I Have a Rendezvous with Death

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Paracelsus

Chapter VII: The Road to Gethsemane

"She said lunchtime," said Ron patiently. He sat in his office chair at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the calm center in a hurricane of anxiety.

"It's lunchtime now," replied Ginny. In contrast to her brother, she paced nervously up and down the room, a barely controlled bundle of worry.

"She may not have been able to leave at the stroke of noon," offered Hermione. She sat at another desk, tapping a quill on the desktop at an ever-increasing tempo.

Ron sighed. "I don't see why you're both so upset," he remarked. "It's not like Harry hasn't been on extended assignment before now."

"He's always warned us when he was leaving on extended assignment," Hermione said sharply.

"Plus, I'll bet his boss has never offered to meet with us in person to explain his absence," Ginny added over her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, Hermione's never contacted her directly before now, either," answered Ron. "Will you two please lighten up? Hermione, that poor quill's done nothing to hurt you."

"Shut it, Ron," she snapped. But she stopped tapping the quill. After a moment, her foot took up the drumbeat.

The silver bell tinkled at the shop's front door. Hermione and Ginny looked towards the door and froze, holding their collective breath. Ron glanced from one to the other, noted how similar they suddenly appeared, and managed to cough before he laughed aloud.

Into the office at the back of the store came a middle-aged witch in civilian robes, slightly worn and non-descript. At first glance, she superficially resembled Mrs. Weasley: short, plump, and friendly. A closer glance would reveal that the "plumpness" was hard muscle, and the "friendly" face included sharp, penetrating eyes. Ron stood and extended his hand.

"Mr. Weasley?" asked the newcomer, shaking his hand. "Rachel Naphtali. You must be Ms. Weasley and Ms. Granger," she added with nods to Ginny and Hermione. "Got your owl."

"We appreciate your coming to meet us," said Hermione as they all took seats. "I'll admit I was a bit surprised; I was only expecting a return owl, really."

"Owls can go astray," said Naphtali. "I'd prefer this be kept between ourselves." She held up her left forearm to reveal a bracelet of amber-colored stones, curiously carved. "This will insure that no one can eavesdrop."

"An anti-Clairvoyancy ward?" asked Ginny with professional interest. "I didn't think they could be made small enough for one person."

"Until very recently, they couldn't be," replied Naphtali. "Only received them this month, actually. Another example of Potter's initiative. He and his team have been wearing them on this, mm, assignment - at Potter's insistence. He seemed to think it a necessary precaution." Her gaze was coolly speculative as she regarded them. "I was wondering if you might be able to tell me why."

"N-no, we've no idea," said Hermione. "We last saw him, let's see, a week and a half ago - the first of the month, that was. We haven't heard from him since, and that was unusual enough to worry us. Then when our owls started coming back with their letters unopened..."

"Mmm, yes," nodded Naphtali. "His current... assignment... would have started the next day."

"Harry doesn't tell us much about his work," Ron assured Naphtali. "But any change in his behavior concerns us."

"Us as well, Mr. Weasley. Such as the fact that he hasn't eaten anything since Sunday." Naphtali could tell this meant something to her audience. She went on, "Now, Potter's listed you and Ms. Granger as his next of kin, to be contacted in case of emergency - which this isn't," she hastened to add, seeing the rising panic on their faces. "Point is, it gives you the right to ask about his safety. I can't give any details about his current assignment - but I assure you that as of this morning, he was unharmed and looked to stay that way."

"Thank you," said Hermione and Ginny in unison. They looked at each other in surprise, then turned their attention back to Naphtali.

"By the same token," continued Naphtali, "I have the right to ask about anything that might reduce his effectiveness as an Auror."

"Has his effectiveness been reduced?" asked Hermione in a level tone.

"Not yet," Naphtali conceded.

"I don't believe Harry'd allow anything to interfere with his Auror's duties, Ms. Naphtali," said Hermione. "He takes them very seriously, as we all know. Merlin's beard, he insists we take precautions just to dine with him! If he's concerned with surveillance, or potions in his food, it's not to be wondered at."

"We'll certainly ask him about it, if you like, when we see him again," volunteered Ginny. The question of when that would be was left to hang in the air, unvoiced but clearly audible.

Naphtali sighed and stood. "I'll probably see him before you do. But thank you." She hesitated, then added, "Don't expect him this week. Assume he's all right unless you hear from me."

"Thank you, Ms. Naphtali," said Ron. "If you see Harry before we do, would you please let him know that Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, is also looking to speak with him? I don't know why," he added.

"I'll relay the message. Good afternoon." She shook hands with them all and let herself out of the shop.

Silence reigned in W-cubed for a good seven seconds. "'Potions in his food?'" Ron asked pointedly.

"If necessary, I would've reminded her of Moody's hip flask," Hermione snorted. "Honestly, they train their Aurors to be paranoid, then ask us why one is acting strangely?!" She picked up the quill again and added, "Anyway, if Harry hasn't told her why he's fasting, she won't hear about it from me."

"From any of us," Ron agreed. "I reckon he won't say anything about the Exorcism until he actually has something tangible to offer. Once he finds the wand, then he'll report to her."

"'Another example of Potter's initiative,'" said Ginny in a fair imitation of Naphtali's voice.

"Well, in the meantime," said Hermione decisively, "Midsummer's Day is next week and we need to get things to Harry. You have the white woolen robes your mother made for him, right Ginny? I have copies of more books I found in the Museum cache, which I obviously don't want to owl to his office."

"Can't you owl them to his home?" asked Ginny.

"Harry's got his home protected with a Fidelius Charm, same as we do," Ron replied.

"But... but aren't one of you his Secret Keeper?"

Ron and Hermione shook their heads. "We'd be kind of obvious choices, wouldn't we?" asked Ron. "I've always assumed it was Dumbledore."

"We just have to hope that his 'assignment' doesn't last much longer," concluded Hermione.

"Yeah." The silver bell announced more customers entering the shop. "Be right back," said Ron, as he stood and strode into the front.

Ginny and Hermione sat quietly together for a minute or two. Hermione started tapping the quill again, but stopped at once when Ginny raised an eyebrow at her. She resolutely set the quill down on the desk and folded her hands.

After another moment, Ginny broke the silence. "We have to assume he's all right, Hermione."

"He is a fully trained Auror, after all," Hermione agreed readily.

"Plus, he's survived years of dangerous situations."

"It would be foolish to worry about him."

"But we're going to, aren't we?"

"Ohhhhhh yes."

*

On Tuesday morning, Hermione arrived at the British Museum expecting another peaceful day immersed in her books. (She always thought of them as 'her books.' She found them, after all.) The air of excitement that greeted her was quite foreign to the Recovery Project. Before she'd taken two steps into the reading room, she was cornered by the Project Head, Cholmondley Witherspoon.

"Ah, Miss Granger, good morning. Yes, yes, a good morning indeed. Come along now, we need to make ready. They should be here within the hour."

"Good morning, Professor," she answered cautiously. Professor Witherspoon was an enthusiastic leader of the Project, but he tended to start his conversations in the middle, rather than the beginning. "Who should be here within the hour?"

"Oh, my apologies, yes. Yes, I received word only this morning. The Deputy Minister of Magic himself will be visiting the Project today - 'just to see how we're doing,' if I may use his own colloquialism. A splendid recognition of the work we've done here. Now, let's see... Price, I think we want the first edition of the Codex Cagliostro on the front table, it's one of our better specimens..."

Dr. Price, at sixty-four the second-youngest member of the Project team, went to fetch the Codex as directed. He didn't seem to be as pleased as the Project Head at the prospect of an official visit - if anything, he looked ill, his face drawn and pale, with beads of perspiration on his brow. Poor man's nerves are getting to him, thought Hermione, as she checked her garments to make sure they were presentable.

They didn't have long to wait. With a faint pop, two figures Apparated in the reading room. They were obviously a security detail: "men in black," Hermione had heard them called, and they certainly fit the description. Black cloaks, black glasses, black hair. They stood motionless for a moment, checking the room, then one of them Disapparated and returned with a green-cloaked figure...

...with red hair. Percy Weasley. Hermione had to stifle her laughter. Of course, she realized, Deputy Minister for Arts and Culture. But did he really think he needed a bodyguard?

"Minister," said Professor Witherspoon, stepping forward to greet his guests, "welcome to the British Museum Recovery Project. We are privileged to have you here."

"On the contrary, Professor, the privilege and honor are entirely mine," said Percy in his 'official function' voice. Somehow, the ministerial title made him appear less pompous than he had as Head Boy, despite the fact that his tone was virtually unchanged. Perhaps it was always just the natural tone for a Deputy Minister, Hermione mused.

Witherspoon was circling the room with Percy, effecting introductions. "This is Dr. Patterson, my second... Dr. Price, one of our ablest scholars... Miss Granger, who discovered the site and has been most helpful..."

Percy solemnly shook her hand, as though meeting her for the first time. As Witherspoon led him to meet the next Project member, though, he gave her a quick wink behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He was definitely more at ease than Hermione expected.

One of Percy's security escorts followed him, staying a few paces behind. The other took station next to Hermione. She said nothing, but was faintly annoyed - did he think she was a threat of some sort?

"Wow," whispered the escort. "Dark glasses really do make for anonymity..."

Startled, Hermione turned to the man in black as he smiled at her. He tapped his dark glasses with his wand and murmured, "Acclareo"... the glasses cleared, revealing sparkling green eyes. And the scar - how had she not seen the scar before now? "I thought for sure you'd recognize me. Hi, Hermione."

She wanted to hug him. She wanted to shake him. She wanted to scream at him. She settled for a strangled whisper: "Harry Potter! Where have you been?!"

He had the grace to look mortified. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've been away on Auror business, and there was no way to let you know. I only got back yesterday."

She could expect no further explanation. She knew that, but was irritated nonetheless. "Come over here and sit down," she ordered him. "May I assume that Percy's surprise visit today was a cover for your own?"

He raised his eyebrows as they took seats at one of the unoccupied tables. "Yes. How did you...?"

"It was obvious. The Solstice is almost here, I have information you need, and arranging a dinner in our normal way would've taken too long."

"Let's hope it was obvious only to you. Percy was kind enough to help out with my little charade." His eyes flicked to the Deputy Minister, still engaging Professor Witherspoon in conversation. The other members of the Project had resumed their duties; only Dr. Price was idle, sitting at the table next to theirs. Harry returned his attention to Hermione. "We haven't much time."

"Time enough, I hope. Look here, I finally found exactly what we need," said Hermione in low tones. She produced Pinxio copies of a handwritten Latin text with Middle English glosses in the margins. "This was here in the Museum cache. It describes in detail the scrying spell that's used. First... the spell requires an ivory scry-point, which you'll have to make yourself."

"I'm familiar with the type. An ivory needle, hanging from a filigree gold chain? Don't worry, it's taken care of."

"Good. And the scrying spell itself is here. It starts with the setting of the protective wards - see here? - then goes on to describe the attunement and location charms." She gave Harry a quick, searching look as she continued, "The whole thing is very similar to an obscure scrying procedure from one of Professor Flitwick's private references."

"Really?" Harry managed to sound mildly interested, while internally cursing himself. "Nothing new under the sun, I guess."

"Mm-hmm. I remember he loaned me the book once, for extra credit." Hermione pointed again to the parchment. "And here's the most important part: the location. Druid's Dolmen, on the isle of Anglesey. It's guarded with Muggle Repelling Charms nowadays, so you should be able to work without interruption."

Harry looked over the parchment copy, tracing the words with his finger and repeating them under his breath. He nodded once, rolled up the parchment and stowed it in a pocket of his cloak. He blew out his cheeks and smiled at Hermione. "Wow, Hermione. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"Well, maybe you can tell me some other things, then," said Hermione evenly. She didn't like how gaunt he appeared; she decided to start with that. "Did Ms. Naphtali mention that she'd spoken to us about your fasting?"

Harry's smile hardly changed, but now it looked somewhat pained. "Uh, we had a chat yesterday. It wasn't too bad. Let's just say I brought her up to date."

"And how do things stand?"

"Whew. That covers a lot of ground. As far as our little project's concerned, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. As for what's been going on with Voldemort..." Harry considered a moment, then leaned towards Hermione and lowered his voice still further. "It'll be in the Prophet tomorrow anyway, so I can tell you this much: the Aurors have spent the last two weeks in a coordinated raid of Death Eater training camps. We've crippled Voldemort's army, Hermione - we've done him serious damage for a change."

He drew a deep breath. "But we didn't get his top Death Eater lieutenants. And needless to say, we didn't get him. And while we may have hurt him, in some ways that makes him more dangerous. He'll want to strike back, prove he's still a threat - he won't be able to recruit new followers otherwise."

"And what does this have to do with our project?" Hermione asked, but she feared she knew the answer.

"Naphtali told me about Ron's message from Madam Pince," replied Harry obliquely. "I went to Hogwarts yesterday and spoke with her." Among others, he added silently. "She wanted to ask me about Rituels Magyques. Seems it's gone missing from the Restricted Section, and she wondered if I might have, eh, 'borrowed' it."

"Someone did," whispered Hermione. "Oh, Harry, do you think...?"

"I think one of the students saw me in the library that day and reported the fact to his parents, just as they asked him to. Perfectly innocent, on the student's part. And later the parents asked him to nip the book so they could find out what so interested me. Somewhat less innocent, but still harmless, right?"

"Unless the parents worked for Voldemort."

Harry nodded grimly. "We have to assume that Voldemort knows about the existence of the Exorcism of Power. He knows it can't be done without the ritual wand, which is hidden. But that's all he can learn from Rituels Magyques. That's all he knows for sure."

"No," argued Hermione. "He also knows you're interested in the ritual. And he can deduce the day for finding the wand, just as we did."

"But he can't find it himself," Harry responded. "That whole purity requirement, remember? And he doesn't know where to look for it - nor will he learn." He held out his hand, and Hermione caught a glimpse of amber-colored stones on his wrist. "Naphtali mentioned she'd shown you one of these. I commissioned Albus to make some for the Aurors. If I had my way, they'd be standard issue. As it was, we wore them during the raids, and I intend to wear mine from now on. We're safe from any magical spying."

"But he still knows too much, Harry. He knows you're going to try, he knows the day... And you said he'll want to strike back..."

"Which is why I intend to steal a march on him. His organization's in disarray now - I'm not giving him a chance to assemble his forces again. I want to scry for the wand tomorrow."

"Harry - that's two days early!" She paused in thought, then continued, "All right, I suppose 'in the fullness of Light' doesn't have to be right on the Solstice, but that's the best day."

"But suppose it were raining on that day? I can't imagine the Druids would've used such an inflexible rule, if that meant they might not get the wand when they really needed it. The closer to the Solstice, the more easily the wand can be found - but there should be a couple of days' leeway on either side, to allow for rain or other problems. Does that sound reasonable?"

Hermione nodded. It was in keeping with everything she'd read on the High Druids and their protocols.

"So I go to the Druid's Dolmen tomorrow, at high noon. That should be 'in the fullness of Light' enough. With luck, I'll be there, done and back before anyone notices."

She met his gaze. "And without luck? What then?"

Harry hesitated. "Look, Hermione, we've always known this was a long shot. We've done everything we could to minimize the risk - all right, I admit it, there's always a risk, but it's small. And everything suggests I'll find the wand tomorrow, even though it's not the ideal scrying day. It should be all right."

Hermione refused to break eye contact. Almost by reflex, she fell into the gesture she'd termed her let-me-in gesture: the one she'd first used, all those months ago, to convince Harry that he needed to continue seeing his friends. She leaned forward, butted her forehead against his, and forced those green eyes to look into her own. "And if you don't find the wand tomorrow? Let me hear you say it."

He swallowed, acutely aware how she'd focused on him, knowing he wouldn't be able to lie to her. He gave her the exact, literal truth. "If I don't find the wand tomorrow... I won't try again."

She let his words echo in the air between them before she released him. "I intend to hold you to that," she told him in a voice that left no room for negotiation. Harry lowered his gaze and nodded, unable to speak.

They sat motionless for another moment before Hermione said briskly, "Your white robe is waiting for you at W-cubed; it was easier to leave it there than the Burrow. Don't forget to allow for Summer Time: the sun will be highest at one, not twelve. You've got the spells now - you have the scry-point, yes? - and you have the location."

He nodded again. "And I've fasted. I'm as pure as I can be." He sighed discontentedly and added, "Once this is over, that's one requirement I'll enjoy breaking."

Hermione's mouth quirked upward; she couldn't help it. "I assume you're talking about eating."

"Yes, of course... Oh." He looked at her over his glasses, in unconscious imitation of Minerva McGonagall. "You know, I didn't want to discuss sex at the Burrow. How long do you intend to hold that over my head?"

"Only until I find something else to hold over your head."

"Wonderful." He looked over at Percy, who was taking his leave of Professor Witherspoon. "I need to get going, I'm afraid. Take care, Hermione."

"Harry." She took his hand and squeezed, a bit harder than she meant to. "You take care, will you please? I really don't like the thought of your going out there alone."

"But I'm not alone," Harry told her tenderly. "I have you, and Ron, and Ginny, right here." He pressed her hand over his heart, just for a moment, then released it. "Didn't you know? Whenever I have any problem, I just close my eyes and ask you all what you think I should do. You always answer." He stood and made ready to rejoin Percy and the other security escort.

Vaguely, she was aware of a problem with her breathing, and her eyes had started stinging. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. Hermione gave Harry her most confident smile. "I'm glad I could give you what you need. Get back to us as soon as you find the wand."

"Count on it." He returned her confident smile and walked past the library tables full of rare texts. As soon as he'd left, Hermione allowed her smile to fade. She closed her eyes, sat motionless at the table, and wept in silence. From the adjacent table Dr. Price watched her, his expression unreadable.

*

"You're a big coward, Potter," Harry said aloud.

It was getting close to midnight. Harry sat in his bedroom, staring at the white woolen robe Mrs. Weasley had made for him. He hadn't gone to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to collect it: after visiting Hermione that morning, he knew he wouldn't be able to face Ron or Ginny - let alone Ron and Ginny. He had sent an Auror trainee to fetch the robe and bring it to his office. "Coward," he said again.

For a ritual robe that was intended to be worn only once, it was well made, if a bit loose. Well, I've lost some weight, haven't I? He'd laid out the robe on his bed, next to the other garb he'd be wearing to the Druid's Dolmen. Looking them over, Harry suddenly felt annoyed: was he actually wearing only Slytherin colors on the morrow? He wandered to his wardrobe, finally selecting a Gryffindor necktie and laying it alongside the woolen robe. Got to have on some red and gold tomorrow... it's a big day, after all. He grinned mirthlessly.

Harry continued wandering restlessly through his house, tidying as he went. Not that the place wasn't immaculate - years spent cleaning the Dursleys' home had made Harry a superb housekeeper - but there were things he wanted to remove, before he left. His eye fell on a stack of parchments, and he grimaced. Those, for example...

He leafed through them, wincing at the rough calligraphy. They were his first drafts of the text he'd planted in the British Museum cache, many months ago. Harry thought he'd been so careful: basing it on a charm from a very obscure book, translating it into Latin and Middle English, polishing it through each draft until he'd felt sure it would pass any scrutiny. Trust Hermione to have read the same obscure book, he thought with chagrin. I think I allayed any suspicions, though. He tossed the sheets into the fireplace, and with a muttered "Incendio" set them ablaze.

He took a few more steps, then collapsed onto his armchair. "The last act," he said aloud, as though he weren't alone in the house. "All my plans, finally coming together. Yay me." He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Damn all Aurors and their raids, ruining my timing like that. Making me step up the pace, goading Voldemort into reacting so soon."

Not to mention the fact that he'd had to obtain the bracelet wards from Albus - with the Auror Corps preparing for their raids, it was a poor time to let Voldemort link to his scar and spy on him. He couldn't sacrifice the safety of his fellow Aurors for the sake of his plans, could he? But they'd forced him to revise those plans.

Worst of all, the raids had kept him from his friends for two whole weeks. He hadn't realized how much he would miss them... how much it would hurt... and hurt them. And he couldn't even tell them how sorry he was.

"Dear God, it's bad enough I'm probably going to die. But to die with so many things left unsaid..." What was the word? Unshriven...

The smoldering flames in the fireplace suddenly flared into bright golden-red tongues of fire. Beautiful music filled the room, as Harry looked up startled. The flames swirled higher, and took the form of Fawkes the phoenix. He gave his wings a beat, soared across the room and landed in Harry's lap. Bereft of speech, Harry stared down at the phoenix as he looked back inquiringly.

"Fawkes?" said Harry finally. "How did you get here? How did you find me? No one can find me... the Fidelius Charm... not even Hedwig could find me here."

He expected no reply. Instead he repeated in his mind the words he'd just said. Reflected on them...

Light could find him here. Sunlight and starlight and moonlight, they could find him here. The phoenix is a creature of light, and Harry is a servant of the Light. And after all, hadn't Fawkes found him in the Chamber of Secrets? The Chamber that ten centuries of Hogwarts headmasters couldn't find? Harry should know better than to doubt.

Harry blinked. Had those been his thoughts?

"So you really can communicate with Dumbledore. And also with me? I'm honored."

Hedwig could always make her feelings known to Harry: disapproval, contentment, whatever. Doesn't Hedwig communicate? This isn't so different.

"Well, I'm glad you've come. I didn't want to be alone, not tonight." He gently cradled Fawkes in his arms, welcoming the bird's warmth against his chest. After a few minutes he spoke again. "I'm so tired, Fawkes. I'm tired to death of being a hero. An Auror. The Boy Who Lived. Do you know how much I hate that phrase? If there were any way out of this, I'd take it."

That wasn't true, and he knew it.

"Yeah, I know it." He was stroking Fawkes now, smoothing the feathers down his neck and back. Fawkes leaned his head into Harry's hand. "It's my responsibility to stop him, no one else's. I do know it. I just... wish it weren't. And I wish I could've found another way to stop him."

If his only goal were to stop the Dark Lord, there were plenty of ways, were there not? Harry'd had a second goal, equally important: to keep his friends safe from harm.

"I've had to lie to them to do it, Fawkes. I've lied to them, and manipulated them. Used them: planted books for them to find, talked to them so that Voldemort could listen... And now I can't even tell them goodbye. Even now, I don't dare let the façade slip."

There's a quill and parchment on the table. Letters could be written.

"To say what? Even if I only said goodbye, I'd be admitting I knew Voldemort would attack me. They'd know my whole mission to the Dolmen was a set-up. And anyway..." He paused guiltily. This was where he felt his pain most keenly. "Anyway, I owe them more than a goodbye. I owe them an explanation... an apology... but then they'd know how I used them. I don't want them remembering me that way."

That sounds like vanity talking.

"They're the most important people in the world to me, Fawkes. I just want to protect them. That's what this whole plan was about!"

And there's no one else who deserves a farewell? Someone who wouldn't require explanations or apologies?

"No, not really... Well, maybe one. But she won't exactly care... likely won't even know I'm gone..."

Perhaps, perhaps not. But in any case, Harry's the one who needs to say goodbye - does it matter to whom? It should be done tonight - there won't be time tomorrow.

"All right." Harry stood, his confessor still cradled in his arms, and carefully set him on the chair. "Will you be here when I come back? I won't be long."

Take as long as necessary.

*

Like so many public institutions after the return of Lord Voldemort, St. Mungo's Hospital had arranged for anti-Apparition spells to be set up. These spells were difficult and costly to prepare, but it was important to keep Death Eaters away from the patients. Visitors to St. Mungo's were now required to Apparate into the hospital foyer, and thence walk through the endless corridors.

St. Mungo's barriers weren't absolute: in an emergency, authorized personnel could countermand the spells and Apparate anywhere within the hospital. Auror's badges were enchanted with just such an override code. Of course, a permanent record was automatically kept of the Auror's name, time of entry, and reason for entry - and penalties applied to anyone misusing the privilege.

Harry figured that, by the time the record was reviewed, he wouldn't be available to face an inquiry.

His Auror's badge allowed him to Apparate directly into the Long Term Care wing. The lights were dimmed for the evening, the hallways empty. Harry entered the private room, closing the door quietly behind him. Lavender lay asleep in her bed, as she had for months.

"Hello, Lavender." Harry walked over to the bedside, but didn't take his usual seat. "I won't be staying long. I, um, I just wanted to say... that is..."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't even say goodbye to a sleeping girl. Pathetic, Potter. Just say the words. Tell her why you're here.

"Lavender, I'm going on a mission tomorrow. Voldemort will be coming for me, I think. Well, actually, I'm sure of it... I've gone to a lot of trouble to get him there." Harry paused - had Lavender moaned in her sleep? He couldn't say for certain. "I expect I'll be able to finish him, once and for all. I've gone to a lot of trouble to insure that, too."

He paused again. It proved a great effort for him to say the next words, to anyone but himself.

"Of course I won't... I, I don't expect to survive. But Voldemort will be gone, and everyone else will be safe, and that's all that counts. I'm sorry I won't be able to read to you any more, Lavender. I don't know if you ever understood me, but I think you enjoyed listening."

He stood there another moment, trying to decide what else he needed to say. "I couldn't save your parents - any more than I could save my own. I couldn't help you. But I can make sure it never happens again. Goodbye, Lavender."

That seemed to sum it up. Harry turned and took a step away from the bed, preparing to Apparate home. Then he hesitated, and turned back to regard Lavender's sleeping form. Indecision held him motionless for what seemed an eternity.

Abruptly, cursing Ron as an idiot for suggesting it, and feeling like a complete fool for doing it, Harry leaned over the bed and kissed Lavender gently on the lips.

Nothing happened, of course: no fluttering of eyelids, no murmured "Where am I?", nothing at all. I really ought to have known better, Harry thought sheepishly as he straightened and backed from the bed. It'll take stronger magic than a kiss to break this spell.

Still, his heart was lighter for having said aloud what he'd been kept hidden there for all this time. And, in a roundabout way, he'd said his goodbyes. Fawkes had been right: he'd needed this closure. Harry couldn't help smiling wistfully as he turned and Apparated back to his home, to prepare himself for the coming conflict.

If he'd looked back, he'd have been surprised to see the same wistful smile on Lavender's face.