Harry Potter and the Secret of Gairech

24. The Confrontation

The hall was exactly like the hall in his dream - black and vast, with a high ceiling hidden somewhere above in the darkness, supported by four pillars. It was so cold that Harry's breath froze in front of him. He saw that he was standing in a large circle marked out on the black floor. The blood-red line gave off a dull glow.

When Harry looked up to the far end of the room he saw a black chair where Voldemort was seated like an uncrowned king on his throne - his bony fingers grasping the armrests, his red eyes glowering in the darkness.

"So you're here," Voldemort rasped.

"But not because you want me to be," Harry said, unwilling to answer. He glanced surreptitiously around the hall. It was empty. There was no one. No one but the two of them.

"Where are your Death Eaters?"

Voldemort pressed his pale, thin finger tips together. "They're occupied with the Dementors," he said slowly and with evident enjoyment.

Harry clenched his fists. A provocation. A trap.

"Dementors that will soon be driven back to Ginnungagap," he said as calmly as he could.

"Are you so sure about that?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Who will drive them there when I'm finished with you? When the last thorn in my side has been removed, the last stone cleared from my path back to power? Dumbledore is dead. Do you think that you, a mere child, will survive when a wise and powerful wizard has already been defeated?"

"I have to..." came a whispered voice in Harry's mind, but he remained silent.

"Do you really imagine that you are Gryffindor's heir?" Voldemort mocked.

Harry frowned. "I don't imagine anything," he answered. "I only know what I'm not."

"Well, well..." Voldemort rose and walked slowly towards him. "And what would that be?"

Harry stared at him. He was not afraid, not any more. He spoke calmly and his voice was perfectly steady. "I'm not like you," he said firmly.

"Quite right." Voldemort smiled coldly. He stood still for a moment. "And that's why I'm going to kill you. - Incendio!"

The circle in which Harry stood began to glow, and before he could jump out of it, high flames shot up from the floor. Voldemort gave a chilling laugh. "Or did you really think you stood a chance against the greatest wizard of all times?"

Harry pressed his cloak over his nose and mouth to smother his coughing. The fire was so high that he could no longer see Voldemort, but he could hear him all the more clearly.

"And yes, boy, now there's no more Dumbledore to step in and save you! Pergite!"

The flames started to spread. Harry stared at the wall of fire approaching him. The first flames were licking his feet, darting towards his robes. Harry swallowed down his rising panic. He wasn't going to stand here and burn. Grimly he took a step backwards, and ducked...

I'm not going to make this easy for him.

Voldemort staggered back as a great black shadow broke out of the deadly circle of flames and darted towards him. With a cry of rage the Dark Lord dodged out of the way, trying to aim his wand directly at the creature's head, but the horse was too fast. Voldemort's curses spent themselves against the high walls and the cold stone floor, leaving ugly marks. The horse darted sideways and reared up, and again Voldemort had to duck to avoid its flailing hooves. With a shriek of fury he raised his wand as the horse jumped, and the next second Harry hit the floor hard, having reverted to his human form. He was grasping Voldemort's wand in his right hand.

The Dark Lord clenched his fists. "Do you really think that a wizard such as I would be dependent on a little piece of wood, Potter?" he hissed furiously. "Do you really think I don't know other ways to kill you?"

Harry looked back at him defiantly, raised both hands and broke the wand in half. Voldemort gave a howl of rage. The next moment he had disappeared. Harry stared at the empty space in front of him. He spun around, searching every corner of the room, but there was no one there.

"Looking for me, Potter...?"

The quiet, spine-chilling voice seemed to echo from every wall. Harry could feel his heart pounding.

"Creato Armatus!" he shouted and grabbed the hilt of the sword as it appeared in front of him. He stood breathlessly, prepared for anything but uncertain of what would follow.

"Nothing can kill me," came the hissing voice again. "No weapon is stronger than my power, Potter. I can't die. I never died." The hissing grew louder and angrier. "And I never will!"

Harry looked around in panic. Where was he? In which dark corner was he hiding, waiting to attack him when he turned his back? He was around here somewhere, that vile deceitful snake, waiting for the chance to strike...

Snake!

Harry spun around again, searching the dimly-lit floor with his eyes. He could feel every nerve strained almost to breaking point.

"Come out," he growled. He looked at the pillars and the old chair in the shadows. Somewhere... in some dark corner... He raised his voice in the empty hall and shouted in Parseltongue: "Come out you cowardly snake!"

He was answered by an evil hiss, and a pair of red eyes lit up in the darkness.

"Are you calling me a coward?" hissed the snake, and the smooth, dark green body glided out of the shadows towards him.

Harry forced himself to stay where he was, even though something inside him was shouting that he should run away as far as his legs would carry him. "Oh yes," he said slowly, still speaking Parseltongue.

"Use his own weapons against him. He wanted to provoke you, so you'd become careless, too angry to concentrate. Don't let him get a foothold. Find his weakness - you know that he has one. Draw it out of him. Let him rage..."

Harry's face twisted in a grimace of contempt. "You are a coward, Tom. You don't dare face up to me. What kind of wizard cowers on the ground and crawls along on his belly?"

Harry knew that these contemptuous insults would provoke Voldemort. Besides, he hated it when people called him by his real name, as if that robbed him of his dignity. In some respects the Dark Lord was very predictable...

The snake shot towards him with its fangs bared, and Harry gripped the sword tighter. Then Voldemort rose up from the coiling body in front of him.

"I... don't...cower... before anyone, Potter!" he thundered in fury, and the air in front of him glowed poisonous green. He jerked his arm and drew a massive broadsword from thin air, twice as big and powerful as Gryffindor's sword. Voldemort's eyes gleamed with scorn and he charged at him with the gigantic weapon. Harry could do nothing but dodge out of the way. He stared in horror at the massive blade that Voldemort was swinging towards him, and raised his own sword. It was almost knocked out of his hands as the two weapons cracked together with a shower of sparks. It seemed as if his luck had run out.

The dream. Himself, on the floor. Voldemort's sword swinging down towards him, killing him...

Voldemort laughed softly. "You always were a stupid, overconfident little brat," he hissed as he struck the sword from Harry's hand. "Courage always goes hand in hand with a gross overestimation of one's own abilities. And that's a fatal mistake for anyone."

He stared down contemptuously at Harry, who was now standing unarmed before him. "Courage is for naïve and stupid people. Haven't you realised that yet? Ah, I forgot... you're too brave." And his shriek of laughter shot through Harry's body like ice, as if it were freezing him from the inside. He stared at the sword as it was raised for the final blow, and knew that it would strike him down... but he wasn't ready to die. Not here. Not now. He didn't want to be murdered like his parents in this vile way, by this human monster whose dismal life knew only one pleasure: his own destruction.

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword!" Voldemort mocked. Harry felt an indescribable heat building up inside him, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. A heat that flowed through his veins and pricked his skin like an invisible fire. He felt a strange pressure on his fist that had been clutching Gryffindor's sword, and he stared into the glaring white light between his fingers. As if in a trance, without knowing what he was doing, he raised his hand at the same time as Voldemort raised his sword, and when the Dark Lord swung the sword downwards, he unclenched his fist. The light streamed from between his fingers and somehow Harry knew that it was coming from within himself. He felt that he was a part of that ghostly fog that spread quickly upwards and took form. In the white light he saw an agile body with long, shaggy hair flowing over its shoulders. Its mouth, filled with sharp teeth, opened in a roar and powerful paws lashed at Voldemort's face. He had turned pale, and was staring in amazement at the ghostly figure rising up in front of him, which Harry seemed to control through the rays of light leaving his hand, as a puppeteer holds a puppet. Only the front half of the lion had risen from his palm, and it glowed like a Patronus. Its gigantic paws swung at Voldemort's face, and he cried out in pain, yet Harry couldn't see any resulting scratch on his skin. Spellbound he stared at the Dark Lord, who twisted out of the creature's reach, dropping his sword, which fell to the floor with a deafening crash. Again the powerful paws cut through the air and again Voldemort screamed although Harry could see no wound.

Harry's expression became grim as he realised what was happening. The creature was nothing more than a spirit, and no spirit could injure a flesh and blood person with its hands or claws. It wasn't tearing apart Voldemort's body, but rather the soul inhabiting it. And as he listened to Voldemort's scream of agony, other words echoed in his ear, at a great distance - words he had heard just one year ago, in another place, far away from here...

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore? Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom. Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit."

"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!"

"You are quite wrong. Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness..."

Voldemort's weakness... Harry flexed the fingers of his right hand, and felt the quick agility with which the lion obeyed, as it buried its paws in the Dark Lord's face, making him sink to the ground with a muffled gasp. And Harry felt as if it wasn't this spirit that was tearing apart Voldemort's black soul, but rather himself.

"Now you know..." he whispered, and slowly closed his fist, making the spirit vanish with one last loud roar. When he opened his hand again it looked completely normal. His skin had stopped glowing and the strange heat in his body had disappeared. He bent down and picked up Godric Gryffindor's sword. "Now you know," he repeated softly and raised the weapon. Voldemort was lying on the ground, his whole body trembling as if he had been seized by a violent fit. But his eyes were still glowing red with hatred as he stared up at Harry. "Damn you, you miserable wretch," he rasped. "Avada..."

Harry didn't know if Voldemort was able to perform this curse without his wand. But he didn't want to find out. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and thrust in the sword.

Voldemort's words became a gurgle and died away.

With a soft hiss the flames rose from the floor and carried away the walls and ceiling like a heap of dead leaves blown away by the wind. The higher they rose, the smaller and the more indistinct they became, until nothing remained but dying sparks which drifted softly away. An illusion, nothing more, like one of Voldemort's last evil visions that was fading away with his dying soul into the night.

The Dark Lord's Gairech had never really existed in this tumbledown farmhouse. The only thing left was the collapsed ceiling in the shabby hut where Harry stood.

It was over. It was done, and it was over.

And now, only now, could Harry feel the weakness rising up in his body, which had started to protest against the colossal effort he had made. He felt as if his legs would no longer carry him. Exhausted, he shut his eyes and leant against the rotting wall, groping around for something to hold onto, breathing heavily.

Voices, a distant shout. Someone threw themselves against the door of the hut, which burst from its hinges.

"Harry?"

Steps on the damp wooden floor. A murmured "Lumos!" and light filled the room.

Harry blinked, turned his head and saw Pithormin Sesachar, who was running towards him, hastily flinging aside an old table that stood in his way. He crouched down next to the boy. "Harry, are you okay? Are you injured?"

He looked concerned, and slowly Harry shook his head. "I think I'm okay..."

Snape had stopped by the corpse in the middle of the room. He stared down for a moment at the dark-cloaked figure then grasped the sword that was still sticking out of Voldemort's chest. He placed his foot on the body and pulled the sword out.

Harry shut his eyes. He felt sick. Pithormin grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He stood leaning against the wall. And once again he was seized by a sense of unreality.

Lord Voldemort was dead.

He had beaten him. He had killed him.

Snape grabbed his shoulders firmly as he was about to doze off. "Let's get him out of here," he muttered.

***

Dawn was already breaking when they reached Hogwarts, and a light drizzle fell from the grey sky.

As they climbed the steps towards the castle, the doors swung open. Hagrid stood staring at them in amazement, but before he could move an inch, McGonagall pushed her way past him.

"Where have you been?" She asked, and her voice was trembling with worry and anger. "First Mr. Longbottom wakes me to tell me that Mr. Potter has disappeared, and then I find out that two teachers have gone missing too! How could you leave in the middle of the night without saying a word...?"

She stopped and looked at Harry, who was still leaning against Sesachar, his eyes fixed wearily on the ground. He looked exhausted. There were still faint burn marks on his face and the red coat he was wearing was blackened and singed. The fabric was torn in places and stained with blood.

"Good heavens, Potter... Hagrid, fetch Madam Pomfrey. At once!"

But the half-giant stepped past her. "I'll take him to her myself," he murmured, stooping to pick up Harry. But Harry shook his head.

"It's all right, Hagrid... I can walk by myself."

"But the blood..."

Harry climbed the last few steps. "It's not mine..."

Pithormin followed Harry past McGonagall, who was frowning in bewilderment. "Whose blood is it then?"

Snape's face was a mask as he pulled back the cloak from his arm to reveal an ugly open wound where the Dark Mark had once been. It looked as if it had been burnt out of his skin, and at the sight McGonagall took a step back.

"By Merlin..." she whispered and looked back at Harry who was making his way towards the hospital wing with Sesachar. "Potter..."

"Later," Snape interrupted her, walking into the Entrance Hall. "There's no hurry any more."

***

Harry looked morosely at the bed Madam Pomfrey had indicated to him. He watched as she tended Snape's arm. Pithormin had already been examined and had stepped outside to talk to McGonagall, who seemed beside herself at being kept out of the infirmary.

Snape didn't flinch as Madam Pomfrey pressed a towel soaked with some unidentifiable liquid against his wound. Harry watched him intently, but the professor avoided his gaze.

Behind the door they suddenly heard McGonagall's voice. She had obviously returned and sent away a few students who had woken up and were wandering around on the first floor. Breakfast was still two hours away.

Minerva walked into the room, hastily shutting the door behind her. In the corridor, pyjama-clad figures were trying to peep through into the infirmary.

"Professor?" Harry said. "Are Hermione and Ron awake?"

McGonagall grimaced. "Yes, Mr. Potter, they are," she answered reluctantly.

"Please let them in," Harry begged.

Madam Pomfrey huffed in disapproval. "Certainly not. You need rest, Mr. Potter..."

"Please," Harry repeated. "Just for a little while."

McGonagall sighed resignedly, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley?"

There was the sound of hasty footsteps. Then Hermione's wild mane of hair appeared in the doorway. Ron followed her into the room.

"Harry!" Hermione shot past the shushing Madam Pomfrey. She looked as if she hadn't slept a wink, and he could see the worry etched on her face although her eyes were shining with happiness and relief. She flung herself into Harry's arms. "How could you go without telling us first?"

He hugged her tightly and felt glad that he hadn't told anyone. His friends' evident concern and fear would have driven him crazy.

"Mr. Potter needs to rest!" Madam Pomfrey scolded. "You've seen him, so now you can go. He needs some sleep!"

"But..." Ron protested.

Harry smiled at him. "I'm okay... I'm fine. Really. You don't need to worry about me."

"I doubt that Madam Pomfrey will be able to keep him in this bed for long," Snape sneered, rubbing his bandaged arm. "You can talk to him later. Mr. Weasley, you should use the time to finish your homework."

Ron blushed and stammered "Yes... of course, Professor."

Snape stood up and nodded towards the door. Hermione reluctantly let go of Harry and followed Ron and the Professor out of the room.

Madam Pomfrey muttered her approval and gathered together her bottles of potions and powders.

Professor McGonagall sat down on the chair next to Harry's bed.

"If the last six years with you have taught me anything, Potter, it's the unavoidable fact that you can't ever stick to the rules."

Harry looked put out. "Fine. Which one did I break this time?"

"I'm not talking about school rules," McGonagall sighed. "It's a matter of common sense. How could you leave the castle to look for Voldemort, completely unprepared?"

"Does it matter?" Harry protested. "He's dead."

Minerva leant forward sternly. "Things could have turned out very differently!"

Harry held her gaze. "Don't you see, Professor?" he said quietly. "I couldn't have chosen a better time. Plans, waiting, saying goodbye to everyone... all their little speeches of encouragement - I would have gone crazy."

McGonagall was silent for a moment. Then she pulled a letter from her cloak and gave it to Harry. "Albus gave me this, last year. He told me to give you this letter if he couldn't be beside you till the end."

Harry looked at the letter and at Professor Dumbledore's curved handwriting on the envelope. He broke the seal and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Slowly he opened it.

Harry,

If you are reading this letter, I won't be beside you to give you this one last message.

During your time at Hogwarts I've kept many things from you, as I was afraid that too much information could become a burden too heavy for you to carry. This was a mistake which I will never be able to rectify.

I doubted you too often, only to have you prove to me again and again how foolish this was. I hope you can forgive me.

There is one last thing that I would like to say to you. Something I should have told you years ago. You will find it in my private quarters on the sixth floor - the last room at the end of the corridor. It's easy to find. The password is 'gorse bush'.

There's someone there whom you would definitely like to speak to...

Albus Dumbledore

25. The Legacy

It was the room next to the mirror that Harry, Hermione and Ron had passed through last Halloween. It really wasn't difficult to find. Harry murmured the password and the door opened invitingly.

He walked in and looked around. Like Dumbledore's office, this room was chock-full of every kind of object: chests, shelves full of books and astronomical instruments. Even the big four-poster bed had long, lilac curtains covered with tiny silver stars.

"Can I help you, young man?"

Harry looked around in surprise and his eye fell on the painting hanging above the chest next to the bed. It looked very old. Paint was peeling from the frame and there was a blotchy tear across the top of the canvass. The portrait showed a man with dark, amused eyes. He had a beard and reddish brown hair flecked with grey. He was leaning with one hand on the frame, looking at Harry with his head on one side.

"Er, yes..." Harry was still looking around the room. "Professor Dumbledore told me there was someone here..."

"There is someone here." The man in the portrait leant so heavily against the edge of the picture that the frame slipped. "Oh no. Not again." He stumbled slightly and looked morosely down at his hands. "It's annoying to be standing up the whole time. Why couldn't they have painted me sitting down? Would you mind...?"

Harry leant over the chest and straightened the frame. The man looked pleased. "Ah yes, thanks very much. That's much better." He straightened the red cloak over his robes. Underneath them Harry saw a scabbard, and a wand attached to his loose belt.

"So Dumbledore sent me to see you?" Harry looked at the picture. It was the only portrait in the room.

The man squatted down and folded his arms across the bottom frame of the picture. Harry watched him. "Who are you?"

"Call me Ric if you like. I've got used to that name in the last few decades. It was one of Thaddaius Rowery's better ideas. He used to be a headmaster here too... and he was the last person to give me a new frame. If you ask me it's about time I got a new one. I saw a beautiful brass frame in the stairwell. Must be a new model. Really stylish." Ric sighed longingly.

Harry had pulled up a chair. He looked thoughtfully at the painting. "Why did Professor Dumbledore send me to you? He wrote that I'd certainly want to speak to you..."

"He wrote?" Ric looked up. His look of longing had been replaced by genuine horror. "He wrote that to you?"

Harry nodded and Ric looked down with a sigh. "So he's dead... And I'd hoped he'd just gone away somewhere without telling me."

"How do you know that?"

"He wrote that letter here in this room," the portrait answered. "We talked about you... and if everything had gone as planned Albus would have brought you here himself..." Ric looked at him. "But at least you survived, Harry. And that means Voldemort's dead... He is, isn't he?"

"Yes," Harry answered, confused.

Ric grinned broadly. "I knew you could do it. Albus spent so many sleepless nights worrying about your safety. But I never doubted in you for a second. I always knew it would end this way... how could it not?"

Harry stared at the painting while he tried to collect his jumbled thoughts. So Dumbledore had often talked to this painting about him. And they'd probably talked about the prophesy and Voldemort, since Ric seemed to have a clear idea of what was going on. Harry squinted at the picture and noticed some details he had missed before. The golden broach with the engraved lion's head which held together the red cloak. The red rubies on the scabbard that swung into sight every time Ric stood with his hands on his hips. The tower of a gigantic castle painted behind him that Harry had seen when Ric bent down over the bottom of the picture frame, which seemed somehow familiar...

"You're Godric Gryffindor," he murmured, hardly able to believe it.

The man in the portrait smiled at him. "Yes. But like I said, you can call me Ric."

"So it was you... yesterday night... the spirit of the lion." Harry shook his head. "The Patronus... I mean, it looked like a Patronus..."

Godric shook his head. "No, no... you can only summon a Patronus with an incantation, and it only serves to protect you. It doesn't grow inside you. Didn't you feel it? You know who you are, Harry. So you know, better than anyone, about the spirit that fought on your side last night using your powers and your strength."

There was silence for a moment before Harry spoke. "It was just there... all of a sudden. I didn't ask... I didn't think..."

"You didn't have to." Godric crouched down again. "At moments of greatest peril you shouldn't think - you have to act. Use everything you can to defend yourself, no matter where it comes from. You can always think about it afterwards, when the danger's passed, and work out how you managed to get out of the situation alive."

Harry looked at him with a weak smile. "Well... how did I manage it?"

"In your first year at Hogwarts, how did you manage to see the Philosopher's Stone in the Mirror of Erised?"

"I wanted to find it," Harry murmured.

"Find it, yes, but not use it. You weren't after the power." Godric leant back. "And what about the basilisk?"

Harry sighed, not sure where all this was heading. "I was lucky. It could just as easily have killed me, even though I had your sword and Fawkes."

"But it didn't kill you. Why?"

"I wanted to save Ginny," Harry murmured. "And I didn't want to die..."

Godric nodded. "That's right. You killed in self defence, not in hatred. And you didn't die because you had a true heart. Albus' phoenix would never have come to you otherwise."

"Without him I would definitely have died," Harry said.

"No." Godric Gryffindor pointed to him. "Without your courage and loyalty you would have died. Because it was these qualities that brought my sword and Fawkes to you. And since then, both have become a part of you. Fawkes is as devoted and loyal to you as he was to Albus. And my sword selected you to carry it. Summon it."

Harry stared at him, confused. "What?"

"The sword. Summon it."

"But Professor Sesachar has forbidden us to use the spell when we're not in danger."

Gryffindor smiled. "This room is one of the securest in the castle. No one will see. So please - I want to see that sword in your hands. Just once."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and stood up from his chair, drawing his wand. "Creato Armatus!" he exclaimed and watched the sword materialise in front of him. He grasped the hilt and turned the beautifully fashioned weapon over in his hands.

Godric watched him, smiling. "Yes, it suits you. How could it not? Did you know that it was forged by Siloel the Radiant? She was one of the most powerful witches of ancient times and the first great priestess of Stonehenge. Oh well, for you that's just boring history..." He smiled.

Harry lowered the sword and it vanished. "But you still haven't answered my question, sir...um...Ric."

"Who were the wizards Lord Voldemort most feared?" Gryffindor asked.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry answered. He was growing impatient. Getting straight answers from Ric was no easy matter, even when you'd answered half a dozen of the questions he asked in return.

The portrait nodded. "Correct. And?"

"And what?" Harry sat down again.

"And you." Gryffindor sighed. "Stop trying to kid yourself. You've dealt with so much at such a young age - heavy burdens on your mind and soul... but you can't stand a single word of praise?" He leant forward, looking as if he would like nothing better than to jump out of his frame. "Powerful as Albus was, he couldn't defeat Voldemort. Only you could do that. Albus knew that, and Voldemort knew it. Besides all your other remarkable abilities, you have one great strength. A strength that Voldemort never knew, because his mind was too weak to grasp it."

"What strength?" Harry asked. "Tell me!"

"The strength not to abuse your power," Gryffindor said calmly. That's the greatest strength there is, and only very few people possess it. Power, Harry, shows you what a person is truly like. It's not a wonderful gift, unless you use it to protect innocent people from the wickedness of others. Voldemort used it to oppress, to command and to kill. But you've never used your power to such evil ends - you've only used it when there was no alternative. The kind of power you have doesn't need to assert itself all the time. It only shows when you really need it - when you're fighting for your life, or the lives of those you love. Do you see now, Harry? You never wasted a thought on the possibilities that the Philosopher's Stone could offer you if you used it. You never killed or tortured for pleasure or, still worse, cold-bloodedly. You never forced your will on anyone. Even though you could have used your magical powers to do just that. But your soul is strong and steadfast - you are above such proofs of weakness. And that's why it was you who defeated Voldemort. Your powers were greater than his, and all his hatred couldn't ensure his victory. You're my heir, Harry... I'm sorry for everything you been through. Voldemort never knew what suffering was, since he always passed it on to others. You've been through it, and you've grown through it. One of the first wizards who taught at Hogwarts always used to say that a true hero was plagued with trouble and suffering from the first moment of his life..."

Harry was listening in silence. He didn't look too happy. "You know what?" he murmured. "Sometimes I'd love to be just... normal."

"Don't you want to be a wizard?" Gryffindor grinned. "Can you see yourself trapped in the dull and narrow-minded Muggle world?"

"No. I mean... Yes... I do want to be a wizard." Harry sighed. "But... a normal one."

But Ric was still smiling. "Sorry to have to tell you, my friend, but you could never be completely normal." He laughed softly. "And I know we can still expect great things of you."

Now Harry jumped up. "Expect great things of me? What things? I've killed Voldemort. That was the deal, right? Just that. I'm done here. That's it. Now I get a bit of peace! What else do you want from me? How can you..."

"Calm down, my boy." Gryffindor raised his hands appeasingly. "Voldemort was a great evil, but not the only one."

Harry clenched his fists. "Great. Fine. Wonderful. But the rest of it is none of my business!" He felt a bit stupid, shouting at a picture which didn't even seem bothered by his anger.

"Albus told me about your career plans," Gryffindor said lightly, inspecting his fingernails. "You want to be an Auror..."

Harry sat in obstinate silence.

"An Auror... You know what that job entails, don't you? The dirt. The lowest of the low. Crime. Injustice. Baseness. Strange that you should choose a job like that when you want nothing to do with the "rest of it", as you put it... Do you think that Voldemort's Death Eaters will repent and crawl whimpering back into the woodwork? You've won a great battle, Harry. But the war's not over... Although you could always bribe Professor Snape to give you good Potions grades and try your hand as a Healer. I bet working in a hospital would drive you crazy within a month. That's not for you... Nor is office work... Requires a great deal of patience. No... oh no. That's not right for someone like you. Or have I misjudged you?"

Harry was furious, but Gryffindor didn't seem to notice.

"Let's see, what else is there? A Seer? No, you can't tell a crystal ball from... er, a flobberworm. Too down-to-earth. Much too down-to-earth. That's no good at all. Some kind of research? Much too complicated. Too much to learn, too many books, too much written work. That's no good either... What about teaching?"

"Yes, or better still headmaster, so I could have your portrait banished to the dungeons," Harry growled.

Gryffindor laid his finger on his lips. "Well in that case it wouldn't be such a good idea... So you'll just have to be an Auror then, won't you?"

Harry wondered if he could hang a curtain in front of the portrait and close it whenever he had had enough of its occupant and said occupant's cheeky grin.

"Okay, that's enough," he muttered. "I think it's time for supper."

Gryffindor smiled. "Had enough of me, have you? Well then, off you go. But come and visit me again. It'll be very, very dreary around here without Albus."

"I don't think the room will be empty for long," Harry answered. "As soon as Hogwarts has another headmaster..."

"That will be after the summer holidays," Gryffindor interrupted. "And it's a long, lonely time until then. We portraits are in need of amusement too, you know. We're only human."

Finally, Harry gave a half smile. "Should I bring a ball and a few tasty titbits?"

"Now don't be cheeky, young man!" Ric threatened him half-heartedly. "I can't eat. There are so many disadvantages to being a picture. You never get old, you never have to worry about wrinkles or a bald head - as long as you don't have one when you're painted - but...well."

Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll visit you again soon," he promised.

Gryffindor smiled contentedly.

***

It was a rainy April and the regular cloud bursts turned Hogwarts into a gigantic swamp. Another batch of Quidditch matches were rained off. It wasn't until the end of May that one of the two remaining games could take place, and after so many long, dark months, training began again. However, the fifth years had to study for their OWLs while the seventh years spent every free minute studying for their upcoming NEWTs. The sixth years were busy too. Some of them still couldn't apparate very well and needed extra training. This time, however, it wasn't Neville Longbottom who was struggling but rather Seamus Finnegan. He continually misjudged distances, often ending up on his desk or in the waste paper basket, and once even in one of the suits of armour decorating the corridor. While his classmates split their sides with laughter, Professor Flitwick helped the unlucky Seamus out of the suit of armour and advised him to practise until he was able to land in the middle of the Entrance Hall - far enough away from anything else he could get stuck inside.

When they took the Apparation Test at the beginning of June they all passed without much difficulty. The examiner from the Ministry seemed happy with the level they had all reached. Once all the sixth year students had taken their test, Harry was called into the room again, along with Professor McGonagall. He suspected that he would now have to register as an Animagus and resigned himself to all the tedious paperwork.

Later, at supper, he pulled a card from his pocket and showed it to Ron and Hermione.

"Wow, you've got a licence?" Ron said in surprise, taking a closer look at it. Harry thought it looked like a normal Muggle ID card. Along with his name there was a list of distinguishing features for his human and animal forms, and a moving picture showed Harry as a human and a black horse alternately, like a hologram, when he tilted it backwards and forwards in his hand. Most importantly, he had also been given a registration number. He was now officially an Animagus.

"I'd like to be able to turn into an animal too," Ron mused. "How long's it take to learn how to do it yourself?"

"Considering how complicated Animagic is, it must take at least eight to ten months of intensive training," Hermione said.

"In other words, you'll manage it in three?" Ron teased.

She handed the licence back to Harry, a thoughtful look on her face. "Hmm, maybe."

Ron groaned. "Oh no. You don't really want... what sort of animal will you be anyway? A bookworm?"

He ducked hastily out of the way as Hermione raised her dictionary. "That's better than a sloth, Ronald Weasley!" she hissed, and Harry burst out laughing.

***

The school year was coming to an end. And despite all the horrific events, they were reluctant to leave Hogwarts.

When they reached Kings Cross the time had finally come to say goodbye. Violetta gave them each a hug. "I'm going to miss all you dumb Gryffindors," she grinned. "Don't do anything stupid next year."

"We never do stupid things," Ron said indignantly, then turned to say goodbye to Amber. Fred and George, who had come to the station with Molly Weasley to pick up their brother and sister, gave an evil grin.

"Do you see what I see, George?"

"Yep. He's got a girlfriend."

Fred rubbed his hands. "He's going to hate his holidays..."

Harry sighed when he spotted the Dursleys pushing their way through the crowd towards him. He shook hands with the Grangers and pulled Hermione into his arms.

Dudley stared in amazement, and Uncle Vernon went red in the face as he watched his hated nephew kissing a girl in the middle of the station.

"Do you think you'll be able to visit me?" Hermione asked Harry, and Harry looked at the Dursleys appraisingly.

"Well, if they lock me in my room I can just apparate," he grinned. "Although our wooden doors wouldn't last long against my hooves either, no matter how carefully they lock them..."

She just laughed. "See you soon, then."

"Absolutely," Harry promised. And with a triumphant grin he turned to his grim-looking relatives. They could spend all day looking at him as if they wanted to tear him limb from limb, and he wouldn't care. He was sure that nothing they had in store for him could spoil his good mood.