The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenix and the Serpent

The entire Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any original characters belong to the author and may not be used without permission.

Chapter XXI: Heavenly Shades of Night are Falling

"Ginny...would you sing for me?"

Ginny tore her gaze away from the practicing Quidditch players to goggle at Jamie. The homunculus wore a serious expression on his face; those green eyes, startling as ever, watched her with a singular curiosity. Once, the image of Harry gazing at her with that expression would have been enough to make her cheeks flame and her toes curl.

Now it plain weirded her out.

"Sing?" she repeated.

"A song." The homunculus nodded and held up his book, The Little Mermaid. "Any song. You know, the way the mermaids did in the story. I remember you liked to sing, but I've never personally heard you."

They had been sitting together on the bleachers beneath the early morning sun, watching the Gryffindor team at practice. She was taking a break after a grueling session on evasive maneuvers, and her stomach had not quite settled yet from all those sudden switches in speed as she avoided the Bludger. Katie and the rest of the Chasers were now putting Ron through his paces as Keeper, hurling the Quaffle over and over at the goals from different angles. She was supposed to help by watching and taking note of any holes in his technique. Needless to say, singing had been the last thing on her mind.

The worst of it was...a vast majority of songs she knew were love songs. And she certainly did NOT feel comfortable singing any of them to Jamie.

To distract him, she asked, "How many times have you read that story, anyway?"

Jamie grinned as he held up five fingers. "I can't get it out of my mind," he said. "It's simply too fascinating! The underwater world, the mermaid bargaining so she could be with her prince, the daughters of the air...I want to keep reading it over and over, 'til I know it all by heart."

Ginny giggled at how worked up he was. "And did you even bother to go through the rest of the list I gave you?"

"Oh, don't worry," he said, resting the book on his lap. "I've read six other books. But this one's the best so far, I can't put it down!"

"I bet you couldn't. Didn't I tell you it was a good story?"

"Yes, thanks so much. So, I guess this one's really meant to show me what love is, right?"

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "Huh?"

The homunculus propped his elbows on the book, lacing his fingers together. "Putting another's life before your own--isn't that love? Rather than taking the life of the prince so she could live three hundred years, the mermaid let herself turn into sea foam."

"Oh...I suppose," she replied, and wondered if she'll ever get used to Jamie's frankness about these matters. It was often amusing, but always disconcerting.

"And she became one of the daughters of the air," said the homunculus reverently, "to one day receive an immortal soul...it's incredible that love can do something like that."

"Um, Jamie," Ginny said, "it's just a story. It's fiction. And the situation is a little, uh, extreme?"

"But didn't you say stories held a little bit of truth? If you were in her position, wouldn't you do the same thing?"

'What a question,' thought Ginny, looking away. She didn't think to answer him, but her mind lingered on the idea. Would she trade her life to save Harry's? Oh, she did not even have to think about the answer: it sprung from somewhere deep in her gut, as if waiting all along for the question to be asked. That she could answer "yes" gave her a profound sense of pride. Because of it, she was as close to Harry as either Ron or Hermione.

When she looked back to find the homunculus still staring at her with those curious eyes, her mouth formed an exasperated moue. "I don't know how to answer that question, Jamie. I've never been in her position."

"You've never been in love?"

"I've never been a mermaid! Now can we please talk about something else?"

The homunculus drew back sheepishly. Then, remembering something, he asked, "All right, would you mind singing a song?"

Ginny, who had been trying to concentrate on the practice again, threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine! All right! But you name the song. I can't think of anything right now."

For a moment, she thought this would shut him up. But he answered almost immediately.

"The one in your book. The one about the forest animals when winter comes. I like that one."

She stared back at him. He'd been listening to that? It was such a melancholy song, and one she'd been playing often recently, for reasons she did not quite understand.

She sighed and wondered why she could never find it in herself to tell him to just go away. 'He must be growing on me,' she thought, shaking her head.

"Fine then. Just one stanza, all right?"

Smiling broadly, Jamie shifted closer to listen. Leaning back on her hands, Ginny turned her eyes up to the sky and drew a deep breath. The words spilled out easily.

Must the winter come so soon?

Night after night, I hear the hungry deer

Wander weeping in the wood

And from his house of brittle bark

Hoots the frozen owl.

Must the winter come so soon?

Here in this forest, neither dawn nor sunset

Marks the passing of the days

It is a long winter here.

Must the winter come so soon?

Only at the last line did Ginny realize she had been so caught up in the melody that she ended up singing the entire thing. She let the last high note drift, like a falling leaf, down to soft fade. Silence greeted her at first, suddenly broken by the homunculus's loud applause.

"That was brilliant!" he exclaimed.

"Shhhh! Keep it down, will you?" Ginny hissed. "People are staring at us!"

"I'm not surprised! You're a terrific singer! You sounded exactly like the book!"

In spite of herself, Ginny felt the corners of her mouth tilting up, just a little. "Oh shut up," she muttered. "Just because I sound like my journal doesn't mean I'm any good, you know."

"You weren't just good! You were spectacular! I myself can't..." he paused, rubbing the side of his head. "Well, would you...do you think you could..."

"Could what?"

"Do you think you could teach me that song?"

Ginny gaped at him. "Teach? You?"

"Well, yeah! I'd really like to learn, it'd be a great experience! I promise I'll be a good student. What do you think?"

Merlin help me, thought Ginny. What next? Dance lessons? Fashion tips?

Before she could respond, however, movement at the entrance of the bleachers distracted her. It was Hermione, bushy hair in disarray, looking as if she'd just run a marathon. Her eyes scanned the pitch, then fell upon Ginny.

Ginny stood up to wave at her, partly because she was glad for the distraction, partly because she'd been half-waiting for it--if Hermione came rushing to look for her, it most likely meant that she had news about Harry.

True enough, when Hermione came up to her, Ginny could see the excitement in her sparkling eyes and in the flush of her cheeks. When Hermione hugged her, Ginny felt a sudden rush of infectious energy, and found herself trembling.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded. "Did you hear something from Professor Dumbledore?"

Hermione drew back, seemingly unable to decide between nodding or shaking her head. "No, no, no, no. Let's get Ron down here first so he can hear this too. I don't think I can...oh, hello." Her eyes fell upon the homunculus, who was gazing at them with marked interest.

Thinking quickly, Ginny reached into her bag and fished out a jar. "Say, Jamie, would you like to try some Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans?"

Jamie's eyes eagerly latched onto the jar of sweets. "Would I? Sure! Thanks a lot! I remember eating these but I've never personally..." He accepted the jar and busied himself uncapping it.

"I swear," muttered Ginny as he led Hermione to the bottom bleachers. "Has a mind like a sponge, but can only soak up one thing at a time."

It took a minute of waving and shouting to get Ron's attention. He veered away from the goals and hovered over their heads. "What's up with you two? You look like you've just won the lottery."

"Get down here, you git!" said Ginny. "Hermione's got news! From Dumbledore!"

Ron came down so fast he nearly crashed into the bleachers. Stumbling off of his racing broom, he reached for Hermione. "Where is he?" he demanded, and Ginny had to remind him to lower his voice. "What's happened?"

Hermione grasped his shoulders. "They've found him!" she said, close to tears. "Oh Ron, they've found Harry! He's finally safe!"

Ginny felt something swell inside her chest. It felt too huge to be simply called relief; it felt like a cleansing flood was washing away all her fears, and she swayed where she stood. Ron's eyes widened, and he grabbed Hermione in a tight embrace that lifted her off her feet. Hermione squealed.

"Where?" he asked breathlessly. "Where is he?"

"Put me down first, I can't talk...oh, Ron, you'll never believe this! He's staying at the safe house of Nicholas Flamel!"

He drew back to stare at her. "Flamel? Not the alchemist Flamel?"

"How many Nicholas Flamels are there in the world?"

"But I thought he's..."

"Still alive, apparently! After all this time! And on our side, can you believe it? He's keeping Harry safe until help arrives. He contacted Professor Dumbledore just this morning."

Ginny reached for Hermione's arm. "So they'll bring him back quickly? We'll get to see him soon?"

"Sooner than you think!" Hermione replied, beaming at her. "Listen, make sure you free up your schedules for this evening. Professor Dumbledore wants us all in his office at seven o'clock. He says we'll get to talk to Harry."

"But the Black Barrier..." Ron protested.

"Professor Dumbledore promised we'd be able to contact him. I mean, Flamel spoke to him this morning, didn't he? They must've found a way!"

The cleansing flood inside of Ginny turned into a deluge of excitement, and the ensuing dizziness made her sit down. Two words kept ringing in her head...Harry...safe...

"Hermione's right," she suddenly said. "If there's anyone in the world who could figure out how to get around the Barrier, it'd be Professor Dumbledore."

They would have talked further, had Katie not started signaling angrily at Ron to get back to work. They hurriedly promised to meet each other at the appointed time.

Ginny's eyes were on her feet as she made her way back to her original seat. She saw nothing at all. Her thoughts were in another time altogether, a time when she could see with her own eyes that Harry was indeed safe and sound.

I'm going to see him, she thought, eyes glimmering. I'm going to hear his voice.

It would be hours from now--never had twilight seemed so far away! She was bursting to tell someone, anyone. Jamie, of course...

The thought of the homunculus snapped her back to reality. How would he take the news of Harry's return? Would he be upset at having to return to his jar so soon?

Ginny turned her eyes to look at the homunculus, and what she saw made her gasp.

"Jamie, what are you doing?"

Jamie's head jerked up at the sound of her voice. His eyes were squinted and watery, and he wiped at them with his sleeve. Steam was rising out of his ears and his mouth was a crooked, squirming line.

"I was...looking for the...cherry-flavoured one," he rasped, "kept getting...the chili peppers."

Ginny rushed to her backpack and pulled out her water canister, which Jamie accepted like a gift from heaven. It took several gulps for his ears to stop smoking, and only then did Ginny think to laugh.

"Can't I leave you alone for five minutes?" she giggled.

The homunculus wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked sheepish again. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"If I had a Knut for each time you said that..." She paused, her smile fading. "Listen, Jamie, there's something I have to tell you."

She sat down beside him and repeated all that Hermione had told her. She spoke softly, not sure how he was going to take the news. Jamie did not once interrupt her. When she finished, she sat back and watched for his reaction.

The homunculus turned away, staring at nothing in particular. His eyes grew very still and his face reflected nothing of what he was thinking. For once, Ginny realized with some apprehension, he got something about Harry exactly right.

"Jamie? Are you all right?"

He took a long moment before responding. "I guess I don't have a lot of time left, do I?"

She was surprised at how it hurt to see him so sad, and regretted ever saying anything. "I'm sorry," she said, laying a hand on his arm. The word sounded ineffectual.

A smile lit up his face at her sympathy. "Don't be sorry. You've got nothing to be sorry for." He turned to face her completely. "You were the one who made this life so interesting for me. I'd never have discovered so much about it otherwise, nor would I have gotten to enjoy so much of it. I'm very grateful to you."

"I kind of feel bad about it now," she murmured. "I think it made more difficult for you in the end. I don't want you to regret anything."

He shook his head, still smiling. "I'm a homunculus," he said. "Regret is for humans."

Tilting his head to the side, he went on, "Seeing as I've a little time left...would you teach me how to sing?"

Ginny gaped at him, her hand dropping away from his arm. "Are you serious? You still want to do that?"

Jamie nodded.

She frowned at him. "You realize that that is very un-Harry."

He wilted a little, but nodded again.

She shut her eyes in surrender. "Oh, all right," she sighed. "I'll do it, if that'll make you happy."

"That's something you do quite well," he replied, smiling, leaving Ginny to wonder what he was referring to.

---

As he sat near the bow of the flat-bottomed boat, Harry kept his eyes on the man who claimed to be Nicholas Flamel. He did this partially out of habit, having gone through enough traps and double-crosses on this journey to almost convince him to adopt Moody's "trust no one" attitude. A different part of him could not believe he was actually safe now, and expected that this was some sort of elaborate ruse and a whole army of Death Eaters was waiting at the end of this little jaunt, never mind what Moody's Foe-Glass told them.

But a better part of him was also intensely curious about his rescuer. Everything he had heard about Flamel had been so fantastical--genius alchemist, creator of the Philosopher's Stone, oldest living man on earth--that Harry imagined him a second Dumbledore. Harry could not reconcile this image with that of the old man who now slouched against the stern of the boat, looking so mundane as to be peasant-like. Flamel was bald save for swatches of pale hair above his ears. He had a pear-shaped nose and ears that stuck out like cup handles. His heavily lined face seemed kind in a grandfatherly way, and he had fingers that looked like long knobby twigs. With his shabby leather jacket lined with dozens of pockets, dirty white linen shirt and baggy trousers, he looked like nothing more than a hunter on the way back from a satisfying ramble in the woods.

Moody and Danny, who sat on either side of the boat, also kept watch on Flamel, and Harry wagered they were thinking the same things he was. Danny's eyes often strayed to the rifle-like device on the floor of the boat, the weapon that ended the threat of Voldemort's beast.

If Flamel was aware of their stares, he made no indication of it. He hummed through his nose, making his whiskery moustache twitch, as he steered with the rudder, navigating through the tiny, meandering river that would eventually lead to Lake Mab and his home. The boat propelled itself through the inky black water in near silence. Harry had been wondering how it did so, until a glance at the rear of the vessel showed that the corners tapered into long wooden flaps that paddled through the water. He wondered if Flamel designed the vessel himself.

No one spoke. The only sounds were the ripple of water, the creak of the wood of the boat, and an occasional plop as a nut or a twig fell into the river from the canopy of leaves above them.

At length, Moody said, "Mr. Flamel, if you'd explain something?"

"Mmm?"

"I still don't understand why you could get to contact Professor Dumbledore, while we can't do so."

Flamel seemed unperturbed by the question. When he replied, Harry heard a slight trace of the French accent in his voice. "It is not a matter of 'can't,' my friend. You may communicate with Albus Dumbledore yourselves, if you wish. But you may find it difficult, all things considered."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see..." Flamel slipped his long fingers into his jacket pocket, and a look of consternation came over his face. He released the rudder a moment and started fiddling through the rest of his pockets. He pulled out a hodgepodge of items: fish hooks, string, pebbles, a string of pebbles, a thimble, a harmonica, a spyglass, and even what seemed to Harry a tiny crystal elephant. After several minutes of fruitless searching, he gave a loud "Aha!" and fished out what he was looking for.

"Is that...a whistle?" asked Harry, peering at the object on his hand.

"No, no, my young friend," Flamel replied, holding up the tiny tube in his fingers. "This is nothing more than a hollow piece of metal. Its length, weight or shape hardly matters. The interesting thing about it is the material itself." He raised it up for all of them to see. "It is made of...ah...what was it? Invertible? No. Irreversible? No. Intraconvertible?"

He tapped his bald forehead with the tube and squeezed his eyes shut. "Invaluable, Incorruptible, Intolerable...Come on now, Nick, it's at the edge of your brain...Aha! Indivisible metal! You've heard of such things? No? It is simple: the particles of this kind of metal resonate with the same amount of energy no matter what their state or location..."

He paused at their blank faces. "Ah, forgive me. I am an old hand in alchemy, and I love it to a fault. When I talk about it I too often descend into mini-lectures. Let me put it simply: If I were to divide a sheet of Indivisible alloy into two and separate them by a hundred miles, and I strike one sheet with a hammer, you can be sure that the other sheet would banging as loudly as the one in my possession.

"Dumbledore and I have devised our own little code, and when I wish to send him a message I simply strike it out on this little tube, and Dumbledore's own device receives it loud and clear." He turned to Moody. "So that, my friend, is the answer to your question. You will have to learn our code first before you speak with our mutual friend. On the other hand, there are far better ways than this one."

"Are there?"

"Indeed. I beg you to be patient, Alastor Moody, and to trust me, though by your reputation I can tell that that is not in your nature."

"That's how I survived long enough to get a reputation."

"Nevertheless, I ask you to trust me. For Lake Mab is my territory. And while you are my guests here, I swear on my life that no harm will come to you." His eyes switched to the front of the boat. "Ah, we have reached the lake."

Harry followed his gaze. They had neared a thick wall of vines hanging from an overhead branch; the boat pushed through the thin coiling ropes, out of the tunnel and into sunshine.

"Lovely morning," commented Flamel, and Harry found himself agreeing. Lake Mab was small, perhaps a fifth of the size of Hogwarts's own lake, but no less beautiful. The water gently lapped at its rocky shores, trees shed burgundy leaves that stained the mirror surface of the lake, and kites scoured its waters in search of fish. The sun was brighter than he could ever remember since the Black Barrier had settled over the land. It flashed silver and gold on the water, bright enough to sting the eyes. If Harry harbored any doubts at all that he had truly been rescued, the sight made them melt away like the last of the morning mist.

His eyes fell on Danny, and Harry realized that his friend had not spoken at all during their entire trip. One look at the other boy's face told him Danny was worse off than he was: his face was gaunt and drained of color, and his eyes were out of focus.

"You all right?" asked Harry, leaning towards him.

Danny seemed to wake from some inner dream. He only nodded in reply.

"You live out here alone, Mr. Flamel?" grunted Moody.

"Indeed, except for my butler Carbuncle." He paused, and his voice fell a little when he spoke again. "My wife, Perenelle, passed away two years ago."

Moody tilted his head respectfully. Harry, feeling this was not enough, said, "I'm sorry."

Flamel smiled at him. "She was never sorry, you know. She lived to be 644. She had very little to be sorry about."

A short silence fell on the group, then Moody spoke up again. "What I'm interested in knowing, actually, is the security of this place. I don't mean to be blunt, but someone who's lived as long as you have must know a thing or two about the world, so I trust you have managed to keep yourself safe from prying eyes?"

Flamel laughed good-naturedly. "You do rightly to be concerned, Mr. Moody, considering the importance of the person whom you are protecting. Very well, I shall explain to put you at ease.

"Lake Mab is surrounded by ancient magic. It has been here longer than either Dumbledore or I. Its purpose has remained unknown, though we are certain that it has long been abandoned by...by, uh...by its enchanter, whatever her name was.

"Firstly, the entire Lake is Unplottable, and it is impossible to Apparate here directly. Secondly, the trees surrounding the lake have been enchanted with a permanent and potent Misdirection Charm. Simply put, should a person wander in through one side of the forest, they will eventually end up on the other side, without even catching a glimpse of the lake. There are only a few known safe entry points into Lake Mab, one of which is the river we have entered from.

"When Perenelle and I decided to make our retirement home here, we added a few more security measures to ensure our privacy would remain intact. Privacy comes at a premium when you've created a stone that prolongs life and turns lead into gold. Truth be told, our old home in France had been turned upside-down, and our 'graves' have been ransacked beyond all counting. Here, at least, we won't have any problems staying out of sight. No one comes barging in while I'm sunning myself on the porch.

"When you arrived through the marsh--an extremely dangerous path, by the way, and I don't recommend you trying it again--you set off some of our early warning systems, and thus I was able to find you quickly."

"Thanks for you help," Harry began. "If you hadn't arrived when you did..."

"Think nothing of it. I owe Dumbledore a great debt for his wisdom. Just...don't tell anyone who helped you out, eh?"

The boat glided to the other side of the lake, and Harry spotted a massive oak tree near the shore. It rose above the roof a two-storey wooden cottage that had apparently been built around its huge trunk. The leafy branches loomed over the water like a mass of clouds, and as they neared the little wooden dock it rained crisp tan leaves, as if celebrating their arrival.

"We designed this home ourselves," Flamel said with a touch of pride. "The oak we planted in 1835, when we first discovered this place. When we came here to retire, we decided to build our home right on this spot. At first we wanted a tree house, but that meant cutting off some branches and hurting the oak. So instead we built the cottage around the tree, and installed steps to the second floor around the trunk. Ah, there's Carbuncle now."

A squat figure was waiting for them on the dock. From a distance Harry thought it was only a tree stump, but when they drifted closer he saw it was actually a kind of spiral shell, some four feet high, colored bronze, and shining with a metallic hue. A few thin protrusions emerged from its side. When they closed the distance to the dock, all four of these protrusions extended and waved at them like arms. Flamel stood up and flung a coil of rope at the creature, which caught it with a pincer at the end of its arm. Thin spider-like metal legs emerged from the base of the shell, and the creature, which now looked like a very large hermit crab, skittered to the nearest pole to secure the boat. When they were docked, the creature extended its arms towards Flamel, who thanked it as he disembarked.

"This is Carbuncle," he said, motioning to the creature, which gave three high whistles in reply. "Though in reality an automaton, Carbuncle prefers to be referred to as a 'he.' Carbuncle, meet Alastor Moody, his godson Daniel Oaks, and Harry Potter of Hogwarts."

Two eyestalks telescoped out of the base of the shell and briefly scanned the group, then Carbuncle extended his arms help them onto the dock.

"He can understand us?" asked Moody, accepting the spindly arm.

"Carbuncle is a state-of-the-art Goblin automaton," replied Flamel. "I understand he was originally built to be a miner, but when the tunnel he was working in collapsed and buried his masters he was left to his own devices. Perenelle and I found him after he had dug himself out. The goblin government wanted him back of course, but he sought asylum in our country, so we took him in. It took quite a bit of retraining before he could buttle properly, but now he is the equivalent of five servants. He will attend to your every need, I assure you."

"Thanks," said Harry as Carbuncle helped him onto the dock. The automaton whistled his reply.

"This way please," said Flamel, shouldering his rifle. He led them up the curving cobblestone path to the cottage. His mechanical butler skittered ahead to open the door.

The cottage was made of interlocking logs, precisely layered. Stretching up from the navy blue shingles was a tall steel chimney that reached high into the boughs of the tree. Pale crystal windows lined the upper floor, and the front door was made of bolted ironwood and carved with arabesque designs. Carbuncle stepped aside to make way for them.

"Welcome to my home," said Flamel, ushering them in.

The living room was carpeted from wall to wall, and filled with furniture Harry had seen only in picture books of the medieval age. Several paintings and what seemed to be Indian tapestries lined the walls. One side, however, was bricked away from floor to ceiling by several stacks of books (Harry expected them to be a treasury of magical and alchemical tomes, and was greatly surprised to find an assortment of spy novels, murder mysteries, penny dreadfuls, and even a couple of bodice-rippers). Two cushy velvet chairs crouched before the fireplace, and a fire burned cheerfully at the hearth. The entire place looked so clean and cozy that Harry self-consciously scuffed his feet at the welcome mat to wipe as much mud as he could off of his shoes.

Flamel led them to an adjoining room, and Harry saw that the alchemist had told the truth: they had indeed built the house around the tree. A wooden staircase coiled around the massive trunk, and some of the lower branches were even supporting the second floor. Just beyond the staircase, Harry could make out a dining room.

"I know you are tired," said Flamel, eyeing them in turn. "I suggest you wash up and get some sleep. I have prepared the guest room already. Carbuncle will show you the way. Come down when you wake and I will have a meal prepared for you.

"Leave your questions for later. For now, you have earned your rest."

They followed the automaton up the staircase without further delay. Perhaps it was the thought of a soft, proper bed that did it, but with every step Harry felt his fatigue returning. His legs felt heavier, and he barely made it to the end of the short hall without stumbling.

Their room was tiny, but no less cozy than the ones they'd already seen. To Harry, it was like a glimpse of heaven: two feather beds on gold-colored frames and a makeshift one on the floor, filled with small fluffy pillows. Little cabinets stood on bedsides, and on the far wall a crystal window overlooked the backyard.

Danny wasted no time. He tottered over to the mattress on the floor and fell facedown onto the pillows.

Moody stumped over to a side door and opened it, revealing a small bathroom and a three robes hanging from pegs on the door. "Clean water," he murmured reverentially. It must've taken some self-control on his part to turn to Harry and say, "You first, lad. Danny and I will get ourselves settled."

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, wearing a clean linen robe and feeling very much like had been reborn, he found his two bodyguards fast asleep, with Moody (mud-crusted clothes and all) having taken up the bed on the wall. So much for Constant Vigilance.

Harry gave a wan, tired smile and sat down on the bed on the far side. Though his limbs ached and his body cried out for sleep, he willed himself to stay awake just a few moments. He wanted to soak in this sensation, this feeling that he had just strayed out from a long, dark tunnel into daylight. Once again, he was surrounded by the comforts he had taken for granted while in Hogwarts: the feel of sheets beneath his skin, the scent of freshly washed clothes, a soft warm bed. He wanted to revel in it, just for a little while.

But he could not quite manage it. For some reason he still felt unsettled, like he had left behind some unfinished business. He thought back to the twisted trees in Hillsdale, bent out of shape for so long by the wind that they could no longer stood upright. Perhaps that was how he was deep inside, twisted so much by his troubles he could no longer find peace.

'Maybe in a little while, I'll be better,' he thought. 'After a little rest.'

He laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed him before he knew it.

---

He was standing at the edge of a precipice, in a place that looked very familiar. Something was bidding him to look down, down into the darkness where lay the fruits of his actions. Look at me, it said, look at what you have done

Harry kept his gaze averted, staring at the sun that was slowly vanishing behind the yellow trees. But he could not ignore the voice in the gorge. It rose as a whisper in the wind, clear and unmistakable. Irian was calling to him.

"I was like you," he said, "and one day you will be like me."

Harry twisted where he lay and nearly fell off of the bed. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to lie still and waited for his beating heart to slow. Then he sat up to look around.

The light from the window has changed. 'It must be late in the afternoon now,' he thought, looking about. The other beds were empty. Before Harry could wonder where Moody and Danny were, he heard the tap running in the adjoining bathroom, and a muffled conversation going on downstairs.

Harry lay back down as the water stopped running and the familiar clunk of a peg-leg sounded on the bathroom floor. He did not feel like talking to anyone, so he lay on his side and pretended to be asleep.

The bathroom door opened and he heard Moody step out.

"You sleep well?" he asked.

Harry thought of not answering, but gave up and turned around. "How'd you know I was awake?"

Moody, who now wore his own white linen robe, sat down on his own bed. His gray grizzled hair was combed away from his face and he was freshly shaved. "Your breathing changed," he said with a shrug. "Feeling all right? You look like someone just clocked you over the head a couple of times."

"I'm okay," Harry muttered, and ignored the unconvinced expression on Moody's face. "What time is it? And where's Danny?"

"Quarter past four. The milksop's downstairs, chatting with Flamel." Moody's magical eye did not zoom around as it usually did, which meant the old Auror was more or less confident about their security. On the other hand, it was scrutinizing Harry, which was always discomforting.

"You don't seem to trust him a lot, Flamel," remarked Harry.

Moody shrugged. "Can't be too careful. Flamel seems to be on the level with us, but I'll only know I can trust him once I manage to contact Dumbledore."

Laughter sounded from somewhere below. "Danny doesn't seem to have that problem," said Harry.

Moody only shook his head in disgust.

They were quiet now, and though Moody had ceased to watch him, Harry still felt uncomfortable in the silence. He did not want to think of his dream. There had to be something to get his mind off of it.

His mind quickly alighted on one unfinished conversation.

"Mr. Moody?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to ask you a bit more...about being an Auror."

Moody eased himself onto the bed again, grunting as he relished its softness. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you go about...well, you know...becoming one?"

Moody did not even seem to consider the question. "You get nothing below Exceeds Expectations in school, you keep a clean record, you graduate and apply at the Ministry. Then the Aurors give you a screening, and if they think you got what it takes, they'll take you in for training. That's common knowledge."

"Well, yes it is," agreed Harry, who was waiting to get a few tips that would give him an edge. "I was wondering about that training Aurors get. What's it like?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts mostly, on a deeper, more practical level. Then there's law enforcement and combat magic training. Study. Lots of study."

"Oh," replied Harry, somewhat disappointed. "Is that all?"

"No," said the old man, turning to him. His magical eye whirled around once before focusing on Harry. "There's more. Much, much more."

He sat up, swinging his legs down the side of the bed. His peg leg came down in a heavy clunk, like the sound of a gavel. Taking this as a signal, Harry sat up as well and faced him.

"You learn to master yourself," said Moody in hushed tones, "and in doing so, you learn to master the evil in men. You learn to spot the wrong sort of person quickly, and you learn to sense if they mean you harm. You learn to be alert even in your sleep. You learn how to track people unseen, and how to eavesdrop on their plots and secrets. You learn to move without a sound and vanish without a trace. You learn when to make your move and when to lie in wait, how to spot weaknesses in your opponents and defeat them using just a fraction of your strength."

"Most of all, you learn what it means to give your life over to something greater than yourself. You learn to serve society and uphold the ways of the wizard. You learn the Creed, which all true Aurors follow. You learn it and keep it in your heart 'til you breathe your last."

"How do the Aurors study these things?" whispered Harry. "Tell me."

"Through training, of course, and tests."

Harry leaned closer. "What sort of tests?"

Moody drew a deep breath. "At first, a lot like the kinds you face in Hogwarts. But as you move on, it changes. You are made to make choices in given situations. You'll be questioned, and your life as an Auror depends on your answers."

"What kind of questions?"

The old man gave a little smile. "You want a sample?"

"Well..." Harry had to be honest. He was far too intrigued now to stop pursuing this conversation. "Yes, please tell me."

Moody stared at him without blinking. "What did the voice from the ravine tell you?'

Harry felt the air in his lungs freeze. For a moment he sat speechless, staring into the old man's hard gaze.

"Nothing," Harry said at last. "It told me nothing."

Moody looked at him patiently. "If you heard a voice, lad, it couldn't have said nothing."

Angry and ashamed, Harry looked out the window. Sunlight streamed through the leaves of a nearby tree, and above the rustling leaves he could hear the chatter of squirrels.

"I've been meaning to bring it up for some time," said Moody, "and I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think it was important."

Finally, Harry relented. "It said...it said I'd never have any peace without revenge."

Moody considered this for a moment.

"I don't understand what it meant," added Harry.

"I think you do," said Moody. "All this time, I felt like I missed something while I was out cold."

"You said the Deceiver told nothing but lies."

"I said the Deceiver twists the truth into a weapon it can use against you."

"Well, what does it matter what a ghost tells me?"

"Do you believe what it said?"

To this, Harry found himself without a reply.

"Harry," said Moody, his gaze sharp and piercing. "What's this about? Did something happen?"

Harry could not find it in himself to answer. He kept his eyes on the window, gazing out onto the meadow beyond.

"Harry, I might be able to help, but I can't unless you tell me what happened."

"I...I'm not even sure what happened," Harry answered. "There...there was this huge fight. Danny was battling Death Eaters, and one of them--Irian, the one who tortured you--he tried to kill you. And I stopped him. And then everything just...happened."

Moody was very still, waiting for him to continue. All of sudden, Harry felt like a prisoner about to confess to a crime. When he spoke again, his head was low, and his mouth was dry as parchment.

"Irian. He f-fell. Fell off the cliff."

For a moment, Moody only watched him. Then he said, "You feel this was your fault?"

"I cast a Disarming Curse at him, and it broke through his Wandshield. He fell."

"I see."

"I've never killed before. Never."

"Yes, I know. And if you could help it, you'd never do so. Am I right?"

Harry nodded.

"That, lad, is what separates you from the likes of Gallowbraid and Voldemort. You ever thought of that?"

"...No."

"Well, you should," Moody grunted. "You were fighting in a war out there, lad. No one will blame you for fighting for your life. No one will fault you for saving mine. Your friends, they're not going to change their minds about you just because of what happened. They'll say, 'Better him than you, Harry.' You realize that, don't you?"

Harry said nothing.

"Try and forget about this, lad."

After a long moment, Harry said, "I don't think I can."

The old man frowned. "What's the matter?"

"I don't think I can forget because...because there was this moment..."

He swallowed hard and held the Auror's gaze. He felt his inside go hollow, as if all the air had left his body, and his voice sank into a whisper.

"There was this moment," he said, "when I saw Irian was afraid...there was this moment when we were both sure he'd lost. And right then, I realized how much I wanted kill him. I wanted to kill him and the moment I did...

"...I liked it."

The words seemed to hang in the air, filling a terrible silence. Neither man nor boy spoke, and as the minutes marched by, Harry felt like a criminal waiting to be sentenced.

'I wonder what he thinks of me now that he knows this side of me,' he thought. 'Did I really say I wanted to be an Auror? Did I really?'

It was an eternity before Moody spoke.

"You have no idea," he said, "no idea at all at how many times, in how many battles, I've felt quite the same thing."

Harry gaped at him. The tightness in his chest vanished.

"These battles we face," Moody went on, "they wound us something terrible. We take wounds on our bodies, we take them on our souls. But I'll tell you this, lad, take it from a veteran. If you let it, any wound can heal. It'll just be another scar."

Again, Harry nodded.

"Let this pass, Harry. Don't beat yourself up over it. You're alive, we all are, and that's what the people at home are rooting for. No one, not me, not Danny, not Dumbledore, not your friends, will change their mind of you because of this. Understand?"

"Yes."

"You will find no peace without revenge. That's what the voice told you, right?"

"Yes."

"I cannot help you with this, lad," said Moody. "This is a personal battle. What you heard affected you, and I'd wager this is a consequence of that. All I can tell you is, even if what the voice said is true, it's the truth used against you. The great lie of your heart."

"So what does that mean?" Harry demanded. "That it's wrong to avenge the death of my parents? That it's wrong for me to fight to protect my friends? That I shouldn't go after Voldemort? That sounds worse than anything an old ghost has to say to me."

"I didn't say anything of the sort," replied Moody. "Damn Voldemort and all his followers, if you ask me. World's better off without them. But..." his eyes gazed intently at Harry, "if you're the one to send him to hell, Harry, don't go with him. That's what saying."

Moody bent forward, grasping his shoulder. His grip was firm, but the weight of his hand was warm and comforting.

"Above all things, and Auror must keep his heart. This you must believe: you are a good young man, Harry. If you hold true to it, you may have the heart of an Auror. Don't waste your life hating someone, or pursuing vengeance. Grindelwald and his ilk pawned their hearts and left the world in shambles. Don't take that road. Don't let what you've heard or what happened change you. Above everything, you and I must believe in our better natures. You are a good lad. Remember that, and you will never fall."

Again, Harry nodded. Moody's words comforted him, if only a little. He could still recall that chilling fury that rose in him when he shot Irian, as if his heart had burned with cold fire. How it had filled him then, how he had welcomed it; and how empty and guilty he felt now that it had deserted him. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would think, if they ever find out about this. 'No,' he thought, 'they'll never find out, because I'll never tell. This will be one scar of mine they'll never see.'

And he wondered, too, where this sadness was coming from: that he had something to hide from his friends, or that he felt he had to hide it at all.

---

When Harry and Moody finally came down the spiral steps, they heard Flamel's voice drifting up from the dining room.

"I call it a Foe-Hammer. I fashioned it from a blunderbuss, the precursor to what Muggles would call a 'gun.' Instead of bullets, the Foe-Hammer fires concentrated bursts of magical energy--very nasty at close range. "

They found Danny and Flamel sitting together at the table. Danny, who seemed in good spirits as he dangled a goblet of red wine in his hand, was hunched forward in a chair with his long limbs crossed beneath him. He was watching Flamel, who sat close by, talking rapidly while holding up the strange rifle he'd used to kill the beast.

"Simply charge it up, aim and squeeze the trigger," he said, handing the Foe-Hammer to Danny. "Don't worry, it's depleted. Used up all the charges in the fight this morning."

Despite this, Danny hefted and aimed it with the air of a boy who'd been allowed to play with an expensive toy. Perhaps it was the avid look in his eyes that made Moody clear his throat. Danny tilted back his head to peer at them upside-down. "Oi!" he exclaimed. "Finally awake!"

Flamel stood up, gesturing. "Come in, come in! Daniel and I were just having afternoon tea--well, breakfast, in your case."

Moody hobbled into the dining room with Harry in tow. "Mr. Flamel..." he began, but the alchemist raised his hand.

"Please. Call me Nick. After 600-odd years of it, one tires of formality. And we are all allies here."

"Right," grunted Moody. "When do we get to talk to Dumbledore?"

"Ah, yes. Please, make yourselves comfortable first." He gestured to the rest of the mahogany chairs. Danny handed him back the Foe-Hammer, which Flamel propped up against the nearby wall.

"You seem lively enough," said Harry, grinning at Danny as they sat down. "You looked like Death himself when we brought you in."

"You kidding me?" Danny grabbed his goblet. "A good six-hour nap and bit of liquid sin, I'm ready to rumble from here 'til sunset."

Flamel had the table set for four. In the middle was a basket of toasted bread. Beside it was a large bowl of golden, steaming soup, a jar of strawberry jam, and a plate of what could only be smoked salmon. He felt the insides of his mouth melting at the sight of the spread. Before he knew it his hand was reaching for a piece of bread, but Flamel gently caught his wrist.

"Wait, please," he said. "From what I've heard, you've had nothing to eat for several days but nuts and fruit. To eat so much at once will certainly make you ill. Please, have some soup first to warm your stomach."

Moody seemed convinced by this logic and served soup for their bowls. The broth had bits of onion and was covered by a thick layer of mozzarella cheese. Harry felt his stomach growling as he ate, and only with some cajoling from Flamel did he manage to eat slowly. It was not long before the growling was tamed, and warmth radiated from his stomach to the rest of his body.

"This is absolutely terrific," he muttered.

"That's what I told him," said Danny, munching down on another piece of toast. "An alchemist and a cook--is there anything you can't do?"

Flamel gave a modest smile. "If there is, I can't remember it."

Moody, who was sniffing at a piece of salmon on his fork, finally succumbed and gobbled it down. "About Dumbledore..."

"Ah yes, thank you for reminding me. I have scheduled a meeting with him at seven-thirty this evening. We shall go down to the lake and have ourselves a chat with my old friend."

"How are we going to do that?"

"I would gladly explain, but it would be easier to show you the process itself."

As the sun began to set in the western mountains, Flamel handed out some cloaks and lanterns and led them out the front door. "We shall hie ourselves over to the shores of the lake," he said, "and I'll show you magic not many wizards can boast of knowing. Carbuncle! Let's be off! And mind you bring the ingredients!"

A brief whistle sounded as Carbuncle emerged from the front door, bearing a burlap bag in the crook of one slim limb. He settled behind them, ready to follow.

Danny turned to Flamel, jerking a thumb at the automaton. "I've been wondering: what does he run on?"

"Dragon dung," came the alchemist's prompt reply. "A sadly underestimated bio-fuel."

They followed Flamel down the path of his house. A breeze played amongst the leaves of the massive oak, and over the water a kite called for an end to another day of fishing. The light was quickly quitting the sky, and save for one swath of gold the lake was the color of coal. At first Harry thought he imagined it, but soon realized it was true--the mushrooms at the side of the stone path were starting to glow as the evening drew closer.

Flamel suddenly stopped. "So that's why it's so blasted dark!" He took a minute to fish out a lighter and tend to each of their lamps, including his own.

"You don't use a wand?" asked Moody, which prompted Harry to realize: he had not seen Flamel use a wand at all.

"I would if I could," Flamel said, "but I'm afraid I am one of what you English refer to as 'Squibs.'"

They all goggled at him. Danny cried, "You're not--!"

Flamel merely smiled and slipped the lighter back into his pocket.

"But the boat--and the house--and the gun--"

"My dear boy, while I may not be able to cast spells or work enchantments, I can certainly do a fair share of alchemy and potion-making. In my youth I believed that anything doable with wizardry was doable with alchemy, and after a few hundred years I think I managed to make a good case of it."

He led them on, following the shore of the lake, until they came to a place where the reeds were few, and the ground was flat and soft with grass. "This will do," said Flamel, and Carbuncle set the bag down.

"As I mentioned, it is not common knowledge that between Lake Mab and Hogwarts stretches a ley line, a single invisible string of dormant energy. Dumbledore performed some research on ley lines early on in our partnership and discovered a feature that's rather useful, in a limited sense. If one knows how, one can send light and sound through the entire length of an existing line.

"Carbuncle, the quicksilver and the stardust, if you please."

The automaton reached into the bag, pulled out a goatskin flask and a velvet pouch, and set them at Flamel's feet.

"First, create a hard, reflective surface." The alchemist picked up the flask, opened it, and cast its contents upon the lake. The substance scattered upon the water, creating a shining sheen. In a trice, Flamel scooped up the pouch and threw all of its contents upon the quicksilver.

Harry caught his breath as he watched the glittering cloak of stardust fall upon the water. A million shades of light scattered before him, filling his eyes with colors of the rainbow and the aurora, and others he could not name. Where they settled, the quicksilver hardened into glass. The dust itself did not fade away, but settled into subtler shades, glittering faintly, as if the glass were reflecting a sky full of stars.

"Trade me for a troll's baby," muttered Danny. "I haven't seen anything that pretty since I tried smoking--uh, nevermind." He turned abruptly away from Moody's magical eye.

Flamel rubbed his hands. "Second, tap into the ley line using a metal instrument. Carbuncle, if you please."

The automaton gave a low, depressed whistle.

The old man gave him a disapproving stare. "Oh, don't be such a baby. You won't rust with that finish I gave you."

Carbuncle gave another whistle, sounding almost like "phooey," before scampering onto the glass. A drill emerged from his lower body, which buzzed to life and bit into the glass with a tiny shriek. A gout of muddy water spurted up from the hole.

"Now then," said Flamel, "with Carbuncle as our link, we may attempt contact. Dumbledore should have set up something similar in Hogwarts." He knelt close to the edge of the lake. "Hello? Nicholas Flamel here. Can anyone hear me?"

Harry and his companions crowded around Flamel and stared into the mirror's surface. At first, they saw only their own faces staring back at them, but in a moment the image swam and wavered, and a sudden shock passed through Harry as he saw the kindly face of the old headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore!" cried Harry, falling to his knees. He leaned over the glass, as if to make sure he was not seeing some kind of illusion. There was no mistake. It was Dumbledore's face peering back at him, framed by the familiar crisscrossing rafters of the headmaster's office ceiling. The headmaster's eyes twinkled like the stardust in the mirror.

"Good evening, Harry," he said. "At last we meet again, though it be only through a basin of frozen water. Good evening to you, Nicholas. Alastor, Daniel, I am relieved beyond measure to see you both alive and well."

Moody (with some effort) also got down on his knee. "Professor. It feels like centuries."

"We're alive and well, all right," laughed Daniel. "Getting nearly killed did my health a lot of good."

Dumbledore smiled at this. "You have confronted each challenge and emerged triumphant. Your deeds have been nothing less than heroic, all three of you."

"Of course, and you can thank me in terms of Galle--" Danny doubled over when Moody's backhand found the soft area of his gut.

"Professor," said Harry. "I've got it. The Crystal Cage..." He reached into his shirt to grasp the bauble around his neck, as if to reassure himself it was still there.

"Yes, Harry, I know. Alastor told me of your success and of how bravely you achieved it. It is a story worth telling, once you return to Hogwarts."

The words rang loud in Harry's ears. Return to Hogwarts. No words could possibly sound sweeter.

"How will I get home, sir?" he asked. "Is someone going to...?"

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, along with a coterie of Order members, are en route to Lake Mab even as we speak. They will be there the day after tomorrow, if not sooner, and will take you by broom to just outside the Hogwarts grounds."

Harry felt his blood throbbing in excitement, so much that he didn't hear the rest of what Dumbledore said. "Sorry, sir, what was that again?"

"We do not have a lot of time, Harry," Dumbledore said, "so for now I shall content myself that, though injured, you and your friends are all right and safe in the care of Nicholas. For now there are some things I need to ask you.

"About the Crystal Cage. Have you found anything useful about it? Has it reacted to your presence in any way?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I've no idea how it works. When I first touched it, it started glowing. Like it knew who I was, or something. But after that, I've only seen it flicker now and then. I really don't know what to do with it."

"I see. Did you experience anything else?"

Harry paused, then swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "I've...had a few dreams, sir, when I saw her."

Dumbledore's face seemed to freeze in the mirror. "Dahlia?"

"Yes, sir. I...I'm sure it was her. She was tall and gaunt and her skin was colored gray..." Harry stopped short of admitting the dreams made him nervous, but he was sure his demeanor betrayed it.

Dumbledore pinched his brow in thought. "This is unexpected. It may be that she...no, that's not possible."

Moody spoke up. "You don't suppose this Cimmerian Sorceress can project herself out of her prison, do you?"

"I'm not certain, Alastor," replied Dumbledore. "From what I understand, the magic of the Cage should prevent her from doing so. Yet if Harry is seeing her in his dreams, that is the only explanation I can think of. It may be that, for some reason, she's trying to contact Harry."

The thought sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

"In any case," continued Dumbledore, "there will be time to study this further. For now, Harry, would you do me a favor?"

"Sir?"

"Tomorrow morning, please turn the Crystal Cage over to Mr. Flamel for a while. He will attempt to study it, and tell us what he can."

Harry thought this over. "All right," he said, turning to Flamel. "I have to warn you: it's like it has a mind of its own. It burns the person it doesn't want touching it."

"I'll be careful," said Flamel. "I'm no stranger to dangerous materials."

Dumbledore's lips broke into a smile. "Fear not, Harry. Your possession will be in good hands with Nicholas Flamel, whom by mutual contract I am obligated to say is the greatest magical researcher in the wizarding world."

Flamel returned his smile. "A fine compliment to receive from Albus Dumbledore, whom by mutual contract I am obligated to refer to as the wizarding world's finest magical researcher."

"Well and good," said Dumbledore. "Harry, the world's second-best magical researcher has a few more things to discuss with the world's second-best magical researcher. I have another basin handy and we shall take our conversation to a separate link. Alastor, Daniel, please join us. Meanwhile, Harry, I realize you must have a lot of questions about what has currently been happening in the world while you were away. There are some people here who are more than willing to bring you up to speed."

Smiling, Dumbledore moved aside, and Nicholas, Moody and Danny followed to another part of the mirror. Harry didn't have long to wait before a pair of familiar faces popped into view.

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione cried in unison, and Harry drew back in surprise.

"Harry, you git!" stormed Ron. "What the hell's been keeping you?"

"Oh, Harry!" said Hermione. "Are you really okay? You're not still sick with Corsulus, are you?"

"How much longer 'til you get here?"

"You look so thin! Haven't you been eating well? Are you getting enough rest?"

"Harry?"

Harry did not answer for a moment. He was trying to soak in the sight of these two faces, which more than once he thought he'd never see again. His heart felt so full, overflowing with conflicting emotions. He had never felt gladder to see them, and at the same time, a twisting sensation in his stomach told him he was not quite ready for this.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and leaned forward again. He smiled.

"Ron. Hermione."

His two friends watched him, and were surprised at the sudden tears standing in his eyes.

"S-sorry," Harry muttered, rubbing at them. "It's been so long. This feels like a dream."

Hermione's eyes were reddening too. "Harry, we've missed you so much. You've no idea how scared we were. I thought we'd never see you--"

"I never thought that!" Ron declared, leaning forward so that his face took up most of the space of the basin. "I always knew you'd be all right. I knew you'd make it back."

Harry smiled. "Thanks. I'd give anything to be there right now. I've...this...this trip, it hasn't been easy."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to go at it alone."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, and reflected that he wanted it no other way. "Yeah, that's me all right."

This time Hermione's face took up most of the screen. "Are you okay, Harry? You're not ill anymore?"

"No, someone took care of that."

"Are you wounded? Do you hurt anywhere?"

"I was wounded many times. But I'm all right now." He paused. "I've got a few more scars."

Ron asked, "But you got what you came for, right?"

Harry reached into his shirt and pulled out the Crystal Cage. A flicker of fear went through him, but the stone remained cold and dark and silent.

Ron and Hermione watched the red jewel in his hand. "Doesn't look like much, does it?" Ron remarked.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Ron," Hermione said.

"I was just expecting something more impressive, considering Harry risked his life for it and all."

"Right," Hermione sniffed. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would know how to help you use it, Harry. The sooner you get back here, the better."

Harry did not want to dwell on the subject of the Cage--it seemed to lead to dark corners in his mind he had no wish to visit. He tucked the stone back into his shirt and said, "What's been going on?"

"Don't get to read the news much, do you?" asked Ron, grinning.

"No. Tell me everything."

They did the best they could to get him abreast of current events. They explained how the Ministry turned against the Order of the Phoenix and that it was Fudge behind the order to erect the Black Barrier. They told him how the fighting had spread throughout southern Britain, making it far more difficult to conceal their world from Muggles.

"There've been some refugees coming in," said Hermione. "They've no place to go, so Dumbledore opened Hogwarts up for them. We've converted some of the classrooms into shelters. Things have been going from bad to worse, overall."

"I guess you can say I'm a refugee," Ron said. His lean face was tightened and pale. "There...there's been some fighting in Surrey, Harry."

Anxiety wormed its way into Harry's heart. "What about the Burrow?" he asked.

"The whole of Ottery St. Catchpole's been evacuated. We won't be going back there for a while." Ron paused, face expressionless. "I don't even know if our house is still standing."

Hermione put a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder and said nothing. Harry imagined the Burrow destroyed, and his mind turned away in horror. No, he told himself. There's no proof of that, not yet.

To shift the topic, he asked, "What about Hagrid? Any word?"

His heart sank further as his friends shook their heads. "We've been waiting forever," Ron said.

"What about the Dementors? Haven't they moved from Azkaban yet?"

"No, Harry," said Hermione. "We haven't heard anything about them either. It's a little unnerving, actually. I wonder when Voldemort--oh, come off it, Ron--is going mobilize them."

"Look," said Ron, "maybe You-Know-Who won't use them. Maybe they're too hard to control, or something."

"Ron, that's about as likely as you swearing off chocolate because it's too rich."

Harry laughed, and though he did quietly, it broke the tension around them. The sound of it made his friends smile.

"Get back home as soon as possible, Harry," Hermione said. "Take care of yourself 'til then, okay?"

"Wait, you're going?" Harry asked.

"We are?" Ron gazed quizzically at Hermione.

"There's someone else who'd like to see you, Harry," she said, giving Ron an irritated glance. "Just give me a moment."

She vanished from the glass, and Ron's eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, yeah...sorry, mate. We'll talk more when you get back. I want to hear all about your trip, 'kay?"

"W-wait, you don't really have to go now, do you?" Harry said. There was some discussion going on in the background on Ron's side. Hermione sounded like she was cajoling someone.

Ron said, "Well...I wouldn't mind staying at all--"

"Ron!" cried Hermione.

"--but methinks you've got some stuff to attend to, so I won't keep you busy. Anyway, yeah, you owe us butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, right? So you'd better--"

Ron never finished his sentence, because Hermione's hand reached in from the side of the glass and yanked him away by the sleeve. For a long moment, Harry stared at the ceiling of the headmaster's office, wondering who wanted to talk to him, and the reason behind the hesitation.

It all came clear when another face flowed across the mirror, and he found himself staring into a familiar pair of cinnamon brown eyes.

"Ginny?" He was barely aware of her name falling from his lips.

"Hi, Harry," she said, smiling tentatively at him. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

Harry managed to nod, feeling as if his tongue had deserted him. He could not be certain, but he guessed he was in twice the turmoil he felt the moment he saw Ron and Hermione again. Ginny. Here. Why?

"Can...can you hear me?" she asked, when he didn't answer.

"Yes," he murmured. "I can hear you just fine."

"That's good. I was wondering...I mean, I'm....h-how are you feeling?" Pause. "Sorry. I just realized they must've asked you that ten million--"

"I'm all right, Ginny," Harry said. "I'm recovering. They're taking care of me here."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yes. Yes it is."

"Yes. Well." Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear, and Harry felt a familiar pang somewhere inside of him.

You have no idea what you do to me, do you?

"You look so thin," she remarked.

"I've nothing to go on the last few days but nuts and berries."

"It must've been so hard for you."

"I've walked further than I ever had in my life. I wouldn't be surprised if I dropped ten pants sizes."

She grinned. "Mum would scream bloody murder once she finds out. She'll probably lock you up in a room and force-feed you 'til you got your weight back."

Harry grinned too.

"You're doing all right?" he asked her.

"Yes, I'm doing the best I can. Although...well...things haven't been the same since you--"

"Oi, Ginny!" came Ron's voice from somewhere outside. "Don't forget to tell Harry how the Gryffindor team's doing! Two-to-one says we're going to win against Huffle--"

Ron's sentence ended in a muffled grunt. Ginny was favoring her brother an annoyed look, but it soon vanished in a tumble of laughter. "It might interest you to know that despite their height gap, Hermione has no trouble getting Ron into a headlock."

Before he knew it, Harry found himself laughing with her, for the first time in months. It had been so long and he had missed it.

He wondered what Ginny would have said, had Ron let her finish.

When they both recovered, Ginny was still smiling at him. Their parting had lacked the warmth he craved, but it was here now, in her voice and in her eyes. This was somehow a different Ginny from the one he left behind. He wondered if something had happened while he was gone.

"I'm glad you're alive, Harry," she told him.

He leaned closer. "I'm glad I'm alive to hear that."

The sun had slid below the horizon, a curtain of night trailing behind it. The orange and gold hues had all but vanished from the waters of the lake, and a gentle breeze set the reeds whispering about him.

"I can see the stars on your side," said Ginny, and Harry looked up. True enough, the evening star hung bright in the deepening sky, and as he stared longer the faint twinkles of her siblings pushed through the shade of the Barrier.

He looked down again at Ginny. The glittering stars embedded in the glass surrounded her, seemingly caught in her hair. She was smiling still, and a faint tinge of red was rising in her cheeks. He remembered, fondly, that some of her freckles seemed to vanish when she blushed.

"You were saying about yourself?' asked Harry (and realized his voice had somehow softened). "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she said. "I'm helping out here as best I can. But it's been a lot harder, with the war going on." She lowered her head slightly, remembering.

"Yeah," said Harry, thinking about the Burrow. "I know what you mean. I'm sorry to hear about Ottery St. Catchpole..."

"I trust Dumbledore and the Order," she said. "We'll get our house back, I'm sure of it."

Harry nodded, admiring her bravery. "So, you tried out for Quidditch after all."

Her face brightened. "I made Chaser. Katie pretty much declared it when she saw me fly."

"Congratulations, Ginny! Glad to hear it!"

Her smile widened at his words. "Thanks. It's great to be part of the team, even if, well..." She paused as if to choose her words carefully. "It's not quite the same team without you."

Harry did not know what to say for a few moments. Then he confessed, "I don't think I've been the same since I gave up Quidditch."

"You've never thought of...going back?"

"Many times," Harry replied. "But no, not for a while. I'm...you see..."

He grasped for words, and Ginny waited for him to continue. "It's complicated," he finally said.

She inclined her head, and lock of hair escaped from its place behind her ear. "You never did tell me, that day."

"Tell you what?" he asked.

"Back in February. If you enjoyed flying again."

Their encounter in the garden, a different place, a different twilight.

"I didn't really tell you a lot of things," he admitted, "and I wish I could undo what I did say to you." He paused, and said, "Ginny, I just want you to know: I didn't mean to hurt you, back then. I didn't mean to leave the way I did."

"It's all right, Harry," she said softly. She leaned closer, and that erring lock of hair lay in a tiny coil on the glass. "You do believe me when I say it's all right, don't you? And that I want us to be friends again?"

Harry fell silent, watching her. Her gaze was soft and her mouth was kind, and it felt like a long winter going on inside of him was coming to an end. He wanted nothing more to let himself fall for her, the way he did back then, when she returned his glasses and he felt as if he were looking at her for the first time...

Fear snaked its way into his breast, and he drew back a little from the mirror.

Ginny seemed to sense the change in him. There was slightly bewildered, hurt look in her eyes. Harry turned away.

'Why am I afraid?' he angrily asked himself

Because you can't be with her, a voice answered inside of him. You poor deluded fool. How can you, when you don't know where your future's headed? How can you, when you've got no idea if you're even going to live to see the end of this war? You've got nothing to offer her, except maybe every little dark detail of your life and every bit of danger you have to face. If it comes down to it, can you even protect her? You can barely protect yourself, if the last few days were anything to go on.

You can't tell her anything. You can't even tell her you're afraid to tell her anything. You've got to do this on your own. Because she doesn't deserve any of this mess you call your life, Potter. She doesn't deserve to be hurt any worse. So forget it.

'It's the wise thing to do,' he realized. It's the smart play, never mind that it made him feel like a heel, like something that ought to be shoved into the gutter.

And still he could feel her eyes on him. He was waiting for her to retreat as she had before, to leave him now that he showed it was what he wanted. But from the corner of his eye, he saw her lean closer.

"Harry," she whispered, "please look at me."

He waited a long while before finally finding the courage to turn to her.

Her gaze was soft and peaceful, and there was a small smile on her lips. There was no trace of pain in her voice or on her lovely face when she spoke.

"I can wait."

He gazed back at her in amazement.

"I can wait for you," she said, putting a small hand on the surface of the glass. "I will wait."

Harry felt something large and painful lodge in his throat. He did not know how to respond or if there was any way to respond; his heart was so full of things he could not begin to put into words. And he couldn't help himself. He, too, put his hand on the glass, atop her own.

He did not know how long they stayed there together, holding gazes, and imagining the heat of each other's hand. It felt like untold years, though it must have been only minutes. When his senses came back, Harry realized it was full dark around him. The only light he by could see came from Ginny's side, and her face was aglow in candlelight.

"Harry," came Flamel's gentle voice. Harry looked up to see the alchemist and his two companions standing a respectful distance away. "Harry, it's time to go. The enchantment will fade in a few moments."

Harry nodded, hiding his disappointment. He drew his hand away from the glass, as did Ginny.

Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore crowded around her to say their goodbyes, and each wished him godspeed. He responded in kind, and would have said something more to Ginny, but at that moment the stardust ceased to twinkle and their faces vanished from the glass. Her cinnamon eyes were the last things he saw.

It took several minutes for Flamel to discover which pocket he had put his lighter. He cursed the darkness all the while he was hunting for it.

As they walked single file on the path back to the house, Harry chanced to look up at the night sky. Sure enough, the stars were there, a thousand flaring lights of hope despite the darkness of the Barrier. He thought of Hogwarts, of sitting in the sun with Ron and Hermione, a glass of butterbeer in his hands. And he thought of Ginny's smile, and her girlish giggle, and the gentle sweep of her hair as it fell from behind her freckled ear.

I can wait.

Harry smiled to himself, at peace for the moment.

"One day," he promised himself. "One day."

To be continued

Chapter XXII: The Long Goodbye