The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fighting Talk

Harry was alone in the Great Hall. Dinner had long since been cleared away, and he now stood in the area between the staff table and the house tables.

He hadn't eaten. Instead, he'd been in the library. Gilderoy Lockhart had been there with Professor Skeeter, trying to read seven books at once and muttering frantically under his breath. Harry had given his former and current Defence teachers a wide berth, hoping to avoid another conversation with Lockhart. But Lockhart had seemed far too busy to talk about anything anyway. Harry gathered that he had been the only person Moody and Diggle had trusted enough to let him carry on researching the Temple of Le Fay, and while Skeeter was helping, it was slow progress. It certainly didn't seem as though that Ministry would be assigning any more research wizards to help him out.

Quietly, Harry had taken some of the books from beside Lockhart and began poring over them. He had found his ability to concentrate improving a lot over the course of the year, almost as though his mind was eager to focus on work.

That afternoon, however, he had been unable to do any work whatsoever. His mind had been churning, throwing up fragments of the Quidditch match that morning, of the fight with the Boggart six months before, and the many arguments he'd had in between when maybe, possibly, he'd been on the wrong side.

"Gladius!"

The smoky facsimile of Godric Gryffindor's sword formed in his hand, and Harry stood still and silent in the deserted Hall. Above him, the enchanted ceiling showed that the pleasant spring day had given way to a thundery, cloudy night. The torches that lined the walls of the Great Hall guttered furiously in that brackets, but all they seemed to achieve was to give an edge to the darkness.

Harry walked through a set of defensive manoeuvres that Dean had taught him. He gradually increased the speed, moving faster and faster until he was practically jumping back and forth, the blade whirring in his hand.

Eventually he paused for breath, panting furiously. He gulped at a pitcher of water Dobby had supplied him with.

There was a slow handclap in the darkness behind Harry. He spun and with a "Finite!" pointed his wand at the shadows.

"Show yourself," he called. "Come into the light or I'll start throwing hexes."

Dean stepped into the light, his own Gladius held loosely by his side. Harry felt his anger ignite deep inside him. He didn't want to deal with Dean right now.

"No need to use spells," he said calmly. "I figured you could use some company, that's all."

"I don't," Harry said, shoving his wand into his belt and folding his arms.

"Fine," Dean said. "Are you done here? It's a good spot for practising swordplay but, well, I suppose you know that already."

"No, I'm not done," Harry said. "I was just starting."

"Right," Dean said. "You were dropping your shoulder on that last go-round. That'd cost you in a real fight."

"I'll bear it in mind," Harry said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some privacy."

"There's plenty of room," Dean said, lazily bringing his own sword up into a guard and running through a languid series of motions that Harry couldn't have matched with a year to practise them.

"Look, if you're here to make me feel bad about losing the Cup-"

Dean stopped in mid movement. "Is that what you think?" He sounded incredulous. "Bloody hell, Harry, you saved Ginny's life. I heard what Dumbledore said to you, you know. If he thinks you did the right thing, then you did, right?

"Now, I'll admit I did have an ulterior motive in coming down here," Dean confided to his roommate as he started his advanced practise again. "I was wondering exactly what you were doing down here when you should be in the hospital wing."

"I'm not hurt," Harry said quietly, turning his back on Dean and beginning his own routine.

"Not what I asked," Dean said, huffing slightly as he increased the speed of his movements. Harry cast a glance over his shoulder, watching for a second as Dean went through a particularly intricate series of moves that turned his heavy sword into a fast moving blur. Harry huffed slightly and went back to his own practise.

"I meant," Dean continued when he finished his series, "why aren't you up in the hospital wing, holding Ginny's hand and waiting for her to wake up?"

Harry said nothing. The series of moves he was working on required a lot of concentration.

"I mean, I know she's going to be okay, thankfully," Dean went on, practising sidesteps and hops. "Still, I'm sure she'd like to see a friendly face when she wakes up."

Harry maintained his silence, slashing at the air with his sword.

"You did save her life, you know. I imagine she'd be grateful. Ron's pretty pleased with you right now."

Slash, hack, went Harry's sword.

"I know Ron's happy enough. I mean, it's Ron, right? I thought he'd be furious-"

Hack, slash, hack.

"-but he's pretty chirpy. Reckons that he's still got next year to win it again. He's pretty happy for Cho, really. Says she deserves it for snogging you."

Hack, slash.

"But that's Ron for you, right? He won't admit that he's grateful to you, but then, why should he? You've been acting like a first class sod for the last six months anyway, and then you found a way to upgrade that to, well, premium class sod, I suppose. Maybe 'cos you got your magic back?"

Hack, slash. Hack, slash, hack.

"Anyway, just when everyone was ready to go and give up on you, you go and save Ginny's life. If you actually wanted people to stop liking you, it was a pretty bad move."

Hack, slash. Hack, hack, slash, hack.

"I mean, it's going to be really hard to convince people that they should just give up on you now. It wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done. I guess you must really feel something for Ginny, at least, even if you don't about anyone else."

Hack, slash, hack. Slash, slash, hack, slash, hack.

"I suppose it's her you think about when you come up with that bloody great big Patronus of yours, isn't it? I guess it just goes to show, you really see someone's true character when you threaten someone they l-"

Harry swung around, sword raised above his head and crashing down towards where Dean was standing.

"Shut up, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!!" Harry yelled. His blade clashed harmlessly with Dean's as Dean raised his sword to block it with inches to spare.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Dean asked, the torchlight flickering in his eyes. "Can't stand to hear the truth?"

"Just shut up!" Harry said. "What do you want from me?" He pressed down on his sword, trying to get past Dean's blade, but Dean held firm, easily keeping Harry from pressing home.

"Me? I don't want anything from you, Harry," Dean said calmly. "And if you want me to shut up, then I will."

Harry relaxed immediately, and Dean felt the pressure from Harry's sword on his lessen.

"If-"

The pressure increased again, and Dean had to take half a step back. He grunted in surprise. Harry was stronger than he looked.

"If you can beat me in a duel. Then I'll never say anything about you and Ginny as long as I live. If I win, you have to admit to Ginny how you feel about her."

Harry's own eyes gleamed ferociously. "Fine," he snarled. "Anything to make you shut up."

"Good. Finite!" Dean stepped aside as his sword vanished. Harry toppled forward a step, the resistance to his sword vanishing.

Dean stuck his wand in his belt, and stripped off his jacket and jumper. He went through a series of stretching exercises and then drew his wand again. He turned to face Harry, who was still standing where he had been, glaring at Dean fixedly.

"Well then," Dean said brightly. "Let's get to this, shall we? Gladius!"

Barely had Dean's sword hissed into existence, then Harry attacked.

He dove in with a powerful overhand blow that Dean was barely able to block. Dean dived backwards, using his self-defence training to turn the move into a backward roll. He came up several feet from Harry, who glared at him.

"Bad move to use such an obvious attack," he said. "I could see that coming a mile off.

Harry took to pacing backwards and forwards. A few steps, turn, a few steps, turn, a few steps.

"Didn't seem that way to me," he said. "Seemed more like you didn't see that coming at all."

He slashed at the floor of the Great Hall, sparks flying up where the faux-metal of his sword scraped the flagstones.

"Come on, then," he said. "You're the great swordsman. Come and get me."

"I've been paying attention in Ron's tactics classes," Dean said, laying the flat of his sword over his shoulder. "I'm going to let you come and get me."

Harry scowled, and stepped forward. He kept the point of his sword level, aimed at Dean's throat.

Dean waited, motionless. He allowed Harry to move within striking range, and then shuffled slightly to one side.

Harry's frown deepened, and he turned to keep his blade on Dean.

"Well?" Dean said. "Attack."

"I don't want to," Harry said. "You've got some trick up your sleeve, I know it."

"No tricks," Dean said. He waved his free arm, indicating his short-sleeved shirt. "No sleeves."

Harry smirked, and for a fraction of a second, Dean relaxed.

Harry attacked again, bringing his sword around in a swing that would have caught Dean just beneath his ribs if he hadn't blocked it. He frowned.

"Playing for keeps, Harry? You think that if you'll kill me it'll make up for saving Ginny? Tell me, how much do you care for her? It must be a lot if-"

Harry attacked again, firing off a series of hard shots that Dean picked off one by one. Harry never came close to breaking through Dean's defence. He was swinging wildly, operating on pure emotion.

Dean knocked Harry's blade away, and advanced, backing Harry up.

"As I was saying, it must be a lot if you were prepared to risk everything you've spent the last six months doing," Dean said. He held the tip of his sword at Harry's throat. "Six months hard work trying to get us to leave you alone. And you were so close! No one I spoke to wanted to be in your study sessions, Harry. You could have just cancelled them, but you had to make people hate you, didn't you? And to give it all up for Ginny? Well, I don't think it's just that you like her, do you Harry? You really l-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Dean's sword was blasted from his grip and sent clattering away into the darkness. Harry now held his sword at Dean's throat, and Dean could see the wand inside glowing brightly, illuminating the scene.

"Your mistake, Dean," Harry said calmly. "You should have said no magic. You're good with a sword, but you can't beat me with a wand."

"I taught you that," Dean conceded. "'Your opponent can always cheat', I remember. Well, I cheated too."

Dean dove away from Harry and drew another wand from inside his jacket.

"Seamus lent me his wand," Dean said. "I figured you'd have something like that up your sleeve."

"So you did come here to fight," Harry snarled.

"I came prepared," Dean said. "Accio Gladius!"

His sword fllew out of the shadows and dropped into his hand.

"Don't mind me," he added, tucking Seamus' wand into his belt. Then he set his guard, and beckoned for Harry to attack.

Harry did.

The duel raged back and forth, no quarter asked, none given. Dean had taught Harry almost everything he knew while Harry had a few tricks of his own. Occasional spells would fizz from the tips of the two swords. They were weaker spells, to be certain, but Harry was still carrying a lot of stored power and there didn't seem to Dean as though there was much difference between a weakened hex from Harry and a normal one from anyone else. Certainly when a Disarming hex from Harry missed Dean but hit the stone floor, it left a smoking patch that Dean took one look at and swallowed.

He pivoted, and swept a low, arcing blow at Harry, the blade glinting in the torchlight as it rose upwards. Harry twisted, and for a second the point of the blade seemed to be plunging directly at the small of Harry's back.

Then Harry twisted further, and the blade sliced cleanly through the material of his t-shirt, missing the flesh beneath.

"Huh," Dean gasped, declining to press his advantage in favour of catching his breath. "Maybe it's not you I'm stabbing in the back, then."

Harry's eyes flashed, his mouth contorted into a snarl.

"You already did," he hissed, and his blade flashed between them, cutting through the material of Dean's shirt and leaving a long gash across his chest. Dean guessed that it had missed his body by only a few millimetres. He swallowed with difficulty. He had a distinct feeling that he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

After several minutes of intense duelling, Dean was out of breath, panting heavily with his sword hanging limply at the end of his tired arm. He backed away from Harry, whose sword was aimed point-first at Dean's throat.

Dean eventually backed into something solid. Hesitant touching led him to realise that it was one of the house tables, probably the Slytherin one. He looked up into Harry's eyes, so cold despite the flickering firelight they reflected, and shivered.

Harry looked so furious, and yet so in control at the same time. Dean had come to provoke him into a fight, one that Dean had been confident of winning. He wanted Harry to face up to his mistakes and just admit that he cared for Ginny. Now, as Harry held his sword at Dean's throat, Dean wondered whether he might have miscalculated somewhat.

Dean gathered his strength and swung his heavy broadsword up, swatting aside Harry's much lighter blade without much effort. With a panted "Finite!" he cancelled the Gladius spell and scrambled onto the Slytherin table. Breathing heavily, he drew Seamus' wand from his belt and was about to conjure the much shorter sword from it when Harry lifted his own sword up, aiming the point at Dean.

Even before Harry cast the spell, Dean was throwing himself backwards, hoping that he wouldn't land on anything too painful. Even so, as Harry roared "Expelliarmus!" once more, Dean felt his grip on the two wands loosen, and they clattered to the tabletop just as he landed, cracking his head against a heavy pewter candelabra.

Harry stepped carefully onto the bench next to the table, and then up onto the table itself. Dean watched him approaching groggily as he gently probed the egg shaped lump swelling up on the back of his head. Glancing down at the table, he saw that his two wands were lying too far away to reach, and a surge of frustration washed over him. He reached behind him and, as Harry moved within range, swung the candelabra up and around, knocking Harry's sword from his hand and sending it clattering away under the Hufflepuff table.

Dean clambered wearily to his feet with the candelabra still in one hand.

"Okay, ready to concede?"

Harry's scowl deepened but, rather than replying, he jumped off the Slytherin table and dived under the Hufflepuff table, following the fading glow that his wand was still emitting.

Dean swore, then scooped up his wands. With a quick "Ferula!" he strapped them to his hands and followed Harry down onto the floor.

The two roommates faced one another across the Hufflepuff table, swords drawn and pointed at one another.

"We won't settle this by fighting," Harry said at last.

"You think?" Dean asked, his gaze not wavering.

"Yeah. You're better with a sword, but I can cast spells better than you can. It's an even fight."

"No way," Dean said. "I can take you, Harry. I'm not fighting to be selfish, not like you. You're just trying to stop yourself getting hurt and, if I can be blunt, you're acting like a complete -" Dean called Harry something that would even have impressed Ron. "You think that people will abandon you? You're being pretty high handed to take that choice away from them. In case you hadn't noticed, no one's gone and joined Voldemort yet. Everyone you know is fighting You-Know-Who, hell, even Draco Malfoy isn't on his side, and you thought he was the biggest git in the world, didn't you?"

"What the hell do you know?" Harry yelled. "Do you have to live with what I do? Do you have to find a way to get through the day, knowing that any moment Voldemort might show up and decide to finish you off? Do you have to constantly think about what spells you might use if you fight him again? Did he kill your parents?"

Dean stood impassively, staring at Harry.

"God, Rita Skeeter was right about you all along," he said at last. "You've gone over the edge, mate. Listen to yourself! I really thought that you had it all figured out, and then you turn around and try and throw it all away. You don't appreciate just how lucky you are, do you know that? You've got friends who've always stood by you, a girl who's crazy about you, the strongest wizard in the world prepared to defend you no matter what, and you're dead set on trying to give that all up because you're scared they'll go away? For God's sake, Harry, wake up! They've taken everything that's been thrown at them, and they're still prepared to stand by you. Hell, they've taken nothing but rubbish from you for the last six months, and they're still on your side. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Harry seemed to be shaking as he stood across the table from Dean. He raised his hand to his face and, to Dean's surprise, wiped away tears.

"Shut up," Harry said quietly. "You're wrong. You're wrong, do you hear me? Now fight, and I'll shut you up for good."

Dean scowled. I was so sure I got through to him there. Merlin's beard, he's stubborn!

Mirroring one another's movements, Harry and Dean stepped onto the benches that were either side of the Hufflepuff table, and then up onto the table itself.

They stood facing one another over an elaborate, three-armed candlestick. Both fighters carried short, light swords that would be less taxing during a long duel. They bowed stiffly, as their fencing teachers had taught them to do, and then set themselves into position.

Dean had a sense of something new about Harry. He was calm again, the emotion that had been present a few moments before was absent from his face. It was as though he had made a choice, as though he had faced Dean's accusation and they had made him retreat even further into the shell that he had constructed around himself over the preceding six months.

"I'm right," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's me who has to fight, not anyone else. It's me who has to make the choices. And my choice is that I don't risk the people I care about. Voldemort will use them against me, and I can't give him that opportunity. He'll always come after me until one of us is dead, but no one else should have to suffer because of it."

Dean glared at him.

"Do you even listen to what you're saying?" he asked. "You sound like Hagrid when he gets drunk, do you know that? As far as I can tell, you're worried about you getting hurt by other people, about other people getting hurt because of you, and God only knows what else."

Harry glared back. "So I'm scared about more than one thing. That's not impossible."

"Why can't you just accept that your friends care for you and they don't care about the risks that that brings!" Dean yelled, his patience evaporating.

"Because I can't!" Harry yelled. "Because it's all me! Because everything is about me, all right? Every year, it seems like every last, single, final thing in this world revolves around me and how can I live with that unless I do the very best I can think of? And who the hell are you to judge me?"

Harry lunged forwards, swinging the sword as he ploughed through the candelabra. Dean barely had time to register the deep gouges that the metal sliced into Harry's skin before he jumped back, bringing his own sword up to block Harry's swing.

The two of them moved back and forth along the length of the Hufflepuff table, scattering plates and cutlery as they went. At one point, Dean slipped on a plate and staggered clumsily off the table and onto the floor, before recovering and hopping neatly onto the bench of the Ravenclaw table. Harry followed, and soon the duel was rejoined with a fresh set of silverware to send clattering to the floor.

Dean was faintly surprised to see that Harry was refraining from casting spells. He suspected that he had managed to goad Harry into non-magical combat, that Harry was eager to prove himself equal to anything Dean could manage. Dean wondered whether this was a good thing. Harry had been an exceptionally driven student and he had been learning from Professor Skeeter as well as Dean himself.

Again, Dean found himself wondering if he had bitten more than he could chew in the duel.

It's Harry Potter, for heaven's sake! He's a bloody hero, how do you beat a hero?

There was a pause in the fighting as the duellists caught their breath. Dean's entire head glistened with sweat, while Harry's t-shirt was soaking wet. Dean tried to spit, but his mouth was too dry. The two fighters eyed one another warily, weighing their swords in their hands. They stood atop the Ravenclaw table, chests heaving as they measured one another. Dean felt certain that the final act of the duel was about to begin.

Harry took one step forward, flicking a platter away with his foot before setting himself in an aggressive posture.

Dean took one step backwards, sending a miraculously untouched tureen of cutlery to the floor with a loud crash before calmly arraying himself defensively.

The eyes of the two duellists glistened as they faced one another silently. The time for words had passed, and now there would be only action.

Dean held his sword in both hands, pointing straight up, ready for anything Harry would attempt.

Harry's sword was held loosely in his leading hand, the wand at its core still glowing faintly. The light shone up onto Harry's face and to Dean Harry looked somewhat gruesome. The light distorted his features, leaving Harry looking distinctly unnatural.

The two roommates stared into one another's eyes.

Harry feinted forwards, pulling his attack back almost before it had begun.

Dean didn't move.

Harry shifted his weight so that he was now in a defensive pose that invited Dean to make the next move.

Dean took two quick steps forwards and brought the flat of his sword around as hard as he could, driving it into the flat of Harry's sword with a crash that reverberated around the room.

As Dean stepped back, he saw Harry wince, and smiled slightly to himself. Years of self-defence training had left him with rough, callused hands. Harry, in contrast, had had nothing to protect him from the shock of the two swords meeting so forcefully. Dean was sure that Harry's hands were aching now.

Harry nodded, as though he had read Dean's mind.

Then it was Harry's turn to come forward, and he went through a pattern of varied strikes that forced Dean backwards several steps, trading space for time as he sought to block Harry's quick movements.

Harry didn't press his advantage. Instead he moved backwards a couple of steps, once more inviting Dean to attack.

Dean stood motionless, watching Harry.

Harry stood motionless, watching Dean.

Then the two duellists moved as one, coming together in a resounding crash of blades, pivoting and stepping backwards and down easily onto the benches without missing a beat.

Dean flicked his sword at Harry. Harry leant backward and out of range.

Harry flicked his sword at Dean. Dean took the challenge on the tip of his blade and forced Harry's sword upwards.

The two stepped up onto the table again, its surface by now bare of obstructions. Dean noticed that Harry was limping slightly from the cuts he'd suffered from the candelabra, but that the cuts also didn't appear to be as deep as he'd thought.

The two moved forward again, striking at one another quickly. Dean took the offensive with a series of sweeping blows that had Harry defending at shoulder height. He quickly swept his sword in low, slicing through the material of Harry's t-shirt. However, the shirt was one of Dudley's old ones, and was more than baggy enough to allow Harry to go untouched.

Harry stepped backwards instinctively, then pushed quickly forwards again while Dean's sword was still off to one side. Dean, whose swing had thrown him slightly off balance, was seemingly easy prey for Harry, but he moved nimbly backwards, sweeping his sword back around to keep Harry at bay.

Harry pressed forward regardless and Dean, reluctant to skewer Harry on his sword, had to back up several paces as Harry came forwards.

Then Harry jabbed his sword several times at Dean, and Dean brought his sword up to counter each blow, the clashing of the two blades echoing through the Great Hall.

Harry backed off, with Dean's sword flashing between the two of them so quickly that it was only a blur in the faint light from Harry's glowing wand. Harry had to continually move backwards, having seemingly given up hope of defending himself with his sword.

Suddenly, Harry ducked and rolled under Dean's sword, rising to his feet inside Dean's reach and making Dean stagger backwards in surprise. Harry reached up and grabbed Dean's arm, jolting the short sword free of the bindings that had held it to Dean's hand.

Dean was unarmed and Harry suddenly had his sword at his throat.

"Yield," Harry said, the word rasping in his dry throat.

"Gladius!" Dean croaked, his own broadsword springing fully formed into his hand. One sweep of the heavy sword sent Harry's sword flying from his tired hands, and now Dean had his sword at Harry's throat.

"Yield," Dean added.

Harry looked at him in frustration. At the edges of his vision, he could see Harry's fingers flexing, as though Harry was tempted to try and grapple with Dean. But the blade of Dean's sword was nearly three feet long, and there was no way that Harry could get around it.

"It won't do Ginny any good, me telling her how I feel," Harry said at last, after what seemed like a very long silence.

"How do you feel?" Dean asked.

Harry glared at him. "If you don't know, then why all this?" he asked.

"Because I think you care for Ginny more than anyone else in your life," Dean rasped slowly. "And if that's the case, then you should tell her, and give her the choice of whether she thinks she'd abandon you for You-Know-Who in the future. It's called a risk. If you don't take them, what sort of life do you have?"

"You still don't understand," Harry croaked. "I saw it all, and I couldn't fight him. Why would anyone choose to stand beside me? All I do is bring pain and unhappiness into people's lives. I don't, I won't blame them for choosing him. What do I have to offer anyone? Why would anyone choose to take all the trouble I cause when Voldemort is so powerful?"

"Why indeed, Harry?" A new voice came from the shadows of the Great Hall. Dean and Harry spun around to see Dumbledore stepping into the faint torchlight. He was holding Harry's and Seamus' wands.

"There you go," he said, handing them back. "Do try and avoid losing them again. I might not be around to catch them next time."

He looked around, and muttered another spell. The lights in the Great Hall brightened considerably, leaving Harry and Dean blinking in the glare.

"An impressive mess you've made," Dumbledore commented. They looked around the Great Hall, and marvelled at the complete destruction that had been wrought on the place settings of the Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

"Er," Dean said, trying to think of anything he could say. Realising that he still had his sword at Harry's throat, he muttered a quick "Finite" and tried to free his wand from the bindings.

"You may wish to come down from the table now," Dumbledore said evenly. Dean and Harry did so, avoiding one another's eyes. They stood before Dumbledore, awaiting what Dean was sure would be a huge punishment.

Trashing the Great Hall? Unsupervised magic? Unsupervised swordfights? Oh, I'm going to be in detention 'til I'm thirty.

"Mr. Thomas, for recognising that sometimes even the smartest among us can need sense beating into us, you may take twenty points for Gryffindor house."

Dean blinked. Automatically, he replied "Thank you, sir," and then shut his mouth before he could undo his remarkable good luck.

"I would suggest that you go back to Gryffindor Tower now, before it becomes too late. It is now ten minutes to nine, and I am sure Mr. Filch will remove your hard-won points, and probably many more, should you be caught out of bounds one second after nine o'clock."

"Yes sir," Dean said, preparing to leave.

"Yourself and Mr. Potter here will serve detention in the kitchens after dinner for the next three days," Dumbledore added.

Dean winced. "Yes sir," he said, before collecting his jacket and jumper and heading out of the Great Hall.

"A most remarkable young man," Dumbledore said, once Dean was gone. "Although not one, at the moment anyway, who I feel entirely capable of answering the questions you were putting to him. No, for those answers, I suspect we will have to look somewhat further afield."

Harry looked dully at the Headmaster.

"What?" he rasped.

Dumbledore smiled at him. He pursed his lips, and whistled sharply. There was an answering trill, a sound so beautiful that Harry found himself smiling for the first time in what felt like months. He turned without thinking to the doors to the Great Hall, just as Fawkes the phoenix swooped through them. The fire-red bird soared high above their heads, before gliding gracefully downwards and alighting on Dumbledore's outstretched arm.

"Do you feel up to a trip to London, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er, yeah, I suppose," Harry said. "Where are we going? Diagon Alley?"

"Not quite, Harry," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly. "Take hold of one of Fawkes' tail feathers, Harry. Visiting hours are, alas, finished this evening, however, the ward at St. Mungo's that we are visiting is closed to most visitors anyway. I am sure they will not object to our odd arrival time."

Harry felt a surge of hope, deep in his chest, but he tried to quell it as he looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face. He wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to voice the question. It had been so long!

Dumbledore, however, seemed to understand what Harry wanted to know.

"Yes, Harry," he said with a broad smile. "It is finally time for you to see Sirius again."

To be continued...