remus, on the other hand, was standing next to James, his mouth hanging unnaturally wide open.

    Harry burst out laughing. This had to be the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He flipped it over and read the back-

    James Potter, Remus Lupin, and me, it said.

    June 29th, 1973

    Seventh Year

    He laughed at it again and set it aside, drawing out a fat black leather-bound journal from the box. There was one word, “Padfoot”, emblazoned on the back. It distantly reminded Harry of Tom Riddle’s diary, though in a much less evil way.

    On the inside of the front cover, there was a rather long, hastily drawn note to Sirius, which proved to be very soppy and mushy, and ended with “Love, Rem”.

    Harry rolled his eyes a little at that, but laughed a bit too.

    The next thing he pulled out was another box - fairly large. Prying the lid open, it revealed what looked like all the notes the Marauders had ever passed around in class. Most were faded…some were short, one word replies, but every once in a while, there would be a long one, usually from Remus, that Harry was sure had taken the whole of class to write.

    They made him smile, just a little bit, despite the overly-romantic and sappy content of them and perhaps unnecessary referrals to the bedtime activities between two homosexual males.

    He peered into the box and found a scrap of paper. He drew it out, thinking he had missed a note.

    It was a magazine clipping from the Quibbler. It looked recent - there were no faded corners or graying letters - though quite crumpled.

    Slowly, to avoid ripping the thin paper, Harry pulled it open and smoothed it out on his knee.

    It was the upper half of an advertisement. The pretty redhead in the picture was gesturing enthusiastically at a tube of lipstick in her hand and raising her eyebrows suggestively at Harry.

    He frowned. What on Earth is this? he thought.

    He stared at the good-looking witch on the paper for a moment, confused.

    Then, as though the thought had just occurred to him, he turned it over, to reveal a short magazine article:

Youngest Weasley Son Awarded Big Galleons

“What the Hell?” Harry asked himself out loud, as he began to read.

    Ronald Weasley, the youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, has recently been awarded 800 Galleons by the Ministry. This, as many will know, is the price placed on the head of many Death Eaters. At the end of the his sixth year at Hogwarts, Ronald managed to kill a prominent Death Eater in order to protect his friend - and the savior of the Wizarding world - Harry Potter. The family of this Death Eater has asked the identity of him to be kept secret, for quite a large sum of money.

“Malfoy…” Harry mumbled to himself, rereading the article.

    So this was how Ron had afforded to buy Harry his own personalized Snitch for his birthday. Probably how the Order had been able to purchase him a Unison 42. Probably the reason Ron was in such a good mood…

    Harry’s brow wrinkled in frustration. Why hadn’t Ron told him? Did Hermione know? Did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know? Did the rest of Ron’s family know?

    He looked down at the article again, only to find he had crushed it into a crumpled ball in his thought.

    Just as he was pulling out the next item - a thick photo album - there was a slow creaking of the door.

    “Harry?”

    He looked up, only just realizing that there was round tears pooling around his eyes, which fell on Hermione. He smiled.

    “Come in,” he said, though so softly it was perhaps a miracle she heard him.

    She did, and she shut the door behind her with a soft thud. Treading on the soft carpet over to his bed, Harry realized - for one of the first times - how beautiful she was.

    She sat down on the bed, with one of her legs pulled up under her, and the other hanging off the edge of the bed.

    “Can I look?”

    He paused, then nodded.

    She sat and leafed through the photo album while he watched her. He felt his face turning pink as he scrutinized her.

    She went to turn a page, and perhaps something in his mind (or heart) exploded. He reached forward, his hand resting on hers for a moment. And then he whispered-

    “Hermione.”

    Her hand went limp against his warm palm, and he slid the book from her grasp.

    They both tensed slightly.

    “I- I wanted to thank you for the cloak,” he said, though they both knew that that was not the true reason for his action.

    “Oh,” she said nervously, looking down a bit. “It was nothing.”

    “Nothing?” asked Harry in shock. “Nothing? Hermione…that was…that was the best birthday present I’ve received in a long, long time.” He sighed. “Maybe ever.”

    She looked up and smiled shyly. “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered. She leaned - or perhaps it was just Harry’s imagination - towards him.

    “I do,” said Harry gently. She giggled slightly, blushing rosily.

    “I’ve been planning this ever since…ever since you told me about your father…you know, leaving and all,” she said, looking down again.

    He smiled. “Always thinking,” he said. And perhaps in the back of his mind, he felt himself move forwards towards her.

    He could see her smiling even though she was looking down, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

    “I got Dumbledore to - to take the thread from you, you know,” she said, looking up again.

    Harry laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”

    “The amazing thing about it,” she said, “is that I made that whole cloak out of a single thread. It just kept stretching. It didn’t really want to end…so I just wove it all back through the cloak. It should hold.”

    “Always practical,” he said.

    She nodded slightly and smiled.

    But before he knew it, she was leaning farther in and preparing to kiss him. But he had only gasped once, and before he had a chance to exhale, her lips were on his.

    It was passionate, to say the least. Her lips were hot against his own, and seemed to convey desperation…longing. Hunger. Lust.

    Harry was not surprised in himself for kissing back. Not one little bit, actually. His hands were through her hair, on her cheeks, along the waistband of her skirt, on her chest.

    But then he started to remember, the memories echoing into the blank, hormonal chambers of his brain.

…we were just trying to give you two lovebirds some privacy…

    …lovebirds…lovebirds…some privacy…give you two lovebirds some privacy…

…we’re just friends…friends…just friends…we’re just friends...

…is that all you think I am…think I am…

    …just your book-worm-always-studying-ugly-little-friend…friend…little friend…

…I thought you wanted it this way…wanted it this way…

…or did you just not think at all…think at all…at all…

    His eyes snapped open and his hands fell from her warm breasts to his lap. Despite the heat, despite the intimacy, he pulled away.

    Her eyes, in turn, opened. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She scanned his face, but he was looking away, tears burning his eyes. She leapt off the bed, and in one swift motion was out the door.

    Harry buried his face in his hands.

    What have I done? he asked himself.

    He sobbed, ever so slightly, against his palms, the hot tears sliding cleanly off his slippery hands.

    Sadness, like a terrible disease eating at his mind, body, and very soul, swelled up inside him, until he could not take it anymore. Disbelief caged his heart, tightening the noose until his soul could not breathe.

    Misery. It echoed through the room and into the dark corners, shivering against his spine.

And in the back of his mind, where old, unwanted, thrown-away memories lived, he remembered.

    Sirius’ old room.

    His eyes, glistening against the last glow of the candle, flickered onto the bedside table. It had once belonged to Sirius, after all, and the chances of-

    “Aha,” he breathed, pulling a nearly full bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey from the bottom drawer.

    His fingers closed around the neck of the bottle. The label was slightly faded, but years inside the dark had prevented extreme color loss.

    He smiled. His fingers - clammy from crying - squeezed the cork out of the bottle, and slowly, as though the conscious side of his brain knew these actions were wrong, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank.

    The whiskey burned at his tongue, like Hermione’s own had, enveloping him in warmth. He sputtered on it, but something - perhaps an unknown desire to please his father and Sirius - kept his lips to the mouth of the bottle.

    Some minutes later, he drew the bottle away from his face, a drip of whiskey trembling on his upper lip before he licked it away.

    Nausea swathed him, but he raised the bottle again and murmured, “To Sirius,” into the darkness as the candle guttered out.

     He refused to tear the drink from his lips, but continued to gulp it until the last drop had vanished into nothing.

    His tongue spun - inebriated - at the lip of bottle for a moment, before the bottle slid from his loose grasp and smashed onto the floor.

    Sleep took him.

    Peace did not.

~

    Harry slept restlessly, tossing and turning, twisting the covers of his bed - Sirius’ old bed.

    First he saw Ron’s face - pale and panicky, but courageous and proud as well. Green light flashed across Ron’s face, and the scene changed…

    Lucius Malfoy staggered for a moment, illuminated by an eerie green glow. He fell.

    Harry watched, as an observer, as Malfoy toppled headfirst over a headstone. He was dead.

    Blue light flickered slightly across the sight, and for a moment, Harry thought the blue was all-consuming.

    Then, a figure, light and fair and cold came into view, until the blue light had all but disappeared.

    The figure was shivering with cold, Harry thought. The room it sat in was dark, and dank, and Harry wondered if the person was poor or hungry, or perhaps if he was starving, or sad, or orphaned.

    The figure grew larger as Harry’s dream-self approached him. And Harry realized - he was not shivering but crying, sobs racking his body… weeping into his hands, tears gliding down them and onto his scarred pallid wrists.

    Harry’s eyes narrowed as the boy looked up, tears still running rampant down his cheeks.

    “Malfoy,” Harry whispered, shocked.

    Draco’s shape dissolved into nothingness, and new forms took shape in Harry’s mind.

    Hermione breathed against him, her warmth spreading to him…

    She bowled him over in a hug, ended up on top of him. He liked it-

He gasped awake as someone shook him by the arms, his eyes opening slowly.

    A pounding headache consumed him, beating against his brain, driving all thought from his mind.

    “Harry?”

    His eyes flicked open again, and fell on Hermione, who was sitting next to him on his bed, her hand resting tenderly on his shoulder, her eyes full of concern.

    “Hermione…” he breathed, lightly grasping her lower arm.

    She jerked away, tears briefly filling her eyes. “No, Harry.”

    “What?…”

    She didn’t respond, but raised a moist cloth to his forehead, and held it there, under her hand.

    His eyes flickered shut for a moment. Then he said, so quietly that he was surprised she had heard, “How?…”

    She smiled gently. “I know what you did last night,” she said, her voice aching.

    He shivered underneath her touch, then said, “What?”

    “You got drunk,” she whispered.

    “Drunk?”

    “Silly, there’s no need to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw you.”

    “Oh…” he said, rather blankly. His headache subsided somewhat.

    “I - I just wanted to - to apologize,” she said.

    “You? Why?”

    “It was my fault,” she said softly. “I kissed you. And…I guess I should have known…” She gulped. “What I mean to say is, after what happened right before I was in the hospital…I should have known you didn’t want that.”

    “But I do - I did!” Harry exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “I - I -”

    A pain, sharp and hot and burning, coursed up his back, and he collapsed backwards onto his pillow.

    “Harry…” she said, patting his arm. “I understand. I accept that you don’t feel the same way about me. It’s okay.”

    “But-”

    “Listen to me. These feelings I have for you…they’ll never go away. I know that. But I’d rather spend my life knowing I’d missed out on your love, than force you to think you loved me back.”

    “But I do!”

    “No, Harry,” she whispered, a fat tear welling up in her eyes and starting a slow descent down her cheek. “You don’t.”

    The tear reached her chin, where it trembled for a moment.

    It dropped.

    Harry watched it fall in slow motion. Distantly, that single tear seemed to represent everything between him and Hermione.

    He had a sudden impulse to catch it in his hands, but something stopped him.

    The tear fell past the level of his hands.

    It shattered - smashed, broke, died, spattered - on his naked chest, bursting into a thousand miniscule pieces, like a broken figurine. Like shards of glass… Like a broken heart and lost love.

    “No,” he whispered desperately, his clammy fingers brushing against and grasping at Hermione’s hands.

    “I don’t want this,” Hermione said softly. “I don’t want you to be forced into something like this.”

    “But I want it!”

    She sighed, her sweet breath escaping her slowly. “Harry.”

    He smiled gently. “Hermione.”

    She was pink in the face, and said, “Whether by your wish or not…There is nothing now, that can change my mind.”

    He sighed, and relaxed away from her grip, until the only contact that remained was long forgotten - irrelevant, unimportant, trivial - and yet he felt that ten thousand pounds had just been heaved onto his shoulders.

    She slid her hand off of his shoulder, leaving him cold and straining under the weight that balanced on his head.

    “I’m sorry,” she said. She turned slightly, but Harry could see her eyes were full of tears.

    “So am I,” he said, desperately. “I need you, Hermione. Please…You have to understand.”

    “Do I?” she said, ever so doubtfully. “What is there to understand, Harry?”

    “This!” he said, as frantically as ever. He grabbed her face in both his hands and kissed her, just as passionately as their last kiss, tongues entwining, bodies hot, lips moving fast.

    He pulled tenderly away from her, searching her eyes for something that wasn’t there.

    She stared blankly at him for a long moment. Then, as she stood and left, she said, “No. It can’t happen.”

    Harry’s head fell forward until his chin was resting on his chest.

~

    Later that afternoon, when the shock of what Hermione had said had lessened somewhat, Harry reached into the box from Lupin and extracted the black diary.

    “Padfoot,” he whispered under his breath, reading the back cover.

    He opened it to pages of scrawled handwriting. The pages were slightly crinkled, as though Sirius had been the sort of person who went back and read his entries over and over again, and the print had faded slightly in odd patterns along the edges of the pages, as though Sirius had sat and rubbed his thumb against the paper.

    It started with a description of himself, and an explanation of who “Rem” was, seeing as how this “Rem” had given him the journal. Then he went on to describe Remus, which led to rather indecent information about them…

    Harry flipped a few pages forward, bored, and read…

    James suspects me and Remus. It’s not the first time he’s supposed we were gay, but this time he seems to sure. Sharp. He wants to read some of the notes me and Rem pass in class, but we can’t let him. If he knew what we do when we’re alone… He would never forgive us. Not because he’s like…homophobic, or anything, but because we didn’t tell him.

    So James hadn’t known…not until, perhaps, Lily had gotten pregnant. There would be no way of knowing unless he read further.

    His memory flicked back to last year, remembering a memory he had of the time Sirius and James made up in Seventh Year. James knew then, alright, because Sirius and Remus had started a snog session right in front of him.

    He sighed, his mind drifting back to Hermione for what felt like the thousandth time in two hours.

    Why couldn’t she understand? Why did she have to push him away, when they both wanted it? What was she afraid of?

    The book in his hand slid from his grasp, tumbling end-over-end to his feet, where it lay, face down and open on the floor.

    He touched his shoulder tenderly; the last contact they’d had. And somehow, despite the passion and lust of their kisses, that one shoulder, with her hand gone from it, meant something more to him. That simple touch, the way her thin fingers had caressed him, held more love than he thought possible.

    He stood, shaking with leftover drunkenness for a moment, and plodded out of the room.

    He reached Ron’s door and held a hand to it for a second, but then, as though in slow motion, his closed fist fell to the knob.

    He twisted it slowly, the brass cold under his freezing fingers, and opened it.

    Light slid into his line of vision, and he blinked.

    And then he let out a murmur of anguish, as worst nightmares, unrealized previously, grew before his eyes.

~

    Hermione and Ron looked up from their snogfest at the same time. Ron’s face fell when he saw Harry; he looked more tormented than Harry had seen in a long time. Hermione caressed Ron’s neck with a velvet-soft thumb, her eyes dismissive and relentless.

    Harry bit his lip as he gazed at his friends, arm and arm with each other, lips swollen, hair tussled, necks covered in red marks.

    He turned to leave the room, thin tears spreading down his cheeks, but in an instant Ron was at his side, gripping his arm.

    “Harry,” he said, sadness stinging at his voice.

    “What?” snapped Harry, the word a white hot knife in the dizzy atmosphere.

    Ron ran a hand up his friend’s arm.

    “Hermione…told me what - what happened between you two,” Ron said, his voice like lukewarm water that struggles to be warmer than it is cold.

    “Did she?” asked Harry, as the haze of shock lifted slowly from his mind.     Realization, sharp and penetrating, stabbed into him from every corner of his brain, piercing the membrane of devastation around him.

    “I’m sorry,” said Ron dismally. “I didn’t think - she was so upset…She said she needed comforting.”

    Ron grinned through his obvious gloom. “You know I’ve never been much for that. She just - came at me…” He sighed. “And I guess I didn’t know enough to pull away.”

    Harry turned slowly to face Ron, shiny stripes of wet marking his cheeks. “I know,” he said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

    “No bad feelings?” asked Ron hopefully.

    “No bad feeling,” said Harry, pain wrenching his heart as Hermione gazed blankly at him. “Hurt ones, yes, but no bad feelings.”

    “I’m sorry,” Ron said, her voice aching. “Truly I am.”

    “I know,” said Harry sympathetically. “I know.”

~

The December of Harry’s Seventh Year at Hogwarts…

    Harry Potter grabbed the magnificent cloak he had received for his birthday and threw it over himself, dredging up a shiny gold pin from his trunk that he pinned the cloak with.

    He straightened himself in front of his mirror, studying his reflection closely, something of a habit he had developed over the summer. The stunning colors of the cloak radiated around him, bouncing off the gleaming pin, tucked under his chin, that read, “Marauder”.

    He grinned despite himself and left the room, the finely woven cloak billowing gently behind him.

~

    Out in the castle, he wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, letting warmth envelope him. He ran a pair of pale fingers up the seamless cloth, letting the magical heat take hold of him.

    Footsteps.

    He concentrated with all his might on not being seen, and slowly - like a fading illusion - he disappeared behind the cloak.

    Mrs. Norris trod slowly past him on her hunt for students out of bed. She didn’t even sniff at his invisible image.

    He let thoughts of invisibility drift from his mind, and he flickered back into view.

    He walked quickly, thinking. Of Hermione. Of Ron. Of Sirius.

    That is, until he ran headlong into a particularly pale-skinned someone.

    “Malfoy!?”

    “Not so clever at night are you, Potter?” spat Malfoy coldly. The words sent chills up Harry’s spine.

    “I don’t see you watching where you’re going,” Harry said icily.

    Malfoy shoved Harry against the nearest wall; there was a slight scuffle followed by a rustling of cloth as Draco drew his wand.

    Harry fought slightly, but something calmed him. He didn’t move an inch.

    Malfoy took a half step back, his wand prodding the skin of Harry’s neck.

    “What do you want, Malfoy?” yelped Harry.

    “It was your fault,” Draco whispered, getting closer to Harry’s face. “You killed my father.” Harry could feel Malfoy’s breath on him, as cold as his words, stinging his face.

    “No - Malfoy - no, I didn’t! You have to believe me!” He managed to close his emotions back up just in time. Now his voice had a sub-zero tinge. “Don’t you read the papers?”

    “Yeah, right,” said Malfoy, his eyes narrowing, poking his wand deeper into Harry’s neck, until the green-eyed boy choked. His face was now dangerously close to Harry’s. “Prove it.”

    Harry had to fight for his composure - and his voice. “Read the Quibbler for a change, and maybe you’ll stay up to date on the Voldemort situation.”

    Draco shivered at the name, and the stabbing pain in Harry’s neck subsided a bit.

    “What’s the matter, scared of a name, Malfoy?” He pursed his lips before whispering, in his coldest voice, “Voldemort.”

    The blonde boy shuddered for a moment and then drove the wand deeper into Harry’s neck.

    “Do what you want, Malfoy,” snapped Harry, choking against the wooden stake. “You can’t change the past, and I don’t care.”

    Draco stared him down for a long moment, then, with a wicked grin, pulled the wand down and shoved it into his pocket.

    “Anything?”

    Harry nodded, a red mark growing on his skin. “You can’t play fate, Malfoy.”

    Malfoy nodded, and then - with a sharp intake of breath - kissed Harry. His lips seared Harry’s, his hands found their way down Harry’s pants. Their tongues entwined and their hearts beat together, but Harry couldn’t breathe through the passion and lust. A stubborn cold really didn’t help matters.

    Minutes later, Harry came to his senses and shoved Malfoy off. Harry’s eyebrows were raised in a confused way, as though he struggled to understand.

    Malfoy’s lips were swollen, his face flushed, his hair tussled. “You never guessed, Potter?”

    “What the Hell was that, Malfoy?”

    Malfoy was steps away before he answered. “You said anything,” he said with an evil smile.

    He turned and left, his black cloak billowing out behind him, a malevolent smirk in place on his face.

    Harry stared after him, horror-struck, panting, gasping for breath. Sweat-soaked and shivering, he reached to pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders, letting soothing warmth envelope him.

~

    He reached Gryffindor Tower mere minutes later, choking the password out to the Fat Lady and stumbling inside.

    Hermione caught him before he fell face forwards.

    He coughed, “Hermione?”

    She didn’t speak, but steered him gently to the couch by the dying fire and set him down.

    He sat in silence for a moment, until he had fully regained his breath and thought himself thoroughly calm again.

    “Thanks,” he said awkwardly. Some hurts, after all, run too deep to forgive, and things were still uncomfortable between the pair of them.

    “No problem,” she said, running a hand timidly up his arm. It felt distantly familiar to him, like a painting he had seen when he was small.

    “What happened, anyway?” she asked, her voice questioning and coy.

    He hung his head for a long moment, breathing steadily, before looking up.

    “Kiss me.”

    “What?”

    “Kiss me, Hermione. I need to know something.”

    She hesitated. “Well…but-”

    “Bloody Hell, Hermione! Just snog me. Please?”

    She studied his face for a slow minute, before sighing. “Well, alright. But you do know…it doesn’t mean anything…”

    He shrugged slightly, a funny pricking sensation affecting his eyes.

    They both leaned in uneasily, with embarrassment. There was a prolonged time when they both stared, unsure of what to do.

    Then Hermione seized his face in both her hands and kissed him fiercely. Her lips razed his, like they had all those months before, ardently allowing him entry to her mouth.

    And in the back of his mind, as their tongues twisted together passionately, he wondered if she meant it all. If maybe there was genuine love in her touch; authentic lust in her kiss; legitimate passion in her heart…

    He raised his hands and ran them through her hair, down her back, along her neck.

    And then it hit him, like a dagger to the chest. A memory, or a dream, or a wild thought:

    A short girl, with light, light skin and freckles across her nose was standing to her fullest height, which was still inches short of her mother’s. She had several short inches of cropped brilliant red hair framing her long, oval face. On closer examination there were hints of blonde in the red, though they were subtle and few and far between. She had roguish brows over normally huge stormy blue-grey eyes that were currently narrowed in anger.

    Harry’s vision changed to the teen’s mother, who had a gentle face and long tresses of russet hair and eyes like molten chocolate.

    Harry’s eyes narrowed. Hermione, he thought, in shock. Yes, she was slightly aged, and taller, and her hair was definitely less frizzy, but the nose and lips were there, below always keen eyes.

    The girl shouted something at her mother, eyes glinting anger. The mother yelled back, and the girl stormed off, red hair flying behind her.

    Harry jerked out of it as the last wisp of copper hair disappeared around a corner.

    “Harry?”

    He opened his eyes in astonishment, blinking.

    “Are you alright? What happened?”

    He shook his head for a moment, trying to clear his head of the girl. She had looked so familiar…

    “Thanks, Hermione. That helped…a lot.” He hoped she missed the slight sarcasm in his voice.

    “Anytime,” she said, her voice fading off in confusion.

    She stood uncertainly and walked a few steps towards the girls’ stair, as Harry did the same in the other direction.

    “Wait - Harry!”

    He stopped and turned slowly, eyes focusing on her.

    She stepped over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. A familiar burn took root in the pit of his stomach, like he always felt when anyone touched that shoulder - the last contact he and Hermione had had for a long time.

    “That felt real to me,” she said, her voice tremulous, begging for acceptance.

    He considered her face, biting at his lips nervously.

    “It felt real to me, too,” he whispered finally, a smile tugging at his lips.

    She smiled widely, coffee eyes brimming with happy tears, and hugged him.

    He wrapped his arms around her and spun her around in the air, until they both broke down in laughter, tears of ecstasy gleaming in their eyes…

    Io si non cheidere a per amore

    Pero piuttosto per accettabile

    Io vediamo fare voi tutto ogni cosa

        Io avere a offerta

    “You know,” said Harry after a minute, happiness rolling down his cheeks. “I sure am glad I’m not gay.”

~

    And that, much to Harry's delight, was the end of Draco, and the start of a new era with Hermione.

~

Four months later:

    “Somehow I never get tired of that,” laughed Harry, leaning back on the pillows of his bed, stretching his arms behind him.

    Laughter - smooth and musical - sounded in his ears and he raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who was laying on her side on his bed, head propped up by her hand.

    “Well, it’s true,” said Harry defensively. “I love kissing you.”

    She giggled girlishly, pink lips stretching into a wide grin.

    They sat for a time, gazing thoughtfully out of the windows, occasionally glancing at each other and laughing stupidly, like fools in love.

    And so they were.

    “Do you ever think about…taking things farther?” asked Hermione wistfully.

    Harry looked down at her quickly flushing face.

    “Occasionally…” he said softly, unsure of the right answer.

    “I do sometimes,” she admitted. “I can’t see loving someone as much as I do you, and not going the distance.”

    He shrugged. “I’ll wait as long as you want to, ‘Mione.”

    She smiled at his consideration. “Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in for a kiss, tugging playfully on his multi-colored cloak.

    The moment their lips met he felt it - a gust of magic smacking at his chest, hard.

    The red haired girl that he hadn’t seen in months appeared before him, hand-in-hand with a boy around her age, smiling and flirting. She laughed at a joke he told and didn’t deny him when he pushed her gently against the wall and kissed her.

    She jerked back uncertainly when his hands found the waistline of her jeans, peering over the boy’s shoulder.

    In the doorway to the room stood another girl, fair with short blonde hair. Her hazel eyes were wide in shock.

    “Wait - Katie!” called the redhead, as Katie turned and ran as fast as she could from the room.

    As the picture before him faded, Harry saw the red-haired one push the tall boy with light brown hair and glasses out of the way, and run after Katie…

    “Harry?”

    Harry’s eyes opened and fell on Hermione. She was staring at him in surprise, her hands resting on either of his shoulders.

    “Are you alright?”

    “Always,” he said tentatively, looking down.

    She pushed his chin up with a soft hand. “What happened?”

    He looked away again, his cheeks going pink.

    “Tell me,” she said, with a hint of force in his voice.

    He continued to flush, but gazed back up at her anyway. “I saw…something.”

    She raised an eyebrow.

    “A girl…She had red hair and grayish eyes…” He gulped, confused now that he put the story into words. “She was with a boy.”

    Hermione stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Have you seen this before, Harry?”

    He hesitated for a second, pursing his lips together until they had all but disappeared. “Maybe,” he replied imprecisely.

    She raised her eyebrow again and said, “Yes or no, Harry! Have you seen it before?”

    He stared at his hands for a while, before saying in an unsteady voice, “Yes, I have.”

    She stared at him, awaiting an answer.

    “Months ago…” His eyes wandered nervously. “When you kissed me for the first time, after all those weeks, and meant it. Do you remember?”

    Harry didn’t wait for her to answer, but kept plowing on. “I remember kissing you…and right when I was starting to wonder if maybe you meant it back, I…saw it.

    “There was a girl, about our age, with reddish hair and big eyes and freckles…She was arguing with her mother about something…She yelled at her mum…

    “I recognized her mum,” he said, hoping the details on the girl’s mother would be misconstrued by Hermione. “She had long, wavy brown hair and huge dark brown eyes.”

     He stared pointedly at Hermione for a while, wondering if the truth would hit her. Apparently she was still too shocked to realize anything at this point, however.

    “It was you,” Harry said, his cheeks reddening.

    Her eyes widened in shock. “M - me?”

    He nodded.

    “You saw me? And I had a daughter…” Her voice trailed off in mystification.

    They sat together for a long time, Harry tugging on his cloak anxiously.

    “Harry…what did you see this time?”

    He looked sideways at her, thoughtful. “She was at Hogwarts, I think. She was with a boy…” He gulped. “They started kissing, and then a blonde girl came in. She stared at them for a while…”

    “Why?”

    “I dunno,” Harry said truthfully. “I guess…maybe she liked the boy the redhead girl was snogging…”

    Hermione snorted at Harry’s thin presumption.

    “Her name was Katie…the blonde one. The redhead - your daughter - she pushed the boy out of the way, and ran after Katie…I dunno,” he finished weakly.

    Hermione giggled at him.

    “She seems to take after her mum, you know,” Harry said slyly. “What with kissing on guys that aren’t hers to snog, and all.”

    Hermione threw a pillow at him. “Not funny, Harry.” They broke down laughing until she recovered herself enough to place a finger over his lips. “Really, not funny.” There was a dangerous glint in her eye that told Harry to drop the subject.

    “Anyway,” she said, her eyes smiling, a wicked smile on her lips. “She must take after her dad some, too. Argumentative, and all.”

    He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “Moi?”

    “Yes, you! You are one of the most belligerent guys I know, Harry.”

    They laughed together for a long time, their giggles separated by kisses. Then Harry sat up again and said:

    “There’s one thing I still don’t get, though. I mean, I’m no geneticist, but I could tell she was your daughter. The nose…lips…that sort of thing.”

    Hermione raised a surprised eyebrow at him. “But?”

    “But…the hair. It was red. The blue eyes…Well…”

    Hermione’s giggled stopped abruptly. “You don’t think she was yours.” It was no question.

    Harry blushed uneasily, eyes darting.

    “Harry, how can you think that?!” asked Hermione indignantly. “Of course she was your daughter!” She sighed disappointedly at Harry. “I love you Harry. And…I know she was yours.”

    Harry smiled slightly, his despondency showing through the happiness like the sun struggling to pierce storm clouds.

    “Anyway, you don’t know for sure it’s true. It could have just been -” she said reasonably.

    “Ron has red hair and blue eyes,” he interrupted forlornly, remembering her kiss with Ron.    

    She glared fiercely at him. “Yes, he does, but that doesn’t mean anything! I love you, Harry, you, and I promise you now, I will not let her be anyone else’s!”

    He looked at her eyes, brimming over with hurt tears, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I know you love me; I love you too. But…I just can’t force myself to forget what I saw between you and Ron.”

    “Harry! I can’t prove it to you, but…I love you! Don’t you understand?”

    “I do, Herm, I really do. And I believe you that the girl was yours and mine. But you have to let me get over what I saw between you and Ron on my own, okay?”

    She nodded. “I love you, Harry,” she said softly, snuggling into his arms.

    “I love you too,” he whispered, smiling and hugging her.

~

Two weeks later.

    “Hermione, wake up!” Harry said, frantically shaking her while dressing. She yawned, stretching against the soft scarlet sheets of Harry’s bed.

    She looked around herself and gasped. “We - we didn’t - did we -”

    “No, no, of course not,” Harry said consolingly. “We kissed, you fell asleep, I put the covers on you…I slept on the floor.”

    “On the floor! Harry, you didn’t have to-”

    “I said we’d wait until you were ready, and that’s just what I plan to do,” he said, pulling a sweater on. “I don’t really want to risk temptation,” he added, buttoning his pants.

    He tossed her the skirt and blouse that she’d been wearing yesterday. “Harry, I can’t wear these - I wore them yesterday!”

    He rolled his eyes. “Sure you can. Dumbledore’s just sent me an owl - Hedwig nearly pecked me to death - Voldemort’s planning some attack on Hogwarts - looks to be a big one. Just him and eight or nine specially trained Death Eaters…Snape came stumbling into the school, half dead, about an hour ago. Says they’re preparing to Apparate outside of the school boundaries any minute. Dumbledore says he needs us - me, you, and Ron.”

    “God, why?” asked Hermione, shrugging into her blouse.

    “Prophecy,” he informed her.

    “Ah,” she said, remembering what he had told her at the end of their sixth year. “And why me and Ron, may I ask?”

    “Some power of three thing,” Harry said, grabbing his wand off the bedside table and shoving it into his pocket.

    He wrapped himself in the magical cloak from Hermione and pinned it under his chin. He thought of invisibility and vanished, cleanly into thin air.

    He phased back into view, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak from the bottom of his trunk. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Hermione. “For you and Ron.”

    “Eh?” came a voice from the bed to Harry’s right. “Me?”

    “Damn it,” swore Harry, ripping the covers off Ron.

    “Good God, why didn’t you tell me you slept naked?”

    “Sorry, man,” said Ron, covering himself and sitting up. “What’s going on?”

    “Get up, get up!” exclaimed Harry, shoving clothes in Ron’s direction. “I’ll explain on the way.”

    “Still dark…” said Ron sleepily, drifting off. Harry splashed him in the face with icy water from his wand.

    “Alright, alright!” cried Ron. “I’m getting up; this had better be good.”

~

    Ten minutes later they all staggered catastrophically into Dumbledore’s office, all clutching wands, magical cloaks of some kind, and sporting extremely rumpled hair.

    “All here, all informed?” Dumbledore asked, light eyes traveling over the Trio.

    “All accounted for,” Harry responded with an apprehensive grin.

    “Good, good,” said the headmaster, fishing in his robes for a small leather pouch that he extracted slowly.

    “What’s in there?” asked Ron curiously.

    “Power of Three amulets,” said Dumbledore, spilling the contents of the bag onto his desk - thee stones, all half red, half another color, dangling on necklaces. One was half green, one half blue, and one half yellow.

    “Eh?”

    “Listen,” said Dumbledore. “Each of these corresponds with the House that you’d have done well in, aside from Gryffindor.”

    Harry shivered, eyes falling nervously on the emerald stone.

    Dumbledore grabbed the Sorting Hat from the shelf behind him and shoved it on Ron’s head.

    Several seconds later, a surprised and rather disappointed Ron took the hat off and reached for the Hufflepuff (red and yellow) stone, and put it over his neck.

    Hermione took the hat from his hands and placed it over her own frizzy hair - moments later she grabbed the red and blue (Ravenclaw) stone, and put it around her neck as well.

    Harry gazed forlornly at the Slytherin stone and his face fell. “Do I even need to put the Hat on?” he asked gloomily, reaching for the stone.

    In answer, Dumbledore plopped the hat on his head…

Mr. Potter, I see. Not the first time I’ve spoken with you, is it now?

No, I don’t suppose it is…

I stick to what I’ve said, all these years, it said. Slytherin fits you perfectly.

No!

But yes. Think, Mr. Potter. You’re ambitious, clever, cunning when you need to be. You need to prove yourself, no?

But I-

You do, yes, you do. Don’t let this change your mind of good and evil, light and dark. Not everything to do with Slytherin is bad.

I’m not-

But there was no response from the Hat. He pulled it off of his head desolately and slowly took the green and red stone, draping it around his neck.

    All three stones glowed brightly, lifting up, the red halves all coming to a point between them.

    They stayed like that for a while before falling, hitting the three hard in chest.

    Dumbledore smiled. “Good. Now go out there!”

    He pushed them forwards, but they needed little force. Something about the spell had given them new heart, and as Ron and Hermione wrapped themselves in the Invisibility Cloak, Harry did so as well.

    They drew their wands and stepped out onto the dark grounds.

~

    There were whole armies there, in front of them, guarding Hogwarts. Small squares of witches and wizards that had come to fight, like militias of the 18th Century, were at the back; tens of them, all clad in worn robes. There was a clear walkway between the army formations, and Harry came into view just as Hermione and Ron pulled the cloak off of themselves. Heads turned as the Trio came up the walkway, whispers followed them…

    Farther up, there were huge blocks of trained Wizarding military. Harry had not even known that there was such a thing. They were clad in solid white robes; representing the Light.

    Beyond them was a wide formation of Hit Wizards, two deep, but nearly 50 abreast. And in front of them was a block of Aurors, dressed in purple robes; at least 30 of them.

    What Harry recognized about nearly every troop he passed were their weapons. All were armed with wands, and the leader of each block held a staff in addition, but many of the army had wooden crosses at their sides as well. Each and every one wore a silver cross on a silver chain around their neck, and distantly, though he knew the purpose of these trinkets, he forced himself to ignore it.

    At the very head of the troops was Dumbledore’s Army. They were all dressed in their school robes, all 26 of them. Harry stared at the few in the front. All of them had long since graduated (or dropped out), but had shown up anyway.

    He grinned. “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Fred from the front row.

    Harry nodded, a nervous smile growing on his lips.

    “Now what?” he wondered, turning to face all of the troops.

    Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped and turned.

    Dumbledore.

    “If I may answer that question for you,” he said. “I need all of the DA and you three to get at the back. You’re going to be fighting Voldemort only.”

    “There’s more - more than Voldemort and his little band?”

    “Oh yes,” said Dumbledore. “There’s more.”

    He turned slightly to look out to the distance, where green sparks were erupting. Thousands of them. “Now run along - barricade yourselves in the Entrance Hall. I’ll summon you when Voldemort shows.”

    Hermione and Ron nodded, beckoning toward the DA. Harry, however, protested. “I want to fight, I need to! I have to!”

    “Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Don’t do this. You are a wonderful Defense Against the Dark Arts student, but I can’t risk you dying before you have to fight Voldemort.”

    “But - you said - I can’t die by anyone’s hand but his.”

    “True, true. But if he fights you when he is well-rested and confident, and you are deathly wounded and exhausted, will you win?”

    Harry didn’t answer, but proceeded to sulk off to Ron and Hermione. All 29 teens took off running towards Hogwarts.

    Harry ushered the DA inside first, then Ron and Hermione, and finally himself. He stood at the door as Neville and Ginny shut it.

    As the last glimpses of the grounds disappeared to his eyes, he turned to face Ron and Hermione and the DA.

    “We’ve come to it at last,” he said quietly. “The doom of our time.”

~

    There were no sounds of battle, nothing, for there were elaborate Silencing Charms on every inch of the school at this point. Students of the DA lined the windows of the Entrance Hall, peering out at the ongoing fight. Flashes of soundless light exploded past the dark windows. Men and women alike screamed silent, tortured screams.

    Hours passed before Voldemort’s legions were wholly visible to Harry and the others.

    Vampires, pallid and pale, seething, clad in solid black, wiped out whole militias in minutes. The ones they didn’t kill ended up fighting with them; a multiplying deadly army.

    One man, with brown hair, that fought on the Light side, was bitten. Harry watched from afar as the vampire sank it’s teeth into his neck, drinking his blood.

    There was a long moment, while the man staggered, then fell, gushing blood.

    And then he sat back up again, standing uneasily, like a partially drunk man. He choked at the silver cross around his neck; violently, he ripped it off, his hand turning red against it. Tenderly - as much as a vampire can be, anyway - he placed the chain in his pocket, for some unknown purpose. When it was gone he no longer breathed.

    His face is so white, Harry thought. So white.

    The vampire’s eyes narrowed and fell on Harry, who was standing anxiously in the window.

    He leapt. The vampire who had spawned him grabbed at his robes, and Harry knew that the instructions from Voldemort had been to stay on the grounds only.

    The new vampire pulled out his fellow’s grip, lunging at the window to the Entrance Hall.

    Everyone at the window backed away as he plummeted through the window.

    He landed, face down and twisting on the ground. For a moment he was still, and then he rose to his feet and stared around.

    Harry gasped. The paper-white face of Amos Diggory glared at him. The man who had lost his son and now his soul leapt; he missed Harry, who moved aside just in time, and tumbled onto the floor. Apparently death took some breaking in.

    He struggled to his feet again and pounced at Harry again, who this time shoved his hand inside Diggory’s cloak and extracted the silver chain. He dangled it in front of his face, the light catching it, reflecting off Amos’ eyes.

    The vampire backed away in irritation, turning to his next victim. Just in time, Harry remembered what to do.

    “Seamus,” he yelled to his fellow Gryffindor Seventh Year, who was closest. “Give me your wand!”

    Finnigan handed it over slowly as Amos sauntered towards him. He jumped, his mouth open, exposing dripping pointed teeth, at Seamus.

    Harry crossed the wands and dove at Diggory just as he sunk his teeth into Finnigan’s neck.

    “Holy shit,” swore Harry, driving the wands into Diggory’s chest. The vampire disappeared, blowing away on the wind coming in from the window.

    “Hermione-” he said, gesturing at the window. But she had already read his mind - with a sweep of her wand the window was whole again; the breeze stopped.

    Harry grabbed the silver cross and held it in his fist; with his other he punched at every breathless inch of Seamus.

    Seamus fell. He landed on his back, struggling under Harry’s grip, as Harry pressed the tiny cross to his throat.

    He stopped moving, until all but his eyes were still. Members of the DA - nearly all of them, surrounded Harry and Seamus, holding the vampire down under almost 60 hands.

    Harry stared down at his once friend - the lily-white face of Seamus glared back at him, dark eyes releasing streams of blood-tinged tears.

    “So white,” said Harry softly, running a single finger down Finnigan’s icy cheek. “So light, yet so Dark.”

    “Please, Harry,” said Seamus, biting his lip, blood-rimmed eyes filming over. “Please…I - I’m sorry. Please…let me go!” The blood from his eyes and now lips looked strangely elegant, flowering magnificently against his papery skin.

    Harry sighed, looking around at the surrounding DA. Most looked solemn, though a few - including Neville - looked positively petrified. Lavender and Parvati were sobbing freely into each other’s shoulders. Dean Thomas was staring at his long-gone friend in confused sorrow, shiny stripes marking his cheeks despite his fervent blinking.

    “Hand me the wands,” Harry whispered to Hermione. She handed them to him, and he raised them in a cross over Seamus’ chest, so that his own pointed downward. There was a limit to how far he would go against evil, and impaling the Dead with their own wand was about it.

    “I’m sorry, Seamus” he said, tears stinging at his eyes, as he lowered the wands. “So sorry.” He drove his wand down into Seamus’ chest. For a moment blood seemed to pour from him, and then he disappeared.

    “So sorry,” he echoed again, throwing Seamus’ wand aside.

    “You did the right thing, Harry,” said a voice, slow and calming.

    Harry turned to see Dumbledore standing behind him, solemn as usual, though smiling encouragingly.

    “He’s here,” he said, patting Harry on the shoulder. “It’s just you and him and his men.” He sighed slightly. “Well, in a minute or so it will be.” He gazed thoughtfully out of the window.

    The sun rose, shining in to illuminate the DA, all pale and scared looking, Dumbledore, wise and sensible, and Seamus’ wand, which glowed ever so slightly in the dusty Hall, drawing light in. And Harry, light hitting the black of his hair, turning it golden in some angles, green eyes bright, wand drawn, multi-colored cloak billowing around him.

    “Ah, there we go,” said Dumbledore. “That should take care of the vampires.”

    And sure enough, peering through the window, Harry saw hundreds of pale, blood-thirsty demons vanish, leaving only a few surviving human fighters, which were quickly taken out by fighters for the Light.

    Voldemort followed in the wake of the light, flanked by eight Death Eaters. He entered the Hall.

    He smiled when he saw Dumbledore and the DA.

    “Albus, Albus,” he said, shaking his head. “You make this too easy for me. An old man, and a bunch of kids? You surely do not expect me to lose?”

    Dumbledore smiled. “You will not be fighting me, Tom, but yes, I do expect them to win.”

    Voldemort looked amusedly down at them.

    “You - you’re not fighting with us!?” exclaimed Harry, staring at the Headmaster.

    Dumbledore shook his head. “No - no, Harry. This is something you have to do alone.”

    “Alone!”

    “You know the Prophecy, Harry.”

    Harry nodded slowly. “I do.”

    “Good luck,” Dumbledore said.

    “I’m gonna need it,” replied Harry.

    Dumbledore grinned, before walking elegantly outside, to begin helping the wounded.

    “So,” said Voldemort, rubbing his spidery hands together. “Ready to start?”

    “When you are,” said Harry coldly. Voldemort laughed, a chilling, blood-curdling laugh that made many of the DA quake, and others shiver.

    “Well, I’m ready,” said Voldemort. “And I choose to start - Now!”

    He raised his wand and swept it down, screaming, “Crucio!”

    The spell hit Ron; he twitched and writhed on the ground, yelling in agony. Voldemort lifted the spell, and sniffed amusedly at Ron, who retched violently behind a conveniently placed potted plant.

    “Is that…the best you can offer…Voldemort?” he choked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

    Voldemort snickered as Ginny helped her brother to his feet. “My, my, my - you must be the little boy who killed my Lucius last summer.”

    Ron didn’t answer; he still looked woozy and was leaning heavily on Ginny.

    “Leave him alone!” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand.

    Voldemort ignored her. “Such power…” he drawled. “Murder at sixteen. Why, I’ve only know a few people with that much command for their magic…”

    “My godfather was no murderer!” shouted Harry, stepping towards Voldemort, wand outstretched.

    “Not your silly, dead, turncoat of a godfather, boy,” snapped Voldemort. “Me.”

    “You?”

    “Ah, yes, but we’re getting off track. Boys?” There was a loud coughing from one of the Death Eaters. “Ah, yes… Boys and girl?”

    The eight Death Eaters flanking Voldemort leapt forward at the DA. There were at least three members of the DA to every Death Eater, but the Light side was already losing spectacularly when Voldemort joined in.

    “Damn, damn, damn,” said Harry under his breath. He disappeared for a moment, accessing the battle, and fighting invisibly. Spells ricocheted in every direction like the Weasley fireworks; blossoming flashes on pink, red, purple, blue. The occasional green. As far as Harry could tell no one had died on either side.

    A hand tapped his shoulder and he turned to see Ron and Hermione pulling the cloak off. Sighing, Harry realized that to stay invisible for long, he’d need to concentrate harder on it.

    “Listen,” said Hermione, her face flushed with excitement, fear, and anticipation. “Now that Voldemort’s taking over, there’s no way we’ll ever get a chance to get rid of him unless we single him out. Us three on him.”

    “Yeah,” said Ron, who was by contrast paler than normal. “He’s creaming us.”

    Harry nodded. “Voldemort! Hey, Tom!”

    Voldemort turned, piercing red eyes sweeping the Hall, and smiled.

    “Ready to face off, once and for all?” asked Harry.

    “I thought you’d never ask,” snapped Voldemort, abandoning the heavy battle to join the Trio.

    Hermione, Harry, and Ron instantly surrounded him, like points of a triangle. Voldemort saw their plan and laughed, a laugh so cold and bone-chilling that it seemed to freeze the surrounding air.

    “Imperio!”

    Harry watched the bluish flash spin at Hermione and hit her in the chest. She staggered for a moment, then stopped. She turned slowly to face Harry, eyes blank and emotionless, face impassive.    

    “Hermione!” he cried, backing uncertainly against the wall. “Hermione - what’re you doing?”

    She was close now, so close that Harry could smell the electricity of the spell on her. He tried to back but found he had reached the wall. He held his hands out in front of him, shielding himself from her controlled self.

    She raised her hands between his own outstretched arms; they found his neck and took hold, gripping tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe. She squeezed against his choking.    

    Ron leapt on her, struggling to pull her off. When her grip loosened enough for Harry to speak, he did. “Hermione - you have to fight it! Listen to me - fight! Don’t let him control your mind!”

    There was a long moment, in which Harry shouted, Ron pulled on the back of her robes, and Hermione stood between them, eyes blank, grip loose.

    Then her arms fell, and she stumbled to her knees.

    “Forgive me?” she coughed, taking Harry’s hands.

    “Forgiven. But, please, in future, can you fight it before you start to suffocate me?”

    She laughed slightly and he helped her into a standing position. “Good girl. Now get ready. I don’t think he likes to be shown up.”

    They surrounded him again as he raised his wand. Distantly, Harry let his mind wander to the battle beside them; the yells and tormented screams, the way so many yells were cut short. The freezing laughter of the Death Eaters…

    Voldemort swept his wand down with a scream Harry did not hear.

    Red light flew at Harry. It hit him in the chest, where the Power of Three amulet was. It ricocheted in a circle of glowing red light.

    There were whimpers from both Ron and Hermione; Harry himself felt the power of the Cruciatus Curse driving into his skull. But something had changed. The curse felt thinner than usual; he was not to inclined to scream, and the burning pain was weaker.

    When it lifted, Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked up together, confused. Voldemort, apparently, was also baffled - he was staring between the three of them, perplexed.

    It was Hermione who realized what had happened. She didn’t say anything aloud, for fear of alerting Voldemort of the protection surrounding them. Instead she satisfied herself with gesturing madly at the stone around her neck.

    Ron nodded, a smile cracking his lips, as Harry winked at Hermione, telling her she could stop pointing at the red and blue amulet. She grinned sheepishly and pointed her wand at Voldemort.

    “Silly little girl,” said Voldemort, turning to face her. “You think you can kill me? No one can. I am invincible.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Look, Lord Voldemort,” she said, her eyes burning with anticipation. That was what Harry loved about Hermione. She was always ready for a challenge… “It’s that ‘special time of month’ right now, and I sure as Hell don’t feel like putting up with you.”

    Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his head, Harry’s eyes widened, and Hermione glared at Voldemort. For a moment, Voldemort seemed taken aback; he was speechless, at least. Then he turned around, his wand extended. “Imperio!”

    The corkscrew of light hit Harry this time before ricocheting past Ron and Hermione…

    Commit suicide…

    That’s alright, Harry thought back.

    Yeah, he heard Ron say. Pretty moronic, actually.

    All it takes is one spell, said Voldemort. Just think…justice, comfort, freedom from this prophecy that binds us…

    You know, Hermione’s voice said in his mind. I don’t think I shall…

    The spell broke then, and the triangle of blue connecting the Trio faded.

    “Avada Kedavra!” yelled Voldemort, at the same moment Harry shouted the same.

    The two bolts of green met in the middle, sparking. And Harry remembered, from years past, the effect this sort of thing tended to have.

    He jerked his wand up and the already-forming connection broke.

    Harry pointed his wand at Seamus’ and cried, “Accio Wand!”

    The wand on the ground twitched for a second before shooting into his hand. He grinned.

    He stuffed own wand into his back pocket before remembering Moody’s lecture on wand safety. He put it into his cloak pocket.

    He whirled Seamus’ somewhat shorter wand around, bringing it sweeping down. Voldemort, at the same time, screeched the Killing Curse again, just as Harry did the same.

    Harry was blinded by the emerald light. Vaguely, before falling, he saw the light curse from Voldemort’s wand branch around, to touch all three of them.