Demons at Hand

"...Told no one yet, has he?..."

"...no, no one..."

"...perhaps you are right, Cavan..."

"...hmm...I am always right, Adlai..."

Harry jumped with a start, dropping the pile of clothing and knocking over a stack of books that had been perched rather precariously on the edge of the bed.. The voices, whatever they were, seemed to be happening even more often, and still no one would tell him what he had seen that night. All they would do was look pityingly at him. Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione were the worst. Whenever they saw him alone, they'd either burst into tears and run away, or burst into tears, hug him, and then run away. It was wearing hard on his nerves, but, being the last day of holidays, he was preoccupied with packing and making sure all his homework was done. Ron, who was beside him, also packing, kept on shooting looks at him, as if he'd sprouted two heads or something. Finally, when Ron, for the third time in a row, had misplaced his wand, Harry turned around, and stared him straight in the eyes.

"Are you going to act like I have extra eyes all night?" he demanded. Ron snorted.

"Harry, no offence, but...you sort of do have extra eyes," he said. Harry grinned, and then sat down, looking meaningfully at his best friend.

"Ron, please? I'm not any different than I was before, right? So please stop acting like I've changed. Please."

A shadow passed over Ron's face briefly, but then it was gone, and he just smiled.

"Of course, Harry. I'm sorry," he said. Harry smiled, and turned back to his suitcase, not noticing Ron's sad smile behind him.

~*~

Hermione sat on her bed, staring forlornly at a photo beside her. The photo laughed and beamed up at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. Harry grinned up at her in all his fifth-year glory, happy and complete, not knowing about the prophecy, not knowing his godfather would die, not knowing that he would be put through the most emotional pain he'd ever felt in his entire life. A tear dripped down her cheek. Back then, he was still innocent, still small and still cute. Now he was so much more aware of who he was and what he had to do. He'd grown so much over the past few years, over all the years he had been at Hogwarts, but his growth had been most pronounced at the end of his Fifth Year. Hermione shook herself and hurriedly wiped her eyes.

"I'm not...interrupting anything...am I?"

She looked up, startled. Ron was standing awkwardly at the door, his hand on the doorknob. "I mean, if you want, I can go," he added hurriedly, making to close the door.

"No!" she said a little too fast, and Ron stopped immediately.

"Uh...sit down?" she said, clumsily pushing numerous books off her bed. Ron sat down uncomfortably, and just sat there, staring into space.

"...Ron?"

Ron jumped slightly, and stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Oh...yes?" he said vaguely.

"Um...you came for a reason?"

"Wha--oh! I...uh...well, it's kind of hard...but...are you...worried?"

"About Harry? Of course!" she said, subconsciously touching the photo clutched in her hand.

"Can I see?" he asked gently, and softly pried the picture from her. He regarded it, and smiled.

"I can remember him like that. I can remember us like that," he said, his voice very low. Hermione regarded him for a second, and then hugged him. He looked startled for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around her.

"We've all changed, Herm. We've all changed," he murmured in her ear. She buried her face in his shirt, and began to cry.

"But he's changed so much...he's changed. More than us...so much more..." she cried. Ron rubbed her back and stroked her hair.

"We knew he would," he said.

"Oh, yes, we knew, but knowing is not enough! We don't know what he's gone through! There's absolutely no preparing for this!" she said, pushing away from him and staring him angrily in the eye. "I mean, how're you supposed to prepare for being his best friend when you can't even imagine what he goes through?" she demanded. Ron looked at her, tired, and she seemed to have noticed this, because she sighed, and took his hand.

"Ron, I don't mean to get angry at you, you know that," she said. "It's just really hard, what with Harry becoming Marked and all."

Ron frowned.

"Will you please explain to me what 'Marked' means? I never really got that..."

Hermione stared at the photo, as if gathering strength, before speaking.

"Well...being Marked is...when a demon comes and starts to follow you around," she said, sighing.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Technically, it's bad, because everyone who's been Marked in the past has died a horrible death," she said. "But, according to an old wizard legend, when one gets Marked, they are protected by demons, as long as they make the right choices."

Ron winced.

"Blessed by demons? That doesn't sound too promising," he said. Hermione, as if suddenly realising she'd still been holding his hand, jumped up, nearly knocking Ron over.

"Oh! Dear, look at the time!" she said, trying to hide her shock. Ron looked at the clock.

"Herm, it's only 8," he said.

"Oh, oh...oh. I had such a shock. I thought for a moment that it said it was 12 o'clock..." she said lamely. Ron stood up, and walked towards the door.

"Uh, well, Herm, if you wanted me to go, I could've gone...you just had to ask..." he said, and disappearing before she could shout for him to wait.

~*~

"Oh my love, please don't cry.

I'll wash my bloody hands and we'll start a new life...

"I ripped out his throat

And called you on the telephone to

Take off my disguise

Just in time to hear you cry when you

You mourn the death of your bloody Valentine

The night he died.

You mourn the death of your bloody Valentine

One last time, singing

"Oh my love, please don't cry

I'll wash my bloody hands and we'll start a new life.

I don't know much at all

I don't know wrong from right.

All I know is that I love you tonight.

"There was police and flashing lights

The rain came down so hard that night.

And the headlines read 'a lover died--no tell-tale heart was left to find' when you

You mourn the death of your bloody Valentine

The night he died.

You mourn the death of your bloody Valentine

One last time, singing

"Oh my love, please don't cry

I'll wash my bloody hands and we'll start a new life.

I don't know much at all

I don't know wrong from right.

All I know is that I love you tonight.

"He dropped you off, I followed him home.

Then I stood outside his bedroom window.

Standing over him, he begged me not to do

What I knew I had to do

'Cause I'm so in love with you.

Draco Malfoy stared at the marble ceiling. By now he'd memorised the patterns of the white marble, just as he had memorised the words of this rather interesting piece of music. Not bad for a Muggle song, he thought idly, shuffling over his silk bedclothes to find a more comfortable position. He'd been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, listening to this song over and over again. He rather liked the part that referred to a person having his throat ripped out--almost every time he saw that Potter, he had to suppress the urge to slit his jugular with any means possible. Ever since he had caused his father to loose his name among the Wizard population, loose his trial held before the Wizengamot--where he had pleaded 'not guilty'--and cause him to go into hiding, Draco had been dying for any opportunity to unleash revenge on his enemy. No chance had yet revealed himself, but Draco, being a Malfoy, was patient. And if the prospect of thwarting Potter once and for all didn't appear, he would make it appear--after all, he was a Slytherin, and rules were made to be broken.

"Draco, come downstairs. There's someone here for you to meet."

His mother's voice echoed magically through the halls. It was crisp and clean, and Draco's angry expression and stone-hard eyes softened slightly. If there was anything in the world that was valuable to him, it was his mother and father. He had been trained from an early age to not show emotion, not to betray his feelings to anyone, but when he and his family were alone, he could let it all go. He could cry, though not very often, on his mother, laugh and be truly happy with his father, and express any other emotions he wanted to in the privacy of his own home. Draco vaulted himself from his bed. Among other things, he'd been trained in the art of duelling, fencing and thievery, taking full use of his natural agility. Striding quickly across his room, he clapped twice, and immediately the door swung open, followed by the sudden absence of light as every candle that graced the age-old chandelier was extinguished. He walked down an incredibly dark, long corridor. Along the walls were thousands of portraits of old wizards and witches, each sleeping, each one looking like the other. The Malfoys were very selective of their breeding partners. They would only, for example, choose suitors that had blonde hair, a slim build, and blue eyes. They would also only choose those who were strong wizards or witches, and whose ancestry could be traced back at least a thousand years. All in all, they were picky. The only problem was that Draco seemed to be in the shallow end of the dream pool. There were no blonde, blue-eyed strong magical women for him to prey on--luckily enough, women who lived in pure-blooded families did not get choice over who they would wed; it was all a matter of who got to them first. All he needed to do was wait until a blonde, blue-eyed, pure-bred cousin (preferably a Veela) came from overseas and he was set.

Draco leapt lightly from the top of the flight of stairs he had just reached, and landed on his feet at the bottom. Each Malfoy was trained to be acrobatic--it was what usually saved them in duels. They were also taught the ways of the underdog: blackmail, betrayal (including, if need be, members of their own family), and less traceable ways of exterminating unwanted rivals, which included poisons, potions, and hiring assassins that could be easily satisfied and/or destroyed. In other words, being a Malfoy was a hard job.

Reaching a pair of large oaken doors, Draco pushed them open forcefully. A large marble dining hall lay before him, and at the far end stood his mother, waiting patiently for him. Hurdling over a few of the tables, he reached her, and took his place next to her. She turned to him, blonde hair waving gently, and smiled.

"Draco," she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Your father will be arriving shortly, accompanied by a very important guest. Do not run to your father. You will disgrace him."

Draco wrinkled his nose. Of course. He had forgotten that being a Malfoy meant that he was absolutely forbidden from showing any emotion besides anger, greed, or jealousy while in the company of guests, and he was absolutely dying to see his father again. While his father had been free and not one of the most wanted men in Britain, he had taken his presence for granted, but now each visit from his father was a special treat. Suddenly there was a sound much like a large gong ringing, and Narcissa pulled her hand away from her as if she'd just had an electric shock. Almost a second later, the same doors that Draco had come through burst open, and three hooded figures entered the room. One figure, the one in front, immediately pulled off his cloak, and strode towards his wife.

"Narcissa, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said, walking faster than he usually would towards his wife and child. The remaining two figures walked behind him at a leisurely pace. After returning meaningful looks with his wife, Lucius returned to his guests, and bowed.

"My Lord," he said. Then, turning to the remaining figure, whose right hand seemed to be made of some sort of metal, he nodded his head with a slight look of disgust, not even bothering to acknowledge his name. Immediately Draco stood up straighter. His father only ever called one man 'Lord'. And that meant...

"My son, Draco, and my wife," Lucius was saying humbly. The cloaked figure took a long rattling breath, sending shivers down Draco's spine.

"The boy is how old?" the Dark Lord asked. It was a high, unnatural voice.

"17, soon to be 18."

"Ah..."

Draco shivered again. He didn't like the way this conversation was going.

"He is in the boy's year then?"

Lucius nodded. The Dark Lord made a little noise in his throat, and then pulled down his hood. It was all Draco could do not to scream.

"We have plans for him then..."

~*~

Ginny quietly made her way down a dimly-lit corridor towards a door at the other end. Holding out a ghostly-white hand, she pushed it, and it swung open without any sound, revealing a large room on the other side. It was a dark room, filled with a pale golden glow. Two men stood in the middle of the room, both dressed in black robes that seemed to swallow all light that touched them. They were not facing her, but she could hear them talking in hushed voices.

"...will he hear us?..."

"...perhaps yes, perhaps no. It all depends..."

"...on what, though?..."

Ginny took in a large breath. Their voices made her feel as if her heart had swollen to three times its size. Suddenly she was capable of anything.

"...time could change things, Cavan..."

"...well, we'll only know when the time comes, won't we?..."

Ginny cleared her throat softly, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room became static. The two figures turned around, and Ginny backed off, her mouth open, and breath escaping her, as if somewhere in the distance a scream had escaped her instead. Two...two things were looking back at her, humanoid in shape but looking like no man should ever look. There was no describing it. They seemed to be made of nothing but that black substance. They had white, unstaring eyes that bored deep into her heart, and Ginny knew that their voices were designed to deceive. They looked at her with the same expression of shock and horror, almost as if she was someone they'd known a long time ago, someone they'd hated very much, before everything began to fade, swirling in and out of focus, and a phrase echoed in her ears.

"...Dream mage..."

"Ginny? Ginny!"

There was a frantic banging on the door, and Ginny woke up with a start. She instantly recognised her father's voice, with her mother shouting hysterically in the background. Then there was another voice, and a muttered spell, before the door burst open with such force that it shattered upon hitting the wall. A heavily-breathing Harry stood on the other side, his wand clutched in his hand, his knuckles white, with Mr. Weasley clutching the door frame, his face drained of all colour. Pushing aside a thoroughly-relieved Ron, he hurried into the room, and pushed aside the curtains as if looking for something. Turning to his daughter, he took her by the shoulders, and stared at her in such a way that made her feel as if she'd missed out on something very important while she slept.

"Ginny, are you alright? What happened?" he asked urgently, shaking her slightly. She looked at him in utter confusion.

"What?"

"Ginny! What happened?" he asked again, his voice rising.

"I...Dad, I have no idea what you're talking about!" she said, her temper rising.

"Don't get angry at me, Virginia Weasley! What happened?"

"I. Have. No. Bloody. Idea. What. You're. Talking. About," she said, grinding her teeth and speaking very slowly, punctuating every single word, as if her father was stupid or mentally disabled.

"Gin, you screamed," George said, whom she noticed for the first time, standing beside her bed.

"I screamed?" she asked, acting as if it was all a joke that her family had made up to scare her.

"Yes, Ginny, you screamed. You terrified all of us. We couldn't get the door open," Hermione said. She too was standing beside her bed, her eyes noticeably wet and a torn tissue grasped in her hand.

"You...but I...I didn't lock the door!" Ginny said loudly, instantly thinking that they were all accusing her of something.

"We aren't blaming you, Gin. You just scared the shit out of us, that's all," Fred said, standing beside his twin. Ginny squinted into the crowd.

"Where's mum?"

"She's calming down outside. She'll be fine in a few minutes," her father said, before returning to the topic at hand. "We tried all sorts of spells to get the door to open, but it wouldn't budge."

"Wha--?"

"The door, Ginny, the door. It wouldn't open."

"How does that work? I mean...I didn't lock it..." she said feebly, brows furrowed, slouching back into her pillows. "How did you get it open?"

"Harry used some sort of spell...well, it was powerful enough to override whatever magic was on that door," Hermione said, sinking onto the end of Ginny's bed.

"Where's Harry?"

"Oh," Ron said, almost smiling. "He's off Travelling the bags...luckily enough you woke us up early enough to get ready with loads of time to spare to get to the train."

Ginny smiled sheepishly.

"Oh...sorry..."

"Are you sure nothing happened?" Mr. Weasley said, swapping one last look with his daughter. She considered this for a moment, and then smiled.

"Of course I am, dad," she said, smiling. Or at least she hoped she was.

~*~

Dumbledore sat quietly in his office, bent low over his desk. Clasped in his long, spindly fingers was a crystal ball of sorts, although it was clear that the old Headmaster was not Divining. His long, crooked nose, on which his half-moon glasses were perched, was barely a centimetre above the curved glass of the ball. Behind him, and also peering into the depths of the sphere, sat Fawkes, flames curling around his talons. Images swam around the orb, flickers of lives, thousands of them, all waiting to be seen by the wizard.

"There, stop," he said quietly. The images in the globe froze as if being paused, and Dumbledore touched the very top of it. An image rose out of it, much like what happened when he prodded his Penseive, and then the image began to play again.

"...Dream mage..."

Dumbledore froze the image again, and studied it closely. It had not taken place in the material world, like much of the happenings he saw in his Patrona. But the Patrona, fortunately enough for him, picked up anything that was happening to any students that went to Hogwarts during the holidays. It was disabled during school terms--Dumbledore was well aware of what happened inside his own school, no matter how innocent he looked, and could handle any danger well enough on his own.

Dumbledore brought his face closer to the image. All three characters he knew, though what they were doing, having passed the borders of the material world many times before, eluded him. Fawkes seemed to acknowledge his confusion, and gently chirped. A smiled lifted the corners of the old man's face slightly, but then the look was replaced by sadness. Whatever they were doing here, it was clear that they, whatever they called themselves now, for they changed their names so regularly, were for guidance, and to take possession of the ultimate price: the gift or sacrifice of a life, a life that the one they guided held close to them. And then Dumbledore sighed, and leaned back in his chair, and erased his Patrona. He had a very good idea of who they were guiding, and sadly, his guesses were almost always spot-on.

~*~

It had been a long, hard journey on the train, full of sad, frightened, or awe-filled looks, but somehow Harry managed to survive it all, knowing that this was only a small preview of what the following year would contain. Now, as they neared Hogsmeade Station and fumbled with their robes and baggage, he felt a great sense of relief swelling up inside him. He would much rather be inside the old comforting walls of the school than outside it, whether he was receiving strange looks or not.

"Harry?"

A soft touch on the arm and his name being called shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to look at Hermione, who was anxiously looking at him.

"Yeah?"

"We're getting off now," she said, motioning for him to get moving. He hid his surprise, smiled, nodded at her as if he'd known this all along, and stepped out in front of her into the corridor. Immediately he felt the uncomfortable sensation of knowing that everyone was looking at you, though he also hid this as well. Hermione and Ron, who, not surprisingly, had received their Head Boy and Girl badges earlier this summer, were out front already, leading the First Years along, the Prefects tagging along behind. The both of them, it seemed, didn't think that the new Prefects were competent enough.

Harry looked after them, and grinned, before making his way up towards the weathered gates of Hogwarts along with the rest of the student population. The threstals, whom he'd gotten used to, turned to look at him, and one of them neighed, although it sounded more like a scream of pain than anything friendly. Harry smiled, and held out his hand to pat it, oblivious to everyone who was staring around, trying to figure out where the neigh had come from. Clambering into a carriage, he discovered he was alone, and was about to close the door when there was the sound of running footsteps, and the hand shot out to stop him.

"Not so fast, Harry!"

Immediately recognising Ginny's voice, Harry opened the door again to let her in, and she swiftly seated herself opposite him.

"All set?" he asked, and she nodded, and he closed the door, and then the carriage was off, trundling along up the path. No one spoke for a while, and then Ginny cleared her throat.

"Uh...Harry, um, thanks for opening that door," she said a little awkwardly. Harry grinned, though it was a sort of sad grin, and patted down his hair.

"You're welcome," he said. Ginny narrowed her eyes, and looked at him suspiciously.

"What are you hiding from me?" she said, and Harry shook his head.

"You scared us all this morning," he said gently.

"I told you, I didn't lock the door!" she said immediately. Harry just looked at her, and she closed her mouth.

"I never said you locked the door, did I? No, I didn't. I just said that you scared us," he said. Ginny cocked her head at him.

"Even you? Were you scared?"

"Yeah, I was," he said softly. Ginny was more than a little surprised at his answer; all this time she'd just assumed that he felt no pain and did not get scared, not even in the face of Voldemort. He was always brave--always--even when he was battling the basilisk in the Chamber or trying to save his friends at the Ministry of Magic. Of course, she thought bitterly to herself. I don't know as much as I'd like to about him, so why is this such a surprise? You always assume, you stupid little girl.

Harry must have sensed there was some self-berating going through her head, because he shifted over onto her side of the carriage, and smiled at her reassuringly.

"You're not the only one who assumes what I go through," he said gently, touching her arm. Ginny looked at him, but didn't smile back.

"Harry, you can't do this alone," she said quickly, just as the carriage shuddered to a halt. A shadow passed over his face, and he opened the door. And she was glad she said it, because in the next few seconds Harry had disappeared out of the door of the coach and was lost in the swelling numbers of students who were making their way to the Great Hall. Sighing, Ginny knew she had hit a nerve, and joined the crowd to disappear herself within the old castle.

~*~

Ron could tell by Harry's absence that something was wrong, but he didn't say anything about it. Hermione seemed to be blissfully unawares of her best friend's non-appearance, lost in a deeply meaningful conversation with Lavender and Patil over what courses they would taking over the following year. The Sorting Hat had sung its usual dire warnings and the 'little midgets' had already been Sorted, and everything was, or should have been, going smoothly, but all this time the empty spot where Harry usually sat had been begging for his attention, and now, just as the banquet was coming to a close, he decided to ditch what his Head Boy duties called for, and find his best mate. Mumbling a lame excuse to Hermione, he slipped past her, outside to the main hall.

"Mr. Weasley!"

The sharp voice of Professor McGonagall rang out like a clear but rather unlikeable bell. Ron stopped in his tracks, and turned around to face her, trying to hide his annoyance at having been stopped.

"It's my understanding, Mr. Weasley, that you are Head Boy," she said. Ron nodded smartly, and she pursed her lips in distaste.

"Why, then, are you not performing your duties to this school as Head Boy?"

"Oh, please, Professor, I--"

"Minerva."

The strong voice of Dumbledore echoed slightly through the hall, and Professor McGonagall craned her neck around to look at him. He was standing silhouetted against the light that was flowing from the Great Hall, his head etched in a silver lining as his hair caught some of the rays.

"Minerva, let Mr. Weasley go. He has...some business to attend to," Dumbledore said. Professor McGonagall frowned, but followed the Headmaster dutifully as he retreated back into the Great Hall, not even bothering to look back at Ron. Sighing with relief, Ron went to the main doors that led to the grounds, and, with a considerable amount of effort, managed to push them open, and slip outside before the doors shut with a slam behind him.

Finding Harry was easier than Ron had first expected. Well, it was kind of hard to miss him when he was so clearly silhouetted against the moon's reflection on the water. He was sat on a bench, just sitting there, making no movement. Ron, trying his best to keep the silence, walked slowly, but even that couldn't prevent him from stepping on a dry stick, causing it to crack rather loudly underfoot. Harry, it seemed, was either ignoring him, or lost in thought because he didn't move or react.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to."

Or, maybe not. Ron grinned and plopped himself down next to his best friend, who had turned his head to look at him.

"I thought you were lost in thought," Ron said, smiling. Harry laughed.

"Yeah, I was, until I saw you come out."

"Disturbing your peace, am I?"

Harry regarded him, and Ron laughed.

"Don't comment on that, Harry, don't comment!"

"Wasn't gonna..." he said vaguely, going back to staring out over the lake.

"Seeing anything interesting?" Ron asked gently, and Harry chuckled.

"Oh, there's a lot that's of interest out there, it's just that we don't ever have the time to look at it properly," he said, his voice soft. Ron frowned, and looked out along the lake too.

" 'Is it the walker that chooses the path, or the path the walker?' " Ron cited. Harry looked at him strangely.

"I didn't know you were philosophical," he said bemusedly. Ron grinned, and winked at him.

"I'm not, it's just that I heard it from Hermione," he said, and then swallowed. "You, uh, you don't think...?"

"She likes you? 'Course she does!" Harry snorted.

"Are you sure?"

"Look, I've seen the way she looks at you, I've seen the way you look at her, and it clicks together perfectly. You two are just slow about seeing it, that's all," he said, smiling at him. Ron, satisfied with Harry's answer, decided to unearth a subject that had been bewildering most of the Gryffindors and the Weasleys for ages.

"So...um...what about you? D'you have your eye on anyone special?" Ron asked gently. The muscle in Harry's jaw tightened visibly and when he spoke, it was in a controlled voice that was designed not to betray any emotion.

"What's the point if I start something?"

"You'll be happy."

"I am happy."

"No you aren't. At least, not for yourself. There's something always at the back of your mind, nagging at your thoughts."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"You're afraid for us, for everyone you care about. I'd be too, if I were in your position. But we've all accepted that danger, the fact that maybe one day we won't be around to see you. My mother has accepted that. My father, my brothers, Ginny, all of us. But we won't accept that you may not be around, just like you can't accept that...maybe we won't be around either," Ron said. Harry nodded, smiling slightly.

"My world would crack...you guys are everything I have, everything I will have," he said softly. Ron looked at him, and sensed who he was thinking about.

"Why don't you just try it with her?" he asked slowly.

"Hmm, this is a first. I'm getting dating permission from Ron," he said dryly.

"Well, I've gotten dating advice from Harry Potter, so it isn't half as bad," Ron joked. Harry laughed, and sat back on the bench, looking at Ron.

"Who's 'her'?"

"You know who I mean."

"No, I seem to be missing out on a few points."

"Harry, stop joking around. The reason she shouts is because she cares, because she cares in a different way than the rest of us. Stop acting like you don't notice!" Ron said angrily, standing up so fast he almost overbalanced.

"I do notice, ok? I do notice! And you know why I ignore it? Do you know why?"

"Why, huh? Why bloody why?"

"I'll hurt her in more ways than one! She'll be hunted by Voldemort, she'll have her heart broken more than once, she'll be prayed on by Death Eaters, and I don't want that for her! Not for any of you!" Harry said, his temper rising, his voice loud and angry.

"We've chosen our paths! We know the risks! Stop acting as if you have to go through this alone!" Ron shouted. Harry laughed bitterly, and backed off, still facing his best friend.

"Ron, you just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" he snapped.

"This is my fight, not yours. I have to do this alone!" Harry said, punctuating the last six words very clearly.

"But--"

"There are no 'buts' in this war, Ron. This is my fight. The fight, it seems, for my life. There is nothing you can do to change that."

Ron felt his anger deflate as he watched Harry walk away, and he sat down on the bench in total defeat.

"Oh, bloody hell, Harry. Open your eyes!" he whispered, more to himself than to anything else around him. Above him, up in one of the towers, a curtain rippled, as if someone had been watching them, but then there was no more movement, and the night was still, the stars blinking silently up in the heavens, the only other witnesses.

~*~

"...we must move soon..."

"...but not too soon...remember subtlety, Adlai..."

"...I felt him watching us..."

"...you knew he would know..."

"...but this soon? He now has the chance to tell the boy of his knowledge..."

"...it will be of no use to him..."

"...and what of the Dream Mage?...she has potential to learn of it as well..."

"...his magic will not work for her...she has seen the Unseen and walked with the Undead...his magic is for the pure and she is not pure..."

"...in the younger's eyes, she is..."

"...put it from your mind, Adlai...we are here for the Choices and for the Price, and that is all..."

"...what if he does not pay the Price?..."

"...the price will be paid...there has been none and there will be none who will make the right Choices and choose the right paths..."

"...he is already on the correct path..."

"...how do you know?..."

"...I have the Sight and that is all I need to be able to see that this one is different, Cavan...this one is stronger, is purer...he will not respond to mind-tricks, to anything...he will find a way to destroy us if need be..."

"...will he?...is he strong enough for that?..."

"...do not hide your fears behind false confidence, Cavan...one false move and we will be destroyed..."

"...we will be replaced, then...it is no different to our forbearers...and what makes this Guidance different?..."

"...we have not yet encountered anyone with as much potential and as much untapped power..."

"...this conversation tires me...I have no want to talk any more about your insecurities..."

Harry rubbed his temple and tried to shut out the voices. It was the end of the first week at Hogwarts, and so far it had been going well, besides the fact that the appearance of the voices usually made him start and jump, and so far people had been giving him strange looks, as if he was insane. Of course, it was nothing short of what had been expected, and he resigned himself to these looks tiredly. At the moment he was in the Gryffindor section of the Quidditch stands, looking out over the emerald green of the field. This year, by popular vote, he had been reinstated to post of Quidditch Captain, for the second year in a row, and he frankly couldn't wait until the Quidditch season started again.

"Ahem."

Harry licked his lips, but didn't look around.

"Professor," he said respectfully, his eyes blank and staring. Dumbledore chuckled as he took his place beside the younger man, looking out over the field with twinkling blue eyes.

"Do you see anything interesting?"

"Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. It all depends," Harry said dully. Dumbledore smiled, and then frowned.

"I know you've been hearing voices," he said quietly.

"Ah, yes. Another thing that one of the Weasleys have told you to 'protect' me," he said bitterly.

"No, the Weasleys did not tell me. I know because I have gone through the same thing."

"What's the bet you have? You've been through everything else."

"Oh, no, Harry. I have not been through what you've been through, not at your age. Certainly when I was older, say, in my thirties or forties, but never at your age. I had been prepared for my battle. I was already grown up, already mature. I did not go through sufferings in my childhood. I lived, you might say, a blissfully unaware childhood. I had all the luxuries of innocence that every child has, every child, it seems, except you."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"The creatures you saw that night? The voices you hear? You do not know what they are, nor what they bring. I cannot tell you what they are, either. Those who have been Marked--the ones that have survived--remain with that mark their entire lives, and a Binding is put on them. All I can do now, and I hope you are willing to try, is to teach you all that I know in the hopes that it will help you."

"Against who? It probably won't help me against those dumb voices," Harry said dryly.

"Indeed, it probably won't, but it will help you against Voldemort in the final battle."

"Yippee."

"Harry, this is serious. I know that you, during the holidays, used a spell without using words. This is something I had been waiting for--if it had not appeared, I would not have been able to help you."

Harry frowned, and looked at his Headmaster.

"How can you help me?"

"You can help yourself by listening to me. You have learned simple spells and used them to save your life and the lives of others. You have learned spells that require a power that normally only an experienced wizard can summon. You have lived with your destiny and not let it stand in your path, and I am proud of you. And to help you, I will teach you all I can."

"What makes you put your faith in me?" Harry asked. Really, what he wanted to say was, what if I'm not strong enough? but he had bit back the words and rephrased the sentence entirely. Dumbledore, however, knew enough about him to know what he was thinking, and smiled.

"You will have no trouble, Harry. If you saw in yourself what I see in you, you wouldn't worry either," he said gently. Harry grinned.

"I wish I had as much confidence as you do," he whispered, and looked at the Headmaster who had become such a part of his life that he thought of him not as a professor, but more like a close, trusted friend.

"Humility is one of your greatest strengths. It is what makes you human, what makes you a man."

Dumbledore didn't bother talking to Harry as if he was a child, for he had passed the border between child and adult a long time ago and had adapted to his forced maturity. Sighing, Dumbledore stood up, his limbs tired with age.

"If you are willing to learn, you'll be at my office in two week's time, at eight o'clock. The password is 'Cauldron Cake'. I look forward to seeing you."

And then, without any further glance, he walked off, soon disappearing down the steps of the Gryffindor stand, Harry's eyes tracing him up until he fully disappeared.

~*~

Ginny was out and about around the grounds, walking for no specific reason, just to clear her mind. Her eyes slid over the Quidditch pitch, and immediately she made her way over there, as if drawn by some unknown force. Hurtling up the steps, she was in such a hurry that she crashed into someone who had been coming down the stairs, sending them both flying. Crashing her head into the stairs, Ginny's world immediately became enveloped in darkness, the pain in her head disappearing, and then reappearing as suddenly as it had gone.

"Ginny...Ginny, wake up."

The voice cut through the darkness like a knife, compelling Ginny to open her eyes. That voice was familiar, so familiar...

Slowly Harry's face swam into view, oddly close, until she realised that he was crouched over her, cradling her head. She blinked, and frowned, trying to get up, but Harry pushed her back down gently.

"How do you feel?" he asked, concern ringing in his voice. She blinked again, and gingerly touched her head, and the small lump that was forming there. Another thing she felt was the crook of Harry's right arm, slipped under her neck to make her more comfortable.

"Oh...I feel as if I've just run head-long into a brick wall..." she said, her voice soft with pain. Harry smiled, and, with one stable, slow movement, raised her to a sitting point, and then lowered his arm so it was now resting in the small of her back.

"You took quite a hit there," he said gently, meeting her eyes. She blushed and then shivered, and Harry took off his cloak and threw it around her shoulders. Grasping the edges of the cloak, Ginny drew it tighter around her, fighting off nausea. Harry wisely stood out of the way as she threw up over the steps in front of her, now shaking uncontrollably. Hooking his arm around her waist, he drew her up with surprising strength, and began to walk her down the stairs.

"God, I must look like an idiot," she whispered against his side, her voiced muffled against the cloak. "And I'm sorry...I didn't see..." she added. Harry laughed, and to her, with her ear against his chest, it was strange listening to him laugh straight from the source.

"I didn't see you either, not until you'd collided with me," he said, and then, with more urgency in his voice, added, "I was scared just then. I thought you'd been badly hurt or something. You weren't awake when I got up. You must've been out for at least five minutes before you woke up."

Ginny looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Reaching up slowly, frowning slightly, she took his glasses and slipped them off his face, and studied the face below. For so long she'd liked him because he was, at least in her eyes, cute, because he was just another normal teenage boy on the outside. But here, as she folded the arms of his glasses in and placed them against his chest, she could see he was much, much more. Power seemed to be etched into every fibre of his being; etched into the lines of his face, the black of his hair, the green of his eyes. And she was sure that if she touched him she'd find something powerful about that touch, infatuation thrust aside in this new light that she saw him.

Harry stared at the spot where he'd last seen Ginny. He was blind without his glasses, and the only way he'd be able to make out where anything was, was by touch. Moving his head ever so slightly, he reached out a hand behind him, feeling the wood beneath his fingers. Another hand was there--Ginny's--and she gently put his glasses carefully into the palm of his hand, and his fingers closed around the familiar framework of wire, along with Ginny's fingers. A brush around his ear and shoulders meant that his cloak had been returned, and then his stomach tickled unexpectedly and a pair of lips connected with his and then it was gone, leaving Harry wondering whether or not he had been dream, and he fumbled with his glasses in a hurry to put them on. Half of him already knew what he was going to find, but the other half was sort of expecting to see her still standing there, waiting for him. But of course, Ginny Weasley had disappeared as fast as smoke billowing in the wind.

~*~

The memory of kissing Harry, however briefly, in his one moment of complete weakness, still haunted Ginny a week later, not because she was horrified of her actions but because she still couldn't believe that she had done it. Biting her lip, she drifted off again into that memory, staring at the book she was supposed to be reading with a sort of dreamy half-smile gracing her face.

"Ms. Weasley!"

Ginny was jolted back into reality as soon as Professor McGonagall's voice had shot through the air. Looking up at her wildly, she suddenly had the strangest sensation that she was alone in the room, save for McGonagall. The harsh professor was looking at her with pursed lips, but there was amusement in the corner of her eye as she watched the 16-year-old quickly pack up her belongings and stuff it into her bag messily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, professor, I didn't realise--"

"Come now, girl, don't let your mind wander. You'll need this Transfiguration for the N.E.W.T.s next year," she said, and Ginny nodded.

"I'll get one of the girls to tell me the homework," she muttered hastily, sweeping past the professor to open the door. Just as she was about to exit, however, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Let us hope," she said loudly, making Ginny stop in her tracks and look around, "that this boy can take you for what you are, and nothing less."

Ginny left the room, giggling, and behind her, a softer Minerva McGonagall looked at her, smiling, with none of the harshness that was usually associated with her.

"Young love," she said absently, still smiling, packing up her things. "It never ceases to amaze me!"