Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 1: Death Does Not Release You

Say what you will about the British (and who doesn't?), when they build an institution to last, it lasts.

At the close of the 19^th Century, Great Britain possessed an Empire so vast that the sun never set on it. To govern such an Empire, when the fastest mode of international transport was a steamship and radio communication was still a dream, was an exercise in frustration.

To be sure, an obscure Ministry within Her Majesty's Government had a means of instantaneously sending people from one point to another. This was no untried or chancy new technology, but a well-tested and reliable technique called "Apparition." But Apparition had drawbacks: it had to be kept secret. It could be used only by a few select persons (all working for this obscure Ministry). Worst of all, it was risky to attempt internationally, where it was most needed. Intercontinental distances were simply too vast, and the arrival point usually too vaguely defined.

Until a brilliant though unnamed Government official (the records of the Ministry of Magic cite only the name "Mycroft") devised a plan to use Apparition to the Empire's best advantage: by building a network of precisely located Apparition Points throughout the Empire. Each was close enough to its neighbor to permit a reasonably talented Apparator to travel without undue stress; each was provided with amenities to allow the Apparator a few minutes to recover before continuing to the next Apparition Point. The Apparator need only learn the locations of these few Apparition Points to travel across the globe - and best of all, the Apparator need never leave the boundaries of the Empire.

Other nations quickly followed suit, setting up their own international Apparition Points. But all of them accepted travelers from the British Empire Apparition Matrix (B.E.A.M.)... and within the Empire, Beaming remained the most convenient way to Apparate internationally.

And even today, after many countries had gained independence from the Empire, after many have indeed forgotten that they were still the hosts of an Apparition Point, the Beam remains in active service.

To take an example pertinent to our story: were we to follow a Trio of travelers out of New Zealand, we would Beam to the Apparition Point in Sydney, Australia... thence to Darwin, on Australia's northern shores... to Singapore... then a long jump to Madras, India. Pause awhile to catch our breath, then continue to Bombay, on the other side of India... another long jump to the Port of Aden... thence to Suez, Egypt, and another breather. Then onwards to Valletta, Malta... to Gibraltar... and one more long jump brings us back to fair England, having never once left the old British Empire.

And at this point, having caught up with our Trio, we can resume our story.

*

She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and the hour approached midnight. Yet Molly Weasley found she couldn't sleep. The stress of the last few days had left her in a nervous state... tired, drained, but not sleepy.

Rising silently from her bed, she pulled on her house-robe. She opened the bedroom door quietly so as not to disturb Arthur (who, from the way he was tossing, wasn't sleeping well either). Molly came down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some warm milk would help her to sleep.

She noted, along the way, that Ginny had finally fallen asleep on the comfy-chair in the living room. Poor dear, she thought, she's been waiting for Ron and Hermione to return... and where did those two get off to, anyway? It's not like them to leave without a word to anyone... not any more, not with Harry gone... She stumbled as the thought brought a fresh stab of sorrow.

Harry was gone, and everything was changed.

No more You-Know-Who to imperil the world. No more Death Eaters threatening to murder unsuspecting innocents. No more cowering under a cloud of terror, fearing for your very way of life, wondering if your children would survive to have children of their own.

But no more Boy Who Lived, either. No more valiant hero and pride of Gryffindor. No more sense of protection from unnamable evil. No more mischievous green eyes or gentle teasing. Had Harry been her own son, she couldn't have loved him more... and now Harry was gone.

And this was not helping her insomnia.

Sighing, Molly poured herself a cup of milk from the icebox. She sat down at the kitchen table, absently stirring her milk with her wand; the milk not only warmed as she stirred it but turned chocolate brown as well. She took a sip of the hot cocoa as she tried to rally her thoughts...

She really needed to get some sleep. There was so much to do! Dumbledore had scheduled Harry's memorial service for tomorrow, and the Weasley clan would be there in force. Molly's task was to organize everyone and get them to Hogsmeade, where they could walk to the service at Hogwarts. And trying to get all the Weasleys in one place at one time was a formidable challenge, even for Molly Weasley.

They'd agreed to meet at Ron's house. Ron had broken the Fidelius Charm yesterday (having no further need for it) and told his family where he lived: next door to Fred and George's joke shop in Hogsmeade. All this time, he'd been living literally next door to his place of work! Ron thought it was a joke in itself.

By Sunday, she supposed, the children would have gone their separate ways again. Bill back to London... Charlie off across the globe somewhere (he was much in demand as an expert dragonkeeper; no longer limited to Romania, he did frequent consulting work overseas)... Fred, George and Ron back to Hogsmeade... Ginny, at least, would be at the Burrow awhile longer before returning to Beauxbatons. The thought of all her fledglings leaving the nest usually saddened her - today, it barely registered.

There was a sharp crack! from the living room... someone had Apparated into the Burrow. Seconds later, Ron came bursting into the kitchen wearing the biggest grin Mrs. Weasley had seen in years. "Hi, Mum," he said breathlessly. "Good, you're awake..."

"Ron, where have you been? You and Hermione left us this afternoon without a word... you both missed dinner... it was all very worrisome, and we don't need any more worries right now." She peered more closely at him: his face glowed with excitement, but there was a stretched look around the eyes. He seemed to be exhausted, running on pure nervous energy. "You've been Apparating too much, I can tell. Wherever you've been, it's taken too much out of you. You need to rest..."

Ron shook his head, still grinning. He took the cup of cocoa from Mrs. Weasley's hands and drained it in a single gulp. "There, I'll be fine. Honest, Mum, I'll be fine. But I need to get into Harry's home. Right away." He looked at his mother expectantly.

Molly gave an inward groan. She'd been anticipating something like this ever since Harry's death. She'd agreed to keep troth, so she'd planned a ready response should this question arise. She now told Ron, "I'm sure we'd all like to get into Harry's home, dear. But until we find his Secret Keeper, we can't get past the Fidelius Charm he used...."

It didn't seem possible that Ron's grin could broaden, but somehow he managed it. He pulled his mother out of her chair and gave her a quick hug. Looking her in the eye, he recited, "Molly, Molly, with her brolly..."

Molly gasped. Those were the words she and Harry had agreed to... Ron knew?

Ron continued, "She'll defend us all, by golly!" He burst out laughing and impulsively kissed her forehead. "Wasn't it the perfect choice? I kept thinking it was Dumbledore, Hermione thought it might be Lupin - but really, who else could be Harry's Secret Keeper but my mum? No one would ever suspect you... and you'd die sooner than let Harry be hurt."

"Harry must have told you before he died," Mrs. Weasley finally said in a dazed way. "He must have given you the password - that silly rhyme. It was how he planned to let me know when to share his address, if he couldn't tell me directly."

"Well obviously, Mum - unless you think I'm psychic - Harry must've told me before he died." Ron chuckled as at a private joke. "I'm in kind of a hurry here, Mum..."

"Oh. Oh, yes." Mrs. Weasley collected her wits. "Harry's home is in Godric's Hollow. It's a cottage on the northern edge of town. On the main road, look for the stand of oaks just outside the Hollow, then take the first path on the left."

"What's the noise? What's going on?" A bleary-eyed Ginny had wandered into the kitchen, yawning hugely. "Ron? Where've you been? We missed you..."

"...at dinner, yeah. Sorry, Gin, but I've really got to run. Thanks, Mum!"

"Don't forget about tomorrow...!" But Mrs. Weasley's admonition came too late. Grin and all, Ron had already Disapparated.

"Can anybody tell me what this is all about?" Ginny asked to the room. Since only Mrs. Weasley was with her in the kitchen, the rhetoric was somewhat misplaced. Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

"I don't know," she replied, "but I intend to find out." All her motherly instincts were on full alert. For someone whose best friend had recently died, Ron had acted far too happy - he'd been practically effervescent.

Ginny gave her mother a shrewd smile. "First priority would be to see why Ron needed to get into Harry's house so urgently. Wouldn't you say?"

"I would," said Mrs. Weasley grimly. She pulled her house-robe around her more tightly - she didn't dare waste time dressing. "Did you hear me a moment ago, telling Ron about Harry's home? Then let's go."

*

The cottage in Godric's Hollow was an exercise in contrasts. Half of it was neat, pristine, and uncluttered - almost a monk's cell, Ginny thought in amusement, remembering how Hermione had once described Harry. The other half was a sprawling mess, and - since Ron was in the midst of it - getting messier by the moment.

"Not there," he muttered, pawing wildly through a drawer. He opened another drawer, leaving the first still open. "Not there... c'mon, you've got to be someplace... Aha!" He produced a pair of spectacles, which he promptly tucked into his pocket. "Right, what else?"

"Ron, what do you think you're doing?" demanded Ginny.

"Looking," replied Ron vaguely. He'd taken a long cloak from Harry's wardrobe, and was now on his hands and knees searching the floor. "I might ask what you're doing here. Go home, sister mine, we'll talk later." Finding a pair of Harry's shoes, he tossed them onto the cloak and went for the dresser.

"You're ransacking Harry's home!" cried Mrs. Weasley. "Ronald Weasley, I demand an explanation!"

"Uh-huh, so did Hermione. But first things first. Let's see... shoes and socks, trousers, boxers, shirt... make it two shirts," said Ron, adding a second shirt to his collection of clothing. He dumped it all on the cloak, with a complete disregard for neatness, and pulled the cloak's edges together to form a bag.

With the makeshift bag slung over his shoulder, he turned to face his mother. "Please, Mum - please, Ginny - trust me on this. I have to take these things now. Everything will be explained, but for the moment I've promised to keep my fat gob shut." He grinned again. "Not a direct quote... Anyway, go back to the Burrow, get some sleep, and I'll see you all tomorrow morning." With that, Ron Disapparated again.

"Well!" Molly Weasley had never been treated so... so cavalierly by one of her children. It left her at something of a loss as to what to do next. "Ginny? Have you any idea where he might have gone?"

Ginny shook her head. "I'm totally clueless, Mum. Ron hasn't acted like this since..." Since he showed me the secret tunnel beneath Honeydukes, back in my fifth year... but I'd better not mention the details of that to Mum. But yes, that had been an adventure - a fun adventure - and Ron had sparkled then just as he did now.

Something Was Definitely Up.

Ginny realized that her mother was still waiting for her to voice an opinion. "Let's go to Ron's place, Mum," she said, reaching a quick decision. "There's a good chance he's there... and if he isn't, we can wait for him there. I think we both want answers - and I want mine now."

*

The first thing Mrs. Weasley and Ginny noticed was the blood on Hermione's hands.

They'd Apparated into the foyer of Ron's home, and so far had gone unnoticed by Hermione, who stood in the living room. Ron wasn't in view, but Hermione was shouting to him as though he were in another room. Too surprised to move or speak, the Weasley ladies stood watching and listening to the louder-than-necessary conversation:

"All right, I've disposed of the I.V. bag, but I've made a bit of a mess. Don't you have any clean towels?" Hermione called. She carefully held her hands so her clothes wouldn't be stained.

"They're all in the wash," Ron shouted back. "Can't you just use your wand?"

"I don't want to touch my wand with my hands like this!" retorted Hermione with a roll of her eyes.

Ron appeared from the other room with his own wand in one hand and Harry's glasses in the other. "You didn't used to be this fussy in Potions class," he said in more normal tones. "Evanesco!" The blood disappeared from Hermione's hands. Ron put away his wand and held out the glasses. "Now, will these work all right? I couldn't find any others, I was interrupted..."

He was walking towards the couch, and for the first time, Mrs. Weasley could see a human figure lying motionless there. Her heart gave a wild lurch as she recognized it.

It was Harry's corpse. Its eyes were closed, its skin pale white and stretched gaunt over ribs and cheekbones. It was clothed in some strange garment, lime-green and sleeveless, that barely reached the thighs. There were traces of blood on the inside of one arm.

They found his body, Mrs. Weasley thought. So that's where they've been. Ron and Hermione brought his body home, just as he'd once done for Cedric Diggory. Oh, bless them both...

Then the corpse opened its eyes. "They should do fine," Harry assured Ron, taking the glasses.

The reader is here invited to hearken back to any B-grade horror film and recall the leading lady's highest-pitched scream. Multiply that scream fivefold, and the reader will have a fair idea of how Mrs. Weasley reacted at this point.

The next few minutes were understandably a blur to Molly Weasley. Somehow, she found herself with Hermione on her left side and Ron on her right, gently steering her to a chair. "It's all right, Mum," Ron kept saying. "Don't faint, it's all right, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation..."

"Which will be forthcoming any minute," promised Hermione with a glance at Harry. Harry bit his lip but said nothing.

"Alive." It was barely a whisper, but its rapturous tone got everyone's attention. Ginny had taken a step into the room. She was staring at Harry with a growing awe that bordered on reverential. "You died... and now you're alive again... on the third day..."

"No! Ginny, no! That's not the way it happened!" Harry paused, and a puckish smile blossomed on his lips for a moment. "I mean, I'm good, but I'm not that good."

The humor stopped Ginny short - it was so typically Harry. She couldn't help snort at the incongruity between what she'd been thinking and Harry's response to it. The snort turned into a chuckle, the chuckle into a full-blown laugh. Before anyone knew it, Ginny had rushed to the couch and embraced Harry in a massive hug, laughing and crying and nearly strangling him. "You're alive, I can't believe it, you're really alive...!"

"Easy, Ginny, not so hard," warned Ron - but he was grinning again. "He's still weak. The Muggles were actually trying to pump blood into him when we found him."

"'Found him'?" Ginny released Harry and turned to address Ron. "That's a good point. Yes, where did you find him, Ron?"

Mrs. Weasley spoke up, fairly lucidly all things considered. "I think we'd all like to know what happened, Harry."

"Um, if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of this hospital gown before anything else. Ron, did you bring me some clothes?" Harry began to sit up, but Hermione immediately came to his side and planted her hand on Harry's chest. In his weakened condition, she had no trouble pushing him back down onto the sofa.

"You're not leaving my sight," she said sweetly.

"I'd really prefer to change clothes without an audience..."

"See my previous comment."

Harry considered her for a few seconds. "I'm not going anywhere, Hermione," he said softly.

"That's right. You're not." Hermione's hand was still firmly on his chest. Her expression had turned implacable.

Neither one moved for what seemed a very long moment. Then Harry sighed and nodded compliance. Hermione removed her hand and stood upright, but didn't leave his side. "Ron, can I have my cloak, anyway?" asked Harry. It served to cover him, at least.

"There's still a lot I don't know," Harry began. "For example, I don't have any idea how I ended up in New Zealand... (Yes, Ginny, New Zealand. Let me tell the whole story.) But here're the facts in a nutshell: Lord Voldemort came for me at the Druid's Dolmen. We fought, and he used Avada Kedavra on me. But I was wearing body armor under my white robes - armor made from basilisk hide - and the curse rebounded. There was a huge explosion, and Voldemort was killed. Not that being killed had stopped him before. But this time, Moaning Myrtle was there to capture his spirit and make sure it never returned.

"Somehow, and I'm not sure how, the explosion also knocked me to New Zealand, and robbed me of my memories to boot. These two -" he nodded at Ron and Hermione "--discovered where I was and came to find me. They gave me back my wand, which restored my memories, and then they brought me home." He gestured around him. "And here we are."

The four others waited for Harry to continue, but he seemed to think he'd explained everything.

"Harry," said Ron slowly, "that barely scratches the surface. I mean, we knew a lot of that already. What about all the details?" His hands moved aimlessly in small circles. "F'r instance, basilisk-hide armor? Where on earth did you get that? It's not like your tastes run to exotic leather..."

"I made it myself," replied Harry, "from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets."

"And you wore it to the Druid's Dolmen?" asked Ginny. "You must have been expecting trouble, then."

Harry knew then that he could have continued the charade. All it would take was one more little white lie: Yeah, I was worried that Voldemort might have gotten wind of our plans. I figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared... and as it turned out, I was right...

But he owed them truth. He was tired of lies, tired of deceit and trickery. If he continued down that path he'd lose his friends, just as surely as... as I will when I tell them the truth, he winced internally. No matter what, I lose them. But at least they'll know.

He could feel Hermione's eyes boring into him - she suspected the truth even now. To lie again would kill any trust she'd ever have in him, if it weren't already dead. And... and he'd already promised to tell her everything.

"I was expecting trouble," he said quietly, "because I'd planned it. I was prepared for Voldemort at the Dolmen - making armor, inviting Myrtle, everything - because I'd tricked him into coming there. It was all a trap, and I was the bait. In the end, it had to come down to him and me - so I staged the whole thing to lure him in."

Ginny was shaking her head. "I don't understand. The Exorcism of Power..."

"Was in fact a Druidic ritual. Madame Maxime had heard of it, remember? A grain of truth made my scenario more believable." He swallowed nervously and continued, "But we really don't know much more about the Exorcism than the fact that it once existed. The special wand, the scrying spell - those were all inventions on my part. I altered the book from the Hogwarts library to include them." He looked at Hermione. "I planted the texts in the Museum cache for you to find, so Voldemort would think we were a viable threat." His gaze extended to Ron and Ginny. "I asked you for help, because that's what Voldemort would expect me to do. It was all part of a plan."

There was a moment of total silence.

"And the 'requirements of purity'? Also part of the plan?" Hermione asked in a voice dripping with liquid nitrogen. "Let me guess, you inserted those into the texts to give you an excuse for going to the Dolmen alone?" Harry nodded miserably.

"Purity? Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ginny. "I thought you had to go to the Dolmen alone so you wouldn't attract attention..."

"Oh, didn't he tell you, Ginny?" Hermione explained in the same cold tone. "Harry convinced us that only a virgin could scry for the special wand. Which of course meant he had to go alone, since obviously a lovely young lady like yourself couldn't still be..."

"WHAT!!?" The delight on Ginny's face had crumbled away. "Harry - tell me you didn't say that...!"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "I didn't say that... well, not in so many words..."

By now, Ginny's expression had gone from disbelief to full fury. For a moment she stood without moving, as if unable to respond. Then she took two steps forward and struck Harry full across the face with her open hand. His only reaction was to lower his eyes to the floor.

"How dare you!" Ginny raged at him. "How dare you!! Grubbing about with my personal life - which is none of your business! It's personal, damn you, not some tool in your oh-so-clever plan! But we were all tools, weren't we? Just things to be used, because they're conveniently to hand!"

"I was trying to save your lives," Harry said very quietly. He could no longer meet anyone's direct gaze.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Condescension! Thank you for thinking of us poor fumbling infants who are too stupid to take care of ourselves! I really thought we were your friends, Potter... hell, I thought we were family! You should've trusted us - but you didn't. We trusted you - and I guess that made us look pretty stupid, didn't it? You slimy, despicable piece of..."

"It... it was never a question of not trusting you," Harry said in the same quiet voice, still not raising his eyes. "I could always trust you to help me in any fight. But you know the prophecy as well as I do: either Voldemort would survive, or I'd survive. The prophecy said absolutely nothing about whether anybody else would survive. And I couldn't take that risk."

"It wasn't your risk to take, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley in a neutral tone. Her eyes were focused stonily on Harry's face.

Harry seemed to grope for words. "I was trying to save your lives," he repeated lamely.

"Shut up!" spat Ginny. "Just shut up! I don't care what you thought you were doing, Potter. All I know is that we trusted you, you two-faced liar, and you treated us like dirt. Like little puppets on strings. Oh look, everyone, they walk and talk and do just what Potter says!" Her fists were clenched, her arms trembling, as though it were only by a great effort that she refrained from striking him again.

"Did you have a good laugh, watching us go out and work for you?" she asked venomously. "Did it make you feel important?"

"No... no..." Harry protested. "But I couldn't tell you anything. Voldemort was watching too closely, he would've learned..."

"So Voldemort was watching us," interrupted Hermione. She was as icy as Ginny was scorching, but no less angry for that. "And you didn't think to tell us. You just let us get on with our assigned roles in your scheme. How fascinating."

Harry twisted his fingers. "I couldn't, Hermione..."

"I am curious, though. There must've been some point before you left for the Dolmen... some point when we might've been safely told. It wouldn't've made any difference at that point. You didn't even have to do it in person - you could've sent a letter." Hermione paused, then asked scathingly, "So why didn't you?"

Harry closed his eyes in misery. "I... I was ashamed," he whispered, and put his face in his hands.

In that position, he couldn't see Ron give Hermione a triumphant look... couldn't see Ron quickly jab a thumb at himself and slash a hand at Harry... couldn't see Hermione nod sharply and hold her fist to her ear. The non-verbal discussion took barely a second, and by the time Harry raised his head again, Hermione was striding towards Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

"If you'll all excuse me," she said shortly, "I think I need some fresh air. Care to join me, ladies?"

"Yes, let's go," seconded Ginny. "Someplace where it doesn't stink so badly..." She gave Harry a parting glare, then took her mother's arm. Mrs. Weasley, for her part, shook her head sadly at Harry as though gravely disappointed, and allowed herself to be led back to the foyer. The three witches Disapparated, each in her own type of silence: freezing, stony, or furious.

Ron stood motionless for a minute after they'd left. Until now, he hadn't said a word following Harry's disclosure. He finally took a seat opposite Harry and stared at his friend, still without saying a word. Harry swallowed but forced himself to let Ron speak first.

"Well, mate," Ron finally said, "you've made a right mess of things this time." His tone was flat, the voice of a man determined to keep his emotions under control. It was totally unlike Ron, and Harry found himself more upset by it than if Ron had screamed at him.

"I know," said Harry unhappily.

"Do you? I wonder. Tell me why we're so mad at you, then."

Harry stared at Ron as though the answer were obvious. "I... I lied to you. I tricked you. Like Ginny said, I used you."

"Yeah, that was pretty bad," said Ron judicially. "But you know what? Every time we went on a mission for the Order of the Phoenix, we were being 'used' like that. On a lot of those missions, we didn't know why we were being sent - we just trusted that Dumbledore knew what he was doing." He shook his head. "'Course, that's a far cry from being actively misled. It was your deception that hurt us - that among other things. You see that?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry..."

"Hah! Finally, an apology! You do realize, don't you, that was the first time you've said you're sorry?"

"It's hard to apologize when you know you can't be forgiven... I really am sorry, Ron, more than I can say. But I told myself I wasn't going to let you be killed. I told myself I'd do whatever it took, pay whatever it cost... I was expecting to die, after all." Harry finally forced himself to look Ron in the face. "I wasn't expecting to save your lives - but lose your friendship."

"Maybe you should have. It's not as though you were treating us like friends, after all." Ron leaned forward in his seat, his face grim. He ticked off points on his fingers as he spoke. "You treated us like children: protected, kept safe, but not allowed to make our own choices. I seem to recall how much you hated it when Dumbledore did that to you... did you think we'd like it when you did it to us?"

A second point was ticked off. "Then you encouraged us to believe in you - believe in something that wasn't true - and you didn't have the decency to tell us the truth even when it was safe to do so."

Ron clenched his fist convulsively. "And you abandoned us, Harry. You tricked us out of the way, and then you just left us behind. After all we've been through together... That's what hurts the worst, I think."

"I had to! How can I protect you when you insist on walking into danger?"

"Oh, but it's all right for you to walk into danger?"

"I didn't have to walk into it. I've always been in danger, from the moment I was born."

"So you didn't have a choice. But we do. And we'd have chosen to share the danger with you, Harry - Merlin knows why, you self-centered conniving prat. But it's our choice, not yours. Ours. All these years, and you still haven't figured that out?" Ron voice had gotten only a little louder, but it had acquired a cutting edge that made Harry feel as though his skin were being flensed. He couldn't help but wince.

"I, uh... I guess it's my saving-people-thing," he mumbled, using Hermione's phrase from their fifth year.

"Fine. You saved us. I suppose I should thank you." Ron stood and glared down at him. "But I'm about ready to wash my hands of you, Harry. You may be a great hero, but as a friend you have some serious problems. If you want to keep the friends you've got, you're going to have start working at being a friend."

(Ron decided not to mention how good a friend Harry had actually been over the years. No need to point out the inconsistency: that Harry's friends wouldn't have chosen to share the danger if Harry hadn't been the best of friends. That would come later, Ron told himself - after the messy-haired moron had learned his lesson.)

Harry digested Ron's words. Usually, Ron was either happy and boisterous, or angry and yelling. He could've dealt with yelling - he'd grown up with the Dursleys yelling at him. But this was a Ron he'd never seen: a mature Ron, speaking quietly but sternly, with the force of moral authority. He sounded more like Lupin, or Dumbledore - or like Arthur Weasley.

"Any suggestions where I should start?" he finally asked.

"Let's start with the truth," said Ron. "The full truth. F'r instance, any details about Druid's Dolmen you haven't shared?"

"Well... I did use a basilisk fang to weaken Voldemort. And I used my invisibility cloak, but it got destroyed. Other than that, I can't add much to my earlier story."

"And New Zealand?" Ron prompted.

Harry tried to stifle a yawn and failed. "Sorry, I'm falling asleep here... I'm honestly not sure how I ended up there. I do have a crazy idea why... but no way to prove or disprove it. Does the name Papatuanuku mean anything to you?"

"Not really, no."

"Nor to me, not yet anyway. It's something I need to look into. I swear I'll let you know what I find. I swear, Ron."

Ron waited a moment longer. "Anything else?"

Harry rubbed his forehead wearily. Truth. You owe your friends truth...

"Remember earlier tonight, when Ginny made some remarks about my coming back from the dead? And I said no, that wasn't the way it happened?"

Ron nodded. His brows were furrowed, as though he could see where this was leading...

"I lied," concluded Harry, closing his eyes as he remembered the pain that had accompanied him to Christchurch Hospital. "That's exactly the way it happened."