Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 18: The Ones We Love Never Truly Leave Us

Margaret rushed into the drawing room of the Rose Cottage with Harry close behind her. Ron and Charlie were standing worriedly near the staircase... though Charlie, at least, brightened perceptibly upon seeing her. "Margaret? How did...?" he began.

"Harry brought me from Whare Wananga," she said quickly. "Where's Hermione?"

"In her room," Charlie answered with a nod up the staircase.

"Her injuries?"

Ron waved a finger around his jaw. "Bruises here," he said. "And she said something about losing her teeth, but I think that's just 'cause her folks are dentists." He too looked slightly less anxious, now that he knew help had come.

"I'll see what I can do," Margaret assured them, and started up the stairs. Harry took a step to follow her, but Ron blocked him with an outstretched arm. "She's pretty upset, mate. She doesn't want company right now... she insisted on going straight back to her room."

Harry stared. "What happened?"

"Dunno. When we got there, Pansy had her hanging in mid-air... but except for a little blood, I didn't see anything serious. 'Course, she could've been using Cruciatus or something equally nasty..."

"Legilimency," said Harry with certainty. "Pansy attacked me with it back home, the day I got my passport... and I remember now she had pounamu earrings..."

"You might've said something about this before now," said Ron, irritated.

"I didn't know it was Pansy attacking me when it happened... and I certainly didn't know about pounamu," Harry snapped back. "I only learned today that Pansy was involved, while I was sitting at the Ministry doing absolutely nothing...!" He bit down on what he'd been about to say and glared at Ron.

"Which is what you had to do," Charlie pointed out reasonably, "if we were going to smoke out the mole. It was Madam Fairbourne, by the way."

"Yeah, Otimi told me," Harry admitted. "He came looking for me once he'd brought her in. Should've realized it, actually... seeing as she had to've been the one to call the staff meeting at Awamotu, that day Malfoy was moving gear into the valley." He looked up at Charlie and Ron. "He also said you were bringing Hermione back to the Cottage. From what he didn't say, I thought I'd better detour to Te Whare and fetch Margaret."

Feeling he'd made sufficient explanation, Harry made another move to ascend the staircase, but Ron was adamant. "Come on, Ron, let me by."

"She doesn't want to see you," Ron said stonily. He drew himself up to his full height and glowered back at Harry.

"But she needs to see me," Harry insisted. "You let Margaret go to her... I need to go too." Ron began to object, and Harry grew exasperated. "Dammit, I should've been with her all along, instead of sitting on my arse behind the scenes! None of you know about Legilimency and its effects - none of you can help her deal with it!" His indignation exhausted by this burst, Harry could only hope his friend would relent.

For the moment, such deference seemed unlikely: Ron continued to block Harry's path. Harry met his friend's eyes and tried one last time. "Ron, please," he implored. "She needs me. Let me help her." Harry wasn't sure what he'd do if Ron remained obdurate... either abject begging or the Furnunculus Curse seemed equally likely.

Slowly Ron's scowl softened a bit. "Yeah," he grudged, "she needs you. Huh, that's a switch." He stepped aside to allow Harry to pass. Harry immediately bolted up the staircase to Hermione's room. Reaching the door, he restrained himself from immediately bursting inside - some lessons don't need to be learned twice, he told himself - and instead tapped on the door.

"It's Harry," he said quietly. There was no reply, but after a minute he heard the bolt slide back. As unobtrusively as he could, Harry opened the door and slipped into the room.

Margaret was settling back into a chair at Hermione's bedside... clearly she'd been the one to unbar the door. Hermione lay on the bed, her face a calm mask as Margaret laid a hand on her jaw. She was doing an excellent job of maintaining her façade, but after almost eleven years Harry could tell when Hermione was hiding her fear - and at the moment, she was terrified.

"There," declared Margaret with a smile. "Good as new. Even the tooth..." She dropped her hand along with her smile as she looked at Hermione's blank features. "At least the body's good as new. Hermione...?"

"Hermione, did Pansy attack you with Legilimency?" asked Harry gently.

Hermione nodded jerkily without replying.

"Well," Harry said after a moment, "I know how much that can hurt. Not just the pain of the attack, but knowing she was looking at your private memories... How much did she see?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered. There was a tiny quaver in her voice... a crack in the façade.

"You don't..."

"How can I know?!" she suddenly wailed. "How can I recall memories if I don't have them anymore? If they've been stolen? Oh God, Harry, and to think I tried to make you go back to Snape so he could do that to you! I'm so sorry, I didn't know... I never asked..."

"Hermione, no, you've got it wrong," said Harry hastily, seeing the tears well in her eyes. "A Legilimens doesn't steal memories, he only looks at them. I remembered everything Snape saw during our lessons - how else could he throw them back in my face?" He turned to Margaret. "Right? When Malfoy read your mind, he didn't erase it in the process, did he?"

Margaret nodded agreement and tried to give Hermione a reassuring smile. "I don't see how. When he taunted me in the cave, I could still remember the things he knew. Anything he knows, I still know too."

"But... but Pansy said..."

"And Pansy Parkinson has ever been the soul of truthfulness," Harry noted dryly.

A moment later, his face was smothered by a mass of bushy brown hair as he felt the air squeezed from his body. Hermione had flung herself on him and was hugging him desperately, her nails digging into his back, as though the physical contact lent credence to his words. "Here now," he soothed as he patted her gingerly, "here now, ssssh. We won't let it happen again. I'll teach you Occlumency, you'll pick it up loads faster than I did... we'll be ready for the next time..."

"I was so scared," she finally choked out.

"Me too," Harry murmured back. "I was scared the whole time you were gone. I wish I'd known before that we were facing Pansy. I might've put the clues together sooner, warned you about her Legilimency..."

"But it was obvious," Hermione said.

Harry pulled back from the hug and searched Hermione's face. "'Obvious'? You mean... you'd already figured out it was Pansy when we came up with our dungbrained plan this morning?" He tried to keep his voice light.

"Well, of course," she said, in a return to her normal didactic manner. "Who else close to Malfoy had the money to buy Serpentard?" At any other time, Harry would have welcomed the lecture - it would have shown that she was no longer upset - but Harry was concerned with other matters now.

"Tell me," he said, and the effort to keep a light tone was beginning to show, "when were you planning to share this information with the rest of us?"

"Er, Harry..." Margaret began, a warning in her voice.

"Not telling anyone what you knew - what, did you intend to confront Pansy all by yourself?" Harry demanded, growing angrier by the minute. "Do you have any idea of the risk you were taking?" He grabbed Hermione by her shoulders. "You could've been hurt - you could've been killed!"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you, Harry Potter!" Hermione shouted hotly. "How much did you share with us when you were planning on facing Voldemort?"

"Which we all agree was pretty damned stupid of me, wasn't it?" he shouted back. "Is it any less stupid when you do it?"

"Oh, so now I'm stupid, am I!?"

"No, you're not stupid! You were wrong! It does happen, you know!"

"Enough!" The cry silenced Harry and Hermione at once. Abashed, they turned to look at a fulminating Margaret Pohuhu. "You're both acting like total spinners at this point," she furiously berated them. "And neither of you has any business telling the other off! Harry, when were you going to mention how bad your anemia was growing? Hermione, when were you going to tell Harry he was turning into a phoenix?"

"Which I so wasn't," Harry groused under his breath.

"Shut it!" Margaret barked. She waited a moment until she was certain she was obeyed, then continued severely, "I think mutual apologies are the order of the day. It's obvious both of you are hard cases... and you have issues to settle." She stood from her chair by the bedside and went to the door. "Neither of you are to leave this room until you've settled up," she added in assumed sternness as she left. Privately she gave them five minutes, tops, before they started pashing like fiends.

Quiet descended to the room as the two looked shamefacedly at each other. Hermione was already regretting her angry words. She realized she'd had no call to shout at Harry... but his words had hit closer to home than she cared to admit. Not that he had any grounds to criticize - messy-haired sanctimonious prat that he was - but she understood how much he feared losing those he loved.

And he loved her.

She attempted to maintain a stern visage, but she knew her expression was giving her away. That quirking at the corners of her mouth... someday she'd learn to control it. And sure enough, Harry'd picked up on it, damn his eyes... those eyes alight with a sudden amusement. He kept his hands on Hermione's shoulders, but they'd relaxed their furious grip and had started a gentle stroking.

He didn't think she was stupid.

"Uh, you know perfectly well I don't think you're stupid, Hermione," Harry said after a moment. "You're as far from stupid as a person can be." He gave her a rueful smile. "But you are going to have to learn to share what you think with us poor mortals... even when, as sometimes happens, you turn out to be wrong."

"Humph. When I think of the years I spent trying to share my thoughts with you and Ron... and the grief I took for it..." The smile was forcing itself onto Hermione's mouth now. Their bodies were slowly leaning towards one another. "And you, in turn, are going to have to learn to share, period. Talk about a Chamber of Secrets..."

He'd been so worried for her. The one time he'd suppressed his instinct to charge blindly into danger, she'd given in to the same urge.

"Okay. And you have to learn not to go rushing blithely into danger - or at least, be more careful when you do. 'Where angels fear to tread' and all that. Hey, there's some skill involved here, and it takes years of practice..." This close, it was easy to see how bright his eyes were... they were amazing, sometimes, how they shone...

"Mm hmm. And you have to learn to stop thinking that you can protect everyone. You can't be everywhere, and, and..." And.

"Right. And you have to learn to shut up and kiss me..."

And at that moment, verbal conversation ceased. By an odd coincidence, another sort of conversation took its place.

*

Watching the members of the family, the whanau, talking amongst themselves, the elders were pleased at how smoothly the tangi had gone. The tangi had begun yesterday. At the granddaughter's insistence - and evidently with the approval of the deceased - a funeral mass had been held early yesterday morning for Mahina 'Nana' Pohuhu. Afterwards, they had reconvened here at the marae, the building and courtyard that were the heart and home of the whanau - and the family's funeral, the tangi, could properly begin.

There had been some surprises, of course. The pakeha strangers who had chosen to attend the tangi were a mild but welcome surprise: two men and a woman, whose height and red hair marked them as siblings, and a smaller woman who was plainly in charge. They'd been greeted with te wero, the ritual challenge of the spear, and the younger of the two men had picked the spear from the ground and returned it, all as he ought. Now they remained quiet, one joining the granddaughter, the others staying to one side, watching without interrupting. The elders were impressed.

A greater surprise had been the presence of the two tohunga who were now presiding over the tangi. The elders, the chief of the whanau, and the tangata whenua had all stepped aside when the venerable tohunga Moihi Te Matorohanga had offered his services. Such was the honor done the marae by his presence that no one had objected when he brought a younger tohunga to assist him - and that had been the greatest surprise, since the assistant, quite frankly, didn't look like a tohunga at all. Yet there were many attending the tangi who had heard Nana declare the young man tohunga, so the elders accepted him with good grace.

But... a pakeha tohunga? A cat with feathers would've been less incongruous.

The tangi had begun yesterday with the karanga, the call of welcome, and speeches had been made. Today, the people were chatting casually to one another, greeting old friends, eating the food that others had brought, and talking to Nana... who lay in her open coffin in the midst of the gathering. People had arrived, people had left, new ones would arrive to touch Nana and talk to her, and the tangi continued... until the tohunga declared Nana ready to be buried.

And through it all, the granddaughter sat and watched with a sad smile. She accepted the wellwishes of the whanau, and of Nana's friends and students... she traded words with her pakeha visitors, and with the tohunga. It had been obvious from the start that she'd intended to be here for the duration... not long to go, now. The elders were again impressed.

"You didn't have to stay for the whole event, you know," Margaret told Charlie.

"I know," he replied lightly. "You told me so, any number of times." They were sitting close together, on the steps of the veranda to the meeting house, and Margaret resisted the urge to lean back against him. She wasn't that tired, not yet.

"I imagine this is all a bit strange to you," she went on.

"No more than wizarding customs are to you," Charlie said in a low voice. Not that anyone seemed to be listening, and the ambient noise made eavesdropping difficult in any case. Besides... if Margaret was any judge, the majority of the attendees were witches or wizards. Evidently, Maori had a far larger proportion of magical folk than pakeha did.

"Yes, but I have to learn those customs," said Margaret. "If I'm going to learn all I can about my healing powers, I have to fully become a part of your world. It's... not like I have a choice any more." She sighed and stared into some private world of her own.

"When I first learned I could heal," she said after a pause, "I thought I could use the gift alongside my medical training. That I could bring the best of magic and science together to help my patients. But quite apart from any need for secrecy... the wizarding world is so far removed from the real world -"

"Real world?" injected Charlie quizzically.

"Sorry... the, um, Muggle world. The two worlds are so distant in outlook, in attitude, in everything, that there's no way I can live in both at once. I can be a doctor, or I can be a Healer. I don't see how I can be both." She sighed in discontent. "But magic is a trap, Charlie. You grew up with it, so you may not even realize it... but trust me, it is. You can't practice magic 'just a little bit,' and be a Muggle the rest of the time. It's insidious. Once you learn of it, it spreads throughout your life, until it just... takes over completely."

Charlie said nothing in reply, but his silence was somehow encouraging. "And especially for me, as a doctor," Margaret continued. "Once I learned I could truly heal, there was no way I could go back to Christchurch Hospital. Drugs? Chemotherapy? Surgery? Weeks of treatment?" She held up her hands. "Or an hour using these. You see? I'm trapped in your world now... my world now, whether I like it or not."

He considered for a moment, then said, "If that's your choice, then yes, you're going to have to learn some new customs. People do that all the time. You'd have to do that if, say, you moved to Europe - no matter what world you made your home. New customs don't replace old ones... they co-exist." He smiled suddenly. "Hey, we came straight from a Catholic cathedral to a Maori marae - don't tell me you can't keep several sets of customs in your head at once."

"That's different," Margaret scowled.

"Not from where I sit... But it's still your choice, Margaret. To give up your residency, your medical career... and maybe, in the process, become a Healer. It's a hard choice... I can't make it for you, no one can. But just remember: If you choose to join the wizarding world - which is your birthright, let me remind you, and I'll say no more about it - if you do, you have lots of friends who'll do everything we can to help you. You know that."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. Looks like I'll be in New Zealand for the foreseeable future... well, in Awamotu, but close enough. I trust you won't mind?" Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close, with her back to his chest. Margaret leaned against him now, feeling quite comfortable in doing so, and rested her hands atop his.

"Hmmm, I'll have to think about it," she said happily. "If you're spending all your time at the dragon reserve, you might as well be off-island."

"Not all my time. Well. I hope not. But our new Head of Magical Creatures is a real slavedriver. A.C.'ll probably keep me busy enough for three wizards." He chuckled lightly, and Margaret could feel his chest vibrate against her back. The thought of permanently joining the wizarding world seemed less bleak just then.

"But y'know," Charlie went on thoughtfully, returning to a previous topic, "sooner or later the day will come when we have to reveal ourselves. So many wizards and witches are Muggleborn these days... within a generation, Muggleborns will far outnumber those born in the wizarding world. Simply by virtue of their families, more and more Muggles know about us. Sooner or later the secret will out."

"Is that a good thing, do you think?"

"Dunno. It depends on how the secret gets out. If we can do it on our terms, when we're ready - not because of some disaster that blows our cover, or because the Muggles force us - then our world stands a good chance of surviving. And after that, the two worlds are one." He shrugged. "Very long term, I reckon... but then, magical folk have longer lifespans than Muggles. We could yet live to see it happen."

"See what happen?"

They looked up to see Harry approaching. He was wearing a traditional tohunga outfit, stripped above the waist and a flaxen skirt below it, his slim shoulders covered by Te Matorohanga's second-best feather cloak. Some color had finally returned to his skin, now that his anemia was all but gone.

"Tena koe, tohunga," Margaret greeted him.

"Hi, Opaleyes. Everything all right?" Harry kept a distance from them; it had been drilled into him in preparation for the tangi that a tohunga couldn't touch anyone, even accidentally, while exercising his office. He looked away as he self-consciously tried to pull the cloak closed. "I couldn't wear my usual clothes? I had to wear these? At least let me use a warming charm... Merlin's bloody beard, I feel ridiculous. On the Headmaster, this getup looks like it belongs. On me it just looks silly."

"Poor baby. It's a sad state of affairs when a twentyish young athlete can't look as good as a two-hundred-year-old schoolteacher," grinned Charlie.

"It's not about physical shape, it's about what's appropriate. Master Torohanga's a true tohunga. I'm an honorary tohunga, if that."

"No 'honorary' about it," said Margaret firmly. "Nana said you were. And..."

"I trust Nana," Harry finished with her. "Oh, and Nana said to tell you that, if you want to sample a mixture of cultures, you should chat up Hana Johnson. Hana's taking over her classes among the local Maori wizards, and she knows all about balancing wizard vs. Muggle vs. Maori vs. pakeha."

"Nana said...?" Margaret began, then shook her head in wonder. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore."

"It took me a while to get used to it, too." Harry gestured at the open coffin. "But Nana's right here, after all. Everyone else is talking to her, just as normal, expecting her to hear them... and she does, she does. You should probably say a few words to her, too."

"We will," promised Charlie, and Harry gave a nod and moved off. Charlie waited until he was out of earshot before leaning close to Margaret's ear. "'Opaleyes'?" he murmured in delight.

"Don't give me grief, dragon boy," she muttered.

Harry walked back to his post near Nana's catafalque as nonchalantly as he could... trying not to shake his head to clear his ears. The whispers that had died down during the days following Fairbourn's capture were back today. No stronger than before, at any rate... if anything, they were a bit more hushed, a bit less insistent. He knew who to thank for that... but when Nana was buried, her spirit would no longer linger. What was he going to do then?

"Harry?" He turned to see Ron, Hermione and Ginny making their way toward him. Like all the mourners at the tangi, they carried sprigs of green leaves in their hands. He began to cross his arms to cover his bare chest, then realized what he was doing and hastily dropped them.

Ron gave him a quick grin, as though saying he knew exactly what had gone through Harry's mind... then he turned serious again. "We're heading back to the Rose Cottage, mate. Do you need us to bring you anything?"

Harry took the opportunity to shake his head, answering Ron's question while clearing out the whispers for a brief minute. "Thank you for coming, though. Nana and Margaret both appreciate it. Anything happen while I wasn't looking?"

"Otimi was here... we chatted for awhile," said Ginny. "Fairbourn's proving quite cooperative, now that she's facing charges of conspiracy to murder. They've already arrested a few more of Malfoy's followers... none of them had pounamu wands, though. Guess the Ferret didn't trust them to just anyone."

"We have to assume there are some still out there, though," said Harry. He cast his mind to the pounamu wand still in the Headmaster's possession - and then to the large crystal of pure pounamu he'd taken from Malfoy. The Headmaster had told him to keep it, giving him an odd compliment: "The great darkness will return someday - I won't live to see it, but you will. And if they fight with pounamu, pounamu must be there to counter it. There aren't many that could be trusted to hold this power without using it." Which, come to think of it, was how he'd retrieved Flamel's Stone ten years ago.

He still wasn't quite sure what he'd do with the crystal, which now rested in his belt pouch. He hadn't even told his friends about it yet... he would, but this wasn't the time or place.

"Let's see, what else?" Ginny went on. "The Ministry announced the first round of apprentice Aurors. Otimi's actually quite startled to see they were picked on merit. Well, mostly."

"I'm sure Tucker was pleased with the good publicity," said Harry sardonically.

Ron snorted. "Not hardly. Did you see today's newspaper? The, uh, Charmed Crier, it's called. I saved a copy for you, it's back at the Cottage. Yeah, the new Aurors were mentioned on the front page, but they weren't the headline." Ron raised his hands as though framing the page: "'Brit Hero Thwarts Dark Cabal!' And then on and on about how the Internationally Acclaimed Hero Harry Potter saved New Zealand just as he'd saved England... with Otimi's help, of course..."

"Oh honestly, Ron. It was no worse than anything the Daily Prophet's printed," scolded Hermione. "Although he's right, it did tend to run on," she added apologetically to Harry. "Mr. Sundhararajan was rather playing up the 'exclusive interview' angle. And there was a picture..."

"Picture?" asked Harry, fearing the worst.

"Of you teaching the Protego charm in the dining room," Hermione explained. Harry remembered the guest with the camera standing on a chair. "It could have been much worse," she added gently, seeing his expression.

"I suppose," Harry grudged. "Anything else?"

"Something very interesting has shown up at the Sydney Apparition Point," Ginny said. "A human foot... wearing a rather expensive pump."

"Pump," repeated Harry thoughtfully. "A woman's foot, then."

"Yup," said Ron in satisfaction. "Looks like our Anti-Apparition Jinx wasn't all that easy to break after all. Somebody got splinched."

"Yeah. And normally if someone's splinched, I'd say they were incapacitated... but with Pansy, I'm not as sanguine. She still has those bloody pounamu earrings..." And the Quinnett fortune, which in its way is just as powerful a weapon, Harry realized. He wondered if he dared wait to contact Tonks or Shacklebolt and make sure Pansy's assets were frozen...

"Not our problem any more, Harry," said Ginny firmly.

"Reckon not." Harry gave a mental shake and reminded himself of his tohunga duties. "So I guess I'll see you all back at the Cottage tonight or tomorrow... after Nana's buried here, there's still a ritual cleansing of her flat. When you leave the marae, be sure to..."

"...wash our hands in the water pot at the entrance, and sprinkle some on our heads," recited Hermione. "I know, Harry, I've been reading about this. I'm beginning to wonder how many Maori customs derive from the fact that they didn't used to know when someone was a wizard. I'd like to ask Te Matorohanga about it..."

"Whether that was once the case centuries ago, it hardly matters now," said Ginny. "It's like so many of our own ancient magics... what counts is continuing to follow them."

Hermione nodded in agreement, then seemed to focus more closely on Harry. "Will you be all right?"

As little as a week ago, Harry would have automatically said he was fine. "I've been better," he now admitted. He still hedged his reply, but at least he was making the attempt.

Hermione scanned his face for another moment before nodding again, as if reaching a decision. "Why don't you two head back to the Cottage?" she told Ron and Ginny. "I'll stay here with Harry."

Ron's frown was slight, but it was there. "Stay with Harry," he said slowly, his gaze narrowing on Hermione's face. "What, because he needs you?"

"Not entirely." She returned his look calmly, not in the least flustered by his scrutiny. Harry looked back and forth between them, somewhat confused, knowing that some message was being passed but not quite sure what it said.

After a few seconds, Ron gave a small sigh. "Right then," he said, and his tone mixed resignation with deep regret. Stepping forward, he leaned down and tenderly kissed Hermione on the forehead, something he'd not done in years. He gave Harry an unreadable look before turning and starting for the exit with Ginny.

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly. She ran over to him and, just as she had in their fifth year at Hogwarts, gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See you soon?" she asked.

He blinked rapidly and nodded. Ginny linked her arm with his, and together they left the marae.

"What was that?" Harry asked her as she rejoined him.

"A reminder," Hermione answered. "Friends Don't Let Friends Fight Alone... no matter what the fight." She made a move as though to hug Harry, then drew back as she remembered his tohunga status. "So, speaking of that... want to tell me what's bothering you?"

"It's..." Nothing, he was about to say reflexively. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew not to even try to finish the sentence. Instead he gestured an invitation to walk with him, and together they headed across the courtyard. "You know the old saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, you may get it'?" he said after a moment. "I got it, and I should've been careful."

"Uh huh. Could you be a little more cryptic, do you think?" asked Hermione with a lopsided smile.

"Ever since I learned that the Headmaster can talk to the dead, I've been curious... I've wondered if, well, maybe I could talk to the dead too," Harry said in a rush. "My mum and dad, Sirius... I still miss Sirius so much. When I found a way to talk to Nana's spirit on the night she died, it looks like I got my wish."

"'Got your wish'? Please don't tell me... oh Harry, didn't you know what a chance you were taking? You were risking possession, madness..."

"I know that now. Well, the part about madness anyway. I just didn't realize everything the gift implied - that all the dead might be able to talk to me." Uncomfortably, Harry hitched his feather cloak again. "But until now, I've had Nana's spirit as my... my control, I guess you'd say. It's been manageable. But once her body's buried, she's gone, and I'll hear voices in my head again." He flashed a sudden bright grin. "Which is funny, since I've heard your voice in my head for years. But I could handle one voice nagging me... I don't think I could handle millions."

Hermione looked intrigued and affronted at the same time. "Nagging? My voice nags?"

"That's what consciences do," Harry shrugged. "The good ones, anyway."

"Hmph. I'm not sure whether to be touched or insulted." She hesitated, and despite her bantering tone, Harry knew she'd been struck with an attack of her old insecurity. The buck-toothed, unpopular know-all would always be there, deep inside her.

Just as my little boy in the cupboard under the stairs is always with me, he saw in a moment of self-clarity. "The voice in my head nags," he said gently. "You are an entirely different matter, my love. Or do you think I didn't notice that you've been making an effort to lighten up?"

"I wasn't sure. You've tended not to notice anything unless it was staring you in the face." Hermione smiled more broadly... whether from his reassurance, or from the fact that he'd called her 'his love' as though it were her name. They traded smiles for a moment until she continued, "Do you know, I think I've started hearing your voice in my head, too. Only it's not nagging. It's more like you're talking about yourself in the third person."

"How, um, modest of me." His smile faded. "I can hear them right now, Hermione. Voices of spirits. They're very faint, like... remember the veiled arch, in the Department of Mysteries? I tried to tell you I could hear voices coming from behind the veil. That's what they're like now, very faint, but I can hear them."

"Certainly you can." Unnoticed, Te Matorohanga had walked up behind them. "You are within sight of the urupa - the burial ground of the marae, where Nana will be interred. Here the barrier between the living and the dead is thin... they can intrude upon you again, if you let them."

"Let them? Master Torohanga, I don't know how to stop them! Nana's been the only one who could keep them out of my head. And with Nana's spirit about to leave..."

"Then you will have to be a tohunga," said Te Matorohanga matter-of-factly. "Bring your strength to bear against these spirits - do not let them rule you. A tohunga draws strength from his ancestors - have you never done this?"

"Of course he has," Hermione answered promptly. "Our third year, Harry, remember? Expecto Patronum?"

Harry snorted. "That doesn't make me a tohunga... or give me power over spirits."

The Headmaster only smiled. "Only because you don't know what it means to be a tohunga, Mr. Potter. It's more than being a priest, or an authority... more than shaman or wizard. A true tohunga is one around whom events converge - who collects into his hand the threads of destiny. A tohunga controls what happens because things happen around a tohunga."

He chuckled at Harry's obvious confusion. "There's a line in an old pakeha tale that sums up the tohunga nicely: 'This has been willed where Will and Power are one.' Margaret would recognize the quotation, I believe."

Te Matorohanga paused and looked over his shoulder at Nana's coffin, as though hearing a call. "It's time," he said.

He started to walk towards the catafalque. Harry hesitated and glanced doubtfully at Hermione. She smiled at him encouragingly and made little shooing motions with her hands. He smiled back, squared his shoulders, and strode purposefully after Te Matorohanga.

Mourners moved out their way as they approached Nana; the elders stood, knowing what was to come, and one gestured for Margaret to join them. They watched respectfully as the tohunga came up to Nana, one on either side of her body. "It is time," announced Te Matorohanga formally. "Time to join the lines of the dead to the dead, and join the lines of the living to the living..."

"... and we will be done with grieving and be ready to pick up life again," finished Harry.

They closed the coffin, gently and reverently, and each laid their hand on it. Together, they levitated it to shoulder height. Their magic holding the coffin suspended between them, the two tohunga began a slow, stately walk out of the marae to the familial burial grounds. The rest of the mourners stayed in the courtyard... only a few of those present had the mana to enter the burial grounds at the moment of burial, and most of them readily deferred to Te Matorohanga.

They reached the excavation where Nana was to be interred: a rectangular hole, six feet deep, with dirt piled at its sides. They maneuvered the coffin over the hole and, with a solemn nod, allowed the coffin to descend into the earth. Te Matorohanga raised his hands and gestured, as though scooping something invisible in the air. Obediently, the loose dirt moved to fill in the hole, and Nana's body rejoined the embrace of the Mother of All.

The Headmaster took a step to return to the marae. "I'll stay," Harry said abruptly. "Just for a moment."

"I understand." With a respectful half-bow, Te Matorohanga left Harry alone in the urupa.

He stood there for a moment, motionless, waiting... waiting for the whisperers to notice his presence, with Nana no longer standing between him and them. Sure enough, after a moment the soft voices in his ear began to grow louder, ever so slightly, but without stop. A chill began to spread through his body that had nothing to do with the crisp winter air.

"Hello, Mum? Dad?" he said softly, barely moving his lips. "Sirius, hello?" No answer... but then, the times he'd tried speaking to Nana, he'd received no answer. Yet evidently she'd heard him just fine...

"I don't know if you heard the news, where you are... but I beat the prophecy, Mum. Dad, Sirius, you would've been proud of me - I outfoxed him, I outfoxed Voldemort. I hope you heard about it... I hope you watched. I was thinking of you... did you talk to me as I faced him that last time? I heard you..."

He looked around. Nobody had approached him, and yet he felt the presence of people around him. New voices were sounding in his ear... presumably the voices of those buried here - whose spirits had made the journey upward to join their ancestors, and were now free to watch over the marae. They meant Harry no harm, yet their very numbers threatened to flood his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I'm hoping you'll meet Nana... I wanted to introduce you. Can you talk to one another? I don't know much about how it works, death... or anyways, being dead. I mean, I was dead for a little while, but I didn't bring back much in the way of memories. Just that I was with you, and it was nice."

Harry paused. For all his life, it seemed, he'd wanted nothing more than to have James and Lily Potter alive again. But suppose it could happen? Why would he want them back? To receive their love? He had it, he knew. It had protected him when nothing else could. Parental advice, then? Comfort and support? Someone to tell things to, someone who'd be proud of him?

What would be the most important thing he could tell them today, if they still lived?

"Mum... I've met someone. Sirius, you know Hermione, tell Mum and Dad about her. Mum, she's brilliant. Dad, she's beautiful. Well, I think so. If you can see her, you know... she's over there in the marae, waiting for me. And she's... well, she's everything. My heart, my shield... my life. I'd be so lost without her." He smiled at the thought of her, and relaxed his guard a tiny bit.

It nearly proved his undoing.

Sudden pressure inside his head made him cry out. It wasn't a pain such as his scar used to give him... it was more like his brain was being squeezed, inundated by an overwhelming host of presences. Harry shut his eyes tightly and swung his arms to either side, as though sweeping away spiderwebs that threatened to entangle him. "Get... away... from me," he gasped. "I... know what you want, and you... can't... have it."

If he could beat the Imperius Curse by ignoring voices, surely he could do this!

"I don't have... any quarrel with you... but you won't interfere in my life. Get OUT!" he roared suddenly, and pressed his hands over his ears.

He sensed somehow, without knowing how he knew, that the whispers were receding... not falling silent, but being forced away from him. He gritted his teeth and maintained his concentration... was it working? Was he banishing the spirits to a respectful distance?

Well... I'm helping.

It was a tiny voice in his ear, calm and confident, and Harry opened his eyes in astonishment when he recognized it... the last voice he'd ever expected to hear again. Its owner had lived an unhappy life, but now she was at peace - a life filled with futility, until Harry had asked for her help. Harry had made her feel useful, wanted... he'd given her in death a purpose she'd never found in life. And now she was Harry's new control, keeping back the spirits until he summoned them.

Myrtle, moaning no more, gave a giggle in Harry's ear before letting her voice fade with those of the whisperers.

The host had retreated... he could hear nothing. Nonetheless Harry could still sense a few presences remaining, hovering near. For the first time, they were familiar presences... welcome presences. The presence of those he loved, and who loved him. "Thank you for coming, Mum, Dad," he whispered.

He thought about how Te Matorohanga conversed with the spirit of his grandfather. How wonderful it would be to keep his parents' spirits with him, by his side somehow, if some miracle of magic permitted it. It wouldn't be the same as having them alive again, but at least he'd have them close. And as much as he wanted them with him, he felt - he knew - that they wanted him to join them. They looked forward to it. He could feel their invitation

It would have been so tempting once, not all that long ago.

"I love you, Mum... Dad. Sirius, I love you too. I hope I'll be with you when the time is right. But I'm in no hurry, and you shouldn't be either. It's not... it's not that I'm afraid of death, mind you. I reckon death and I are kind of on a first-name basis by this point. I can see thestrals, you know... I could hear the voices behind the veil even before I became a tohunga. Death even took me once, if only to send me back. So no, the thought of dying again didn't much fuss me before."

Harry opened his eyes and turned back to the marae, looking for - and finding - a mop of bushy brown hair atop a graceful form. Even at a distance, the sight of her was enough to drive out the chill that had invaded his limbs. The thought of her kept him warm down to his toes... while the love of her made his heart sing. Phoenix song was nothing by comparison.

"But now... I'm sorry, Mum and Dad, but everything's changed for me. I'm not giving up my life now, not without a fight - because now my life includes Hermione.

"Before, I kept saying I had reasons not to die. But now... I've got reasons to live."