Harry Potter and the Ancient Secret of War

Chapter Nine

New Beginnings, Old Ways

Harry took a few shortcuts here and there and found himself in one of the many corridors at Hogwarts. He had covered about three-fourths of the distance to the Gryffindor common room within no time, by taking these shortcuts and was strolling along at an easy pace. He had almost turned the corner to the next corridor, when he felt the hair on the back of his throat rising and he ducked just as he felt the purple light of a spell pass over him. Harry was just about to roll over and shoot a counter spell on the person who'd attacked him from behind, when someone called to him in a smooth, silky tone, "Mr Potter, a word please."

Harry looked up to see the distinct form of Professor Elijah Bickerstaff approaching him. It was apparently he who'd shot the spell at Harry.

"What were you doing?" Harry began angrily. He could not imagine a teacher attacking a student at Hogwarts. Okay, maybe with the exception of Snape, but Harry had to acknowledge that even Snape would not attack him like that on his first day back at school.

"There are reasons, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff replied.

"What reasons? I don't think..." Harry began, even angrier than previously.

"All in good time, Mr Potter. But for now, I'll be obliged if you got up and came up with me to my office. I've some important things to discuss with you," Bickerstaff said in his silky tone. On second thoughts, there were a few similarities in his voice and Malfoy's although the Professor's voice thankfully lacked the drawl that Draco Malfoy had branded him own.

Harry got up and followed the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Even though Bickerstaff had only requested Harry to accompany him, Harry knew better than to refuse a teacher (guess, Hermione's influence had helped), especially such an unknown commodity as the new Professor. He had to admit though that a part of him was curious to hear what Bickerstaff had to say.

As they reached his office, Bickerstaff held the door open for Harry and then followed him in, closing it gently as he did so. Harry looked around the room and was relieved to see that the foul décor overflowing with pink, that adorned the room during the last time he'd been here, trying to speak with Sirius through the Floo connection, was gone. Yet there was little else in the room. Not a single belonging was present which could suggest that the office was occupied, nothing whatsoever.

"I am glad to note that you are so observant, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff broke in on his thoughts, "You see I haven't quite had the opportunity to modify the arrangements in this office to my liking. Yet I daresay you may expect to witness the change in a few days."

As he spoke, Harry noticed the Bickerstaff's regal, polished manner. It was like he came from the top of the social tree in which he lived. The words came out smoothly and Harry had no doubt that standing before him was a pure-blood wizard belonging to some ancient lineage regarded with prestige and respect in the wizarding world.

But for now, he sharply asked the question that had just flashed in his mind, "How'd you know what I was thinking? Did you use Leglimens?"

"Hardly, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff replied, "I don't need to use Leglimens and waste my magical energy to look into someone's thoughts. It's just a simple Muggle technique; you might have heard of it, of course, it's all based on observation and deduction, and then some experience of the matter, of course."

"You are a Muggle-born?" Harry asked, a slight bit bewildered with his initial guess having gone awry.

Bickerstaff nodded, "Yes, indeed. And since you were just wondering about my lineage...yes, I know you were...I am one of the distant cousins of the Queen, from one of the old families who still lay a lot of importance on your manners and conduct. Sort of explains my manner, doesn't it?" he added with a wry smile.

Harry smiled weakly and nodded.

Meanwhile, Bickerstaff continued, "So, that's enough about me. Onto what I wanted to talk to you about. But let me say this first. I am finally pleased to meet the famous Harry Potter in person."

Harry felt really embarrassed at this. You would have thought that he would get used to this after spending five years in the wizarding world, but he wasn't at all comfortable with his fame. He forced himself to revert to the original query that plagued his mind, "It may be so, but why then did you try to attack me?"

"Ah, I am really sorry about that, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff said, "But I wanted to test you, see if you are alert enough, see if you are vigilant enough, test if you had lowered your defences."

"There could have been a better way to test that," Harry said, gingerly rubbing the back of his neck at the spot where he had a slight twinge in his next muscles now from trying to dodge the spell.

"Yes, but tell me, is a Death Eater going to approach you and ask your permission before he directs a spell at you?" the Professor asked, not failing to follow Harry's gaze, "Or worse, is You-Know-Who going to pause before doing so? It's one of the parts of defending yourself, Mr Potter; one of the few ways - an unceasing alertness to the activity around you...Yes, and just in case you want to satisfy your curiosity, Alastor Moody is one of my very close friends. We were at school together and then at Auror training. We were together on many assignments but then, I was forced to retire from Auror ranks, a premature retirement, undoubtedly, but well, it was inevitable after what had happened." A flicker of pain passed over his face as he said this.

"What? What happened?" Harry asked, hoping he wasn't being too inquisitive.

"I encountered the Dark Lord. He tried to kill me, and well, he almost did. And then, well somehow I managed to survive, others helped me escape and brought me back to St Mungo's where I was no better than dead at the time I arrived. I was in St Mungo's for one year while they attended to my wounds. After sometime, I re-joined the proper wizarding mainstream. I was hired at Hogwarts for the same position I hold now. But Dark Magic still had its hold over me. I could not do any magic, for instance. Finally, I could take no more and I left Hogwarts after three years of service and wandered around, lost; wondering if I could ever be cured." As Bickerstaff said all this, his eyes clouded over with the dark look that was clearly reserved for the remembrance of his darkest days.

"But you..." Harry stammered, "You can do magic again. I mean you shot that spell at me."

"Yes, I was coming to that," the Professor said with the hint of a smile, "I was cured, thanks to you."

"Me?" Harry asked, his breath caught in the huge lump that had just formed in his throat.

"Yes, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff replied, "You. It happened the night you defeated You-Know-Who. I felt as if all the Dark Magic that had dwelt in me for twenty years was slowly draining away, even before I had heard of You-Know-Who's downfall. At that moment, I knew something great had happened, something that would bring happiness to all world, something that had now given me a new life. So, you see, in a way, you saved me and gave new meaning to my life. You gave me back my honour and that's why when You-Know-Who re-emerged, I joined Dumbledore in his fight, I joined the Order."

"You are a member of the Order?" Harry asked, wondering why he had never seen and heard of him before, in that case. His head was already swimming in the torrents of information that Bickerstaff had just unleashed on him.

"Yes, your friends know, of course," Bickerstaff said, a kind smile in his eyes, "They had, I believe seen me at Grimmauld Place, on a couple of occasions. That was of course, before you were first brought there."

He turned back and walked towards the open window, through which only the dark night could be seen. There were no stars in the sky, there was no moon either, only dark clouds, that made an observer's visibility no better than zero.

Bickerstaff looked out of the window, his back tuned on Harry. Harry had just begun to wonder what the man before him had zoned off into, when Bickerstaff said suddenly, his back still turned towards Harry, "Sometimes I wonder whether I'd fought hard enough in my old days...whether I really knew what this fight between good and evil really was...whether I kept my honour throughout...whether I really knew what honour was."

He then tuned towards Harry and said, "You know, Mr Potter, the oldwives' tales of my ancestors...kings of old in their glory days fending off dangerous foes; riding to the greatest adventures...they were never lost upon me. I always dreamt of being like them. In fact, I still do. I wish to perform such heroic deeds, serve noble masters like the knights of old. I guess that's why I joined the war in the first place, and I wanted to keep the honour that I'd been told of in my childhood intact. I fought as well as I could, but I often wonder if that was indeed, all I could give. I wonder if I really knew what I was fighting for."

"I am sure you gave your best in the war," Harry said hesitantly, "After all, you did survive Voldemort."

"No, Mr Potter," Bickerstaff exclaimed, "It's not that. Don't you see it as yet? Most of the wizards who gave away everything in the fight against Voldemort got death in return. Your parents, Lily and James were one of them. It just makes me wonder, the fate that everyone met over the years, whether I fought hard enough and if I did, what am I doing here standing in flesh and blood?"

"Does this mean that you want to die?" Harry asked, getting a little angry at the way Bickerstaff was conducting this conversation. It was as if he thought that the fact that his parents had died made them happy. He continued, "Do you mean to say that all those people who'd died over the years, leaving their loved ones bereft and weeping, do you think the fact that they died was good for them?"

"I see that you speak from your heart, Mr Potter," Professor Bickerstaff replied, a gleam of kindness palpable in his dull blue eyes. "I guess you miss your parents. And why wouldn't you? They were two of the most caring persons in the world. Their deaths affected the lives of each and every person who knew them. But in some rarer cases, death isn't such a bad option at all. I fact, maybe, it transpires to something more fulfilling than life itself. Of course, I would not say so for your parents, but for many others, it holds true."

"You speak like one who knew my parents well," Harry said, the eagerness in his voice very much apparent.

"Yes, I knew them," Bickerstaff replied, "I taught them at school at one time and then, I knew them as one of the leading members of the Anti-Dark movement."

"You taught them at school?" Harry asked, his curiosity regarding his parents' lives coming to the fore. His parents were a part of Harry's life that he couldn't remember and facts and snippets regarding them from the persons who had known them in the past were the only sources of information. To Harry, his parents were an enigma - an enigma he desperately wanted to change into something concrete and his heart suddenly ballooned with the hope that Bickerstaff's latest revelation would help him in taking a step in that direction.

"Yes, I did," Bickerstaff said, his eyes getting a soft hue, as if he were recollecting some very pleasant memories. But then he alerted his expression and told Harry kindly, "But we'll talk about them some other day, when we'll have the time to do so, with the circumstances being on our side."

"But-" Harry began but he was cut off again by Bickerstaff's voice.

"No buts, Mr Potter," he said, "Don't worry, one day, you will learn all you want to know about Lily and James, you just need to have patience. You already have a genuine dose of this quality, but you must learn to exercise it at the right time and in the right places."

Harry opened his mouth to speak on contrary lines, but then he decided against it. So, he intended on dropping the subject for now and merely nodded at his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

There was a long, pregnant silence in the room, during which it seemed that both parties privy to the conversation were thinking of what to say next.

Finally, Bickerstaff said, "Oh look at this! It's already midnight, well past the curfew, indeed. You should be going now. By the way, if you happen to encounter Mr Filch, tell him that I had given you detention for something or the other. That will be the best way to put him off your case."

Harry got up and nodded at the Professor. He made his way to the door, when Bickerstaff spoke again, "I gather now, Mr Potter why Albus Dumbledore thinks so highly of you and trusts you so...and it seems to me that his trust is not misplaced either."

Harry turned around, looking at the Professor who had a curious, analytical sort of gaze directed at him. Then he turned around once again and left the office, wondering if the last remark meant more than was actually said.

Harry forced himself to make his way up to the Gryffindor common room. It was as if his feet took his body in that direction automatically while is mind wandered elsewhere, in unknown realms, seeking answers he so desperately wanted, shunting the grief he so painfully felt.

But now as he stood before the portrait of the Fat Lady, the immediate question that confronted him was regarding the password. Since it was now well past the curfew and no one would be found anywhere around, he had two choices before him - he could either wait outside for someone to open the portrait hole and risk being caught by Filch in the time that he waited or he could walk down to Professor McGonagall's office, ask her for the password, invoke her ire and then risk getting caught by Filch on top of that. But with the predicament that he was in, Harry could not even contemplate any of the two choices. All his thoughts were bent upon what Bickerstaff had said and all that he had experienced over the years both inside and outside Hogwarts.

He thought about his parents, about Sirius and it was at that moment when the full blast of these thoughts, which he had been putting on the backburner throughout the course of the day, hit him in full force. Just the burdens he had to carry caused his shoulders to become slumped forwards. Grief overcame his heart and he collapsed on the floor, and started shaking, apparently feeling a sudden paroxysm of fear and panic.

However, just at that moment, as if someone had been a passive witness to all this, the portrait hole swung open and Hermione emerged breathless, and trying frantically to find something or someone she sought. Finally, her eyes discerned that someone. She rushed to Harry's side and took him in her arms.

She pulled Harry close to herself, as close as possible and started whispering in his ear, "Harry, it's alright. It's alright. There's nothing to fear. I am here with you. It's going to be alright."

She continued repeating this and kissing Harry's face repeatedly, trying to convey her love for him in these gestures. Finally, Harry felt something. Yes, his mind was clearing a little. His thoughts - they were still confused, but he could feel the air again, his heart rising and falling within his chest, his senses working fine within his body. He felt a bit relaxed and suddenly the world came into focus again as did the slightly sobbing face of Hermione holding him very close to her, her face clearly etched in concern and worry.

"Hermione, where am I?" he asked weakly still feeling the after-effects of the sudden panic attack he'd just experienced.

"Right here outside the common room," she replied, still concerned. "Are you feeling alright now, Harry? Can you walk?"

"I guess so," Harry said feebly. Although his head had stopped spinning, Harry still felt a bit dizzy. But he got up with Hermione's support and hobbled into the cosy familiarity of the Gryffindor common room.

She led him up to a couch by the fireplace in which the embers were still crackling merrily, casting shadows that danced across their faces. She sat him down and took the seat next to him, still holding his hand and squeezing them reassuringly.

"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, with concern and great care for him, which reflected in those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry told her. He was feeling loads better than earlier. Somehow, Hermione's presence had soothed him, calmed him down like nothing else could.

There was a moment of silence that followed, during which time Harry revelled in Hermione's presence and got his thought process together. Even though he was still feeling dizzy, he could now at least focus his thoughts and rationalize them, if needed.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" Hermione said, looking more at the fireplace than at Harry.

"What? You can ask me anything," Harry replied.

"What happened out there?" Hermione replied, turning her head to look at Harry.

Harry said nothing in return. He just sat there, his head now resting on Hermione's shoulder, his eyes looking at the red embers glowing sadly in the dark, casting red, flickering fluorescence around the room and dark shadows across the various dimensions of the space in it. He just sat there like that, his mind blank and numb, not wanting to answer what she'd asked for it would be too painful; he just did not want to change the blissful state that he was temporarily in for as long as he could.

"Harry?" Hermione said softly, "Are you listening?"

Harry had heard her question but he did not answer. Instead he said, "Hermione, can you please stay with me tonight?"

Hermione replied in the affirmative. "Sure Harry, anything for you," she said.

At that, Harry shifted his position on the couch and laid his head on Hermione's lap. He looked into her brown eyes, brimming with love and concern for him. She kissed his forehead and within no time, he drifted off to a dreamless slumber, his body weary with grief and fatigue, his mind void of all thoughts - in that empty space that no thinker has ever been able to define, the space where the mind wanders off into, to shut itself down and rest. That night, Harry knew nothing, nothing but for the peace and contentment he felt in his heart and soul after a long time - the feeling that he was complete.

After Harry drifted off, Hermione sat there, looking at his peaceful countenance - with no remembrance of any burden on his shoulders, no remembrance of the expectations heaped upon him by the people who knew him and even those who did not. He looked almost like a small child, nestled in his crib, a smile playing on his lips, unknown to himself.

She thanked her stars that the Fat Lady had witnessed what had happened with Harry and rushed into one of the landscapes hanging in the common room to call for help. And after she saw Harry, she was even gladder that she had decided to be up on their first night back to do some light reading. (Of course, that was deemed impossible in her own dormitory by the giggling of her dorm-mates).

Hermione was a bright witch, not just for her photographic memory and studious nature, but even more so because of her observant character. She knew something was eating up Harry from inside. She knew he was bottling up that something inside of him while the right thing would be to let off the steam of the unsaid feelings kept forcefully inside his heart. But, she promised herself that she would help him and discover the reasons. She vowed that the whole world would never see that face of Harry Potter which she'd just witnesses. And with this thought, she drifted off to sleep, travelling all those hidden and beautiful paths which lay undiscovered during the hours of awakening but where the spirit roams freely in the state of slumber.

* * * * *

Hermione was awakened a few hours later by Ginny, who was slightly shaking her, It took her mind a moment to register her thoughts and recall the occurrences of a few hours earlier and the reason why she was sleeping in the common room. She quickly looked beside herm only to see Harry still sprawled next to her on the couch, his head still on her lap.

Hermione motioned for Ginny to keep quiet and summoning a couple of cushions to her side, she gently laid Harry on those. She stood up and stretched, as if to gather the young morning into both of her arms.

Ginny looked at Hermione, who was still in her robes from the previous night. She was certainly looking a bit dishelved and tired.

"Busy, were you last night?" she teased her older friend, "I bet you and Harry were snogging each other senseless and in the end fell asleep in each other's arms. Or was it something more, something like going all the way and then getting tired due to the 'exercise'?"

"Ginny," Hermione reprimanded her, albeit in a low voice, so as not to wake Harry up.

"All right, all right," Ginny said in a low voice as well, taking a cue from Hermione, and raising her hands in the air in a sign of surrender, "Just joking, Hermione." On a more serious note, she continued, "Anyway, you are lucky it was I who woke up so early and found both of you here, instead of it being someone else. I don't believe you'd want the news of your relationship with Harry to go public just yet, before you decided upon it. You two should be more careful if you sincerely want this to be the case." Ginny finished, assuming the air of sensibility that was usually so characteristic of Hermione, and at the same time not too different from the attitude of her own mother. It was somehow like the mixture of the two.

"Yeah," Hermione whispered, "But you know, Harry..." she began but cut herself off at the last moment, knowing that Harry wouldn't really like her telling Ginny everything, even though she was indeed, a very good friend.

"Yes, what did Harry do?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Nothing," Hermione replied hesitantly, "It's just that he asked me to stay with him yesterday night for a bit and I think since we were both very tired, we dozed off and had a nice, long sleep till you woke me up."

Hermione bit her lip as she said this. She didn't like saying half-truths to her friends. Ginny asked her, "Are you sure that's all? I mean, I don't remember seeing Harry return to the common room last night. Are you sure you're not hiding anything?"

"No, there's nothing," Hermione replied, "Honestly, you are just imagining things, that's all."

"All right," Ginny said smiling, a twinkle in her hazel eyes, "But next time, be more careful, especially if you want to keep everything a secret."

"Yeah," Hermione confessed, "I am sure Harry wants to keep it so."

"But what do you want?" Ginny whispered.

Hermione was surprised at the question but she answered nonetheless (after a moment of silence), "I...I want the same."

Gunny surveyed the older girl critically for a moment and then said, "You don't know how happy I'm to have heard that...Anyway, I think you should wake Harry and both of you should go to your respective dorms. It is only five in the morning. With luck, you two might be able to catch some forty winks in your beds for a change, before breakfast is served," she added with a smile, especially at the last part.

"Of course," said Hermione. Then she paused and said, "By the way, Ginny, what are you doing up so early? You've never been a morning person."

"I just couldn't sleep," Ginny replied, without the slightest trace of hesitation, "So I decided to go for a little stroll."

"At five in the morning?" Hermione asked faintly.

"Never mind me," Ginny said, "You wake Harry up and go get a good night's sleep. I would like to believe that you deserve it."

Hermione took her advice and woke Harry up softly. "Wake up Harry," she said, "You need to go back to your dorm."

Harry did not reason with her. He was too sleepy to do that. He walked up the stairs, went and collapse on his bed without a second thought. Hermione suppressed a giggle as she watched her sixteen-year old boyfriend doing the sleepwalk like a six-year old child. She herself went up to her dorm, yawning for all she was worth and was soon lost to her dreams.

Meanwhile, unseen to either of them, Ginny Weasley was no making her way around Hogwarts, trying to seek something, or maybe someone.

* * * * *

The next morning, Harry woke up seemingly refreshed. He got ready quickly and put on his Hogwarts robes. There was no immediate memory of the occurrence of the previous night.

By the time Harry had dressed, Ron was awake as well and both of them made their way down to the common room to meet up with Hermione and then down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As she saw Harry, Hermione resisted the urge to ask him if he was all right, but seeing the relaxed expression on his face, she decided against it. For once, everything was back to how it had been with the three of them, once upon a time, when there were no cares, no issues, no worries and no inner demons; when there were only friends and fun.

The sixth years did not have a single regular class that whole week back. Instead, they were to have counselling lectures on each subject and its course aims at the NEWT level so as to enable the students to decide easily which subject they would take. After all, it would give a defining shape to their careers.

This sudden and unexpected absence of homework during their week back meant different things to each of the Gryffindors. To Dean and Seamus, it gave them a chance to look for new girlfriends; for Neville, it meant more chances of trying to woo Ginny; to Hermione, it meant more time to study and race off to a quicker start than anyone else in their year ("As if she has not done that already," Ron pointed out to Harry); but to Ron and Harry, it meant Quidditch. They'd planned on visiting the Quidditch pitch later that afternoon (Harry still didn't know about Ron being the Quidditch captain, although Ron intended to tell me that afternoon) but they first had to attend the counselling lecture for Potions and subsequently the Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Earlier that morning, McGonagall had summoned the sixth-year Gryffindors to her office before breakfast. It was really very early, but she looked as strict and severe as ever. She called them in and gave them their schedule for the week. She had told them that they'd have until Saturday to enrol for the desired NEWT courses and gave them a remarkably short yet concise lay-down on why they were supposed to take this whole process seriously.

"What you decide in this week will determine the future that you'll all face for the rest of your lives," she'd said before dismissing them. "So remember to take your decisions considerately and carefully. If you need any help, you may approach me, but remember, this is your choice and yours alone. So choose wisely."

The Gryffindors had now been waiting for some five minutes in front of the closed door of the Potions classroom, when the most unwelcome visitors showed up there, complete with nail, hammer and tooth.

"Well looks like all the mudbloods, half-bloods and muggle lovers are present here!" came the voice of Draco Malfoy. "Maybe they are looking for ways to remain safe, knowing that they don't deserve the Dark Lord's forgiveness."

Before any of the Gryffindors had a chance to react though, the door to the dungeons slowly opened and the students found themselves staring at the sneering face of Severus Snape, his face lined with wrath and loathing upon looking at the Gryffindors.

They took their seats and waited for Snape to begin his tirade, his assault on their minds in a manner of speaking.

"As it is, the art of potion-making is beyond the abilities of most of the students belonging to one half of this class," Snape began, sneering at the Gryffindors, as if he were inspecting some disgusting slimy leech perched on a branch, though to Harry, it seemed that he wouldn't be able to tell which was slimier, the leech or Snape's hair. Snape's gaze lingered longer than necessary on everyone except Hermione, as if willing them to prove wrong, the judgement he'd just pronounced. The Slytherins of course, were exempted from this leechcraft as they merely sat in their seats smirking loathingly at the Gryffindors.

"I will therefore, expect all those who did not receive at least an Outstanding grade in the Potions OWL's to exit the classroom before I begin speaking on more important topics, lest they find themselves so distressingly stupid as not to be able to follow what I say," Snape continued. "Now!" he barked to those who were to go out.

At this, there was a flurry of activity as most of the Gryffindors started picking their bags up and rushing out of the classroom, eager to get out of the dark, damp classroom they disliked the most and rid themselves of their least favourite subject while at Hogwarts, not in fact due to the difficulty and dullness of the curriculum (History of Magic had claimed that spot as its own) but generally because of the Potions master who could even make a rock sweat with fear and apprehension. None of the Slytherins got up though. Harry suspected that Snape had told them to sit through his class at an earlier meeting. For one, nothing in the world could make him believe that cave-trolls like Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode could get an 'O' in any subject, let alone in one of the more difficult subjects - Potions.

Ron too began packing his bags. He'd got an 'Acceptable' in Potions and was only too glad to leave the Potions dungeon. After packing his own stuff up, he motioned to Harry to accompany him, but Harry wasn't getting up. In fact, he hadn't made a single movement to get up during all this time.

"Harry, aren't you coming?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently, well aware that Snape was watching him.

"No," Harry replied, "If you are going, don't wait for me. I'll catch up with you in the Dark Arts."

"But Snape?" Ron whispered, "he said everyone must get an..."

"Harry has got an 'O', Ron," Hermione interrupted.

"Oh!" Ron said. He looked a little bit puzzled and maybe a tad bit disappointed as he said, "See you later then!" and walked out of the Potions classroom. Meanwhile, Harry was left wondering if this latest revelation had again dealt a blow to his re-made friendship.

Of course, it was true that Ron was, in reality, a rather jealous person at the outset. He always ignored whatever good things he had with him and vied for what others had. Of course, it most probably stemmed from the fact that his family was poor and had little social standing in the wizarding world, a notable section of which was still under many old prejudices regarding social position. This meant that he was more often than not, subjected to sudden pangs of jealousy, and Harry could only hope that nothing of that sort had just occurred.

However, thankfully for him, since Snape chose that precise moment to start his address to the class, these thoughts were driven out from Harry's mind. He observed that he, Hermione and to his biggest surprise, Neville, were the only students left.

Snape was saying, "Not many Gryffindors, I see. You'd notice that I've invited the Slytherins for this session, since I was confident that we won't be dealing with many Gryffindors this year and it seems I was correct. Only three of them and that with two being Longbottom and Potter. Very, very interesting indeed. I should really contact the exam authorities and enquire about this. Maybe, a re-test will help gauge your abilities better."

However, to Harry's surprise, he did not feel apprehensive at all at the prospect of giving a re-test. In fact, for the first time, he felt confident about being able to pass the test easily. Maybe it was effect of spending the summer with Hermione without there being a likelihood of Ron butting in. Even Neville didn't look so fazed by Snape's presence. Maybe, he had realised that facing Snape wasn't so bad as facing a group of ten Death Eaters without there being a single adult to guard them, well almost.

At this, Snape continued on about what he expected of his NEWT-level students and the high standard that he'd come to expect of them. Of course, he didn't fail to add that most of those successes were Slytherins, and took advantage of every excuse he got of berating Harry and Neville. Since classes had not started yet, he found that he couldn't however, find any fault, genuine or otherwise, with Hermione.

So it was, about an hour and a half later, the three of them were trudging up the way from the dungeons, feeling thankful that they didn't have any counselling sessions in the afternoon, after Defense Against the Dark Arts. Actually, there was Divination, but that didn't matter to either Harry or Hermione, nor to Neville, who in any case, hadn't been able to distinguish between breaking tea cups and crystal orbs during class.

Neville was telling Harry about his reaction when he realise that he'd got an OUTSTANDING in Potions. "And when my Gran asked why I said I hated Potions if I'd got my best grades in it and Herbology, I answered saying that maybe it was because I remembered all the things that Hermione had been whispering to me all these years through class." This set Harry and Hermione dissolving into loud fits of laughter that echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. With this, they made their way up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom for another bout of counselling.

However, Harry didn't need the session to decide whether he was going to continue with the subject. Of course, considering the fact that he was undoubtedly the pick of the class in the subject and that he wanted to become an Auror, and add to that, the fact that he was the wizarding world's only hope against Voldemort, he did not really have any other option. So as fate would have it, Harry was supposed to compulsorily attend the lecture since they were to sign up for the subject immediately after that.

Actually, truth be told, Harry had another reason for wanting to attend the lecture. His talk with Professor Bickerstaff had piqued his interest in the man. So, it was against this background that Harry was sitting in the Dark Arts classroom, along with his fellow sixth-year Gryffindors.

Professor Bickerstaff arrived precisely on time and stood smiling in front of the class. "Welcome Gryffindors! I see all of you are here. Undoubtedly, I am glad to see that you are all so eager at learning to defend yourselves from the Dark Arts. I have, indeed, looked up on everything that you've done in the last five years, and I daresay that you are all ready to take the next step into the Defense mechanisms. I am here to help you with that, I am here to teach you that. But you must know first why you need to study Defense Against the Dark Arts? First, you need to tell me honestly how many of you really want to study this subject, from the bottom of your heart?"

At this, all the Gryffindors raised their hands up in the air.

"Very well," said Professor Bickerstaff, and then he suddenly dropped the pitch of his voice into that of a loud, hoarse whisper as he said, "But the question is why?"

At this, a few hands lingered in the air. Harry, however, didn't raise his. His reasons were many and some were beyond anyone's imagination, so he didn't want to share them with anyone, at least not now.

"Yes, Miss Patil," Bickerstaff questioned.

"Sir, I want to learn this because there is You-Know-Who out there with his followers and I want to be able to fight them off," Parvati replied.

At this reply, Bickerstaff did not say anything but he merely continued to ask each one of the Gryffindors the same question. All answers that he got were on similar lines, even for Ron and Hermione (who, of course, added a part on gaining more knowledge to the consensual answer)

Finally, Bickerstaff came up to Harry and said, "Mr Potter, your answer?"

Harry looked up from his desk and looking straight into Bickerstaff's dull blue eyes, he replied, "Sir, I want to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts because I want to be aware of what the Dark Side can possibly to and I want to be prepared against it. More than a matter of life and death, I do not want the Dark Side to hold any sway over me."

Harry was quite surprise at his own answer. He honestly did not think that he could ever have been so thoughtful. Yet Bickerstaff seemed most satisfied by his answer. He smile once again displaying milky white teeth that unlike Lockhart's teeth didn't dazzle anyone's eyes (thankfully!)

Then he said, "Indeed, Mr Potter, a most satisfying answer! We need to be prepared against what the Dark Side can do. We must appreciate the worst that can happen to us, and we must never let the Dark Side have any hold over us. Very well answered, indeed!"

"Yet," Bickerstaff continued, "How do we know what is the worst? How do we know what the Dark Side can do? After all, very few people who faced the Dark over the centuries succeeded in surviving. Yet we see new people willing to fight against the Dark. You all are no exceptions either. So why do we feel the urge to fight? Why is good a cause worth dying for? Is it because in each of our hearts there is a desire to be the biggest hero in the world? Why is good, a cause worth dying for?"

"I know, a few of you may be wondering why I am saying this. Then understand that I am saying this because for you to repel evil, you need to understand evil. In the same way, for studying the Defense mechanisms you will have to study some of the Dark Arts as well. And that's why it is essential that you have a stout mind because the Dark Arts appear like a lavish temptress and only those who are fully committed to the cause of the light by heart and mind will survive this temptation. I have full faith that all of you in this room have that strength. But always remember that such strength is for resisting the Dark and not for aiding it."

"But what does fighting evil have to do with understanding evil?" Seamus interjected.

At this, Professor Bickerstaff diverted his attention towards Seamus and asked him, "Tell me something, Mr Finnigan; almost everyone in the wizarding world fears You-Know-Who so much that we even fear to speak out his name aloud. Why do you think that is?"

"Dunno," Seamus admitted, looking a little abashed and a lot more fearful, "Maybe, it's because of all those people he's killed over the years."

"You think so? You think You-Know-Who terrorises people just because he is a murderer?" Bickerstaff asked, a mild smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Then tell me what would happen if I were to curse the entire school this very day and kill everyone here? Would people feel even half as frightened of me? So do you think it's only about killing people?"

Seamus looked dumbfounded and at a complete loss for words. Finally, Bickerstaff walked up to Seamus' desk and levelling his gaze with him said, "Let me put it this way, Mr Finnigan. You-Know-Who undoubtedly has weapons up his sleeve that everyone fears - weapons that no one could possibly imagine possessing. Can you tell me what they are?"

Seamus looked a little more confident and he replied without hesitation, "It's the killing curse - Avada Kedavra."

At this, Bickerstaff seemed disappointed and he whispered to Seamus, "Mr Finnigan, you don't seem to have got me, have you?"

Then, he raised his voice again and asked, "Who in this class agrees with Mr Finnigan?" Everyone raised their hands, some tentatively, some more confidently - everyone except Harry.

Bickerstaff smiled wryly once more. He looked at everyone once and then said, "Mr Potter, I believe you have a different answer."

At this, Harry felt Hermione looking concernedly at him. But ignoring that feeling, he said, "Fear and pain. These are Lord Voldemort's weapons for terrorising people."

As Harry said the Dark Lord's name, there was a collective gasp and shudder around the classroom. Only Harry himself, Hermione and Bickerstaff seemed to have remained unfazed.

"Would you like to elaborate?" the Professor entreated.

"Sure," Harry said, a little unwillingly. He was feeling extremely awkward and out-of-his-skin saying this but an unknown force from inside him persuaded him to go on - no that wouldn't be the right word, in fact, it was coercing him to continue.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry began, insistently ignoring the collective gasp that greeted the name, "is perhaps the most powerful wizard in the world, except maybe for Professor Dumbledore. We all know this and so does he. That's why we fear him; because we know that once we face him, we have come to the end. We know there is no escape route, no means to flee from the pain that he is bound to cause before he kills you in one stroke. He casts aside every possible aspersion of you being a competitor to him, before he murders you. And that's why you fear him, because of this foreplay. You fear him, because he's the spider and you are the fly caught in his web. He senses this fear and enjoys the pain that it causes. That is why he is the Dark Lord, because he enjoys others' pain and suffering; because, in some ways, pain for others is his pleasure."

At this, the whole class was stunned into silence. No one had ever heard Harry talk about Voldemort in such a way, not even Ron and Hermione.

Finally after the long, pregnant pause, Lavender Brown exclaimed, "But you escaped him, didn't you? How is that possible if what you said is true?"

At this, Professor Bickerstaff intervened and said, "Exactly! A very good question, Miss Brown, which brings us to the next important thing - courage. By courage and unceasing alertness, you may survive once, twice or even thrice. That's the most important thing - courage - and if you really want to fight what awaits you in the outside world, you need to be courageous, not recklessly so, but in a close, guarded manner. You courage needs to come from within."

"I know you all are interested in studying the Defense mechanisms and you will certainly learn all you can about that in this class. You will learn how to protect yourself from almost anything that will be thrown your way. Although it is equally true that at the crucial moment, it will eventually come down to you and you alone. Still, this class will train you in how to be prepared for the worst. Remember this when you make your choice regarding the subject."

After this, Professor Bickerstaff motioned his hand towards a table kept in a corner of the classroom and said, "All those who've already made their choices may sign their names there. If you haven't made your choice yet, you have until Saturday to decide."

At this, there was a flurry of activity and everyone got up to sign up for the class. Apparently, in view of the dark times, each student wanted to be prepared. By the time they were done, the bell rang and Professor Bickerstaff shouted out over the din, "Well see you in class, then!"

As the sixth-year Gryffindors made their way down to the Great Hall for lunch, they found themselves talking excitedly among themselves, about Bickerstaff and his class.

"Nutter," Ron was saying, "Complete nutter, I'd say, much like Moody. You know I noticed some similarities between the two of them. Maybe they are friends or relatives or something like that. Anyway, I think he knows his stuff though. At least, he will definitely teach us some spells.

Harry didn't bother to tell Ron that he was right on both counts. He just nodded dully. Hermione smiled sympathetically at him. She was the only one who had any inkling of the pain he had felt while speaking in the class about Voldemort, especially after last night.

Harry now felt the same sense of dread and panic he'd felt the previous night return to him. He found difficulty in even willing his mind to take the next step. He was even more daunted by the prospect of walking in and sitting amongst some two hundred odd students, who had nothing to worry about on their minds. He realised he could not do it. He had to go, free himself. Even his breathing seemed laboured and was caught in his throat. Ron and Hermione were about to enter the Great Hall, the latter of course, keeping an eye open for Harry.

"Harry, aren't you coming for lunch?" Ron asked, turning around to look at his best friend.

"No, you go on," Harry managed to gasp out, "I am not feeling very well. I'll just go to the dormitory and lie down for a while. I guess I'll be okay then."

Hermione looked askance at Harry, wondering what the matter really was. She asked him, "Come Harry, you are looking a bit pale. I'll come with you."

"No, it's okay," Harry said. Every word seemed to take up more of his energy than the previous. With that, he turned around and went up the stairs, soon disappearing out of sight.

Hermione stood there, looking after him, wondering if she should go after him. Ron touched her shoulder and said, "Come on, Hermione. Harry'll be okay. Get yourself something to eat first."

Hermione reluctantly followed Ron through the doors and sat down at the Gryffindor table, oblivious to all the noise that he fellow students were making around her.

Half an hour later, she was still picking and fretting over her food. Ron, meanwhile, was doing quite the opposite, stuffing his mouth disgustingly full with food. Finally, he noticed that Hermione had not touched her food.

He put down his fork and in a rare moment of sensitivity, said, "Okay, tell me what's the problem?"

Hermione looked at him and sighing, said, "It's Harry." And with that, she told him all that had happened the previous night.

Ron gave a low whistle as she ended the narrative. "Wow! I never thought he had it that bad."

"I'm really worried Ron," Hermione said, "I know he's hiding something. I think I should talk to him."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Ron said, "I see you won't be satisfied unless you do that."

Hermione got up, leaving behind an almost untouched plate of food and went to the dormitories to look for Harry. But he was not present there. So she successively went to each of the possible places where he might have gone to. She even went so far as to comb the entire length of the Quidditch pitch, looking for any sign of him. But Harry was nowhere to be found.

Finally, three hours later, she met up with Ron in the middle of a corridor and collapsed against him. She started sobbing as she said, "Ron, Harry...Harry isn't here."

* * * * *

Hermione got up, leaving behind an almost untouched plate of food and went to the dormitories to look for Harry. But he was not present there. So she successively went to each of the possible places where he might have gone to. She even went so far as to comb the entire length of the Quidditch pitch, looking for any sign of him. But Harry was nowhere to be found.

Finally, three hours later, she met up with Ron in the middle of a corridor and collapsed against him. She started sobbing as she said, "Ron, Harry...Harry isn't here."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, trying to support a weak and hysterical Hermione. Of course, the fact that she hadn't eaten anything for ages didn't help her either.

"I looked everywhere for him," Hermione replied, "but I didn't find him anywhere. He is not in the dormitory, not on the Quidditch Pitch, not even around Hagrid's hut. I looked everywhere but couldn't find him. It seems he's just gone."

"Now don't be silly, Hermione," Ron consoled her, "He must be somewhere about the school. Maybe you forgot to look someplace or the other. Tell you what. We'll search for Harry once again, all right? We are bound to find him in a few minutes."

For once, Hermione was glad that Ron had this really laid-back attitude towards life. It helped her ever so slightly in making that feeling inside of her which was imagining things more gruesome and dreadful happening to Harry, subside down to controllable proportions.

So, both friends went on again, to go search for the third member of their trio in every possible place. But their search ended in vain. It was as if Harry had either vanished into the air or he really did not want to be found and was doing a very good job of it.

They made their way to the common room, Hermione hoping against hope that she would somehow find Harry sitting there. But of course, like everything you really want to make happen, it wasn't the case. Harry was nowhere in Gryffindor house.

As they entered the room, Hermione collapsed on a chair next to where Ginny was sitting with Neville and drawing her knees up to her chin, placed her head on her knees in a sign of despair and sadness. Ron too, sat on a chair beside Ginny.

"What happened?" Neville asked.

It was Ron who replied. Hermione was really too distraught to be able to answer anything. "We can't seem to find Harry anywhere," Ron said, "We've been looking for him since ages in every possible place, but he seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"Why? Where can he be?" Ginny said, just as Hermione gave a small squeal and said to Ron, as if he were the only person present there.

"Ron," she said, "I know how to find Harry. You know, the map."

It took a while for Ron's mind to register what Hermione had implied, but even as he comprehended her full meaning, he put a hand to his forehead and exclaimed, "Of course, I'll go and fetch it at once."

He dashed off upstairs to their room, even as Ginny and Neville looked on bewildered. They did not know about the existence of the Marauder's Map. They had questioning looks on their faces and Ginny asked, "What map were you talking about?"

It was now Hermione's turn to summon some quick thoughts to her mind, "Well, it's a spell that I call the map. You just need a little possession of the person you want to find, and you can find that person if he is within a particular perimeter from you."

She said this quite naturally, since she had indeed read about such as spell in the library. She was glad though that neither Ginny nor Neville questioned her. She waited with impatient anticipation for Ron to come down the stairs with the map.

Meanwhile, Ron was trying his frantic best to find the Marauder's Map in Harry's trunk. But the problem was that it seemed Harry had charmed his trunk shut with a password. Now he was trying to search his mind for the password, but he didn't seem to be getting it. He'd tried 'Quidditch', 'Ron', 'Snitch', 'The Golden Snitch', 'Sirius Black', 'Remus Lupin', 'Hogwarts', 'James', 'Lily', 'Hermione', even 'Dursley' and all other words that he could imagine as being a password, but all of his successive attempts had failed. Neville came in and lay down on his bed, not even asking Ron what he was doing. Maybe Hermione had told him something.

Finally, Ron was grumbling, "Way to go mate! You charm the trunk shut. Let 'Ron and Hermione' find a way ..." But what he was going to say after that, even he did not know since the trunk opened off on its own will. Ron gave a low whistle as he exclaimed, "So it's 'Ron and Hermione', of course." He quickly began rummaging through the contents of the trunk and finally found the object of his immediate attention and desire. He took the Marauder's Map and closing the trunk, dashed off down to the common room, where Hermione was impatiently waiting for him.

It had taken Ron more than half an hour to get the map from Harry's trunk, till when the whole common room had emptied and Hermione was left alone, pacing the room anxiously, muttering under her breath, "Harry, where are you?" and fighting the urge to go up to the boys' dormitory at the top of the tower and see for herself why Ron was taking so long.

Finally, Ron got the map down to the common room and they pored over it, trying to catch a glimpse of where Harry was. Just as they did so, they realise that a dot named Harry Potter was precisely outside the common room at that moment and even as that happened, the portrait hole swung open and in walked Harry, looking exhausted as if he'd been crushed under a boulder.

* * * * *

Chapter Ten

Revelations And Heartbeats

Harry left Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall as they headed for lunch. Of course, he could pretty much do nothing except for breaking down and starting to scream. Yet, he surprising did nothing of that sort. His legs automatically carried him through the innumerable passages and corridors inside Hogwarts castle. There was an evident mechanical edge to his gait, which was indeed understandable since his mind was now reduced to a swirl of confused and despairing thoughts that he had no control over.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a door, as if awaiting the thing that was on the other side. He thrust his hand forward without any force in his will and opened the door. He registered no surprise in his brain when he saw that the room was possibly the kind of setting where he could find comfort and solace in his suffering.

The room was bare except for a few bits of furniture here and there. It looked vaguely familiar, rather like the Gryffindor common room, yet very much unlike it. There was a small fireplace. The fire was lit and it cast a soft glow around the room. There were no windows, all in all it looked like the night was here - a perfect setting for introspection, reminiscing and grieving.

Harry went up to the cosy armchair that stood in front of the fire. His mind was numb. No remnant of any kind of reaction could be seen on his face. There was only a gaunt, hollow look on his face that bore the scars of his current mental state.

Memories flashed randomly across his mind, some memories he did not even know had existed. His days at the Dursleys...Dudley's gang chasing him at school...Aunt Marge letting Ripper lose after him...Hagrid taking him to Diagon Alley for the first time...the incident with the troll at Halloween during first year...the journey to the Chamber of Secrets...his first meeting with Sirius...the loss of his old Nimbus 2000...his name appearing from the Goblet of Fire...going past the Hungarian Horntail...Cedric's death...watching Voldemort regain his form...his dreams of the Department of Mysteries...the previous summer he spent at the Dursleys' home...Sirius' loss...the revelation of the prophecy...the attack on Hermione's parents...spending the summer with her...the huge conflict with Ron...all these memories and many more flashed through Harry's mind like a filmstrip as he relived his whole life in those moments, with the stress being more on the despair he had felt over the years. Very few good memories penetrated the worst ones while occasionally, a good memory would come and disappear like a wisp of cloud blown away by the wind.

After what seemed to Harry like agonisingly, long, painful moments, the benumbing feeling that had started growing inside of him began to subside and his thoughts gained more clarity. This was however, no help since they seemed out of his control and were all focussed on the worst moments of his life - almost as if they were intent on drowning him in an ocean of depression, grief and sadness.

Suddenly, Harry felt a presence in the room. He saw, before his very own eyes, a window appearing on the hitherto unclosed wall, looking all the way to the Ground level, situated seven levels down. Harry went up to the window and wondered how it would feel to take that one step which would free him from all his pains, all his burden. He decided to test himself further.

Harry climbed up to the wide and high window-sill. One step now separated him from being where he was, to being one with the air, hurtling down at unimaginable speeds. Harry imagined himself in the latter situation and smiled at himself. He felt no relief, no joy, nor any pain. It was as if the depressed thoughts would not grant justice even to his death.

"I am going to jump from up here," Harry said aloud to himself, "I am going to die." With that, he raised one foot and suspended it forward. All he needed now was a small gesture with his other foot, a shift in his body weight and it would all be over.

* * * * *

It was three in the morning, if you could call three a.m. morning. Albus Dumbledore was sitting his office behind his desk, talking to Professor Elijah Bickerstaff. The professor, on his return to Hogwarts after a long hiatus, seemed to have blended in with the atmosphere of the school as easily as a fish takes to water. He was currently talking with Dumbledore on the matter of starting a Defense club in the school.

Dumbledore was listening to Bickerstaff with an eager ear. He had long realised that one of the perks of being Albus Dumbledore, whether in his capacity as the Headmaster of Hogwarts or in his status as the leader of the Light, against Dark, was that one got little time to rest. As a result, he had long since tuned his body to rest even while in the state of waking.

"I mean all the other subject have their own clubs after school hours, all except Defense Against the Dark Arts," Bickerstaff was saying, "I mean it will be the most sensible thing there is if we started this thing."

"You forget," Dumbledore said merrily, "There is no club for Divination."

Bickerstaff rolled his eyes as Dumbledore said this and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "That subject is nothing but a load of guesswork and Trelawney is an old hag." Bickerstaff said.

"Elijah," Dumbledore said, "Make sure that the students don't hear your opinion of Sybil Trelawney. And you forget Firenze, although I don't think he'll approve of calling a Divination club, a club. And I need not remind you that Sybil Trelawney was the reason why we received a prior lead regarding Lord Voldemort's fall and sixteen years later, his return."

"All right," Bickerstaff said, "But I was talking about the Defense club. You cannot deny this. Hogwarts need a place where the students can learn some extra useful spells besides their regular schoolwork."

"I agree," Dumbledore replied, "But you have to let the students take an initiative in this. That's a prerogative for the commencement of all the school clubs."

"Since when have you been a strict follower of rules, Dumbledore?" Bickerstaff asked, a wry smile on his face.

"Every time when following rules has been necessary," Dumbledore replied, the twinkle ever present in his eyes during those moments.

"In any case, I think maybe you should wait until a student comes forward with an idea on similar lines," Dumbledore finished. "I think someone will do that once they have lots more support than last year."

"There was a club last year?" Bickerstaff asked.

"Yes, an illegal one," Dumbledore replied, "I daresay you might have heard about it. Gave Dolores Umbridge quite a headache."

"Yes, yes, come to think of it, now I remember," Bickerstaff said, "I believe the Weasley twins told me all about it and other things that occurred here last year when I asked them why they left Hogwarts without appearing for the NEWTs. They called this, well; there was this interesting name..."

"Dumbledore Army," Dumbledore replied, the amusement in his voice clearly evident. "It had quite a few repercussions on the management of the school."

Bickerstaff nodded. He knew the story only too well, as did the rest of the Order. It had ballooned into a very serious matter, with Dumbledore having to leave the school and Hogwarts getting purged of practically all Order members for some time later that academic year.

"So, do you have any ideas as to who might be the one to take initiative in the club?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Bickerstaff replied, "But I daresay Mr Potter would be interested. I think he might be the one."

"I wouldn't think so," Dumbledore said, in return, "Harry's skills at organising, well, let's just say that he isn't the best one at organising things, certainly not when Miss Granger isn't around. It's more like he and Mr Weasley are more adept at breaking rules than abiding by them. Miss Granger, on the other hand, is the one who keeps a tab on them."

Bickerstaff smiled, as if he were recalling some fair memories. He said, "Of course, I didn't think of that. Sort of, like father, like son, isn't it?"

There was a pause after this that signified a sense of familiarity sweeping the room.

"So," Bickerstaff began, "Any news of You-Know-Who?"

"Yes and no," Dumbledore replied, "There has been a mild increase in the attacks on Muggles but Lord Voldemort's plans for the wizarding world aren't yet in motion. I think at the immediate moment, he is just content at entertaining himself with torturing poor Muggles. In any way, he also needs the support of more Death Eaters, the ones who were captured in the Department of Mysteries last year not the least among them."

"And the thing about the sign of the Raven?" Bickerstaff questioned.

"It hasn't appeared since the attack on the Granger house," Dumbledore answered, "It has caused me to have some doubts in my mind, regarding the theory that I had for their appearance."

"So, another day ends, and the uneasy calm remains," Bickerstaff said dramatically, almost in a rhetorical fashion, as if he were announcing the fact to the entire room. The portraits of the ex-Headmasters and Headmistresses that graced the walls of the room were patiently and attentively listening to this conversation.

Dumbledore sighed. "It's only a matter of time now. Either way, we have little hope of fighting him and winning."

"You seem to have forgotten Mr Potter's role in all this, Dumbledore," Bickerstaff retorted, "and the prophecy as well." He added the last bit after a brief pause.

"Don't you think, Elijah, that your faith and confidence in Harry runs into the risk of being over-confidence and complacency?" Dumbledore said. It was a plain statement made by the old Headmaster but it held within itself, the meaning that he had wanted to convey, nonetheless.

But Bickerstaff was not touched by this. "Dumbledore, don't you think that your faith in Mr Potter is floundering?" he responded.

"Faith is one thing, Elijah," Dumbledore said, "but burdening Harry with the world full of expectations is another."

There was long, pregnant pause after Dumbledore uttered the last sentence. Dumbledore recalled the happenings of earlier that night...

Flashback

"I am going to jump from up here," Harry said aloud to himself, "I am going to die." With that, he raised one foot and suspended it forward. All he needed now was a small gesture with his other foot, a shift in his body weight and it would all be over.

Harry stood in that position for a long while. His mind was a bizarre cloud of confounding resolves and he couldn't bring himself to either taking that final step or to retreat to safety. He curiously felt nothing, not even a remote feeling related to anything whatsoever. He wondered if this was indeed the moment when everything would end for him, then why was he devoid of any thought. Why was his mind completely numb? It was not supposed to be like this. He heard that a person often felt his own life, completely and quickly unfolding before one's own eyes, moments prior to one's death. But he felt nothing.

Was this how the rush of death was supposed to feel? Harry waited for the slightest sign as to what he should do, whether he should take the last step. But he received no sign, no indication as to what he should do. Finally, he sighed and withdrew his foot. He sat down on the window-sill, much like he had done on his first night at Hogwarts albeit that was in his own dormitory. He looked over the Hogwarts grounds and over the trees of the Forbidden Forest at the setting sun. Somehow, a sense of irony hit him. The setting sun was perhaps the epitome of his life. Every time he hoped for something to happen, every time hope swelled in his chest and rose to a high point much like the sun's journey before noon but then everything began sliding down till such time as no hope remained, much like the dusk that followed the sunset.

Suddenly, an all too familiar voice came from across the room, "I'm glad you decided to take that step back." Harry groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted now was a one-on-one session with Albus Dumbledore.

"I bet you had known it all along," Harry said, trying to vent some of his pent-up frustration and anger on the ancient wizard, as he had done on a night not very long ago. "I bet you had always know that I would stand here and then slowly draw back, that you would then gloat over me about how I was sensible doing what I did. Isn't it why you have come?"

Dumbledore walked up to the window-sill and as he approached, a squashy blue arm-chair appeared out of nowhere and lodged itself facing the window-sill where Harry was perched. Dumbledore walked over slowly and took a seat. He studies Harry's features carefully. Yes, there was pain...pain that was so evident in those most expressive emerald eyes. Every angle of that face was lined with intense pain, worry and exhaustion.

Dumbledore finally said, "You don't really believe that, do you, Harry? Even the wisest person cannot predict what the future holds. And I certainly am not the wisest person around. The future holds many mysteries for us, Harry; and those mysteries are never disclosed to us till such time as we are ready to face them. That is what makes life so colourful. What you are talking about...it was your chose, and I believe you chose wisely."

"Don't give me that load of dung!" Harry replied, the numbness in his brain being replaced by an inexplicable and sudden anger. "If the future could not be foreseen, then there would have been no seers. There wouldn't have been any prophecy. My fate wouldn't have been decided for me, without my own consent."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with that monstrous feeling called pity in his eyes. Yes, he considered the greatest virtue, the greatest quality that made human beings human - pity - to be monstrous; because it was the epitome of everything weak in man. It tore his heart out to see the young man before him languishing in the depths of despair and sorrow. It became one of those rare moments when Albus Dumbledore, considered by most as the most powerful wizard alive, didn't know what to do. Here was Harry Potter, the only hope of the wizarding world in a losing battle against the dark, smothered under guilt, depression and wallowing in self-pity. So, he began chanting softly, almost in an inaudible voice:

Long ago the wizards came,

Aboard great ships blue and white,

They brought with them the magical fires,

They brought with them the magical light.

The five wizards then chose their dens,

And vowed to repel evil again and again.

They passed their powers to others,

To those worthy of calling them mine;

They then left the earth behind,

Having battled evil in their time,

Leaving behind their followers to do the same,

And their footprints on the sands of time.

And thus, the process gradually began,

Of fighting for the manhood of man;

And so, each time evil takes ground,

One man must come around,

And assume the reins of the quest,

To put evil to the test.

Once again the time approaches,

When the fight between good and evil poaches,

The minds and hearts of all,

And tears away the soul with a call.

At such time, a saviour will rise,

From amidst the ruins of war,

And assume the power into which he was born;

He shall fight the evil and.

Lead his people to a wonderful, new dawn.

"What was that?" Harry asked sullenly, his inquisitiveness getting the better of him.

"That was an ancient hymn, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "so ancient in fact, that I do not think it is in anyone's memory at this current day. You will understand this some day and when you will, you will find yourself prepared for anything and everything. For now, I will confide in you that I had read it years ago in a book, a book that I believe is now in your possession."

Harry at first did not understand what Dumbledore meant until he remembered the book that he had seen in a corner of Flourish and Blotts, and had subsequently purchased. "Been spying on me again, have you?" Harry asked, a strong hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.

"No, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "I see that I need to clarify things here. You see, the book under consideration, it is a very important book. In simple words, you could just say that it contains the very essence of magic. Let me just say for the moment that you wouldn't have found that book, unless you were meant to find it. Due to the fact that it is a very powerful tool, that can do wrong things in wrong hands, I had asked Mr Greenwich, you know, he is the owner of Flourish and Blotts-"

"I know who Mr Greenwich is," Harry interrupted impatiently, wanting to hear very eagerly the next part and at the same time, not wanting to be privy to this conversation either.

"Of course," Dumbledore continued, "Anyway, I had asked Mr Greenwich to inform me about who bought the book. I had a sneaking suspicion that someday you would be the one. It seems that I was correct."

"Why not," Harry said, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm and his anger of old returning to him. "The great Albus Dumbledore is never wrong. He knows everything. Even when he manipulates everyone's lives, he claims he is doing so for their own good. And everyone believes him. After all, doesn't the great Albus Dumbledore know everything?"

"Do you really think I manipulate people's lives?" Dumbledore asked, looking mildly interested.

"You manipulated mine; and Sirius' when he was still alive," Harry added, after a pause. The thought of Sirius made his blood boil with the memory of another night at Hogwarts nearly two months ago. He couldn't just bear to look at that ancient face again, etched in pity and wisdom.

"I was trying to keep both of you alive," Dumbledore said.

"You failed in Sirius' case, didn't you?" Harry retorted.

For a while, Dumbledore looked as if the words had pierced his heart. But then, he sighed, "Yes, I did. I failed in that."

There was a moment of silence after which Dumbledore asked Harry, "Tell me Harry, are you angry?"

It was a simple question. "Yes," Harry replied.

"Are you frightened?" Dumbledore asked again.

It was an even simpler question. "Yes," came Harry's answer.

"Do you know the reason of your fear?"

The question was as simple as could be. "Yes," Harry replied again, wondering in his heart where Dumbledore was getting to.

"Can you tell me then?" Dumbledore asked for the last time.

It was the simplest question he had asked. But suddenly, Harry found he had no answer. "I don't know," he whispered, his voice barely audible yet it seemed to echo off the walls of the room.

Dumbledore did not say anything. He just waited for Harry to continue, which he did, "I feel I have lost myself. Ever since...ever since he died." Harry couldn't bring himself to say Sirius' name; it was so painful. "Ever since he died, ever since I came to know about the prophecy, I don't know who I am. It's like I am in this big, black space alone and there is nothing that I can do to leave. There is nothing that I can do to defeat the evil that surrounds us.

"Those who know about the prophecy might expect me to do what they hope for. Indeed, they expect me to defeat Voldemort and traverse the path that the prophecy has laid before me, and I would, believe me I would...but...but it's just that I do not know the way...I do not know if I am strong enough."

Dumbledore got up from his chair and walked over to where Harry was sitting. As he did that the armchair vanished by itself. He walked over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, who did not seem to notice, however and continued, "I am not like you, Professor. Neither am I like my father, or my mother. All those times I faced Voldemort, I was fighting for my own survival but henceforth, it will always be different. I know that in my heart. That I will always carry the weight of our joined fates whenever I come face-to-face with him. I don't think I can handle that, Professor. I don't think I have enough strength in me to face the choice that has been laid before me."

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. Harry looked up at him and gave him a grateful look.

Dumbledore said, "I have told you this before, Harry. The prophecy would not have been made regarding you if you didn't have strength enough. All you need to do, Harry, is to find where that strength lies. I shall not say that Lord Voldemort is not more powerful that you, nor shall I say that we hold the upper hand in this war. But what I will say is that I believe when the time comes, you will find yourself ready. And you will find beside yourself, such people who will be willing to do so by your side and sacrifice their lives for you, if need be. If you have any doubts regarding this, just remember the hymn I recited earlier."

They remained there like that, both Headmaster and pupil, gazing out onto the Hogwarts grounds, watching the moon shining on the tree-tops of the Forbidden Forest. Harry wondered which creatures might be awake inside at that moment. He wondered what the centaurs might be doing, and what was going on with Aragog and his children, what the Thestrals were doing and what had happened to Hagrid's half-brother, Grawp. Finally, he felt as if a shadow was lifted from his heart and mind. He said, "Thank you, Sir."

"Why so, Harry?" Dumbledore inquired. Harry wasn't quite sure if the old wizard was feigning surprise at his gratitude or not.

"For listening me out patiently, after all I've said to you over the past months," Harry replied earnestly.

"Believe me Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling merrily, "It was my pleasure." After a short pause, he added, "So I take that you are feeling better already."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"But you don't look so well, do you?" Dumbledore said, "I think after this ordeal, you need some rest. I prescribe for you some sleep in your dormitory. What do you think?"

Harry nodded. He stood up gingerly; it was as if he had forgotten to walk and was learning it all over again. He walked with Dumbledore across the room.

"So where are we?" Harry asked. "I didn't quite pay attention while coming."

"I doubt you did," Dumbledore chuckled. "This is the Room of Requirement. It seems you wanted to be lonely in such a place, where you could find solace and the room conjured up that image in your mind for real."

Harry nodded again. Dumbledore opened the door and they stepped into the corridor outside. As soon as the Headmaster closed the door, it disappeared, leaving a solid stone wall behind. Dumbledore shook his head and chuckled, "This place never ceases to amaze me."

"Harry," Dumbledore said as both of them stood there, waiting to part ways, "I daresay that Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be worried sick waiting and searching for you. I would advise you to tell them everything. Sometimes, you may find that there are some secrets that may become your strength if you choose to divulge them. The only thing is which secret and to whom. That is an old man's advice to you."

Harry nodded again, even though he only got the general meaning of the Headmaster's advice.

"Sir, one last question," Harry said, "How did you know I was here, in the Room of Requirement?"

"Harry, you will learn some day that there are certain privileges attached with being the Headmaster of Hogwarts." With that Dumbledore walked away, leaving behind Harry who was feeling that Dumbledore had just now told him a way of rephrasing the sentence, "You wouldn't want to know."

End of flashback

"Dumbledore," Bickerstaff's voice sounded around the room. "What is it?"

Dumbledore blinked his eyes as he forced his mind to put the memory on the backburner. "Nothing," he said, "Just thinking about Harry...I still think he needs more time."

"But there is no time, Dumbledore," Bickerstaff replied, "War is upon us. There is no way we can give him time."

"Believe me, Elijah," Dumbledore said, "Something will happen that will give Harry the time to prepare. I have a very strong feeling about this. I am not talking about the time we need to give him to prepare. I am talking about the time we need to give him to cure his wounds, to close them completely. It is only when his mind and heart are cured that he will believe in himself and start preparing himself for the war. Till then, we will have to give him time, and some space. If we can't, we will have to buy him some time."

"Your mind works in a fashion I will never fathom," Bickerstaff said, "But I do have one question. Do you think it will be long?"

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore replied, "From what I saw today, I can see that the healing process has already begun. No, it won't be too long. I would make it two or three months, six at the most."

"That's all I need to know then," Bickerstaff said, and he got up. "I have to prepare for a lesson on Kappas for the third years tomorrow."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said, a smile lighting his wrinkled features.

"Keep me updated, will you," Bickerstaff said, as he reached the door, "You know, it's nice to be back at Hogwarts but one think that I do dislike here is you are the only source of information here."

Dumbledore slightly tipped his head to one side, to indicate that he acknowledged. As Bickerstaff left, he took out a pocket-watch with twelve hands from his left pocket. He looked it over and decided there were fifteen minutes more remaining. So he waited, thinking of what he was going to say now.

* * * * *

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room looking so exhausted as if he had been crushed under a boulder. Hermione looked at him and then running across the length of the common room, she flung herself at Harry and hugged him fiercely, as if she would never let him go. Ron looked on patiently.

"Hermione, sorry to interrupt this," Harry said weakly, feeling as if he would suffocate in Hermione's tight embrace, "But I really need to breathe."

"Sorry," Hermione said as she pulled away.

Ron, on the other hand, looked defiant. "You have some explaining to do, Harry," he said.

Harry looked quizzically at Ron; at least he tried to put up the charade. He knew in his sinking heart that the moment of truth had come. He had to explain himself, or risk the very friendships he had come to treasure. He might have considered doing so some other time, when he would have found himself overcome by the feeling of noble sacrifice which could make his friends safe from the Dark Lord and his minions. But for the time being, he had adamant, angry friends to answer to.

"Don't give me that look," Ron said, "You are going to tell us where you have been. You are going to tell us what's going on and you are going to do it now."

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione seconded Ron's view, "We are worried sick about you. You must tell us what it happening and why all this is happening; why you are doing this. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you are shutting us out of your heart."

Harry sighed inwardly. There was no way he could escape. His friends knew him too well for that. But he still made that last ditch attempt, "Honestly, it's nothing you two. Will you stop bugging me?"

"No," Ron replied, adamantly.

"Harry," Hermione said in a soothing voice, "Harry, please don't do this to yourself. Why are you bottling your feelings inside of you? Why do you want to do that, while we are here to listen to you?"

Now, Ron came up to Harry and said, "Harry, mate, all these years, we have been friends. Don't you trust us in this?"

Harry shook his head. He detached himself from Hermione and took a seat on the couch by the fireplace. Both Ron and Hermione took this as a cue and seated themselves - Hermione next to Harry and Ron on the opposite armchair. Harry stared at the fire, still burning merrily in the grate, much like it had once when he had talked to Sirius via the Floo network.

"It's not about trust," he said finally, "It's just that...just that you...you two cannot do anything in this to help me."

Ron looked slightly as if he had not got Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, asked him softly, "Harry, is this about Sirius?"

Harry sighed and said, "Yes and no. It is true that I miss Sirius terribly. In fact, not a day has gone by when I don't regret my foolishness in going to the Ministry that night. Ever since we returned to Hogwarts, I have been chiding myself even more. If only I had listened to you, Hermione! If only I had listened to you that evening! If only I had stopped and thought about all that sensibly for a while! But no, I had to play the hero. I had to go and find out whether everything was real or it was just a phoney vision.

"I spent all my summer alone thinking of things, yet trying not to think about them at the same time, not to feel the pain that threatened to rip my heart and mind into pieces. And then after your parents had been attacked, Hermione, it was like I was too pre-occupied to think about Sirius and I kind of like it. I know what I did was monstrous, what I felt was monstrous - something that only someone so evil as Voldemort would have felt. And I felt it. I was guilty of something so heinous."

"No Harry," Hermione broke in, "You did the perfectly logical thing. You felt what every human in the world would have felt had he been in your position. That doesn't make you a monster, Harry. It only proves that you are human and it makes you stronger than ever. You are not to blame for this, Harry, nor for Sirius' death. It wasn't your fault that Sirius died."

"How many times do you think I have heard that sentence from Dumbledore?" Harry said. "You think such false words can make me feel better? Well, frankly, they don't. I am old enough to know that nothing else is going to change the truth."

There was an uneasy silence that followed this, which Hermione broke, saying, "Harry, we could tell you repeatedly, both Ron and I, that none of this is your fault. We could continue telling you this all night, yet you would not believe us. But if there is a way, if only you knew somehow to look into our thoughts and read our minds, you will find that no one blames you for Sirius' death. It was not because of you that Sirius died; it was because of Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Hermione is right, Harry," Ron said, "It's not your fault. Sirius was a friend to all of us. All of us suffered when he died. But look at us; is any one of us blaming himself for Sirius' death? No! Because Sirius died after fighting a hero's battle."

"You two don't understand," Harry said quietly, "Everyone, I mean each and everyone I've ever been close to - my parents, Sirius - Voldemort killed them all. Even the attack on your parents, Hermione, and the other one on the Burrow, all those things happened because both of you are my friends and I love you for that. It's not only the war. It's the personal battle between Voldemort and I. Sirius got caught in that because I loved him, and so, he was killed. I don't want anyone else to meet the same fate. I don't want anyone else to die. I don't think I could take that."

There was another long, pregnant pause after this. No sound was made by either of the three of them. The only noise was that of the fire crackling merrily in the grate. Harry felt the warmth of the fire, but he felt as if the warmth did not reach his insides. It did not penetrate his skin and remained confined to the exterior only.

"Tell me, Harry," Hermione said quietly, "Is it only about Sirius, or is it about something else as well?"

Harry looked closely at Hermione, wondering if she had somehow managed to learn Leglimens. With Hermione, you could never tell. She wasn't called the smartest witch ever to come to Hogwarts for nothing.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked quickly, as he tried to remain nonplussed at the same time.

"I know you too well, Harry," Hermione said gently, "This isn't only about Sirius' death, the way I see it. From what I have known about you over the years, it is something more."

Ron watched this exchange between his friends with great interest. It was as if an unknown understanding had sprung up between his friends, an understanding and a comfort level that he could never hope to reach, or to penetrate. It was in that moment that Ron realised why Hermione and Harry should be together as opposed to the question 'Why are Harry and Hermione together?' that had plagued his mind in the first place. Indeed, he realise now that Hermione knew more about Harry and Harry more about Hermione than he could ever hope to. If Ron didn't know any better, he'd have called it a 'match made in the heavens'. But for some reason, the relationship between his friends appeared to him to be more sacred, more sanctified than he could ever have imagined anything else of being. It was as if he could see their auras around them, and those auras had mingled with each other.

Harry looked strangely at Hermione for a moment and then as if he had reached a decision at last, his face relaxed (although it didn't lose any of the pain that was reflected there. It seemed more like he had accepted the pain as a part of his own identity) Then he said, "You're right. There is something else. But I don't know how to tell you this. It will probably shock you more than anything else."

Ron now felt that it was his duty to speak something. So he said, "Why don't you try, Harry? I am Sure both Hermione and I have enough time to listen to you."

Harry nodded. "I just don't know where to begin." He said.

"Try starting from the beginning," Ron suggested, trying his best to be helpful. "Mum always says when in down, start right from the beginning."

Harry complied. "Well, I guess, it starts off even before I was born, with Voldemort, trying to kill me," Harry began, "The reason why he tried to kill me is because of a prophecy that was made before my birth."

"Was it the one Neville lost and it broke in the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Don't interrupt him," Ron hissed to her.

Harry however continued (he realised once again that he had taken the first step to solving the problem at hand since he had begun speaking), "Yes, the same one. It was made by Trelawney and Dumbledore was the one to hear it. The prophecy at the Ministry was only a copy. Anyway, Dumbledore told me all about the prophecy the night when Sirius died." As he said the last part, the pitch of Harry's voice dropped almost to the tone of a quiet whisper.

"What did it say?" Ron asked, in a breathless voice.

"Ron, I believe you told me not to interrupt," Hermione said. It was now her turn to flare up.

Harry ignored this banter and said, "The prophecy...it said...The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have

power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'

(Courtesy: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)

"What did that mean?" Ron asked.

"It meant that," Harry began, "that I have to kill Voldemort or Voldemort has to kill me. That is the only way this war can end. Voldemort does know the whole prophecy; he knows only the first half of it and so he tried to kill me. In the process, he marked me as an equal and was reduced to a malicious spirit himself. Since regaining form, he has been trying to get to the prophecy in its fullest form." With that, Harry told Ron and Hermione the complete story; he told them everything Dumbledore had told him on that fateful night many days ago.

When Harry had finished, Ron let out a low whistle and said absent-mindedly, "And I thought I was keeping the biggest secret from you by not telling you yet that I have been appointed the Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

"What?" Both Harry and Hermione said in unison.

"Yeah," Ron said, "I got the letter over the summer. I am sorry I kept it from both of you though."

"It's okay, Ron," Harry said, with a slight laugh, "If we have to start saying sorry for all we've kept from each other, I'd have to say it a number of times for not telling both of you about the prophecy; and Hermione would have to apologize many times over for hiding the Time-Turner during third year."

This earned a good laugh from both Ron and Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, looked indignant. "Professor McGonagall told me to..." she began hotly, but Ron interrupted her.

"McGonagall might have told you," Ron said, "But you still hid it, didn't you?" Hermione rolled her eyes at this remark.

"Anyway," Harry said, seeing that an argument was about to flare up, and acting as a mediator, he continued, "I'm glad, it's nothing more, Ron. I wondered for a moment if you were about to say that you worked for Voldemort or something like that."

"Oh, you might never know with me," Ron said, a bit too earnestly so as to be true. "I might be doing that now and you wouldn't know...Of course, I'm not though. I was only joking." He added hastily, seeing the wary looks on his friends' faces.

Harry was the first one to recover from hearing what Ron had just said. He gave a short laugh and said, "You gave me a scare, mate. To think that my best friend is a deadly monster!" Harry feigned a melodramatic expression of fear at this and Ron sniggered at his poor imitation.

"Anyways, mate," Harry said sincerely, "Congratulations! I hope you put together the strongest Quidditch team Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Thanks, mate," Ron replied, "But for the time being, I don't think I am up to that task. My mind works better when I have had a few hours' sleep. So, boys and girls, I'm off to bed. Harry, mate, are you coming up too?" he asked.

"No, I'll come up later," Harry replied.

"Okay," Ron said or rather shouted from the foot of the staircase, "But both of you, mind it well, don't go on doing something that I wouldn't." With that, he went away up to the dorms.

Harry smiled as Ron went. As he turned his attention towards Hermione, he found her gazing fondly at him.

"What?" he asked, seeing her look at him like that.

"Nothing," she replied, "It's just that it's so nice to see you smile again."

Harry nodded and once again, an air of familiarity swept the room. Hermione put her head on Harry's shoulder and put her arms around him.

"So how are you feeling, Harry?" she asked him.

"As if I am the lightest person in the world," Harry replied, "I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders."

"Indeed," said Hermione, "Am I glad to hear that?"

After a short while, she spoke up again, as she lazily drew circles on Harry's stomach, "Harry, can you promise me something?"

"Sure Hermione," he said, "Anything for you."

"The other night, Harry," she said. "The state I saw you in...I shudder to think of what would have happened if someone else with opposite intentions might have found you. Promise me, Harry, that whatever happens, you will never let yourself degenerate into that state again. Promise me, Harry that, whenever you feel confused, lonely or uncertain, you will come and tell me everything."

Harry looked down at Hermione's face and saw tears glistening in her eyes. She looked so beautiful and vulnerable to his eyes. At that moment, Harry understood the limitless love that Hermione felt for him. And more importantly, he finally felt something deep stirring inside his heart, and he knew instantly that if there were to be any future for him, if he were asked to name a person with who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, it would be her.

He took Hermione in her arms and said, "Hermione, you have been a wonderful friend to me and even as I sit here, I feel how precious you are to me. I have come to realize, Hermione, that I love you. Remember that time when I asked you for more time to sort out my feelings? Well, I don't need any more time, because, I know now, for certain, that the only thing in my heart for you, the only feeling for you is love. I love you, Hermione, and I promise you what you asked for. I don't mind facing anything in this world, so long as I find you beside me. I pledge to you my love, my soul, my heart and my mind, Hermione, everything except for my life, for I do not think it is mind to give to you. As for everything else I possess, it is yours!"

"Oh Harry!" Hermione squeaked and she embraced him in yet another tight hug, tears of joy streaming silently down her cheeks.

They pulled apart again, and as Harry looked down at her, their faces drew closer and closer, until they finally met and it seemed to Harry that this kiss that he shared with Hermione was better than any till now. It was a long, passionate kiss and it conveyed to either of them, the intensity of their feelings and the joy of having those feelings reciprocated. They pulled apart for air, whose need now seemed so cumbersome, so irritating, and so unnecessary. They had each other and they needed no one else.

They kissed and kissed, repeatedly, taking things slow, letting the physical part of their relationship go along slowly. Neither of them wanted to increase the pace or to pressurize the other; they just wanted to feel the raw feeling of excitement the other's presence elicited in them.

Finally, they lay on the couch. Hermione suddenly looked at Harry's watch as she lay (albeit fully clothed) over Harry, who in turn, lay on the couch. Her head was on the crook of his neck and he held her close to himself.

"Lawks!" exclaimed Hermione, "It's four. We must go back to our dorms."

"What in the name of heaven!" Harry exclaimed, "Lawks? What was that?"

"Just a little expression I once picked up in my childhood," Hermione said giggling, "It tends to slip out of my tongue sometimes. Anyway, we both need to go back to our dorms or we will be missed."

"Oh no," Harry replied, "Ron knows."

"But my room-mates don't," Hermione replied.

"Oh," Harry asked sweetly, retaining on his face the best puppy dog expression he could muster for Hermione to see, "Do we need to? Can't we stay down here like this, together?"

"No, we can't," Hermione said laughing, "And don't pout. It really tests my will."

So they got up and separated into their own ways to their dorms, though not without sharing a long and heated good-night kiss.

"Wow!" Harry exclaimed, after the kiss ended.

"It seems you have much to learn, Mr Potter," Hermione said, giggling.

"I do believe you are trying to seduce me, Miss Granger," Harry said playfully.

"Who? Me?" Hermione said, feigning surprise. Then she whispered seductively in his ear, "I wouldn't dream of it, would I? After all, I love you."

"I love you too," Harry said, longing for her touch.

With that, she walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, leaving behind Harry with a vigorous throbbing in the lower part of his stomach.

Later, while Harry undressed and prepared to go to bed, he remembered something as words came floating into his mind-

At such time, a saviour will rise,

From amidst the ruins of war,

And assume the power into which he was born;

He shall fight the evil and.

Lead his people to a wonderful, new dawn.

Harry however, did not stop to consider this. Her merely laid his head on the pillow and went to sleep, his heart lighter than it had been for many days and his mind dreaming only of one person, his love, Hermione.