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 XXII: The Long Goodbye

Harry put on his slippers as quietly as he could, ignoring the low snore coming from the still form lying at the foot of his bed. Sprawled on his mattress, Danny was sleeping off last night's drinking spree with Flamel. After dinner the old alchemist had invited Danny to finish off the bottle of wine they had started on earlier, and perhaps sample a couple more he had kept in storage while they were at it. Danny's face took on a look Harry had only previously seen on Dudley whenever the latter set foot in a chocolate shop. Moody only clumped up the stairs in disgust.

The old man lay quietly in his bed now, though Harry could see that he still kept an active Dark Detector on the night table. For a moment he considered staying in bed a while longer, but the thought of his task today tugged at him like a child demanding attention. He had to meet with Flamel and turn over the Crystal Cage, to find a way to harness its latent power. Whatever that entailed.

Harry returned to the bedroom and quietly let himself out to the hall.

Sunlight and silence filled the house. Flamel was not at the kitchen, but a bowl of steaming porridge was set on the table. A queer whining noise came from the front of the house. Harry walked into the living room and peered out the window to see Carbuncle striding down the path on his spindly legs, blowing leaves into a pile with a nozzle protruding from his body. He wondered briefly if Carbuncle also did the laundry around here, and tried to imagine the automaton covered in soapsuds and making foghorn sounds over the prospect of rusting.

Harry backtracked to the kitchen and looked out the painted window of the back door. This time he saw the tiny form of Flamel hunched several feet away, over a small patch of brightly colored flowers.

Harry opened the door and walked toward Flamel. Like the rest of his home, Flamel kept his yard clean and well manicured. The low grass, which had not yet begun to brown, felt soft and pliant beneath Harry's feet. He almost felt like going barefoot to feel them beneath his toes. Only empty space separated the house from the flower patch. Harry wondered what Flamel would need all of it for.

The alchemist wore a thin white shirt, work boots, and a hat decked with sunflowers. He turned his head at Harry's approach. "Ah, there you are. Join me a minute, will you?"

He was kneeling beside an oval bed of assorted mums, daisies and pink tea roses, all in summer bloom. The flowers surrounded a little marble tablet, glowing so brightly beneath the sunshine Harry wondered why he did not notice it at first.

The inscription on the stone read:

PERENELLE FLAMEL

1350 - 1994

Au revoir, ma chérie, ma vie

Harry stepped back, moving out of the garden. "Sorry. I-I can come back when you're not busy."

"We can talk," Flamel said without raising his head. "I don't mind the company. If you like, you could water the flowers for me." He motioned to the orange watering can at the foot of the flowerbed.

Seeing no reason to refuse, Harry picked up the can and tipped it over the mums. He racked his brains for a halfway-interesting topic of conversation. But what do you say to someone who'd lived more than eight lifetimes?

"You have beautiful flowers," said Harry. Brilliant.

"Thank you," Flamel replied, smiling. "My wife, she loved roses. Especially this breed, the Monsieur Tillier. Spoke to them like they were her children." He began digging up the earth next to the flowerbed in preparation for planting more seeds. "For a while it took a lot of work keeping the forest animals from the flowerbed," he said, "but nowadays Carbuncle keeps them in line. He apparently shoots them with gobs of hot water from his rear nozzle. They soon got the message."

Harry joined in with his chuckling in lieu of having anything to say. He finally settled for, "I'm supposed to hand the Crystal over to you..."

"I remember," said Flamel. "I shall get to it as soon as I finish here."

"Oh, please, take as long as you need. I'm not rushing you," Harry paused. "I...have a lot of time now, I suppose."

Flamel smiled up at him. "Quite a change from the last few days, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I was always running, barely getting any time to eat or sleep. And now I'm watering flowers. It feels strange to be just...waiting."

"It's the opposite for me. All I've had up till now was time. So I'm glad for the company."

"Yeah, I guess it's been kind of hard for you too, hasn't it?"

Flamel carefully buried the flower seeds in the hole he had dug up. "If you mean in terms of comfort, no, it hasn't been difficult. Once a week I have groceries sent here by owl--anonymously of course--and I have Carbuncle do most of the heavy chores. But of course, that's not what you mean. I have made life here comfortable, but comfort's such a useless thing when you've no one to share it with. It has not been easy living here without Perenelle."

Harry stopped short of slapping his forehead. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said..."

Flamel smiled at him. "I'm a great believer in the restorative power of talk. Of course, sometimes I overdo it. I wander in and out of conversations and eventually forget the original topic of discussion. Albus called me the most random person he had ever met. In fact...hmm...I've quite forgotten what we were talking about."

"Um, living alone."

"Right. I don't recommend it." His guffaw sent his whiskers shaking, a sight that made Harry smile.

"I never did thank you, you know," Flamel said afterwards, "for doing me and my wife a favor."

"What do you mean?"

"During your first year, you prevented Lord Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. The whole affair made me realize the truth: the Stone was better off unmade, rather than be used for ill. So I agreed to have it destroyed."

Shock rippled through Harry. He had forgotten all about it, and it hadn't even occurred to him that his actions had the unintended consequence on two lives. "I don't know about that, sir. Destroying the Stone...that's your whole life's work gone. Not to mention your source of income and your means of long life. I mean, you're living alone now precisely because the Stone was destroyed."

Flamel chuckled at this. He lifted the rim of his hat to meet Harry's eyes. "Let me tell you this, Harry Potter. For a time I was a fine alchemist--perhaps the world's finest. I won't mince words: the Stone was a grand alchemical achievement. I thought it would change the world, end poverty, end plagues, end human suffering. But do you know the only thing it ended? People's interest in alchemy.

"They did not want to know how we could use it to cure diseases or help the poor. All they wanted was to live forever. They would kill and steal, even trade the lives of children for it. Ah, me. What good was all my research? I may never know.

"So now, here I am, retired from the world. I'm done with the Stone, Harry. It has done mankind more ill than good. I no longer need it nor do I wish to prolong my life any longer. There's that thing that Dumbledore keeps saying. Do you remember? To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great...ah..."

"Adventure," Harry finished for him. "Death is the next great adventure."

"Yes." Flamel's smile grew rueful as he looked down at the grave of his wife. "An adventure. How appropriate."

After a moment's silence, he turned back to Harry. "In any case, thank you for your help. If there is any way I can repay you..."

Harry shook his head. "Please sir, there's no need for that."

"Nonsense. Gratitude is the language of friendship. Hmm. Perhaps you want a secret? I've gathered plenty over the years."

A secret from the oldest living man in the world? This intrigued Harry. "What sort of secret?"

"A secret that's not a secret, and something someone as smart as you will find out on his own eventually. But I'd rather tell you now, as a special favor."

"All right. Sure."

Flamel straightened up, dusted his hands, and stared down at the grave amidst the flowerbed. When he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful and subdued.

"The woman who lies here had been my wife for 604 years. I no longer remember the exact time or place or circumstances upon which we met. Things like that go when you're old. What hasn't gone is this feeling, that I've loved someone wonderful, and that person loved me back just as much.

"She was a remarkable woman, and a dangerous woman. She was dangerous because she challenged so much of what I thought was immutable in me...my solitude, my habits. The notion that I owed the world nothing, that life was for work and death was a lonely business.

"So what did I do, knowing the danger that drew nearer the dearer she became to me? I married her. I thought that I could tame her. Instead, she set me free.

"Together we built up charities, hospitals, churches and orphanages. We trained a legion of alchemists that would one day bring forth modern chemistry and medicine. We traveled the globe and knew the wonders of the world.

"It hadn't always been easy, certainly not. I've lost track of the number of times we fought, parted, and came back to each other. People have their seasons too. The person you fell in love with is not the person you married, and the person you married is not the person sharing your bed ten years later. But of all the things I was sure I wanted, I wanted to stay married to her. Like wanting to know what will be on the news the next morning, and the morning after, and the morning after. That was the desire more steadfast than romance--our wanting to stay together. It lasted us through the years until the spring returned, when we learned how to love each other again.

"For us, 604 years wasn't enough. And these years I've lived without her...these two long, long years..."

He paused, and Harry saw a queer blankness fall over his visage. Without moving at all, Flamel seemed to age; the wrinkles deepened, and his eyes seemed distant and hollow, the eyes of a man looking at something far from reach. How would a man grieve for someone he had lived with for so long? Harry immediately backed the image out of his mind. It was something too private to even imagine.

"In all my years," the old man continued, "I've never found a substance more enduring than love. It's my theory that if a man can live forever, he can also love forever. At the very least, he should try."

He smiled sadly as he turned to Harry.

"But most of us won't be living forever, will we? So let me advise you, if you'll take some advice...

"Life's too short, young man. Fall in love."

The morning felt peaceful--more so than any other morning Harry had since he had left Hogwarts. Even from here his ears caught the shrill cry of a kite fishing over the lake. A brisk autumn breeze, scented with wildflowers, tousled his hair, and there was sunlight everywhere.

Flamel patted Harry's arm. "And that's my secret, Harry. Keep it, forget it, but it's yours. Now, let's get inside, and I'll have a look at that Crystal for you."

---

Flamel led Harry back into the house and steered him towards the staircase. The old man grasped the third pole of the banister and twisted it. Harry heard a sharp click from someplace beneath the stairs, and a portion of the floor slid open.

"You didn't think I'd retired completely from alchemy, did you?" Flamel asked at Harry's astonished expression.

They took the stairs down into a low-ceilinged passage. Lights came on, emanating from small clusters of blue crystals jutting out of the wooden struts of the tunnel.

"Angel Tears," said Flamel. "Sheds light as a reaction to the proximity of warm bodies. Useful thief deterrents, too." He unbolted the door at the end of the passage and they entered his laboratory.

Flamel's lab looked smaller and simpler than Harry had imagined, quite unlike Professor Dumbledore's voluminous quarters or Snape's equipment-packed dungeons. It looked more like a rarely used, poor potion-maker's workshop. To his left and right, two long tables stretched along the walls, bearing several racks of stoppered test tubes filled with an assortment of multi-colored liquids, some glowing dimly. A lone metal table stood at the far end, and on it were the alchemist's tools: stone mortar and pestle, calcinator, tongs, tweezers, a variety of knives, and a strange contraption that looked like a cross between a microscope and an opthalmologist's optical refractor. A small cabinet of ashen-colored wood stood nearby, and a dusty cauldron squatted in the corner like a large bored toad.

Flamel rubbed his hands. "Now, tell me, what do we know of this Crystal Cage?"

Harry carefully removed the locket from his neck. "Well...Professor Dumbledore told me it was created centuries ago by a wizard named Volarius."

"A mighty wizard and a wise man. Bit before my time though." Flamel was putting on a pair of dragon skin gloves.

Already fearing the worst, Harry held the Crystal out to Flamel by its chain. Flamel reached out his hand and slowly, very slowly, closed his fingers around it. Their eyes never strayed for a second.

Nothing happened.

"So far, so good," muttered Flamel. He picked up the chain and held the locket up for a close look. "There appears to be...hmm, hold out your hand, Harry."

Harry did so as Flamel pressed on a catch at the side of the metal twine, which popped open and sent the Crystal tumbling into Harry's open palm. "There. Now, tell me. What else do we know of this little bauble?"

Harry thought again. "Professor Dumbledore also said it was made from a meteorite. Volarius added some kind of potion to make it indestructible. I think it he said it was sap from a kind of tree."

Flamel nodded. "Listen well, Harry. One can learn a great deal about the function of an artifact by studying its composition. The sap you just mentioned is from a Sylvan tree, which multiplies the strength of any material by ten. The meteorite ore, from what I gather, must be the substance amaranthium. Not something you can pick up just anywhere--every precious bit of it has tumbled from the heavens."

"Amaranthium," repeated Harry, as Flamel placed the Crystal on the observation panel of his microscope-like device. The alchemist snapped a few lenses into place and peered into the eyepiece.

"Yes," he said. "The crystal structure of this gemstone proves it. Pure amaranthium."

"What makes it so special?" asked Harry.

"Every substance on earth has a resistance to magic to some degree. Amaranthium is unique in that it has none. It is utterly permeable and pliable by magic--quite the opposite of another rare mineral called orichalcum, which has absolute resistance. If orichalcum is diamond, then amaranthium is clay, easily moldable to any form you wish. Any enchantment used on this stone will be 100 effective, and will suffer no degradation over time due to magic escaping into the ether.

"What else did Volarius supposedly do with the Crystal?"

Harry thought for a minute, then it hit him. "Professor Dumbledore said he infused it with his blood, something both he and Dahlia shared."

"Ah, Blood Magic. Tricky discipline, both difficult and dangerous even for those who know what they're doing."

"What do you mean?"

"Blood is vital to life, Harry. Not only does it keep us alive, so much of our traits go into it. That is why we say certain abilities 'run in our blood.' Blood is also symbolic for anger, violence and sacrifice. Blood Magic, therefore, deals directly with the secrets of life and death. I assure you that any small mistake will have consequences on both the subject and the caster."

Harry fidgeted, thinking of Wagnard's burnt hands. "So...Volarius used Blood Magic to trap the Cimmerian Sorceress, right? Do you think we could do the same thing with Voldemort?" Harry was quite aware he used "we" instead of "I." This Blood Magic business felt completely out of his league, and part of him felt ashamed in hoping that either Flamel or Dumbledore would be the one to figure it out for him.

But Flamel only shrugged at his question. "I can't say."

Harry stared at him. "Why not?"

"Blood Magic is labyrinthine and extraordinarily custom-made. Each enchantment may be a variant of a pre-existing spell, or a variant of a variant. Or something completely new. The only one who can tell us what he did and how he did it to any credible degree would be the caster himself--Volarius."

Harry could not believe what he was hearing. "But he's been dead for centuries! Isn't there any clue we can pick up from the Crystal itself? Can't we study it somehow? Isn't there anyone who knows?" He thought of the vast library in Hogwarts and others that may exist in the world, and the legions of scholars who spent their lives unlocking mystical mysteries. Someone had to know. The idea that he was holding an effective weapon against Voldemort yet having no way to control it was absurd.

Flamel wore the embarrassed look of one who had reached the end of his knowledge on the subject. He rubbed the lobe of his ear for a minute, then finally said, "To be honest, there IS someone who may possess the knowledge we need..."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Who is he? Maybe we can arrange--"

"...but one may find speaking with this person is...how shall we say...not recommended. It may well be impossible, anyway."

"Why not? Who is it?"

Flamel held up the Crystal. "The subject of Volarius's enchantment: the Cimmerian Sorceress herself."

---

"He can't be serious!" cried Danny. "Isn't there anyone else?"

He and Harry practicing in Flamel's sprawling lawn, struggling to tag each other with harmless little globes of magical light. Moody, meanwhile, watched them from the shade of a tree, much like an audience member in a tennis match.

Harry shook his head. He and Flamel had racked their brains for the last hour for options. The alchemist had suggested the hidden libraries in Greece where Volarius had reputedly studied, a few sages in Corinth who might know a thing or two, and some Blood Magic practitioners in New Orleans ("I don't recommend them," the alchemist confided. "Too unscrupulous--might ask for things you won't be willing to pay.") They came to the same conclusion: the Cimmerian Sorceress most likely knew the spell best.

"So we're in a jam again," grumbled Moody, puffing at his pipe.

"Mr. Flamel's working on something now," said Harry. "He's trying to see if there's another way to manipulate the Crystal's power." He brought up his Wandshield and scattered Danny's latest volley.

"How long has he been working at it?" asked Moody.

Harry looked at his watch. "Nearly three hours already--hey!" He twisted away from a sudden bolt of magic. "I'm talking here, do you mind?"

"As if a Death Eater will be polite enough to let you finish," said Danny, then ducked behind the nearest tree stump as a silvery mist smoked out of Harry's wand. "Hey! Blockable spells only! None of that Espresso Petroleum crap!"

"Knock it off you two," said Moody. "We've got to figure out what to do next."

"Not much to do but wait, s'far as I see." Danny wiped his forehead. "This sort of thing's the field of the eggheads. If you ask me, we're better off working on a way to get close to You-Know-Who in order to use that contraption." He nodded at the other boy. "You've got your work cut out for you, Robbie."

"Don't I know it. And stop calling me Robbie."

Danny only grinned.

The bang of a shutting door caught their attention, and they turned to see Flamel striding out into the back yard. Harry did a double take. The old man's gray hair was unkempt, as if he had been gripping it in his fists. His mouth was set in a grim line, and one eye was twitching. Harry could tell he had not met with much success.

"I've done all I can," stated Flamel. "I'm afraid this place is not properly equipped for this kind of research."

"So...nothing happened?" asked Harry.

Flamel waved his arms. "Nothing, nothing, and more nothing! I've tried fire, acid, electricity and cold. I've tried magic dust that would make stones recite history and ancient oaks pine for lost youth. I've tried reagents that would force secrets from djinns, straight answers from Sphinxes and sincerity from politicians. All for nothing!"

"The magic of the Stone is too powerful then," said Moody. "Grand Wizardry."

"It would seem so. And yet no suggestion of resistance! No spark of magical activity! If it had a truly powerful spell I would see some kind of reaction from the stone with my lens. But the damn thing just sat there, like any rock from the roadside. Every bit of magic in my tools simply died! Vanished! No Grand Wizardry is that potent! It's an unparalleled mystery!"

Harry said, "Isn't there anything else we can do?"

Flamel scratched his whiskers. "Perhaps now is not the time to do anything, not yet. Now is the time to think."

He turned on his heel and stalked back into his house.

"Where are you going?" Danny called after him.

Flamel poked his head out the window. "To think!" he yelled. "I do my best thinking while working in my kitchen. You may do what you like for now. Rest, relax before your escort arrives tonight. But please leave me with some time alone. I expect I'll be busy--busy as a monkey in a banana-eating contest!" He disappeared into his house again.

"Eggheads," muttered Danny, but there was awed respect in his voice.

---

The day dwindled swiftly behind the treetops, and the sky outside their window turned into a crossfire between sunset and the night. Harry sometimes raised his head to watch it as he tended to his shoes. Carbuncle had washed them for him, and Harry took some time mending the tears with Sticking Charms. Moody kept silent company, cleaning his trunk and checking his equipment. Danny had stayed outside to do some target practice, but Harry caught him returning inside with his last glance out the window.

A few miles south of Flamel's home, Sirius, Remus, and their battalion of Order agents and Centaur pathfinders had entered the bog that bordered Lake Mab. Neither captain minded slogging through the muck and grass; their minds--Sirius's in particular--were focused only on seeing Harry at last.

And in Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore stared into the murky depths of his Pensieve with his fingers against his forehead. Though he knew that Harry was as good as home, something still troubled him. He had checked on the boy through Flamel, verified with Lyle that Sirius and Remus were nearing their destination. Still, a gnawing bit of worry stayed in his mind. Was there something left unaccounted for? Something he could have possibly overlooked?

And in a glade deep in the Forbidden Forest, a Centaur seer and his young charge stared up at the deepening twilight. High above them, Mars burned bright as a tiger's eye.

"Must it be?" asked the youngling.

The seer replied, "It must be."

---

The sound of a dinner bell, followed by the entrance of a floating scented candle, drew Harry and his friends from their room. The clock had just struck seven in the evening, as they followed the candle down to the dining room, where a table was set for four, complete with soup bowls and desert plates and utensils of varying sizes. The room was ablaze with several ornate lamps, and a nearby gramophone hummed a tune with a voice warm enough to melt butter.

Flamel stood by the table, nodding in time to the music while tossing a salad. This time he had combed what was left of his hair, and wore a silken Chinese vest of vivid red over an immaculate white shirt. "Ah, there you are," he said. "Please. Make yourselves comfortable." He sounded jovial now, and continued tossing the salad as if it were a form of meditation.

"I see you're feeling better," remarked Moody.

"Much, thank you. The work has done me well. So well, in fact, that I'll need your help lightening the table."

"I'm your man!" said Danny, rubbing his hands. "I'm hungry enough to eat a dinosaur."

Flamel laughed. "No dinosaurs, I'm afraid. Just some soup, salad, grilled salmon and turbot, roast duck, and exotic fruits for dessert. Oh, and a few bottles of Sauvingon Blanc and Syrah. I hope that's sufficient."

Harry's stomach did a fine imitation of a growling bear. He and Danny shared grins as they sat down.

"For starters, the soup." Flamel pulled in a small cart from the kitchen, bearing three large steaming bowls. "You have the choice of crab and corn, mushroom, or borscht. Bon appetit!"

Harry chose the borscht, a red Russian soup of beets, meat, cabbage and cream. He devoured his helping, and would have asked for more had Flamel not distracted him with the salad, a tantalizing blend of bread crumbs, grapes, apple slices, water chestnuts and vinaigrette. He bit down on the crunchy lettuce and relished the sensation of eating something fresh. Best of all, there was not a raisin in sight.

"This is a fine feast, I must say," Moody remarked as Flamel poured him a glass of wine. "You may have missed your calling."

Flamel laughed as he helped himself to more vinaigrette. "Cooking is a form of alchemy, I think. They share the same basic principle--turn simple substances into something far more valuable. I've collected several hundred recipes from all over the world. It feels good to put them to some use at last."

"I didn't think you'd go through so much trouble..." began Harry.

"No trouble! This is your last night here, so you should have a proper send-off. Besides, the work allowed me to think things through."

They all looked up from their meals. "What did you come up with?" asked Danny.

Flamel filled his glass and reached into his pocket. "Firstly, Harry, here." He put the Crystal, restored in its locket, into Harry's hand. "Keep it safe. We'll be needing it again. Now, about my findings, I think that as long as we stay here, we have no hope of gaining any useful results. There are simply not enough equipment for the task at hand.

"Secondly, this puzzle cannot be handled by a single mind alone. It is necessary to have an exchange of knowledge and opinions, and to work along several lines of investigation at once. We need a team."

Harry nodded. "I could talk to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts. I'm sure he knows how to get all that together."

"Yes, consulting him would be wise. I am certain that finding a means to control the artifact would only be a matter of time. Volarius is too wise a mage not to leave a fail-safe of some sort, should the prisoner escape. Dumbledore, myself and a team of experts should find it, if we work together..."

"Wait a minute," said Daniel. "Did I hear you right? Together?"

Flamel smiled. "I understand there are some very fine laboratories in the dungeons of Hogwarts. It would be interesting to see just how extensive they are."

"Coming out of retirement, then?" asked Moody.

"Voldermort tends to bring that out in people, yes?" Flamel smiled, and Moody returned it.

Harry felt a heady rush of surprise and excitement. Flamel and Dumbledore, working together again. Something worthy of the history books. It would blow Hermione's mind.

"But...but won't it be hard for you?" he asked. "You went through so much trouble hiding out here so people wouldn't harass you about your work and eternal life. Won't they start up with that again?"

"My dear boy," replied Flamel, "when I decided to turn hermit, it didn't mean I would turn my back on the world. I simply wanted things to go on without me getting in the way. But we're in a war, and people are dying. And you are our best hope for putting a stop to all that. Why shouldn't I help? I've already informed Dumbledore of my proposal and he has accepted it, with gratitude." He gave a thoughtful pause. "I suppose he knew in the first place that I wouldn't turn you away. I'm probably not mistaken in saying that you tend to bring that out in others."

"I'll drink to that," said Moody. "He's gifted in that sense, eh, Danny?"

"Meh. I'm just in for the money." Danny gave Harry a lopsided smirk.

"A toast then," said Flamel as he raised his glass. "To Harry, may he live a long, full life." The three men raised their glasses, and Harry could not help the slight flush on his face.

Carbuncle came in, bearing a tray with the main course. The fish--grilled turbot with salsa and fried salmon served in a sweet lemon sauce--did a good job at taking away much of the conversation for the next half hour.

"You can help yourself to some dragon dung, Carbuncle," said Flamel as his butler wheeled in the roast duck, "but if you don't mind I suggest you eat it in the kitchen."

Carbuncle clearly did not mind, skipping back to the adjoining room.

"Now is a good time," Flamel said, "for some toasts. For the life of me though, I'm not sure where to begin with the acknowledgments."

Danny cleared his throat. "Well, let me start. I would like to thank a special someone for being an integral reason as to why we're here celebrating tonight. That someone is me."

Harry could not restrain from rolling his eyes. Flamel laughed, while Moody somehow kept a straight face.

"Yeah," Danny went on, "I'd like to thank me for making it this far. For not giving up, no matter how rough things got with vampires and Death Eaters and huge bogs and such." The loutish smile faded from his face. "If I had given up back in Hillsdale, I wouldn't be sitting here with such good company. I imagine I'd be freezing my arse off in the middle of nowhere. I'd never have learned so much, never heard such great stories I could share later on, and never have the chance to boast about having stood by such brave people like Robbie here, or someone as bloody fascinating as Nick. Even my godfather is a bearable fellow after a drink or two." He nodded to Moody, who only wrinkled his nose. "So I thank me, because I wouldn't have traded this experience with you gents for the world."

Flamel raised his glass. "To your health, Mr. Oaks!" And they toasted.

Warmed by the wine and Danny's speech, Harry spoke up next.

"I've never toasted anyone before," he said, beaming all around him. "I've had a lot of firsts these past few weeks. I can't say I've had a great time all around, or that I'd do it all again if I could"--nods of understanding from everyone--"But I still want to thank you, each of you, for this awful, grand, terrifying, amazing adventure. I won't forget all you've done. Thank you--Mr. Flamel, Danny, Mad-Eye--for saving my life so many times, and for letting me go home." He raised his glass, smiling, and they drain the last of their wine.

"There's one thing I've never figured out," Harry said, turning to Moody. "How did you manage to find me in time in that crypt back in Hillsdale? That wasn't a small cemetery, you know. I'd pretty much given up hope you'd find me."

"Well, Moody," said Danny, grinning. "Guess it's time to let the Kneazle out of the knapsack, eh?"

"I don't think so," replied his godfather.

"Oh, come on," Danny cajoled, "you're not seriously considering keeping it from him until the end, are you? Is that fair?"

"It isn't a question of fair or not," retorted Moody. "We've got security to think of."

"What's this all about?" asked Harry, looking from one man to the other.

Danny said, "You've got to get it back at some point, you know. Then he'll deserve an explanation."

Finally, Moody relented. He reached into his pocket and produced Harry's old glasses. "Give me back the ones you're wearing," he said. "You won't be needing them anymore, I think."

Puzzled, Harry made the exchange. "Is there something special about those?"

"You might say that," replied the Auror, pocketing the glasses. "They're enchanted, such that I can tap into the lens using my eye. It lets me see and hear exactly what you do. That's how I found out which crypt you were in easily enough."

Harry took a moment to absorb this information. "You could see and hear everything...?"

"Yep."

"...And you never bothered to tell me?"

"Dumbledore and I agreed it was better of as...privileged information, considering your track record going at it on your own."

"Just a minute!" cried Harry. "I've been wearing those since the night we left Hogwarts! Are you saying--"

"That I saw you sneaking out of Hagrid's hut to visit the Weasley girl? I won't lie. I told you from the start, it's my job to keep an eye on you."

Harry stared at him in outrage. "I was--how could--you have no right!"

"What you and your girl talk about doesn't concern me much, laddie," replied Moody.

"Whoa, this has suddenly become interesting!" said Danny, leaning closer. "Don't spare the details, Moody."

"Shut up! Don't you dare!" cried Harry.

"And what are you embarrassed about?" asked Danny. "What's your sweetheart's name? Kiss her yet?"

"None of your business! And she's not my sweetheart!"

"She'll never be," agreed Moody, "the way you seem to be dragging your feet with her."

"Sounds complicated," Flamel said. Harry turned to him, hoping for some respite from this horrendous breach of privacy. But Flamel went on, "This girl they speak of, she was that pretty redhead you were speaking with last night, am I right?"

Face burning, Harry could only nod. He could not understand how a round of heart-felt acknowledgments could turn into such a free-for-all on his private life.

"If you don't mind my saying so," Flamel continued, "it's rather obvious how special you are to her. I would say you're rather lucky."

"Yeah," muttered Danny. "At least you've got a girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," said Harry, without conviction.

Flamel and Danny turned to Moody. "If he says she's not, she's not," he replied with a shrug. "Although I don't see why the hell she shouldn't be, unless you're either blind as a bat or as daft as my godson."

"Look, it's not that I don't...like her or anything," Harry relented. "It's just that...now isn't the right time."

"It does sound complicated," agreed Flamel.

"No, it's the kid who's complicated," said Danny, filling his glass again. "As if there's a right time for anything."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, glaring at him. "I'm just saying things are too difficult right now to even consider--"

"I'm afraid Danny's right, my friend," said Flamel. "There is no such thing as the 'right time.' Why do you think I told you my secret?"

Harry lapsed into a surprised silence.

"The happiest men are not shackled by time, Harry. They know time's a mean trickster. It's out to humble you, to run out just when you think you've grasped it tight with both hands. So don't wait for the right moment for something so vital. There's no such thing as the right moment. There's only now, and it's all we mortals have." He drained his glass and smiled that serene smile of his. "That's all I'm going to say about your private life. Now who's for dessert?"

Harry sat stunned, barely heeding the piles of mangoes, pineapples and jackberries that rolled onto the table before him. But Moody patted his shoulder and passed him the bottle of wine. "Got a lot to think about, don't you? Take it easy. You'll make the right decision."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "This from the guy who's been spying on me for the last two weeks."

"Which is why I'm confident you'll make the right choice," replied the old man. "Compared to all you've gone through, this one's a no-brainer. And by the way..." He clinked his wine glass to Harry's. "My thanks. For giving me some use, even in my old age. I've had a grand time as your bodyguard."

They laughed, and drank, and traded tales, and waited out the night together. The gramophone played endlessly, Muggle and wizard artist alike: Johnny Mathis, The Hecate, Nat King Cole, Aliora Syrrh, Ray Charles. The Chieftains drummed up an Irish jig, and The Platters claimed that heavenly shades of night were falling.

And when the clock struck one, their evening came to a sudden end.

As Carbuncle was busy clearing the table, Harry raised his bleary eyes in alarm as several bells rang out from somewhere nearby.

"My early warning system," explained Flamel, setting down his glass. "Gentlemen, it seems our visitors have finally arrived."

Harry's eyes went wide. "Sirius," he whispered.

"About time, too," said Moody, nodding. "Siddown, lad. Wait for them to come in through the front door."

Danny groped for the bottle. "Better polish this off before they spot it."

"We'll let Carbuncle will show them in," said Flamel, getting up. "No, wait, those were the southern bells that rang just now. They should be coming round...just outside the window." He peered in that direction. "Strange. They must have come through the forest instead of the path. Carbuncle, would you kindly take a look?"

The automaton crossed to the other side of the room and unlatched the window.

"Hello?" called Flamel, stepping forward. "Anyone there?"

No one answered him but a cool, drifting breeze. Outside there was only silence and a nest of shadows.

Harry was the first to catch the scent. That same reek of death and fear filled his lungs and his mind, and every follicle of hair on his neck stood on end. 'No,' he thought. 'It can't be...it's impossible.'

"GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!" he shouted, leaping out of his chair.

But in the next instant there was no window--just a gaping black hole and a shower of wood and blue glass as a large swath of the wall imploded. One moment Flamel was standing there, gazing back at him in open-mouthed surprise; in the next he was sent sprawling on the floor with his arms covering his head. Carbuncle was knocked topsy-turvy into a corner, his spindly legs spasming in terror.

They had no more than an instant before something huge and heavy and black as the night crashed onto the rosewood table. The force sent it skidding forward, knocking all the air out of Harry with a blow to his chest. He had no time to scream, no time to do anything but fall flat on his back and clutch his ribcage in agony.

Above him hung twin moons, those same lidless eyes shedding a hellish white light, and that heavy, hound-like face.

It looked bigger than ever now; large as castles, large as the night, large as despair. Though it bent its neck to look at him, its spine brushed the ceiling of the dining room. Its heavy burgundy tongue coiled around the dripping spikes of its teeth, and steam rose from its cavernous nostrils. The gigantic pincers opened and closed, opened and closed, as if it mouthing human words. The skin had not yet grown back over its regenerated lower jaw.

Harry knew then that this beast could not die-- would refuse to die--until it had crushed his life its jaws. It would live as long as its hatred lasted. It was his monster, now and forever, and would come again and again until one or both of them were dead.

The hound raised one gigantic paw to swipe at his head, but the blow did not fall Lightning cracked across its unblinking eyes and it drew back like surprised snake.

"Get away!" Danny was shouting, though it was not clear if he meant Harry or the beast. He was on one knee, both wands out. Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead and from a long gash on his cheek.

Freed from his lethargy, Harry struggled backwards on his elbows, only to have the beast's claws smash into the floor a few inches above his head. He shrank back with a cry and rolled underneath the table.

"Harry!" bellowed Moody, who had also pulled out his wand and was hurling curses at the monster. He shouted a string of instructions that sounded muffled to Harry's terrified mind, until he realized he had clamped his hands around his ears to block out the growling of the beast.

He began crawling towards the other end of the table. Before he could make it, a claw came swiping out like a deadly pendulum. He backpedaled, crawled in the other direction. The claws came again, and this time one of them struck home. Harry shouted and pulled back, clutching at his right shoulder, which felt like it had been stabbed by small knife. Something sticky and warm seeped from between his fingers. Above him, the table creaked wildly beneath the weight of the hound.

Sudden bursts of magic erupted on either side of the table as Moody and Danny, both out of reach of those terrible claws, bounded forward and shot at the beast's flanks. The monster screamed and raged at them, its sides momentarily glowing with heat.

"NOW, HARRY!" roared Moody. "Get out of there, NOW!"

Harry hurled himself away from the table, rolling on the carpeted floor. His wound screamed and left a trail of blood. Pulling himself up, he saw the beast still on the table, caught off balance between Moody and Danny's attacks. The room flashed vivid red and yellow, and the air took on a menacing electric tang.

Harry reached for his wand, but realized his hand was shivering too much for him to grasp it properly. He nearly screamed when something clutched at his arm.

"It's me," gasped Flamel. "I've got you, lad. Don't be afraid."

Harry grabbed the alchemist's arm, to comfort himself as much as to support him. The old man's fine silken vest was tattered and dirty, and his face was pale as cream. He stayed on his feet by propping himself up with his Foe-Hammer.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Flamel set his feet firmly on the floor and hefted the gun onto his shoulder. "Harry! Shoot the table!"

Thinking fast, Harry pointed his wand. "Diffindo!"

The curse split the rosewood table in half, and the beast collapsed into the break with a thunderous crash. It let out that half-human, high-pitched shriek that wiped Harry's mind clean.

Flamel aimed the Foe-Hammer straight at it. The beast turned to face him, and Harry saw a flicker of recognition on that monstrous visage. It still remembered the weapon that nearly killed it.

The hound threw itself to the side as Flamel pulled the trigger.

The room instantly vanished in a green thunderbolt. A great roar of fury and pain shook the house. Harry blinked hard and saw that monstrous black hulk lurch to the side. A huge chunk of its left shoulder was gone, but still it rushed forward, and a huge paw lashed out and struck the Foe-Hammer.

In the next instant, a second green blast erupted in the room, and Harry found himself hurtling through the air and out a window. He landed hard, rolling on the grass. After that he was only aware of some confused shouting, the great two-voiced roar of the angry beast, and a great groaning noise as something dark and heavy struck the ground. The shock tossed Harry up a foot into the air. When he fell back down, his mind disappeared for a while behind a buzzing haze of gray static.

It was the first drops of rain that woke him. Harry felt the cold pitter-patter on his face, and opened his eyes to an endless stretch of dark sky. He sat up slowly, testing every joint and bone for anything broken. Finding himself still intact, he staggered to his feet and peered unbelievingly through the mist before him, and met a heart-rending sight.

The great oak tree that Flamel had built his retirement home around now lay on its side. Harry could see where the Foe-Hammer's second wild shot had blown apart the massive trunk, which was smoldering angrily as the rain began to dissipate its heat. The little house hadn't stood a chance; the tree had brought it down like a cardboard pop-up in a children's book. Lumber jutted out in all directions like porcupine quills. The shattered upper rooms had disgorged beds, pillows, trunks and other pieces of furniture upon the lawn. Smoke mingled with the night mist and the thin veil of rain. There was no sign of anyone, anywhere.

"Not fair." It was all Harry could think to say. His mind opened and shut, at once taking in all these details and rejecting the whole picture. Their haven, gone in an instant. He could still taste roast duck and grilled turbot on his tongue.

A nearby groan woke him from his stupor. Eyes widening, Harry pulled himself up. "Danny?" he cried. "Is that you? Mad-Eye? Mr. Flamel?"

Heedless of the danger, he plunged past the broken wall and into the dining room. He nearly ran into Carbuncle. The poor automaton was still upside down, his feet swaying from side to side in an attempt to get back up again. Harry was about to help him when he spied a figure laying face up beside the tree, groaning in pain.

"Moody!" Harry struggled over the smashed remains of the rosewood table and knelt beside the Auror. Moody was dazed but conscious. His magical eye did a drowsy swing from side to side.

"Harry?" he murmured. "That you?"

"Yes, yes it's me. Are you hurt? God, your leg..."

He stared at Moody's left leg, which was pinned beneath the tree trunk. But the Auror shook his head. "Not my real one," he said. "I'll be fine. Where's Danny? And Flamel?"

Harry shook his head wildly. "I don't know," he said. "I don't even know where to start looking! I--"

His words ended in a gasp as he caught sight of somebody lying a few feet away. Harry crawled closer for a better look. The red vest clued him in quickly. It was Nicholas and he was--

He was--

Nicholas was lying facedown on the grass, one arm lolled on his side like a broken wing, the other stretched out over his head towards the Foe-Hammer, which lay a few steps away. It was as if he had been trying to dive out of the way of something. That something was his oak tree, which now pinned him from the waist down.

"Mr. Flamel?" Harry whispered, sick with horror.

The old man did not move at the sound. Harry repeated his name over and over as he approached, stepping over broken dishes and extinguished lamps, until he found himself kneeling beside the old man's head. Finally, Nicholas opened his eyes.

"Harry?" came his hoarse, dry whisper.

Hope flashed through Harry. "Can you move?"

Flamel swallowed. "What's...happening...can't feel anything..."

"You'll be fine," said Harry, forcing his voice to stay calm. "Help will be here soon. Sirius and Remus're coming and they'll take care of you. Just...just hang on, okay?"

Flamel's eyes rolled around, taking in his surroundings. He eyed the way his lower body disappeared beneath the tree, and muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" said Harry, bringing his ear close to the old man's lips. "What did you say?"

"I should've made sure," muttered Flamel. "Should've made doubly sure. It wasn't dead...my fault...sorry, Harry...promised you my protection."

This sounded to Harry like the most absurd thing in the world. "No," he said, "no, no, never mind me. It's no one's fault. Don't say stuff like that." He tried to think of a spell, anything at all, powerful enough to move the huge tree, but if he knew any his memory failed him now. Jumping to his feet, he splayed both hands on the trunk and pushed. It didn't even budge.

To his left he caught Moody's eye. The old Auror was watching Flamel's body beneath the tree with his magical eye, and Harry saw the news of their friend's death on his grim face.

Right then, Harry's mind played a horrible trick of memory on him. It was that night of his Fourth Year all over again, the night the Dark Lord came back. Kill the spare, he'd commanded Wormtail. It was exactly what his other servant had done this time too--taken another innocent life.

Just to get to me.

"Can you talk?" asked Harry, and found he could no longer keep his voice from shaking. "Please, say something!"

He heard, very faintly, some mumbling behind him. He planted his shoulder against the wood and pushed until his feet dug into the grass. Still the tree refused to budge. In frustration, he punched it as hard as he could. Pain flared as his knuckles opened, but he paid it no mind.

He realized Flamel was whispering his name, so he knelt down beside his friend again.

"I'm sorry, Harry," muttered Flamel, "but I'm afraid...I won't be coming with you after all..." the rest trailed off into muttering.

Harry shook his head violently. "Don't say that! You said you would! You said you'll help us fight Voldemort, so don't tell me you're giving up! You can't give up!"

Harry became aware of someone approaching to his left. Danny, wet and ashen-faced, dragged himself across the grass towards them. He met the old man's suffering with a respectful silence, and reached a trembling hand for Flamel's forehead to wipe the rainwater from his face.

Flamel blinked, straining to see. His eyes had grown distracted and hazy. Then he was muttering again.

"What?" asked Harry. "What did you say?'

Danny came close, bent his ear to Flamel's lips. To his surprise, Harry saw sudden tears spring to the Duomancer's eyes.

Flamel's voice rose a bit, just enough to be heard. "Hush, ma cherie. Listen. You're dying. It's all right. It happens to us all. One day I shall die too, then we will be together."

"No," whispered Harry, clutching his bony hand. "No. Please. Not again." But the old man did not hear him.

"We were born together," he mumbled, "and we will be together forevermore. Yes, yes of course...I have not forgotten. I will plant roses...all the roses you desire. Each one a kiss from me once we are apart. Oh, my love, my life...don't be afraid of death."

His hand clutched feebly at Harry's own. "Remember Albus's words...it's just...just another..."

He drew his breath for another word, but the word never came. He blinked once, then his breathing stilled, and Nicholas Flamel was no more.

A bottomless silence reigned in the little meadow. All three men heard it above the falling rain, and the breeze rushing through the skeleton of the old man's home. For many moments they all stared at the body of their friend without moving or speaking. How strangely peaceful he seemed, Harry observed, despite so violent a death. It was as if he had been waiting for it all this time.

The silence, however, was short-lived. A creaking noise sounded from the other side of the tree, followed by a dull clatter of wood being shoved aside. Moody's eye swung to that direction.

"Harry," he said in warning.

He didn't need to specify. In the next moment, the hound leaped onto the log and glared balefully down at the figures hunched around Flamel. Its mandibles slid open as it bared its teeth. It seemed to be grinning.

But this time, Harry returned its stare without flinching.

"You," he said.

Before his bodyguards could act, Harry flung himself onto the ground. When he got up again, he was holding the Foe-Hammer.

"Harry, no!" Danny struggled to get to his feet but only succeeded in slipping; the wounds on his legs gaped open once again.

Harry paid him no attention. He aimed the rifle up at the beast as best he could. The weapon felt clumsy and heavy in his hands. But he was done with running. He did not feel frozen by fear, not anymore. As if someone had replaced his heart with something cold and dead and heavy.

"It was me you wanted," Harry said tonelessly. "It was me who should have died. But you killed him just the same."

"Harry, don't move!" bellowed Moody, clutching around the grass for his wand. "Don't bait it! Don't make it--"

"You killed him!" Harry screamed, pulling the trigger.

He heard a blast of thunder before the Foe-Hammer's recoil sent him sprawling backwards. The shot went wild, vaporizing a fragment of the tree. Moody and Danny instantly covered their heads with their arms. The beast leaped out of the way easily, landing on the ground far to their right.

Harry forced himself back to his feet. He had not expected to kill the beast in one shot anyway, but wanted it to know that he was the worst threat. He would not have his friends attacked again.

Ignoring the shouts from his companions, Harry hefted the Foe-Hammer in his arms and ran out of the ruined house.

Behind him he heard Moody shouting "Harry, damn it, wait! Danny, get off your arse! Don't lose him--" The rest of the words were buried beneath a thundering crash as the beast smashed its way through the ruined wall, in hot pursuit.

Harry sprinted into the woods. It was raining harder now, the water slickening the grass beneath his feet, but he managed to reach the trees without losing his footing. He slipped between the thin wet trees before realizing this had been his plan all along--with the trees bunched closely together, the monster at his heels would have difficulty chasing him.

He had run perhaps 10 steps when he heard the trees behind him break apart as the beast hurtled after him. Harry forced himself to go faster, leaping over roots and between the trees, the Foe-Hammer thrust in front of him to fend off low branches. He let his feet lead the way, running through whatever breaks he could see in the undergrowth. He had no plan other than to get the beast as far away from his friends as possible, and turn and fight when he got the chance.

Lungs burning, he clawed his way through the underbrush. Brambles tore at his pants, and thin branches drew scratches on his cheeks. Still the sounds of pursuit did not abate. The heavy footfalls sounded like the beat of hunting drums. It had his scent; it would not lose him. Harry did not want it to.

At last, he stumbled into a moor. The way lay open before him for miles, to the edge of the mountains where the city lights shimmering against the thunderclouds looked like a vision from hell. The tall grasses offered no protection, and he had only a short run left in him before he finally collapsed or was caught.

Harry ran on anyway for several yards, before turning around and hefting the Foe-Hammer against his shoulder. This time he crouched down onto one knee to absorb the shock. He wondered, briefly, if Danny would make it in time to help, before pushing the thought out of his mind. In the end it was down to him, the Boy Who Lived For God Knows Why, just as it had always been.

The beast smashed through the last few trees in its way as it emerged from the forest. At this distance, its eyes were pale pinpricks in the gloom.

"Over here!" Harry screamed as he took aim. "Come and get me! Me this time!"

The hound raised its chilling hunting cry, then bore down on him.

Harry squeezed the trigger. The Foe-Hammer kicked hard at his shoulder as the world flashed red. Some distance away the ground to the left of the hound exploded.

Harry righted himself and aimed again. The beast seemed so huge Harry hardly thought he could miss it, but keeping it within the sights proved difficult. The Foe-Hammer felt heavier than ever in his exhausted arms, and the rain was cold and blinding.

He squeezed the trigger again and the shock of the blast rocked his whole body. His second shot would've hit its mark, but the hound leaped to the side in the last second. Still it charged at him, closing to the last few feet.

Harry aimed again and fired, but the beast leaped over the shot. He could see its jaws and mandibles open wide in welcome. It loomed before him, obscuring all else, filling his lungs with the scent of death. There was nothing else, no chance to turn or run or fight.

The beast's lidless eyes were the last things Harry saw before the world vanished behind a burning, crimson curtain.

---

When Danny struggled past the wreckage the beast had left its wake, he knew he was too late. The sounds of battle had already faded away, and there were no more blasts of magic in the distance. That could only mean that either one or both of the combatants were dead, and chances were good that Danny had failed not just Harry, but Nicholas, Moody, Dumbledore, and whoever else in Hogwarts expecting to see the boy alive. Still, he staggered on, legs screaming with every step he took.

What he saw in the moor came as a complete surprise.

The beast was running in circles round the wide-open space, in a show of undeniable agony. It howled and screeched in its two strange voices, and at times would hurl itself on the ground and roll around on the grass, only to get up and charge around again.

Danny watched it warily, both wands out and ready for anything. He attempted to sneak closer for a better shot, but soon realized it wasn't necessary--the monster was too caught up in its throes to even notice him. He came to a halt at the same time as the beast, watching as it chased its own tail. It never ceased its terrible howling.

Danny heard a hissing sound, like meat frying on a hot griddle, and something that looked like a bright-red piece of coal fell from the beast's belly onto the grass. It then fled into the misty moor, yipping and whimpering like a whipped dog.

Dumbfounded, Danny limped over to where the object fell. The red light faded as he approached, and it took a moment of shuffling through the wet grass for him to finally find what he was looking for.

The Crystal Cage lay cradled in its metal case and twine. Whatever enchantments surrounding the artifact were powerful enough to burn a hole through the impregnable flesh of the hound. But it did not singe the grass that surrounded it, nor did it burn Danny when he held it and put it around his neck.

Harry was nowhere to be found.

---

When Sirius and Remus arrived at Flamel's home, they were greeted by the smoking remains of a small house and a fallen oak tree. Sirius immediately shouted orders for their troops to secure the area, then charged into the ruins, shouting for Harry. Remus followed to guard his back.

They found Mad-Eye Moody sitting alone next to the tree, his wet, grizzled hair streaming down his face and his peg leg missing. The Auror kept watch over the corpse of a balding old man, who lay pinned beneath the massive trunk. Nearby squatted a bronze, round-bodied automaton, which whimpered as it nudged the body, as if trying to rouse it from sleep.

Moody raised his head at their approach. "You're a little late," was all he said.

No one spoke for a long moment, and the silence was broken only by the sigh of a cold breeze, and the high wail of a grieving automaton.

---

When Ron, Hermione and Ginny gathered that morning in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, it was after a long night of waiting and anticipation, broken by short bouts of restless sleep. Dumbledore had told them that Harry would arrive sometime before dawn, but no word had come during the night. When daybreak finally came, Ron knocked on the girl's dormitory and announced to Hermione and Ginny that he was going up to ask the headmaster if everything was all right. If he was waiting up there too, they might as well wait together. Seeing nothing else to do, both girls decided to follow.

As soon as they stepped onto the moving staircase, they heard a tremendous crash from somewhere above them. Ginny looked around in alarm. No one said anything as they drew wands, their eyes wide and white in the gloom.

The door to Dumbledore's office was unlocked. Ron nudged it open and they crept in single file. To their surprise, they found the headmaster sitting at his chair as usual. There were no intruders, no signs of forced entry. Some incredible force, however, had shattered the headmaster's beautiful ornate desk in two. Scattered papers lay smoldering on the floor, and two of the chairs in front of the desk lay on their backs several feet away.

Dumbledore sat very still on his high-backed chair, his head bowed so low they could not see his eyes beneath his cap. One hand held a letter, the other was curled into a tight, smoking fist. Fawkes perched on the backrest, caressing the old man's face with his wing, as if to comfort him.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione called tentatively. She received no answer.

Without a word, Ron strode across the room towards him. Ginny and Hermione watched in alarm, then broke into a run to catch up. Ron ignored the papers on the floor, walking right up to stand before the headmaster.

This time, Dumbledore looked up. His face looked wan and stony, but his eyes carried only grief. He faced Ron without saying a word. Ron's mouth was working, a sight Ginny knew meant that he was trying to find the right thing to say and failing at it.

"Is he dead?" he finally blurted out.

Ginny heard Hermione gasp beside her, but her gaze stayed on the old man's face.

His whispered response was the one thing she never expected, never wanted to hear from Professor Dumbledore.

"I don't know."

---

When Harry next opened his eyes, he was met with a pristine, endless azure sky. The sky had never looked so blue before the Barrier, which meant he was surely dead. It seemed somehow fitting that the first thing he should see in the afterlife was something he had missed in the previous one.

He sat up slowly, but found the precaution unnecessary: all his wounds were gone, as were his bandages. No marks marred his left forearm where Wagnard had attacked him. He felt stronger and completely refreshed.

He had been lying in a soft bed of wildflowers, not unlike those in the meadow near the Burrow. Beyond the flowers, the grassland stretched to the far green hills. The air was still and sweet, the sun warm on his skin. This, undoubtedly, was heaven.

Harry's thought was reinforced when his eyes fell upon a figure in a nearby copse of trees. The woman in the red robe sat half-hidden in the shadows, and the sight of her profile and her long red hair made Harry gasp. It was his mother, waiting for him.

A sudden, painful joy filled his heart. He twisted around to call to her. The words were on his lips just as the woman stood and walked into the light.

He was wrong. She was not his mother.

His mother's skin was rosy and alive, not the pale gray of stone. His mother's eyes were like shamrocks and sunlit leaves; this woman's were flecks of jade. The sight of his mother's face warmed him inside. This woman's beauty did not touch his heart; it was the inhuman loveliness of stars and wolves and icebergs. Her nails were long and crimson red, and on her back were folded two enormous raven wings. She was as much a thing of terror as she was of awe.

She stopped a few steps before him. He just sat there watching her, numb and unmoving, feeling the cold light of fear blotting out all thought from his mind.

When she spoke, her teeth looked strong and sharp.

"I am Dahlia."

To be continued