The Final Reckoning

Chapter Thirty: Hopkirk's Revelations

For a long time they didn't move from where they stood. The four of them held onto each other; the girls cried, and the boys tried not to.

It was the sound of Dumbledore's office door opening that caused them all to step back and look up.

Professor McGonagall was there. She was standing rigid as a statue; the only sign of pain on her face was in her eyes, which were red and shiny behind her spectacles.

She swallowed and spoke.

'Do not speak of this to anyone. I need time to...to complete the new wards on the school and the grounds and I need to be able to do that before the press gets wind of his passing. If his death gets out before that...Voldemort could strike while the wards are still weak. I need time.'

Ginny and Hermione sniffed and wiped their eyes. Ron rested his hand on Hermione's shoulder and Harry clutched Ginny's free hand.

'As far as you are concerned, Albus Dumbledore is ill and resting. Understood?'

Harry and the others exchanged looks and nodded.

'You should all try and get some rest,' said McGonagall.

'Will there be a funeral?' Harry asked, his voice cracking.

'No, Potter,' she said. 'Not at this time. We will go public with his passing by the end of the week. We'll cancel lessons for one day, that is all. There will not be a funeral. It is far too risky, right now, to engage in such rituals that...draw crowds. And I imagine a crowd for Albus would be...'

Her voice trailed off and she took a steadying breath.

'There will be no funeral,' she repeated. 'Severus and I will spend our free time going through his effects and make the necessary arrangements. Albus wished to be cremated...we will make the arrangements.' She paused. 'Go on to bed, then.'

The four of them nodded and started down the corridor, away from Dumbledore's office. Away from Professor McGonagall, who stood as still as a statue.

How can they not have a funeral? Not even a remembrance for him? It's wrong, he was a great wizard, a great man, he deserves it...

Because we're in a war. Because there isn't time for those kinds of rituals, and it's not safe...

When Harry reached the foot of the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower, he turned to see McGonagall still standing there, staring off into space. A single tear trickled down her pale, wrinkled cheek. She wiped it away impatiently, turned on her heel and walked briskly back to the stairs leading to Dumbledore's office.

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Ron and Hermione said their good-nights to Harry and Ginny halfway to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry and Ginny continued alone to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry didn't even hear Ginny utter the password; he simply followed her through the portrait hole and stepped into the common room to find it empty. There was a fire in the hearth, crackling merrily and casting a warm glow about the room. It seemed an almost cruel dichotomy with Dumbledore's death.

He was drawn to the flames, and he walked dully over to the sofa, where he sat down, in a kind of numb, half-trance. He felt Ginny circle round, felt her sit next to him.

'Harry?' she asked tentatively.

He looked at her; she was regarding him with concern; her eyes were red and puffy from crying. He couldn't speak; it was as if someone had cast a Silencing Charm on him. Or perhaps it was because his throat hurt from crying at Dumbledore's bedside as the old man had slipped away.

Ginny took a delicate step towards him, and then another. She seemed unsure of what to do; Harry took the initiative and drew her into his arms. They sank against one another and Harry swallowed; he couldn't cry anymore, there was nothing left, except her. She was alive and young and breathing and holding onto him. She had stopped crying, too, and for a long time they sat there, clinging to each other, and the only sounds Harry heard were the crackling of the fire and their breathing.

'I can't believe he's really gone,' Harry said at last, his words muffled against Ginny's hair.

She pulled back from him and pressed her hand to his cheek.

'Harry...'

'It's weird, Ginny,' he said. 'I...I hate it but...you saw him. He was so...so sick. He could barely talk. I held his hand and he was so cold. It's almost...'

Harry's voice trailed off.

'Better this way?' Ginny finished.

Harry looked up at her sharply; he wanted to protest. Of course it wasn't better this way! Of course it wasn't better that Dumbledore was dead.

'Harry,' said Ginny, 'he wanted to go, he was ready. He's not suffering anymore, wherever he is.'

Harry felt a rush of anger and stood up.

'Fine, that's great,' he said angrily. 'He's not suffering. What about us? He leaves us behind, he leaves me behind to deal with this. He thinks he's the only one suffering, is that it?'

'Harry, he was 154 years old,' said Ginny, grabbing Harry's hand and clutching it.

'So?' said Harry petulantly, and he felt tears tickling his eyes again.

Enough of that. Enough, already.

'Haven't you ever stopped to consider that you'll leave people behind someday, too?' said Ginny.

Harry snorted. 'Oh, no, Ginny, I never think about dying. I've got Voldemort chasing after me but the thought of dying never crossed my mind--'

'Oh, shut up, Harry!' Ginny snarled, standing up sharply and pushing at his chest with her small hands. 'Just stop it! Dumbledore was old and sick, he was in pain. Is that what you want for him, to hang on, bedridden and weak and hurting, just to make you feel better?'

'Don't put it like that,' said Harry defensively.

'Why not?' said Ginny. 'That's what you're thinking. And it's wrong, Harry. It's wrong and unfair. Dumbledore is lucky, he lived a really long time and he had a full life. We should all be so lucky to have that, and to die peacefully in a bed surrounded by our friends, letting them say good-bye.' She paused and swallowed, and then looked down. 'That's how I'd want to go.'

'Don't talk about that,' said Harry at once, taking her hands in his.

'It'll happen sometime, Harry,' said Ginny softly, and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. 'To me, to you, to Ron or Mum or--'

'Don't,' said Harry again, more forcefully. 'Please, Gin. I can't...I don't want to hear about death anymore, please. I know...you're right. I was being selfish and...and I'm glad I could say goodbye to him but I can't think about you...I can't...'

His voice trailed off again, and he turned away.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, and she pulled him to her and wrapped her arms round his neck. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured again, her breath warming his skin.

He put his arms about her waist and inhaled the scent of her hair; his lips came to rest against her neck, and he closed his eyes and placed a kiss there, where her neck curved into her shoulder. She gave a little sigh and pulled him closer, and he moved his lips over her skin, up to her jaw...

I need her. I need this...

She tilted her head back, giving him better access; he found the place just below her earlobe, the little hollow there, and he sucked at the skin gently, before moving his lips to her earlobe; he traced kisses along her jaw, her check...

When his mouth hovered against hers he stopped.

Should we even be doing this? How can I want to kiss her after what's happened?

'It's okay,' she whispered, and she kissed him, and he kissed her back. He let himself forget everything but her mouth, the softness of her tongue as it brushed against his.

They kissed for a long time, moving slowly onto the sofa; she pulled him down onto her and he rested carefully atop her, clutching his fingers in her hair, kissing her lips, her face, her neck. His hands ached to touch her elsewhere, but he kept his fingers at her collarbones, trailed them over the skin there, just beneath the surface of her jumper...

All of a sudden he felt Ginny take his hand and press it against her breast. He groaned and pulled his mouth away from hers.

'Are you sure?' he asked.

She didn't say anything, she just nodded, and Harry kissed her again, and he felt her stretch out with her powers, felt a rush of heat and pleasure that started inside her and flooded into him as his hands gently caressed her; she was soft and wonderful there, and there was only her, and the fire, and him, and they kissed on and on, and his hands explored her just that much, over her jumper. It was perfect; he was filled with only her, her mouth, her body, her soul.

He wanted more, he wanted all of her, and he let that emotion fill his mind and she gasped, because she sensed it.

'Harry...'.

'I'm sorry,' he said quickly. 'I didn't mean to--'

'It's okay,' Ginny said, breathing heavily. She smiled and looked down at his hands, which were still resting on her breasts.

'Sorry,' he said, quickly removing them. She giggled and for a moment he joined in. He actually giggled.

And then they remembered what had happened less than an hour before.

'Should we have--'

'Maybe we shouldn't have--'

Harry let out a short laugh and shook his head. 'Maybe we shouldn't have done that,' he said, 'but...but I'm glad...'

'Me, too,' she said. 'It's okay.'

He looked at her for a long moment, his fingers tracing across her cheek.

'Stay with me,' he said suddenly.

'W-what?' said Ginny, looking confused.

'Tonight,' said Harry, and his throat began to work against him. 'Stay with me. I...I don't want to be alone.'

Ginny stared up at him for a long moment, and then she smiled softly.

'Okay.'

Fifteen minutes later he was curled around her in his bed; she was sleeping softly, dressed in a modest white cotton nightgown. Her hair was spread out over his pillow and she looked like an angel. He held her close to him and felt a gentle pulse of her power even as she slept, as she clutched his hand in hers. He left himself drift off, and he dreamed of her for a while, and then he dreamed of Dumbledore, who was standing next to his parents and Sirius. They were all smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week following Dumbledore's death was perhaps the slowest in Harry's memory. Apart from the raw pain of it was the agony of keeping it a secret, which meant that Harry and his friends had to maintain an outwardly normal façade. Harry found himself alternating between wanting to break something and wanting to disappear into some remote corner and cry his eyes out.

Quidditch turned out to be a saving grace for Harry, Ron and Ginny. McGonagall had initially balked at letting them practice--the new wards, she said, were not up to full strength. It was Snape, of all people, who suggested that in order to keep up appearances, Quidditch practices mustn't be interfered with.

Even as Hermione buried herself further in her school work and research, Harry took the opportunity to salve his own grief by setting up longer, more brutal Quidditch practices. Seamus, Parvati, Colin and Lizzie grumbled about it, as did the alternates when they practiced, but Ron and Ginny privately told Harry they were grateful for the distraction. The physical exertion of Quidditch, the mental focus it required, allowed them all to take their minds of Dumbledore and the secret they were keeping. Ron and Hermione spent a bit more time alone together, but Harry didn't mind this. He had Ginny now.

Lessons, too, proved to be difficult, but not because of the content. Seeing the stiff looks on the professors' faces was enough to make Harry want to scream. How could they all go about their business, as if it hadn't happened?

Isn't that what I'm doing? Because I have to. Because we all have to.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, was busy at work on the wards, or at least that's what Harry surmised, given that she had asked other professors to substitute for her in Transfiguration; that week Harry and the others took Transfiguration with the Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector, who proved to be about as strict as Professor McGonagall, and nearly as skilled. Hermione, however, seemed to be the only one who truly paid attention to the lessons. Ginny mentioned that Professor Flitwick had volunteered to teach the sixth years, and several other professors picked up the slack from there.

Ginny snuck into Harry's dormitory at night and slept next to him, and he clung to her like a lifeline. They'd done little more than kiss briefly since the night of Dumbledore's death; neither of them seemed inclined to go beyond this. A part of Harry found this frustrating, particularly when Ginny would sleep next to him at night, but it was as if they had to wait out some period of time before they could get back to where they had been, and move on. Harry wasn't sure, but he had a feeling her presence had something to do with his dreams. All week he dreamed of Dumbledore, his parents and Sirius. They never did anything but smile at him, and Harry could never seem to reach them. It was like looking into the Mirror of Erised. And yet Dumbledore looked lively and healthy again, and his blue eyes sparkled behind his half-moon glasses. It was a kind of hell, then, to wake up in the morning and realize it was nothing more than a dream. And yet he clung to the dreams as a source of comfort.

Ginny told Harry of her sessions with Andromeda Tonks and Malfoy; she sensed at once that Mrs. Tonks knew about Dumbledore's death, and it only made keeping the secret from Draco even harder. Draco, for his part, knew something was up, but he never voiced his suspicions. The only thing that mattered, as far as Ginny was concerned, was that he left her alone, and that the sessions were helping her get more and more control over her powers.

It was during the Friday morning in the midst of breakfast when Professor McGonagall, with Snape following, strode to the front of the Great Hall; she climbed the stairs to the daïs and moved to the front of the High Table. The other professors exchanged glances and stood up.

Harry braced himself; he reached for Ginny's hand.

'Your attention, please,' said Professor McGonagall, her voice trembling just slightly.

The Great Hall fell silent almost at once.

'I regret to inform you all that our former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, passed away last night in his sleep,' she said.

There was a long collective gasp about the room, and then complete, stunned silence. Harry swallowed thickly against a lump in his throat. Just hearing the words struck him hard, like a fist in the solar plexus.

'He died peacefully,' said McGonagall, 'and in his home, the place he loved best. I would like now to ask for a moment of silence in his memory.'

The moment of silence lasted for a minute, but it was hardly silent; it was punctuated instead by the sounds of quiet crying. Harry let his eyes wander, and they fell on the Slytherin table.

Daphne Greengrass was red-eyed and held Blaise Zabini's hand. Several younger Slytherins looked genuinely distressed. Draco Malfoy's face was drawn in a painful scowl, as though he might actually be sorry that Dumbledore had died. Or perhaps he was just sorry Dumbledore hadn't died painfully.

But it was the look on Theodore Nott's face that made Harry's blood boil; the bastard was actually smirking.

No doubt he'll run and owl his dad after this and tell him the good news: The only wizard Voldemort ever feared is dead.

Harry felt Ginny squeeze his hand; he looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks. Hermione was clinging to Ron and he was gently stroking her hair.

'Very well, then,' said Professor McGonagall, breaking the quiet. 'Lessons are cancelled for today but will resume on Monday morning. Please note that there are new wards about the grounds and the castle. All security measures will continue to be in place, and curfews will be strictly observed. That is all.'

Professor McGonagall then walked briskly out of the Great Hall; the teachers all filed out after her, their breakfasts forgotten. Harry cast his eyes back to the Slytherin table; already, Theodore Nott, along with Crabbe and Goyle, were leaving, accompanied by an Auror.

It was a half an hour later when Harry was in the common room with Ginny, Hermione and Ron, attempting to study, that he felt a surge in his scar. It was sudden and awful and gone so fast it might not have happened at all, but Harry knew at once what it meant.

'What is it?' Hermione asked when she saw him wince and press his hand to his forehead.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment; Ginny took his hand and soothed him with a touch of her power.

'Harry?' said Ron.

Harry opened his eyes; he exchanged a look with Ginny before turning to Ron and Hermione.

'Voldemort knows,' Harry said. 'He knows about Dumbledore now.'

'Shit,' said Ron. Hermione didn't bother correcting him.

Instead, she leaned forward.

'Harry, it's time,' she said. 'We have to talk to Hopkirk.'

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Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny walked briskly to Professor Hopkirk's office; the benefit of being Head Girl and Boy meant that neither Ron nor Hermione had to give a reason to any Auror as to why they were wandering the corridors. An Auror just automatically followed them wherever they went.

Upon reaching Hopkirk's door it was Hermione who rapped sharply at it.

For a long moment there was no answer, and Hermione tried again.

'Who is it?' called an irritated voice.

'Hermione Granger!'

'I'm very busy at the moment, Miss Granger--' Hopkirk's muffled voice began.

'This is extremely urgent,' Hermione snapped. 'I've got Harry with me--'

'Fine,' said Hopkirk at once, her voice flat. 'Come in.'

There was a soft click; Hopkirk had unlocked her door from the inside.

Hermione shoved the door open and marched into Hopkirk's office; right behind her was Ron, then Harry and finally Ginny.

'Well, well,' said Hopkirk. 'Miss Granger. I see you brought more than Potter with you.'

She sat lazily at her desk, with her feet on it. She wore her usual black robes but her strawberry hair was loose about her shoulders.

'We need to talk to you,' said Hermione brusquely.

'I know,' said Hopkirk. 'I was rather wondering when you'd get around to paying me a visit. Please, do have a seat.'

She picked up her wand from the desk, gave it a wave and conjured up four stiff armchairs.

Harry and the others sat down slowly as Hopkirk lowered her feet from her desk chair.

'So you know why we're here, then?' he said.

'I think I have an idea,' said Hopkirk. 'You're curious about what your mother and I were working on.'

Harry exchanged looks with Hermione, and then looked back at the professor.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Among other things.'

'I think the other things can wait,' said Hopkirk evenly. 'Your mother was an Unspeakable, which I'm sure you figured out. I was, too. That's how we met. I joined the Ministry as researcher...a few years before your mum finished school. Turns out we both had a common interest: blood. I had already started research on some old blood samples belonging to Tom Riddle. Your mum came along and we were partnered.'

'You were friends,' said Harry.

Hopkirk smiled coldly. 'In a manner of speaking.'

'You were trying to figure out a way to kill Voldemort,' said Hermione.

'Among other things,' said Hopkirk archly. 'Voldemort had been playing around with all sorts of nasty dark magic in the hopes of achieving immortality. I'll spare you the gory details but suffice it to say he experimented with blood. Blood rituals, blood sacrifices, that sort of thing.'

Ron grimaced. 'What he did do with the blood?'

Hopkirk smiled. 'He worked spells. He made potions. Stuff you'll never learn in Professor Snape's classes, to say the least. Potions he invented. He never shared his...recipes with anyone, though. He couldn't let his followers in on too many of his secrets, after all.'

'He drank unicorn blood,' said Ron. 'When he was in Quirrell's body.'

'Of course,' said Hopkirk. 'Unicorn blood is potent and life-sustaining. But drinking it comes with a cost.'

Hermione sat forward. 'Could that be a weakness now?'

Hopkirk shook her head. 'Not likely. Quirrell's death meant he had to find a new body. The effect wouldn't have lasted unless he drank more of it in his new body. No, I think the real weakness has to do with Harry.'

Harry sat back in his chair. 'My blood,' he said. 'He took some when he came back. Lupin and Hermione said that might be a weakness.'

'They're both right,' said Hopkirk. 'The spell Voldemort used to come back is based on ancient magic. Sanguen generare, I'm sure you've all heard of it by now.' She glanced coolly at Hermione, who sat up straighter in her chair.

'Voldemort twisted that spell,' said Hopkirk. 'The spell was never meant to be used the way he used it. Sanguen generare in its purest form is an act of love, something he doesn't understand. He used the spell to unnaturally prolong his own life, and he committed murder to do it.'

'But it backfired on him,' said Hermione, 'when he tried to kill Harry.'

'Of course it did,' said Hopkirk. 'Sanguen generare is the most powerful protective spell in the world. A blood sacrifice, made willingly by one for another, out of love? Nothing can defeat that. Voldemort, in rush to destroy Harry, let that simple truth slip his mind.'

'That's why he took my blood,' said Harry. 'He thinks...if he has my blood--my mum's blood--it'll protect him in the same way. That's what he said.'

'But he's wrong,' said Hermione. 'Isn't he? That's why Harry was able to hurt him in the battle at the Riddle House.'

'Very good, Miss Granger,' said Hopkirk. 'Voldemort was operating under the assumption that by running about with Harry's blood in his veins, he'd be protected from the Killing Curse. To that extent he's right. A mere Killing Curse won't do him in. The problem is he took Harry's blood against his will. In so doing, he tainted it.'

'So it won't protect him,' said Harry hopefully.

'Oh, it will,' said Hopkirk. 'It has, up to a point. The blood is tainted with his malice, but not completely. Your blood, Harry, is marked by your mother's love. Love is poison to Voldemort.'

Harry stared at Hopkirk, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

'So...my blood in his veins...is poisoning him?' he said slowly.

'Yes,' said Hopkirk. 'He didn't know at the time he took your blood that this would happen. Voldemort's biggest weakness has always been arrogance, his belief that his power can conquer anything, including death, and love. He is not infallible; his arrogance leads him to make mistakes. Critical ones. The very blood he was so certain would save his life against anything did the opposite. That is why, Harry, you've been able to hurt him. Your blood--your mother's blood--is like a slow-acting poison in his veins.'

'But...' said Hermione, 'how can that be? He was weakened after that last battle Harry had with him but...he's recovered. Hasn't he?'

'As usual, Miss Granger, you have pointed out the wrinkle,' said Hopkirk, and at this, she stood up and took a deep breath.

'Voldemort has stepped up his attacks,' said Hopkirk.

'We know, we've seen it in the paper,' said Ginny.

'The newspaper only tells part of the story, Miss Weasley,' said Hopkirk. 'There have been other attacks that didn't make the pages of The Daily Prophet. Attacks on magical creatures.'

'What?' said Ron. 'No...I...I never saw--' His eyes went wide and he stopped mid-sentence.

'You never saw any visions of that?' said Hopkirk. 'I know about you, Mr. Weasley, I've known about you since the day I arrived here. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. In any case, a Seer can't see everything. Voldemort's attacking magical creatures because he needs victims. Humans are his favourite but those attacks have been thwarted.'

'He was angry,' said Harry. 'He was furious, in fact. I felt that.'

'Of course he was furious,' said Hopkirk. 'He needs victims, Harry. He needs their blood.'

Ron grimaced. 'To drink it?'

'To make his potions,' said Hopkirk. 'To counteract the poisoning effect of Harry's blood in his system. The blood of victims carries the stain of their murders. Voldemort mixes their blood in some kind of potion and drinks it, and in so doing, he begins to kill off the power in Harry's blood and replace it with something else. Human blood is the easiest and safest thing to use. That's why he's so angry that all those attacks on humans have been stopped. He's being deprived of the victims he needs to save himself.'

'But you said he was attacking magical creatures,' said Hermione.

'As a last resort,' said Hopkirk.

'What sort of magical creatures?' said Hermione. 'Not unicorns--'

'No, the magical community has gone out of its way to protect unicorns,' said Hopkirk, and her voice was edged with scorn. 'It's the undesirables Voldemort targets. Goblins, giants, vampires. Werewolves.'

Hermione and Ginny gasped.

'Professor Lupin!' Ginny whispered.

'No,' said Ron, looking stricken.

'Remus Lupin is fine,' said Hopkirk. 'For now. But now you know why he's trying to recruit other werewolves.'

'To protect them,' said Hermione. 'The Ministry doesn't care what happens to them, so...Lupin's trying to get the Order to do it, somehow. And...that's what Hagrid and Bill are doing, too, isn't it? Bill with the goblins and Hagrid with the giants?'

Hopkirk nodded.

'Why doesn't the bloody Ministry do something?' Ron asked angrily. 'I thought Madam Bones was--'

'Priorities, Mr. Weasley,' said Hopkirk coldly. 'The Ministry has always placed the protection and welfare of human wizards and witches above all others. Madam Bones is...well, she's a far cry better than Fudge; she at least is willing to put herself out there for Muggles and Muggle-borns. And I am quite sure she would love to extend further protections to non-humans. But society doesn't much like werewolves or giants. Prejudice against non-humans goes very, very deep. The Ministry is already stretched thin worrying about a war. They don't have the resources to go protecting non-human creatures who have a history of killing people. It is simply not a priority.'

'The Ministry's covering it up, isn't it?' said Hermione darkly. 'We haven't heard a thing about werewolf deaths, or giants or goblins.'

'There's no active cover-up,' said Hopkirk. 'The Ministry is simply failing to mention the recent spike in werewolf disappearances.'

'How can they do that?' Hermione said furiously. 'Werewolves are still people, they have families and friends! Don't they deserve the truth? And the goblins...wizards do business with them, how can they--' her voice broke off as her eyes filled with angry tears.

Hopkirk looked at Hermione with something like pity.

'You'll never be a politician, Miss Granger,' she said. 'The Ministry responds to the wants of the public. The public doesn't care if a giant winds up dead, so why should the Ministry make a fuss over it?'

'So Voldemort goes after them because he knows nobody will do anything to stop it,' said Ron miserably. He looked terribly guilty. 'Why haven't I seen any of this?'

'Perhaps because your own prejudice is toward saving human lives,' Hopkirk suggested.

'Wait a minute,' said Ron indignantly. 'That's not true.'

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, Weasley,' said Hopkirk. 'I'm not accusing you of hating werewolves. But like most human beings, you're inclined to most protective of your own kind. Perhaps it's this inclination that's affecting the visions you're getting.'

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when Hopkirk shifted her gaze to him. She regarded him coolly for a moment, and then licked her pink lips. Harry swallowed and looked away. He felt Hopkirk shift her gaze back to Ron.

'In any case,' said Hopkirk, 'Voldemort has been choosing his victims of late for their lack of newsworthy potential. But there are major problems, of course. Getting giant or werewolf or vampire or even goblin blood isn't a simple matter. These creatures are powerful, after all. You can't take a giant down with a few Stunners. And of course, non-human blood requires a lot more tweaking to be made safe to drink, particularly if it's werewolf or vampire blood.'

'Vampire blood,' said Hermione. 'But that kind of blood could keep Voldemort alive forever. Why not just grab a vampire and do an exchange?'

'Because being undead has its drawbacks,' said Hopkirk dryly. 'Namely that it's very difficult to keep up one's immortality. Being a vampire is really very exhausting.'

'How would you know?' Ron asked darkly.

'Ron!' Hermione hissed, punching his arm.

'Ow,' he muttered.

Hopkirk, meanwhile, looked somewhat amused. She levelled her gaze at Hermione and continued.

'Non-human blood, as I said, has its problems,' Hopkirk said, 'but at least werewolves and vampires are part human. Giants, not so much, and goblins are a species apart. Playing with their blood to make it compatible with human blood is quite the challenge. It requires time and patience. Voldemort isn't a patient sort.'

She paused for a moment and ran a hand through her hair.

'The point is,' she said, 'Voldemort wants human victims. Muggles or wizard, it doesn't really matter, so long as there's some magical connection. He didn't choose those Muggle parents of wizards and witches at random, or simply to torment Harry and his friends. Muggles are already soft targets, but ordinary, garden-variety Muggles aren't much good to Voldemort for the purposes of using their blood. He needs that magical connection. Muggle parents of wizards and witches are the perfect choice--they're easier to acquire and control, and the mixture of their blood resulted in magical children. The blood might require a bit more tweaking than purely magical blood but the victims are easy to find. I think he decided on Muggle parents after his initial attacks against the wizards in Bulgaria didn't go off.'

'So Voldemort wasn't planning on simply attacking them and killing them,' said Ginny, looking appalled. 'He would have kidnapped them and...and...'

'Taken their blood in some ghastly ritual or magical ceremony and then killed them, yes,' said Hopkirk evenly.

Hermione shuddered, and Ron took her hand.

'Wait,' said Harry, struggling to keep everything straight in his mind. 'So...my blood in Voldemort's body is hurting him. He planned those attacks first on the wizards and then on Muggles to get their blood, and use it to counteract the effect of my blood on him.'

'That's the gist of it,' said Hopkirk.

'Would it work?' Harry asked. 'Would it kill the effects of my blood if he...drank blood from his victims, in some sort of potion?'

'Up to a point,' said Hopkirk. 'But not thoroughly, and not permanently. The only way to completely eradicate the negative effects of your blood on his body is to kill you. Not only that, but killing you completes the cycle of the dark magic that he started when Peter Pettigrew brought him back. If he'd killed you in the graveyard, the night he killed Cedric Diggory, he would have become unstoppable. As it is, your numerous escapes from him these past few years have bought us, and you, some time, and given the negative effects of your blood to take hold.'

Harry stood up; he couldn't sit anymore. It was too much. All of it. This woman...this creature was telling him things he should have been told ages ago. He was suddenly confused and angry. Why hadn't Hopkirk said anything? Why had she never approached him before now? Why, after everything that had happened, had she been kept a secret? Why did he feel like he was always the last to know?

It's my bloody duty to kill Voldemort and people are still keeping secrets from me!

'You could have told me all this a bit sooner,' said Harry, through gritted teeth. 'All this time, you knew my mum and you never said anything. Dumbledore never said a word about you. When the hell are people going to stop keeping secrets from me?'

'Harry...' Ginny murmured, taking his hand, but he yanked it out of her grip and began to pace angrily.

'There's a very good reason you didn't know until now,' said Hopkirk.

'Oh, right,' said Harry savagely. 'Let me guess. It was for my own good this was all a secret, is that it? Dumbledore didn't think I could handle it, did he? How many people knew, Professor? About you and my mum being mates? About you two working together?'

'Nobody knew but Dumbledore and a few people high up in the Department of Mysteries,' said Hopkirk. 'People who are dead now.'

'Oh, brilliant,' said Harry. 'So you and Dumbledore were the only ones, then? And you never told me? You knew about me, you tried to help my mum protect me and you never once, in sixteen years, came to me and said, "Hey, Harry, I knew your mum, we were friends, maybe I could tell you a few things that might help you beat him"?'

'I realize you're upset,' said Hopkirk, her voice even but her eyes growing paler; a sign of her simmering temper. Harry ignored it. She had gotten up and circled round to the front of her desk. Harry ignored that, too, and he ignored the nervous looks from Ron and Hermione, and the stung look from Ginny.

'Do you?' he snarled. 'Since Dumbledore went and died and I can't tell him what I think of his latest round of secret-keeping I guess I'll have to tell you. It sucks, and I'm sick of it! If I'm the one who's supposed to save the ruddy world from Voldemort the least people could do is tell me when they know something that's useful!'

'It wasn't Dumbledore's place to tell you,' said Hopkirk, her voice growing edgy, and she took a step toward Harry. By now, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were standing.

'Right, it wasn't his place,' said Harry. 'But you could have said something!'

'I was protecting you,' Hopkirk snapped.

Harry's blood felt like it was exploding inside him. Those four words touched something in him and a white-hot rage exploded behind his eyes.

'DON'T YOU EVEN FUCKING SAY THAT TO ME!' he bellowed, and before he knew what he was doing, he shoved Hopkirk back against her desk, hard, and she stumbled. 'I'm sick of people trying to--'

But whatever else Harry meant to shout was cut off by a piercing, fearsome roar that seemed to burst out and echo from the very walls of the room. Except that it didn't come from the walls, it came from Hopkirk.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Hopkirk's roar was like a sudden, violent gust of wind, and Harry felt himself lifted off his feet; suddenly he was hurtling through the air. The chairs in front of Hopkirk's desk flew away and Harry vaguely heard Ron yelling, heard Hermione and Ginny scream. Hopkirk's roar ripped through Harry as he slammed against the far wall of Hopkirk's office.

The impact knocked the wind from him and he thought he might fall down, but some invisible force was holding him up, pinning him to the wall. He blinked and felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw Hopkirk literally leap across the room. As she did she changed, and Harry's seemed to flip over and hammer inside his brain.

In the blink of an eye she was no longer human, but a monster. A beautiful, horrifying monster with blood-red skin and eyes and pitch-black hair and sharp, piercing white teeth.

Harry shrank back in fear as she landed in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron, Hermione and Ginny all leap up and point their wands at her.

'Stupefy!' the three of them shouted in unison.

Jets of light shot from their wands. Hopkirk turned, and with a growl she lifted her hand--red with long black claws--and caught the jets of light in her palm. They exploded harmlessly in a shower of sparks. In the next instant she waved her hand harshly at Ron and the others, and their wands went flying across the room to clatter onto the floor.

'Harry!' Ginny cried.

'SILENCE!' Hopkirk bellowed, and her voice sent ice racing through Harry's body. It was the voice of something otherworldly, deep and ringing and terrifying. Ron grabbed Hermione and Ginny both and pulled them close; they were white with fear. Hopkirk snapped her head back at Harry. Harry shut his eyes, trying to block out what he was seeing, trying to block out the waves of fear and cold and heat she was making him feel.

'Look at me,' she snarled. He didn't open his eyes.

'LOOK AT ME!' she yelled. Harry's eyes snapped open.

'Jesus...' he croaked, and he knew he was terrified, and he wondered that he hadn't in fact wet himself by now. He hadn't felt so afraid since his first encounter with Voldemort, since his first encounter with the Dementors.

'Are you frightened, Harry?' she asked, licking her blood-red lips, running her tongue over her teeth.

Fangs, she has fangs.

'Yes,' Harry said. Frightened, and aroused, and disgusted all at the same time.

'There is a very good reason I said nothing until now,' she said in a low, dangerous voice, 'and you are looking at it.'

'Professor...' Ginny whispered. 'Don't hurt him...'

Hopkirk ignored her, and instead stepped back from Harry. She lifted a hand and Harry felt whatever force that was pinning him to the wall vanish; he gave a grunt as his legs collapsed under him. When he looked up, Hopkirk's form changed again, back into that of the professor he knew.

'You do not even begin to understand my situation,' she said, and she turned and walked stiffly back to her desk. Harry saw that her hands were shaking. He scrambled to his feet, and the movement seemed to spur Ron and the others--who'd been standing still as statues--to move as well. Ginny rushed to Harry's side and took his hands in hers. Her eyes were tearful, but Harry shook his head, and they all looked at Hopkirk.

For a long moment she said nothing; her back was to them, and she was gripping her chair and taking deep breaths as though to regain her self-control. Harry swallowed. At last, she turned round and faced them all. With an almost casual flick of her wrist, she summoned Ron's, Hermione's and Ginny's wands into her hand.

'You'll be wanting these,' she said, and her voice shook, just slightly. Ron took a step forward and took them from her.

She met Harry's eyes for a moment, and for the first time, her expression was filled with pain, with sadness, and Harry felt an involuntary rush of pity.

Hopkirk broke the eye contact and crossed behind her desk. She pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at the desk, muttered an incantation, and then slid open what looked to be a hidden drawer. From it she extracted a small stack of neatly folded parchment.

'This is the rest of my correspondence with your mother,' she said, holding out the stack. 'It's in code, I'm afraid. I didn't want to make translated copies in case...'

Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she placed the stack of parchment on her desk.

'In any case, the codes use a formation similar to that of the Kensington Rune Stone,' she said. 'Miss Granger should know what I'm talking about.'

Harry swallowed again, and picked up the stack of parchment from Hopkirk's desk. He stepped back and regarded her nervously; her eyes moved from him to the others, looking at each one of them in turn for a long moment. Harry saw Ron squirm slightly under Hopkirk's gaze.

'The information you require should be contained in those notes,' she said at last, her voice so soft Harry almost didn't hear her. 'Now get out of here.'

For a brief moment no one moved, but then Ron cleared his throat and nodded his head sharply at Hopkirk's door, and suddenly the four of them were rushing for the exit.

The four of them were just about to leave altogether, and the door was swinging shut slowly, when Hermione turned back and caught the door against her palm.

'Professor,' she said, her voice shaking with nerves.

'What is it, Miss Granger?' said Hopkirk sharply, looking up at her with weary eyes.

'I...' Hermione took a deep breath. 'I just wanted to say...I'm...sorry I contradicted you about the Shield Charm you...you created.'

Hopkirk looked at her for a moment, and her lip curled into a kind of sad smile.

'Apology accepted,' she said. Hermione nodded and backed out of the room, bumping into Ron, as Hopkirk's door swung shut with a loud bang.