Harry Potter and the Antiquity Link

Chapter 19

A Bedtime Story

The portal appeared from the outside like an endless, well-lit corridor with clear walls, ceiling, and floor; Harry imagined this was to give the traveler the best possible view of his surroundings. He and Hayashi stepped through it together.

"Keep walking, slow, even strides," advised Hayashi. Harry tried to focus on doing so while at the same time looking all around him; it seemed as though he was walking over land at lightning speeds, then suddenly, he was walking on water. "How long will it take?"

"Perhaps two minutes, not long at all. When the time comes, I will say, 'now,' and you must immediately step out of the portal on the right side. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. I want to thank you again for your help."

"It is no problem. Now, you must say nothing further; I must concentrate on choosing exactly the right time to tell you when to depart. It should be in about one minute, maybe less..."

Harry was silent, walking at an even pace, waiting for Hayashi to say something. He saw water, water, water, land, trees--

"Now!"

Harry quickly stepped to his right, and though the last thing he had seen was trees, he was suddenly in a vast, open space--and in the middle of a dirt road. There were no trees, hills, or landmarks of any kind. Just a road, straight ahead and on into the horizon, as far as the eye could see. This must be the place, he thought. He took a step forward--

--and suddenly, disorientingly, he was in the Weasley home. Or, at least, it seemed. He didn't seem to be physically there, but he could see inside it.

Molly was in the living room, reading Witch Weekly. Fred and George walked in, holding their brooms. "Hi, Mum! We're home!" They looked tired and disheveled, but happy.

Their stunned mother leaped to her feet. "Fred! George! What on earth are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Hogwarts!"

"We left, Mum," announced Fred as they walked into the kitchen.

"Our studies are complete," added George, picking up and peeling a banana. "And we're a bit peckish. Had a long fly, you know."

"Stop that!" she shouted, following them to the kitchen and yanking the banana out of George's hand to emphasize her point. "Hogwarts is still in session! You had better start explaining yourselves right this minute!"

They started telling the story of what they had done, their mother getting angrier by the moment. Noticing this, they included less and less story and more and more justification for their actions. "It's like a police state there, Mum! The Ministry has taken over, and they, and Umbridge, aren't being subtle! You'll never believe what they did to Lee, and we knew we were next!"

As they explained what Umbridge had done, and their suspicions that she had done it to Harry--after all, he had known the most useful remedy--she was still angry, but now more at the Ministry and Umbridge. "Nothing to be done, Mum," said George, now eating the banana. "She's got the power, and she's off her rocker."

"Not off her rocker," corrected Fred. "Evil. Anyone who opposes her is the enemy. For her, it's just that simple. If there's a mirror opposite of Dumbledore, it's her. And she's Fudge's bitch."

"Fred! Language!"

"Oh, she's absolutely a bitch, Mum," added George casually. "If you saw half of what we've seen, you'd agree. The last thing she was saying was that she would be happy to let Filch have a go at us, with none of Dumbledore's restraints on his behavior. Flogging was being brought back!"

"But you didn't have to be so flamboyant! You could have just hung back and kept your noses in your books! Now you can't get your N.E.W.T.s!"

"Mum, please," countered George. "We weren't going to be getting N.E.W.T.s anyway. We've got our business, and we're opening up a shop..."

Harry watched the rest of the scene play out, and wondered why he was seeing it. Suddenly the scene changed, and he was seeing a scene he had lived through: earlier that year, when a boggart pretended to be her family members, dead. Her greatest fear, thought Harry, which later came true for one of them.

Next, he saw Molly and Arthur lying in bed, in their pajamas, talking. "We need to help Dumbledore," Arthur was saying. "If he's reconstituting the Order, we have to be a part of it. It's the right thing to do."

She sighed. "I know, Arthur. I'm just so terrified... what if something happened to you, or the children..."

He nodded. "I hate the idea as much as you do, believe me. But there's nothing that says the children have to fight--"

"You know they will," she interjected. "They're strong-willed, every last one of them."

He smiled. "I know which of us they get that from."

"I'm serious. Even Fred and George will, and now they're seventeen! We can't stop them!"

"I know, darling. But war is coming, and we can fight, or we can keep our heads down. Everyone has to make a choice, including our children."

"But they might look at us as an example!"

"We can only hope."

"Not this kind of example! We can't let them risk that!"

"We have no choice, Molly. If everyone who has children doesn't fight, then very few will fight, and You-Know-Who will win. Then we all die, or live lives no better than a slave. That's what it's come down to. I know it's horrible when it involves the children. But we have no choice."

Harry could hear the pain and frustration in her voice. "Damn Fudge, damn him for closing his eyes to this... we won't even have the help of the Aurors..."

"A few," put in Arthur. "Kingsley, and a few others, will join us..."

Harry then saw a few more scenes: Ron and Ginny back at the Burrow, giving their parents their account of the events of the day Sirius died, Molly's horror at discovering how close Ron had come to the death meant for Dumbledore, her desperate need to know whether Arthur would survive after Nagini's attack, and her despair at seeing the injuries Bill had sustained at the hands of Greyback. But in these scenes he not only saw the events, he felt some of what Molly felt when they happened. Not completely, but enough to understand very clearly exactly how she felt, the depth of the impact on her.

Then, the night of the final battle, and Fred's death. He felt the weight of despair hit her... after all those months of worrying, fearing that this very thing would happen. She wouldn't believe it, she wanted to die and to kill at the same time. Harry felt it was similar to what he had felt after Sirius had been killed, only magnified several times. No wonder she had insisted on dueling Bellatrix herself.

Then came her vengeful joy at Harry's victory, followed by the necessity of dealing with the rest of her grief. She poured her energy into moving back to the Burrow, trying to consider herself thankful that more of her children hadn't died. She talked to Arthur, George, Ron, Percy, telling them to put this there or throw that away, organizing the process of moving back like a battlefield commander, controlling every step of the process.

He saw scenes in which she sought to assert control over, or give advice to, most everyone she knew, even Kingsley. He saw and felt her hurt feelings when Harry rebuked her for suggesting that Dudley stay with him, and then again when she tried to persuade him to help Dudley with his parents. I'm only trying to help him, she thought, can't he see that? It's too late for Fred, but I can help other people, it's not too late...

It finally hit Harry: he had not been the only person in her life to whom she tried to give unneeded or excessive advice, and it was connected to her mourning Fred. Her worst fear had come true, and she had felt powerless. Reacting to that, she unconsciously sought to assert control over every aspect of her environment that she could. If she could have control, maybe such a thing could never happen again. She never had the actual thought, but Harry knew the scenes he had seen led to that conclusion--

He felt an impact, followed by substantial pain, in his right shoulder, and he was suddenly back on the road where hail the size of his fist was suddenly coming from a dark gray sky. Startled, he grabbed his wand to put up the magical umbrella, but nothing happened. He cried out in pain as another hit him squarely on the top of his head; he tried again with the wand, and again got nothing.

He thought to open his bag, but to get what? He could think of nothing there that would help, so there was nothing to do but avoid the hail, and hope it got no worse. Then he saw a shaft of sunlight a half mile ahead, and realized he had to make his way through the hail. A trial, he thought in annoyance. Naturally, they don't let me use magic.

The hail was falling with just enough space between the hailstones that it would be possible to make his way through them, but intense focus would be required. Another stone hit him, this time on the wrist, and it had enough of a sharp edge that he saw blood. No time to worry about that now, he thought. If I don't get through this, it'll pound me to death. As fast as he could without being hit, he made his way forward.

It was the slowest half mile he had ever traveled. Five minutes in, his attention drifted slightly, and he was hit in the foot. It was very painful, but he could still move, and did his best to ignore the pain. Focus, he thought, focus on the next step, where the hail is hitting...

There were a few more close calls as hailstones made a glancing impact on his arms and legs, but there were no more direct impacts. Seeing daylight twenty meters ahead, he had to restrain the impulse to run at top speed, knowing it would be highly dangerous. Just keep doing what you were doing...

Finally in the clear, Harry ran ten meters ahead just to be very clear of the storm, then sat down on the dirty road, in pain and panting from the effort and concentration. A minute later he turned to look at the hailstorm, and saw that it was gone. Just road and clear sky, not even residual hail remained on the ground. It was as if it had never happened...

The rules of this game were starting to become clearer. The oracle, or whatever it was, controlled the environment and the physical laws of the environment: magic didn't work, at least not when the oracle didn't want it to. I'm going to have to adapt to that, he thought. I can't take anything for granted. He looked at his wrist; there was a lot of blood on his wrist and hand, but the blood flow had become a trickle. Nothing to worry about, now. He wiped his hand on his dark pants, then took out his wand and tried to clean his hand magically; it worked. Great. Magic sometimes works. Just not when you really need it to.

He stood and walked forward, wondering what would happen next. He thought about the visions he'd had of Molly. Why that? Why was he being shown so much information about how Fred's death had affected her? It's like they want me to feel ashamed of how I acted, he thought. And I do feel ashamed. I just reacted according to how I felt; I never thought about what it was like for her. When Fred died, in the aftermath, I didn't think any further than the idea of, Fred died, Molly's probably really sad. Then it was back to my own problems. It never came close to entering my mind how bad it was to watch a child die, the effect it could have, the reactions a person might have to it. Of course, like I said to Luna, I don't even understand myself, how could I understand other people? But I'm 18 years old; I'm an adult. I should be able to understand people, or at least, I should try. Not that I was necessarily wrong--she shouldn't be telling me how to live my life--but I should have thought of what it was like for her.

Such thoughts occupied him for the next hour as he walked along the road. Just as he was starting to wonder what was going to happen next, he found himself in another memory. Ginny was five years old, lying in bed, tucked in, Molly sitting at her side, telling her a bedtime story.

"And the evil wizard--he was so bad, so terrible, we can't even say his name, we just call him You-Know-Who--he killed many wizards, he caused terrible pain to many. Nobody thought he could be defeated.

"But one day, he tried to kill a family, a good family that had been fighting against him, trying to stop him from killing people. And he killed the mother and father, and he decided to kill the baby, who was only one year old." Little Ginny winced in fear; who would try to kill a baby?

"But there was something mysterious and strong about the baby, because when You-Know-Who sent the Killing Curse at the baby, it bounced off the baby's forehead and the evil wizard disappeared. When wizards found out what happened, they were so happy, they celebrated all day long. No more wizards would be killed, everyone could live in peace again. All because of one very special baby."

Ginny's eyes were wide. "What was the baby's name?" she asked eagerly.

Molly smiled. "His name is Harry Potter. He's still young, but he's growing up now. He's only a year older than you."

"Can I meet him someday?" asked Ginny excitedly.

"Maybe you will. Now, he's in hiding, growing up someplace no one knows who he is. But he'll probably go to Hogwarts, the school your brothers Bill and Charlie go to now, and Percy will start in a few months. You'll know him by the scar on his forehead, where the curse hit him; it's shaped like a lightning bolt. Now, it's time to go to sleep, sweetie."

"But Mum, why didn't he die? Why was he special?"

"We don't know, sweetie. It's a mystery, and life is full of mysteries. That's why it's exciting. Good night, Ginny." Molly leaned over and kissed her daughter on the cheek, then turned out the light. Ginny slowly drifted off to sleep, her imagination captured by the mysterious boy named Harry Potter.

Five years later, she was sitting in the Burrow living room with her parents, listening to her mother read a letter from her brother Ron. "You'll never guess who I met on the train--Harry Potter! He's kind of quiet, but a friendly bloke. We sat together all the way into Hogwarts. I was so surprised, he doesn't know hardly anything about the magical world--he said he was living with Muggles, and they didn't tell him anything! Can you believe that?"

Molly looked at her husband and daughter affectionately. "Well, it's nice that Ron made a friend, isn't it. And Harry Potter, no less! But it's so amazing that he doesn't even know who he is, poor boy."

"Probably better that way," said Arthur, putting down his newspaper. "He didn't get a chance to develop a big head, maybe he wouldn't be a nice bloke otherwise. It's nice that Ron made a friend, but it really doesn't matter that it's Harry Potter. He's just like anyone else."

"Anyone else who can survive a Killing Curse," his wife teased him.

"Yes, except for that," Arthur agreed.

"Oh, it seems there was a confrontation with the son of those dreadful Malfoys, but Harry stood up for Ron, and they're together in Gryffindor! Oh, it's so nice, Percy can look after Ron, especially as he's a prefect..."

Ginny stayed silent, but her head swam. Harry Potter, friends with my stupid, annoying brother? He must be better than that! If only I could meet him, talk to him...

The next scenes were ones Harry was familiar with, taking place after his rescue from the Dursleys' in the flying car. Ginny struggled with her desire to talk to him, which warred with her acute embarrassment at how she felt about him. Oh, I'm so stupid when I'm around him, she thought, he must think I'm an idiot...

He saw through her eyes scenes from her first year at Hogwarts, when the diary of Tom Riddle caused her such terror, grief, and shame. She prayed that no one would ever find out what she had done, been tricked into doing, and in the end it was doubly embarrassing that Harry Potter saved her life... he knew what she had done, but amazingly, didn't seem to hold it against her... that summer, she longed for him, had daydreams of him suddenly realizing his feelings for her; he had saved her life, after all, just like in the bedtime stories...

But the next time she saw him, he was polite to her, but nothing more... he seemed preoccupied, and barely paid attention to her... her first week at Hogwarts, she cried herself to sleep every night... he would never know how she felt about him... then in her third year, she prayed every night for him to ask her to the Yule Ball, but instead he asked the older, pretty Cho Chang, for whom Ginny instantly developed a passionate dislike--and she turned him down! Incredible! But Ginny was invisible to him, and she knew it, so when Neville asked her, she reluctantly accepted; better that than stay in her dormitory crying. To her surprise, she actually had a good time with Neville, who was very shy, but very kind. He paid attention to her, and was interested in whether she was having a good time, which was more than Harry and Ron were doing with their dates. Even so, she still wished Harry had asked her, and felt ashamed, because Neville had been so kind.

Feeling an emotional wreck the next summer, she confided in her mother, who persuaded her to do her best to put her feelings aside. She knew Harry had had a horrific experience in being abducted and used to help You-Know-Who come back, and her mother told her that she would help him best by considering herself his friend, and not to force or hope anything would happen. In a long conversation at Grimmauld Place with Hermione, Ginny convinced her that she was over Harry. She nearly convinced herself.

She spent most of her fourth year as Michael Corner's girlfriend, and her fifth year as Dean Thomas's. She enjoyed spending time with both of them, but part of her was pained that Harry seemed not to notice or care. But she knew that he had You-Know-Who to worry about, and the pressure of not being believed by much of wizarding society. He was a man of destiny, and he couldn't be bothered by paying attention to someone as insignificant as her. She was just starting to be able to put him aside, at long last...

Then he kissed her, and it was as if all her dreams had come true. But had they? Part of her was deliriously happy, but part warned her it couldn't last. Why did he like her, anyway? She knew she was considered pretty, even if she wasn't so sure of it herself, but there were dozens of pretty girls at Hogwarts, and he was Harry Potter. Surely any girl would accept him. Why her? She was afraid to ask; she just crossed her fingers and hoped the dream wouldn't end.

But then it did, as she knew it had to. He had enjoyed a brief fling, but now he had to set her aside, and go off to do the Big Things she always knew he would do. He couldn't have her at his side. He said it was for her protection, but what sense did that make? He was the one that needed protection! She wanted to stay with him, and if something happened to her, well, she would take that chance. He constantly took chances; surely he would understand her feelings.

But he didn't. With her last emotional strength, she tried her best to accept it stoically, pretending that it didn't bother her greatly. But it did, very much. He'll take Ron and Hermione into danger with him, she thought bitterly. But not me. They're his real friends; I'm just the hanger-on who spent years making a fool of herself, hoping for a fairy tale to come true. What an idiot I've been...

Still, she wasn't able to resist the temptation to try one last time, giving Harry a kiss on pretext of it being a birthday present, desperately hoping to rekindle whatever he might have felt. But his mind was not to be changed. Then the Ministry fell, and he was whisked beyond her grasp.

She tried to focus her attention that year on being part of the Hogwarts Resistance, as they called themselves. Neville's daring exploits quickly marked him as the leader of the resistance. She tried to do similar things with sixth and fifth year girls, taking advantage of the fact that as girls, if caught, they probably wouldn't be tortured as some of the boys were being, especially Neville. How can he stand up to that, she wondered. His spirits were always high; it seemed as though he had found his true calling. People always say Harry's so brave, and he is, but Neville's no less so.

One of Neville's best operations was sneaking into the Great Hall in the middle of the night, with Seamus and Corner as lookouts, and writing graffiti on the wall that was programmed to appear at a particular time. So, the next morning, as breakfast was being eaten, a message suddenly sprang to life on the wall, in huge letters: The Boy Who Lived, Lives. Soon, TBWLL was being scrawled anywhere and everywhere at Hogwarts.

One night, on the run from Filch, Neville and Ginny had to duck into a closet to avoid being seen, and soon discovered to their chagrin that Mrs. Norris had taken up residence right outside the door. They knew that any movement of the door might prompt loud meowing, and Filch was undoubtedly still looking for them. For the moment, they were trapped.

They sat on the floor, in almost total darkness. Ginny spoke in the quietest whisper she could manage. "Couldn't we just crack the door open and Silence her?"

"No," Neville whispered back. "This door creaks. I learned that the hard way."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

There was a silence. "How do you do that, Neville? How do you deal with it?"

"With what?"

"They tortured you."

She couldn't see his face, but the shrug was in his voice. "You just hang on as best you can, and wait for it to be over. They don't do it for too long. They don't want to have to be handing people over to St. Mungo's."

He's so brave, she thought. She reached over and put her hand on what she hoped was his knee; as it turned out, it was. "We all support you, you know."

He patted her hand. "I know. Thank you for saying that."

Moving her hand back, she chuckled. "Some of us support you more than others."

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Haven't you noticed that Lavender's really got eyes for you? She's always talking to you, thinking of some excuse to be around you." Except actually going on operations and taking risks, she thought but didn't say.

"Well..." She could almost hear Neville blush. "She's nice, and she has been friendly. I hadn't thought of it like that, to tell you the truth. Honestly... please don't repeat this, but... she seems a little silly, the way she was acting with Ron last year."

Ginny stifled a giggle. "Oh, that was disgusting. But would it be so bad to be her Nev-nev?"

He convulsed with silent laughter, his hand over his mouth. "Oh, don't make me laugh, we could get caught."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, also, it wouldn't be a good idea for me to have a girlfriend right now."

"Why not?"

"Because of what I'm doing. She could be in danger from what I do. I couldn't risk that."

She sighed. After a few seconds, she said unhappily, "That's just what Harry said when he broke up with me."

"I'm sorry," Neville said, and she could tell he meant it. "But he's got a point."

"No, he doesn't!" she retorted fiercely but quietly. "I can make my own decisions!"

"And what's he supposed to do if they capture you and say to him, give yourself up or we'll kill her?"

"Let them kill me!"

"Or if they say, we'll torture her, or rape her, or Merlin knows what disgusting thing they might think up? How can he deal with that?"

Ginny was defiant. "If he loved me, he'd take the chance. And I'd be with him, so if I got caught, he'd get caught. So, it wouldn't happen that way."

After a silence, Neville spoke again. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I shouldn't have said anything. I can't say you're wrong. I just know how I would feel if I were him."

She calmed down a little. "We're all in this together. If we love someone, we love them, and we can't pretend we don't to try to make them safer. Love is when you want to be with someone so desperately, you'd do anything, take any risk. Harry doesn't love me. He likes me, I think. But if he loved me, I'd know it. What he said was an excuse, not a reason."

"Now, I wish I hadn't said anything."

"It's not your fault. It's just life. It stinks."

"Well, we're trying to do something about it. So that people in love can be together if they want to. That's what Harry's doing too, wherever he is."

And then maybe he'll find someone he can love, Ginny barely stopped herself from saying. It's not Neville's fault, she knew.

After several minutes of total silence, they heard from a moderate distance the sound of a cat, a half-meow, half-growl. They stood, and Neville slowly opened the door enough to stick his head out. It creaked slightly, but nothing happened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened the door wider. "Okay, looks like we can go. But we still have to be careful."

Now with the door open, they could see each other for the first time in a half-hour. Their eyes met, and exactly at the same time, as if their eyes had communicated and agreed, they fell into a kiss. Arms around each other, they continued for a few seconds, and then it stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. They exchanged another glance, and again, their eyes agreed. That was what it was, no expectations, no promises. They crept back to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry saw other scenes from that year, and also somehow knew Ginny's general feelings. She was struggling with her impulses: one was to wait until Voldemort was defeated to make any decisions about her romantic life, at which time Harry would have no excuse not to see her if he were otherwise inclined. The other was to act as if she had no tie, and consider herself completely a free agent. On different days, she had different attitudes about her status, but in the end she decided to wait, if only because dating wasn't really an option. She found her feelings for Neville getting stronger and stronger. She spent more time with him, and she felt that he was interested in her as well, but would do nothing about it while the current situation persisted. Finally, she had to leave Hogwarts, and it became a moot point. She had plenty of free time over the next several months, and tried not to spend it wondering about who she wanted to be with.

Finally, Harry was victorious over Voldemort, and while the majority of Ginny's thoughts concerned her brother's death, she couldn't help but be pained at seeing Harry walk out of Hogwarts the morning after the battle after being approached by a half-dozen people. He had talked to her briefly, but with people around, and he gave no hint about his feelings. He had not talked to her as if she was special, but just another person he knew and was pleased hadn't died.

She grew more frustrated as two days passed and he made no visit, sent no owl. Then he finally visited because he had to; she had made sure to be in the living room around the time he was expected to come. He clearly hadn't given a thought as to what he would say to her; it had even seemed an afterthought to him that she would be there at all. From his face, she knew that she wasn't the first, or even second, topic on his mind.

After their brief conversation, she went upstairs to her room and sat on her bed dejectedly. I don't know if I can take this anymore, she thought. He says he needs time. A lot of people will say it's reasonable, but how much time? Am I going to just keep waiting forever?

She saw Harry and Hermione walk past her door, and decided to use Fred and George's newest version of Extendable Ears, which were invisible. She listened to their conversation, and felt no better. He can talk to her, but he can't talk to me? Okay, he doesn't know what he wants, and he doesn't know why. Obviously, I'm one of those things. But he doesn't love me, it couldn't be clearer. Her heart heavy, she prepared to return to Hogwarts.

She returned soon after the dementors attacked after Fred's funeral, and was greeted very warmly, with hugs from many people, including Neville, who seemed especially happy to see her. She talked with him and others about what she had done, what they had done, and what they would do now. The dark cloud had lifted. For most of them, anyway.

The scene shifted to a few days later; Harry saw Ginny and Neville talking to him in Diagon Alley, with Dudley looking on. This time, he felt her feelings as they talked, and understood that her comment about 'hiding in Grimmauld Place' expressed her frustration and anger at his attitude. Saying their goodbyes, she and Neville walked on.

"You didn't look happy to see him," Neville observed.

"He didn't look happy to see me," she responded.

Neville looked as if he didn't want to ask, but wanted to know. Finally, he asked. "What happened with you two?"

"Nothing," she said evenly. "Nothing at all." Neville didn't look as though he understood any better, but asked no more questions.

In the next week, she found it hard to stop thinking about him, at least as long as she read the Prophet; he always seemed to be in the news. Gleason's editorial, the news about the bank, his appointment to the Wizengamot... he's going on with his life, bigger than life, and I'm here at Hogwarts... is that part of the reason he didn't come back? Because I'm here?

Then he was kidnapped, and she was able to forget her angst and focus just on hoping he would come back alive. As Harry was so close to the Weasley family, McGonagall kindly allowed Ginny daily Portkey visitation privileges, so she could keep tabs on whatever the news was.

One day she visited the Burrow at seven o'clock, soon after dinner. Oddly, she found no one home, so she took a fireplace to Grimmauld Place; sometimes, people were there. She found Ron and Hermione in the living room.

"Any news?" she asked.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Kingsley was just over here an hour ago."

Ron and Hermione's faces looked somber; she feared the worst. "What happened?"

"They rescued him," said Ron. "Kreacher is dead. But then something really bad happened to him after they rescued him."

"What?" she asked anxiously.

"Um," said Ron uncomfortably, "we can't tell you."

"What?? Why not?"

Hermione explained the Forgetfulness spell as Ron walked over to the empty portrait and shouted into it, hoping to summon Dumbledore. Ginny waited impatiently for him to come. Finally he did, and told her the story.

"Oh, no," she moaned. "That's so terrible. So, where is he now?"

"He left the country," said Ron.

"What??" Ginny shouted, her voice coming near a scream.

"He just Apparated down to Heathrow, Apparated onto a random plane, and took off. We have no idea where he is now."

The news was like a slap in the face to Ginny. She sat on the sofa and put her face into her hands. "I can't believe this! Why would he leave the country?"

Dumbledore spoke. "He said he needed to get away from England, which I found very understandable."

"Did he say how long he'd be gone?" asked Ginny.

"He did not say, or I believe, even know. Based on the situation, I believe it is more likely than not to be an extended period."

Ginny let out a loud moan of pain and frustration. "Why didn't he just stay here? We could have helped him, kept him away from Kingsley, from anyone he didn't want to be around."

"I think he's doing what's best for him," said Hermione.

"And what about me?" fumed Ginny. "How long does he expect me to wait for him?"

Surprised, Ron said, "I don't think he was thinking about that when he left."

"Obviously not!" she shouted angrily. "But then, what was I ever to him?"

"Wait a minute!" Ron shouted back. "Look, you can't think about it like that! Look at what he's been through! He just lost his family, at least as far as he's concerned! He's got more to think about than his girlfriend situation!"

"And if he thought of me as his girlfriend, someone who was really important to him, he wouldn't just leave the country! He'd try to talk to me! If Mum and Dad died, wouldn't you go to Hermione to comfort you, first thing?"

"That's different!" Ron retorted angrily. "Hermione's already my girlfriend! The situation with you and Harry wasn't clear!"

"He had every chance to make it clear! He was avoiding me!"

"He wasn't avoiding you, he just had a lot to work out!"

"That's very convenient; it must be easier to say you have a lot to work out than to tell someone you've changed your mind about them."

"We don't know that he's changed his mind about you! All kinds of bad things have happened to him, it would mess me up too! After he comes back, you'll be able to--"

"I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG!!" she screamed, shocking Ron and Hermione, who exchanged stunned looks. "I've already waited, and waited, and waited some more! I can't put my life on hold, waiting for him!"

"Got other boys to snog, have you?" asked Ron coldly. Hermione winced. "Busy social life to get back to?"

"How dare you! And you're a fine one to talk about snogging others while waiting for the one you really want to come around, Won-Won! You have no idea what I've been through!"

"And you don't seem to have any idea what he's been through, even though we just told you! Been a Horcrux, walked to his death, kidnapped and tortured, sleep-deprived, then put through a test so awful I wouldn't even wish it on Draco Malfoy! And all you can think about is how it affects you? If you can't have even that much regard for what's happened to him, then maybe you aren't the best one for him!"

Furious, she glared at him. "Go to hell." She quickly threw Floo powder into the fireplace, and went back to the Burrow. As soon as she got there, she pointed her wand at the fireplace. "Do not admit Ron Weasley, thirty minutes." She knew it was a serious violation of house rules to do that--no one but her parents were supposed to adjust fireplace instructions--but at the moment, she didn't care, and she didn't want Ron coming after her. Not able to face returning to Hogwarts that moment, she ran upstairs, flung herself on her bed, and cried.

Having calmed down somewhat, she spent a lot of time over the next few days thinking it over. Of course she realized that Ron had a point; her distress had to be far less than his, she knew, and her actions could look selfish. But he didn't know what she had been through emotionally with Harry, over the years. Having already suffered his breaking up with her, she'd waited a year, then a few weeks, then a week while he was kidnapped, and was now facing the prospect of an utterly indefinite waiting period, with absolutely nothing to guarantee that at the end of it, he wouldn't say to her, "I'm sorry, but I changed my mind. I'm sorry you waited, but I never promised you anything." It was too much uncertainty to live with. Despite Ron's cold remark about snogging, it was the uncertainty, the stress of wondering each day what would eventually happen, that she couldn't live with. Not on top of all that had gone before.

The end of the school year was only three weeks away, and it was announced that there would be an end-of-the-year party on the last day. Even before it was formally announced, rumors had spread, and the biggest gossip around the school was who was asking who as their date. No one asked Ginny; she knew it was because most everyone assumed that she was attached to Harry. She also heard through the grapevine that three girls, including Lavender, had asked Neville, but he had turned them down. She considered asking Neville, but she knew that doing so would mean that she was shutting the door on Harry. She knew that she should do it, but she couldn't quite bring herself to.

Ginny was alone in her dormitory, putting some things in her trunk and taking others out, when she suddenly heard a male voice behind her. "Hi, Ginny."

She whirled to see her brother's ghost, his right hand ostentatiously covering his eyes. "Fred! I told you never to come in here! I could be naked!"

"Can't you see I'm covering my eyes?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your hand is transparent, and so is the rest of you. Putting your hand there is meaningless."

"Well, I suppose so," he agreed casually. "But it just shows I'm thinking about it. My eyes are closed, also. Can I open them?"

"Yes, you can. What are you doing here?"

"Spreading the news to the Weasley clan. I just had a chat with Harry."

Despite herself, she was very interested. "How? He's still in Japan, right?"

"Yes, he is. But distance isn't quite the same for ghosties, and the Japanese have these interesting and unique magical shrines that act as a kind of beacon for ghosts. If it's active, and any flesh-and-blood person nearby thinks of a particular ghost, the ghost is drawn there. Harry was talking to one of their ghosts--dull and stupid old man, if you ask me--and he thought of me, so there I was. Talked with him for a few minutes."

"How's he doing?"

"Not good. It was easy to see that what happened still bothers him a lot. I reckon it's not the kind of thing you'd get over in a few days. I like to think I helped, but he's definitely in recuperation mode. He misses us lot, but I think he just can't be in England right now."

"Did he say anything about us?"

Fred grinned. "Yeah, if you can believe it, he said, 'tell Ron and Hermione that I love them and miss them.' Pretty strong thing to say, for him, but he's in kind of an emotional place right now. Took me a while to convince Ron he really said it. He's on the road to recovery, I think. It just may take a while."

With a supreme effort, Ginny tried to hide the grief that coursed through her mind. Her feelings for Harry were already in the coffin, but this nailed it shut. He's never said anything like that before, but to them and not to me? What more information do I need? He doesn't love me. Maybe he never did.

"Thanks, Fred," she said, as evenly as she could. "I'm glad he's doing well, but there are some things I need to do here, alone. You should go on and spread the word more."

He seemed surprised by her attitude; she wondered if he really hadn't known how the news would affect her. "Right-o, no sooner said than done." He zoomed out of the dormitory. She felt an impulse to lay on the bed and cry, but she crushed it. I've already done far too much of that, she thought. Time to actually do something.

She went to the Great Hall and found Neville talking to Seamus and a few sixth years. I'm not waiting any longer, she thought, even for them to finish this conversation. "Neville," she said as Seamus was talking, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

His eyebrows went up. "Sure." Seamus continued his sentence as Neville got up and followed her to the Transfiguration classroom, the nearest empty classroom. He closed the door behind him.

"What is it?" he asked, clearly curious.

She took a deep breath. "I want to know if you'll go to the party with me."

Neville's eyes went wide. "With you?"

"Yes, with me. As my date."

"As your date?"

Ginny tried to stifle her impatience. "This conversation's going to go a lot faster if you don't repeat everything I say. Can you just answer?"

Neville looked utterly flummoxed. "Ummm... what about Harry?"

"He's in Japan, Neville, and he's not my boyfriend. He broke up with me over a year ago, and it's clear from his actions that that's not going to change. I'm a free agent, and I want to go to the party with you." She stared at him expectantly.

She had never seen him look so unnerved. For half a minute he stammered, seemingly unable to think of anything to say. In frustration, she said, "Neville, I'm asking because I like you, and I thought you liked me. But if you don't want to go with me, then for Merlin's sake just say so."

"No, no," he said quickly. "I want to."

"Good," she said. Almost as an afterthought, she added, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He grinned, partly in embarrassment. "Yes, it was."

* * * * *

The next two weeks were the best ones she'd had in a long time. News spread through the school like wildfire, but she didn't care. She was happy.

At the party they danced, ate, talked, and had a good time. This was what life was supposed to be like, she thought. During a slow dance, Neville held her close, and they swayed gently to the music.

"You never told me," she whispered, "why it was so hard to say yes to this. Can you tell me why?"

Embarrassed, Neville asked, "Do I have to?"

"No," she responded. "I was just wondering."

"Well, okay," he said quietly. "Two things. One was... Harry."

"I told you--"

"I know. But he's my friend. And he's Harry Potter. I just have this terror of him coming back and saying Neville, why did you take her away from me--"

"You developed this terror in the two minutes between when I asked you and when you answered?" asked Ginny in surprise.

Neville glanced down in embarrassment. "No. Over a year."

"I don't understand."

"I've... I've wanted you for over three years," he said hesitantly. "Since the Yule Ball."

She said the first thing that came to her mind. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A small smile came to his face. "Like you told Harry you wanted him?"

She slowly nodded. "Okay, I see your point. But it seems different. I'm not Harry Potter. There's nothing special about me."

"I think there is," he said shyly.

She smiled, reaching a hand up to stroke his hair. "Thank you, Neville. You're very special, too." After another minute, she asked, "You really wanted me for three years?"

"I never would have said anything before," he said. "I was always so shy then. But then Harry got you, and I thought, that's it, there's no more hope. How can I compete with him?"

"You don't have to compete with anyone, Neville," she assured him. "I'm with who I want to be with. I'm glad it worked out this way."

"Really?" he asked, looking down into her eyes. She saw kindness and gentleness in his eyes that she'd never seen in any other boy she'd kissed.

She smiled. "Really." She gently pulled his head down to kiss him, a kiss that lasted for several seconds. She knew many eyes were on them, but she didn't care. She was happy, and she knew from his eyes that he was happy too. He wanted her, and she didn't have to doubt it.

When I have children, she thought, I'm going to be careful what bedtime stories I tell them. They don't always have happy endings.

* * * * *

Harry was suddenly conscious again of the fact that he was walking along a dirt road in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. It had seemed like he had experienced all those events in real time, yet it also seemed as though no time had passed. He tried to process all that had come to him.

He knew that these were real events he was being shown, events and thoughts he would have no access to otherwise. He felt both grief and guilt as he trudged down the road. Grief as he realized that he no longer had a choice about whether to pursue a relationship with Ginny, and guilt that his actions had made her suffer so much.

Would I have ended up with her if she'd waited indefinitely? I honestly don't know. I know so little about relationships, I don't know what makes them successful or not. I do know that once I felt better, felt like myself again, I would have gone back and talked to her.

Well, duh, of course you would have talked to her, you'd have to. But what would you have said?

I have absolutely no idea. Maybe when I felt like myself again, I would have known.

Well, then you can't blame her for leaving, then, can you?

No. No, I can't.

Why did I see all that? First Molly, then that?

He thought about it, then realized that in both cases, his actions had caused pain to those he'd dealt with. Well, sort of. Ginny, yes. But Molly, maybe only a little bit. Her pain didn't have that much to do with me. So, what is it?

Looking down, he suddenly realized that the road ahead had changed. Ten meters ahead of him, the road ended in what looked like a black wall that stretched to the left and the right, as far as the eye could see. A man sat at a table in front of the wall. As Harry approached, he saw on the table, of all things... a chessboard, the pieces set up. What the hell is going on, he wondered.

The man, in his forties with dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a lean, angular face, sat on the other side of the table. A chair was on Harry's side of the table; it was clear that he was supposed to sit down. Okay, he thought, let's find out what the rules are. He extended a hand. "Harry Potter."

"Ivan Vladimirovich Lemnec," the man said as he shook Harry's hand. They sat down.

Harry couldn't help but recall the Sorcerer's Stone. "Let me guess. I can't move forward unless I beat you."

"That's right," the man said.

"And how many chances do I get? One?"

Lemnec shook his head. "As many as you need."

Puzzled, Harry asked, "What's the catch?"

"You're not a very good player."

"That's right."

"I am a master," Lemnec explained. "I was one of the ten best players in wizarding Russia, a hundred and fifty years ago."

"You look pretty good for your age," Harry couldn't help but quip.

The man nodded. "I work out."

"Is that a joke?"

"Yes. I died more than a century ago, yet I am here. The normal rules don't apply here. The real-world version of me once walked the same path you walk now. I am real, yet not. My appearance, my knowledge, is now being used by the intelligence whose knowledge you seek."

Harry nodded. "I see. So, if you're a master, how can I possibly beat you?"

"Right now, you cannot."

"Okay..."

"You will play as many games against me as it takes to improve enough to defeat me."

"How many games will that take?"

Lemnec shrugged. "I cannot predict. I would imagine, at least a few hundred, probably more. Possibly a thousand."

"Oh, no problem," said Harry sarcastically. "So, what about food, sleep, that sort of thing?"

"For the duration of this test, such things are not necessary. You will not need food, water, or sleep. Time in the 'normal' world will not pass; you could be here for what seems to you as months, but when you are finished, no physical time will have passed."

"How?"

"You already know. The rules are different here."

Oh yeah, thought Harry. I forgot. "Will you be teaching me as we go?"

"No."

"Then how am I supposed to learn?"

"By observing how you lose. You must work out the strategies, the principles, by experience. You must learn how to play like a master, but first, you must learn... how to learn. Your father once said that to fail to learn from your mistakes is a waste. You will play until you learn, or until you give up."

Like hell, thought Harry. "Okay. Let's go."

"A few ground rules. One game follows another; we alternate as White and Black. In chess, there are dozens of types of openings, detailed patterns of all of which one must know to reach my level. You will not be required to learn many of them, as that is more a matter of memorization than learning. I will stick to a repertoire of five basic opening patterns; you will soon know them very well. Also, I said you must defeat me, but if you achieve five consecutive draws, that is acceptable. I will not offer nor accept draws; they must be achieved by stalemate, repetition of moves, an insufficiency of mating material, or 50 moves occurring with no pieces taken on either side. You may not resign; every game must conclude in checkmate or a forced draw. At the end of each game, if you wish, I will replay the same game with you, so that you may analyze and discover your mistakes.

"Your mind may wander involuntarily, but you may not daydream or otherwise divert your attention deliberately. If you do not give your best effort at any point, you will fail, and find yourself back in the 'normal' world. From this point on, I will not speak."

He took a black pawn and a white pawn, put his arms behind his back, then offered two fists to Harry. He touched the left fist, which opened to reveal a white pawn. He put the pawn back on the board, and moved the pawn in front of his king forward two spaces.

* * * * *

Harry knew it would be a challenge, but he hadn't quite understood when he started how much of a challenge it would be. After what felt like several days of playing--there was, of course, no way to know how much time had passed, though it was irrelevant, since time was not passing as such--he felt as though he had not improved at all.

After several dozen more games, he felt he was slowly starting to make progress. At the beginning, as he often had against Ron, he lost pieces and pawns due to carelessness: by moving them into a square already attacked by an opposing piece, or by overlooking a move which put two pieces in jeopardy at the same time. He found himself making such mistakes less and less; now, he lost material mainly by failing to see two or three moves deep into a combination. He started to realize the importance of careful calculation, and he tried to think very carefully before initiating a complex exchange of pieces.

The next learning step was positioning of pieces. He slowly noticed that his opponent's pieces tended to occupy prominent spaces in the middle of the board, well protected by pieces behind them. He realized that pieces in the middle had more influence, could make more threats, and put the opponent on the defensive. It was desirable to get rid of the opponent's centralized pieces by exchanging them, if possible, or by attacking them with pawns, as his opponent did when Harry tried to do the same thing.

Painfully slowly, he learned basic principles: move your piece to a square where it has the most influence yet is least vulnerable to attack, position your pieces as centrally as possible, prepare carefully before moving pawns forward, get your king to safety before trying to attack the opponent's king, don't move high-value pieces like queens and rooks into squares where they can be easily attacked, and try to avoid recapturing a piece with a pawn, thus forcing two pawns onto the same file where they can't protect each other.

He decided to try a series of games in which he played more defensively, deciding to observe his opponent's reaction, and how he organized his attack. He learned the characteristics of an effective attack: well-thought-out piece positioning, moves which had multiple purposes, and aggression: when on the attack, every move should contain some threat. Lemnec's attacks were relentless.

It felt strange to be able to play game after game, never needing to eat or sleep, but he found that he could, and got used to it. He occasionally found himself drifting mentally, thinking about Ginny's situation, but quickly refocused his attention on the game. Oddly, it was as though he was understanding that situation better with the passage of time, and occasional unconscious thought. He realized that what had happened hadn't been anyone's fault in particular; his actions and reactions were understandable, but so were hers. Sometimes, things just happened in ways that caused problems that were very difficult to get through. Especially when you were the Boy Who Lived. But he still didn't understand why he felt unable to decide what he wanted to do with his future. The feeling that had kept him from pursuing Ginny or a job had been pushed to the background, put off by his time in Japan, where he needed make no decisions about his future. But the basic problem was still there. He didn't know what he wanted to do, and he didn't know why he didn't know. He did know that he would not do any job, including Auror Leader, that he did not truly want to do. He would not accept a job just because he passed a test, a test he hadn't asked for.

After having played several hundred games--though, of course, the number was nothing but a vague guess--his playing seemed to have reached a plateau; it didn't seem as though he was getting any better. Even though he didn't need sleep, it was hard to keep his concentration up, game after game, especially as he had no idea how long it would take to reach his goal. A few times he briefly considered giving up, but only in moments of great frustration, and not for long. He was stubborn, after all, he told himself. He would stay until the job was done. Now, this is gaman, he thought sardonically.

He finally, excitedly, reached a point where he got to an endgame--each side had a king and three pawns--where he was not at a material disadvantage. He still lost, but felt it was progress. It started to happen more and more, but he would lose every time, even though the material was even, and he realized that there were special endgame principles as well. Lemnec always aggressively moved his king to the center of the board, trying to use it to usher his pawns down the board, and to limit the spaces to which Harry could move his own king. Harry realized that in the endgame, the king was an offensive piece, not a piece that needed to be protected. It was frustrating to get so close and lose, but again, it was progress.

Dozens of games later, Harry achieved a breakthrough: he reached an ending in which he had a king and a pawn, to Lemnec's king. I should win this, he thought. But much to his distress, he discovered that Lemnec was able to position his king in such a way as to block Harry's pawn from advancing, and at some point, Harry was forced into a position in which he had to move his king in a way that would either give up the pawn, or stalemate Lemnec's king. Deeply frustrated, he analyzed the game carefully, trying to determine where he had gone wrong in the endgame. Still, it was a draw, his first. More progress was being made.

Finally--so many games had been played that Harry had almost forgotten that anything existed except chess--he saw more deeply into a combination than Lemnec, and emerged two pawns ahead. Knowing this would be a decisive advantage, he started to play more defensively, and Lemnec suddenly went on the attack. In the midst of the attack, Harry learned his last, and perhaps most important, lesson: when you have the advantage, press it, be more aggressive. Don't lose confidence in the ability that got you the advantage. As Harry defended against this attack, he suddenly understood this lesson, and changed his tactics: he decided to sacrifice one of his hard-won pawns in order to defuse Lemnec's attack, and regain the initiative. It was a difficult decision, in view of the fact that a win would end this test, and this was his best chance yet. But he felt it was the right decision.

He arrived in the endgame up a pawn, but more importantly, with initiative. Using his king aggressively, calculating every move carefully, he was able to queen one of his pawns just one move before Lemnec could, and so stop Lemnec's pawn. Just a dozen more moves were required before Lemnec was checkmated by Harry's king and queen.

Triumph washed over him, as well as a sense of unreality. It was over. Lemnec extended his hand. "Congratulations."

Harry shook it. "You know, I never thought I'd--"

In the blink of an eye, Lemnec, the table, and the black wall behind Lemnec were all gone; the road was there again, as it had been before.

Harry started walking again, and all the time he had spent playing chess suddenly took on the feeling of having been a dream, or an experience that had happened a long time ago. He had woken up several hours ago in the Satos' home, eaten breakfast, and said goodbye to them. He remembered clearly what he'd had for breakfast, which he shouldn't have been able to, having played chess for hundreds of hours since then. Not fifteen minutes before, he felt, he had finished seeing/experiencing the events in Ginny's life that concerned her relationship with him. Yet he felt he had a greater insight than before, because of the time he'd spent in the meantime unconsciously thinking about it.

An hour passed, and he wondered about the place he was in. Why chess? It seemed like a peculiar test. How did this place get here in the first place? Does everyone who tries get the same test, or are they all different?

Suddenly, in Harry's mind's eye, he was at a wedding. It was a lovely affair, with about forty guests, outside, on a clear spring day. Flowers were in abundance; it seemed as though the wedding was being held in a garden designed specifically for the purpose. The man and the woman were both young and attractive, perhaps in their late twenties.

"Do you, Xenophilius, take Margaret to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

The young man, who with short, black hair was utterly unrecognizable to Harry, nodded happily. "I do," he said.

"Do you, Margaret, take Xenophilius to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She looked at him lovingly. "I do." They kissed; the scene seemed to Harry to be the very picture of wedded bliss.

The scene shifted to their wedding night; they lay in bed together in the afterglow, talking about their future. She was a magical florist, and her colleagues had been responsible for finding the picture-perfect location for her wedding. He was an up-and-coming young reporter for Witch Weekly, and had met her while doing a feature story on floristry. As they talked, their future seemed limitless, to be filled with joy and children.

There was one child, Harry soon saw, a daughter named Alexandra. She resembled her parents equally, and was very cute and happy, the focus of her parents' lives. Harry saw scenes of their daughter's first steps, first words, then later, first day at Hogwarts. He saw scenes from their home life: tucking little Alexa into bed, eating delicious, home-cooked meals, going for family outings in parks, taking overseas trips. Xenophilius was a kind, gentle husband, and it was clear to Harry that he loved his wife and children a great deal, never hesitating to tell them so. It was a normal, happy life, and the scenes Harry saw were so unremarkable that he wondered why he was seeing them. He also wondered why Luna was not in the picture, but then he recalled that Xenophilius was a much older man by the time Harry met him.

Alexa loved flowers, and after finishing Hogwarts, decided to go into her mother's line of work. They opened up their own shop; it struggled at first, but slowly gained enough business to keep going. Mother and daughter went to international floristry conventions.

During one such trip, Xenophilius was at home, working on an article, when he received an owl with a short, terse message: Please report to the Auror office at the Ministry of Magic immediately. It was signed by the Head of the Auror Office. Wondering what it could be, Xenophilius took the fireplace there a minute later.

A middle-aged woman introduced herself, and had him sit down. "Mr. Lovegood, you have a wife, Margaret, and a daughter, Alexandra, is that correct?"

"Yes," he nodded anxiously.

Her expression was grave and sorrowful. "I'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Lovegood, that your wife and daughter were attacked, and killed, in a small village outside of Cairo yesterday. Here is a copy of the incident report from the Egyptian authorities." She slid an envelope across the desk.

He stared at her mutely. Surely he hadn't heard it correctly. "They're... dead?"

"Yes, Mr. Lovegood. I'm very sorry for your loss." She reached over, patted his hand gently, then stood and left.

Harry felt the emotions that washed over Xenophilius, and knew no words could do them justice. His life had been taken away, in an instant. Sitting alone in the room, not knowing what else to do, he opened the envelope. There were two pages of forms; the first contained a description of the incident as understood by the Egyptian authorities: the two women had visited an area well-known for a particular rare, magical plant, but it was in a somewhat dangerous neighborhood. Subsequent examination of the bodies indicated that both had died of the Killing Curse, and that the daughter had been raped, apparently twice, by different men. Xenophilius gasped, and the tears started to come. He was sure they would never stop.

The next year went by in a haze for Xenophilius Lovegood. His friends and colleagues wanted to help him, but there was nothing they could do. Never a heavy man, he lost weight, appearing thin and gaunt. After two months off, he tried to do his job, but his articles were much weaker than they had been; some were printed after heavy editing and rewriting, but most were just rejected. Even so, his boss at Witch Weekly didn't have the heart to fire him.

He started to pursue fantastical stories, and annoy his boss with his frequent attempts to write about increasingly outlandish topics. He took a trip to Norway to investigate something he'd seen in the European papers: an interview with a woman who mentioned, in passing, that she'd seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. He traveled to Norway and tracked her down.

Her name was Helena Karlsson. She was blonde, thirty-five years old, and very attractive. Xenophilius wondered how it was that such a woman was not yet married, but soon found out that it was because she was highly unconventional.

"Yes, I have seen the Snorkack three times," she told him in moderately accented English. "You have heard of it? I am surprised; the media is usually not interested in such things."

"I... report on unusual things," explained Xenophilius. "So, how is it that you see the Snorkack when no one else does?"

"Well, Snorkacks, you see, are from the twin dimension."

Xenophilius did a double-take. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"The twin dimension," she repeated. "Most people do not know about it; I learned a long time ago. There are many dimensions in the universe, many versions of reality. Each one has a twin, which is mostly similar, but some aspects are a little different. In our case, there are some creatures which do not originate in our dimension, but we see them sometimes. These creatures are born with the ability to occasionally appear in the twin dimension; the Snorkack is one. Some of our magical creatures, as well, can appear in their dimension."

"Fascinating," enthused Xenophilius. "Please, tell me more..."

"There is a spell which one can do that takes you to the twin dimension. I found it by experimenting; there are many interesting spells that I have discovered on my own. One cannot stay long in the twin dimension; only a few seconds. But once, I saw a nest of Snorkacks..."

His editors rejected the article, but Xenophilius was not discouraged. He took many trips to Norway to see Helena, and ended up winning her over; she agreed to marry him and come to live in England. With a small inheritance, he decided to follow his heart and create a new publication, one devoted to the type of news that he felt was underreported by the traditional media.

Finally, he was happy again: with a beautiful new wife and a job he felt passionate about, he felt young again, even though he was a few years past his fiftieth birthday. Age is only a state of mind, he told himself. To his further joy, two years later, a daughter was born. At Helena's suggestion, she was named Luna: it was a pretty name, Xenophilius agreed, and the moon had an important and underappreciated influence on human events. When she was born, Xenophilius devoted an entire issue of the Quibbler to lunar lore, werewolves, and the various effects of the moon on the human race.

Harry saw Xenophilius at his home, sitting on the sofa, cradling the one-month-old Luna in his arms. "She's so beautiful," he marveled, looking first at the baby, then at his wife. "Just like her mother."

She smiled. "You are a sweet man."

He suddenly became sober; she noticed the change. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Margaret often used to say that, those very words."

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "But she was right."

"Promise me something," he pleaded. "We must never tell Luna about my past. She must not know that this is not my first family."

She stared at him, shocked. "Why?"

"I am afraid she will see herself as some sort of... replacement. I do not want the stain of tragedy to ever touch her. And she may fear the same thing will happen to her. I want her life to be happy, joyous, not thinking of past sorrows."

She caressed the baby's head, then took her husband's hand. "Xeno, my love... one of the things that you and I agreed most strongly about, that brought us together, is honesty. We must never lie to each other, or to anyone; we agree on that above all. How can we lie to our daughter?

He winced. "I do not mean we should lie to her--"

"But a lie of omission is still a lie."

"Not for a child, especially so young a one! She does not need to know, she will not understand. When she is an adult, we will tell her. But please, not as a child."

"Children understand many things, Xeno. More than most adults think." She paused, thinking. "I do not agree with your wishes, but I respect them. So, let us agree on this. We will tell her when she is ten years old, a year before she attends Hogwarts, if she does. A child there may have a parent who knows your history, and it would be very bad for her to find out from someone other than you. And if she for some reason asks before then if you have ever been married, had other children, or any such question which would require a lie to evade, the question will be answered honestly, and explained. Will you agree to that?"

It wasn't what he wanted, but he could hardly argue. "I agree."

That night, Xenophilius gathered what few mementos he had kept from his previous family--a scarf, his wedding band, a brooch his wife had loved, and pictures--and put them in a small box with a picture of tulips on the top. He opened his bedroom closet, created a magical hiding space in the top shelf, on the far right corner, and put the box there. Using his wand, he covered it, and the closet wall looked smooth. No one would know anything was there without doing a Reveal spell. He would show the box to Luna soon after her tenth birthday. But not on the birthday itself; he did not want her birthday to have such an association.

The years went by, and Xenophilius was happy in his new life. His daughter was sweet-tempered and exuberant, full of energy and curiosity about everything. He had been cursed, but then blessed again, and while he was happy, he occasionally worried that what had happened before would happen again. He tried to dismiss such thoughts; just because something had happened once didn't mean it would happen again. Helena tried to comfort him, saying it was natural for him to worry, but there was nothing to worry about.

Harry knew what the next page in the story was. Xenophilius was in his office, which was in the second floor of his home. He heard a loud bang, like an explosion, from downstairs. He and Luna ran into the kitchen at the same time, to find the body of his beloved wife...

In the months following the accident, Xenophilius desperately tried to keep himself together, if only for his daughter's sake. He felt sure that if he and Helena had not had a child, he would have sought a way to end his life, quickly and painlessly. There was only so much heartache a man could bear. But he had to stay strong for his daughter. She was all that remained, all that stood between him and the abyss.

For him, however, staying strong was more a matter of not falling apart, which he barely managed. He wanted to keep her home, not let her go to Hogwarts--after all, Harry Potter and his friends had almost been killed, and run into dangerous traps, which he had written about in the Quibbler. But finally, he realized that while it would be his emotional preference never to let her go outside the house, into any environment he couldn't control, such a life wouldn't be worth living. With great difficulty, he let her go, admonishing her to be very careful.

The night she left, Xenophilius didn't sleep all night; it was his first time in the house alone since he'd married Helena. Being alone brought back too many traumatic memories. He Summoned the box from his previous marriage down, and looked at the pictures, trying to summon the good memories from his life. As he put it back, he spoke out loud, hoping Helena would hear him. "I'm sorry, my love. I know you said to tell her after she turned ten, but... I couldn't bear it. Not after what happened to you. I promise that I'll tell her when she turns seventeen." He spent most of the night talking to his two late wives, haunted by what he had lost.

Fortunately, as he had asked, Luna wrote him faithfully, often four or five letters a week. He was saddened to hear that she wasn't making friends; she was regarded as strange, and even her dormitory-mates tended to make fun of her rather than get to know her. How can children be so cruel, he thought angrily as he read her letters. Yes, she's unique, and yes, she's not socially adept. How could she be, with her mother's death so recent? Of course, it affected her. Even children should be able to understand that. But a sweeter little girl he had never seen; she was so innocent and kind, even if her mother's death had turned her inward to some extent. Her letters to him were his lifeline.

Clinging to his daughter, he coped with the next five years better than he would have thought possible, though he was still far from happy. In her fourth year at Hogwarts, he was surprised to hear about how the Ministry was controlling the school, and concerned that she had joined a study group headed by Harry Potter. He admired and respected Potter, but knew that he tended to get involved in trouble. He advised his daughter more and more strongly to be careful. Still, he was extremely pleased to be able to exclusively print a Harry Potter interview, conducted by Rita Skeeter, no less! It was the highlight of his publishing career, and he had to make four extra print runs to cope with demand.

But when Luna came home and told her father what she had done at the end of the year, going to the Department of Mysteries, he was appalled. Of course he was proud of her, but was terrified for her safety. He pleaded with her never to do such a thing again.

She looked at him with an expression that cut him to the quick: his kind, adoring daughter was disappointed with him. "Daddy, Harry and the others are my friends. You were sad that I didn't have any friends, and now I do. We have to help our friends. Harry was desperate, he needed our help."

"Darling, I understand. But you're all that I have left. I need you, more than I think you can know."

"I understand," she assured him. "I need you too. And this isn't something that's going to happen all the time, I promise. This was a very unusual situation."

"Luna, honey, You-Know-Who has come back. There may be many more unusual situations."

"But we have to help Harry! I'll try to avoid dangerous situations. I won't go looking for them. But we have to support him. Please promise me you'll support him, keep writing about him in the Quibbler. He's very special, and very brave. We have to do what we can."

Xenophilius felt a mixture of pain and pride. Why does my little girl, the last thing keeping me in this life, have to be so brave? But she was right, he knew. "All right, Luna. For you, I'll do it." He wondered why she wasn't in Gryffindor.

For the next year, all was well, but there were ominous rumblings. Dark forces were starting to gather, Xenophilius knew. He fought to be brave, to follow his daughter's example. But it was difficult for him in a way she couldn't know.

Then the government of Pius Thicknesse took over, and Xenophilius had to make the hardest choice of his life. It was far from certain that the government was controlled by the Dark forces, but many thought it was. Dared he continue to support Harry Potter in print? Again, his daughter pleaded with him to continue, and again, reluctantly, he agreed.

Then came the day he had dreaded. Wizards who didn't look like they worked for the government in an official capacity visited his home, telling him that his daughter had been arrested for causing trouble at Hogwarts, though they would give no specifics about the accusations, or any trial date. They let him know that things would go better for her if his magazine, small though it was, were to 'support the government in this difficult time.' Nearly frantic, Xenophilius pleaded with them to release his daughter, promising he would print exactly as they liked. They told him that they would 'observe' the situation for a few months, after which he would get more information on his daughter's disposition.

Desperate, Xenophilius set about preparing the strongest pro-government publication he could imagine. He hoped beyond hope that his daughter was being treated well; his mind swam with the worst possibilities... beatings, torture, rape... memories of his first daughter kept coming back to him, all the times he'd tortured himself by imagining what her last hours had been like... and now his daughter was helpless, in whose hands he had no idea. The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that she needed him.

And finally came the day that Harry Potter and his friends came knocking on his door. Desperately trying to hide his true feelings, he realized that this might be his best, perhaps only, chance to free his daughter. He briefly considered helping Potter, but the mental image of his daughter being brutalized compelled him to believe that he had no choice. He got away as quickly as possible and sent a message to those who had threatened him; it never consciously occurred to him that this was something his daughter wouldn't want him to do. There was simply no choice.

But Potter discovered his treachery, and barely managed to escape. Xenophilius was sent to Azkaban, where he suffered as he had never suffered before. The dementors sucked all the happiness away, not that he had much to begin with, at that point. But for months, nothing went through his mind but the darkest of thoughts, of which he had plenty...

One day, after he had lost track of the days of misery and suffering, the dementors were pushed back with Patronuses and the gates of Azkaban were opened. All that were there were to go free. Courtesy, they were told, of Harry Potter's stunning defeat of You-Know-Who. Deep shame immediately struck Xenophilius, who knew that but for fate, wizarding society would be firmly in the grasp of You-Know-Who for years to come due to his actions.

He went home to find his daughter, and was ecstatic to find her alive and well. But even that pleasure was diminished by her inability to forgive him for not helping Potter, regardless of the consequences to her. He was shamed, for he knew she was right. All the same, he didn't see how he could have done otherwise. With a heavy heart, he watched her leave their home to go to the funeral of the Weasley boy, from where she would go directly to Hogwarts. They were brave, he thought bitterly, they all fought with all their strength. But they had seven children; I only have one. They could risk it better than me. He knew it was a terrible and uncharitable thought, but again, he couldn't help it. To his lack of surprise, Potter couldn't forgive him either, though his letter had not been unkind. Xenophilius knew he deserved no better.

Luna soon sent him an owl telling him that she would be staying at Hogwarts for most of the summer, for the special classes that had been announced. He was even further pained, for even though his daughter couldn't respect him, he still cherished her company. This is my punishment, he thought, for not doing as she would have wished. And for not obeying her mother's wishes and telling her about my past. Maybe if I had, she could understand...

His health steadily deteriorated over the next few weeks; it was as though he could feel his life force ebbing away. The last year had taken whatever vitality he'd had left, and he would welcome death when it came. He would leave his daughter behind, but she was now an adult, with her own life to lead. She was respected, had friends, he had done all he could... lying alone in bed, in the darkness, he prayed that she would somehow understand.

One day, he awoke from a long daytime nap feeling very weak; he knew the end was near. To his shock, he heard one of the sweetest sounds he could have hoped to hear. "I'm here, Daddy."

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. He slowly turned his head. "Darling?"

She reached out and took his hand. "Yes, it's Luna. I'm very happy to see you."

He gripped her hand with what remaining strength he had. "Luna, my darling... I'm so glad you could come. I thought you were in the summer session."

"I... did my best to get here. I felt as though you would need me."

"Just in time," he said weakly. "You look wonderful, darling. You look so... grown-up. A beautiful young woman." She seemed to have changed a lot since he'd seen her; maybe it had been longer than he'd thought.

"It's very sweet of you to say that," she smiled. "You always thought so."

"Because it was always true." There was a silence, then he spoke again. "I don't have long, Luna. My time is almost here."

Sadly, she nodded. "I know."

He nodded approvingly. "I told you never to lie to me."

"And I never have," she said solemnly.

"My good girl. One last time before I go, it's all I could have asked for." He looked at her a little more closely, and said, "That's a very nice pendant. Is it new?" Viewing the memory, Harry couldn't make out any details of what Xenophilius was referring to.

She smiled and fingered it. "Yes, it is."

He nodded, so weakly that one could barely tell it was a nod. "It suits you."

"I think so."

"Where--"

"There's one thing I want to tell you." She gazed into his eyes and said, "I forgive you. For what you did with Harry and the others. I'm sorry I couldn't forgive you then, but I can now, and I do."

He was stunned; he looked at her disbelievingly. Harry knew that any other father would accuse his daughter of telling a dying man what he wanted to hear, but Xenophilius would not entertain the thought. "Why?" he croaked.

"Because I know," she said, her eyes starting to fill with tears. "I know about your first wife, about Alexandra. I know what happened to them."

Harry had never seen a person more shocked. "How? When?"

"It... was not so long after I didn't forgive you before. Now, I understand. You had already endured so much, too much." She waved her wand, and the box covered with tulips came floating out of the closet. She caught and opened it, taking out the small photo album. "I had always wondered why there were so few photos around, of you as a young man. You had a very nice family." She looked up, and saw the tears streaming from his eyes. She wiped them away with her hand.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I never told you--"

"It's all right--"

"She told me to, your mother. I just couldn't... especially after..."

"I understand," she said. "It's a hard thing, for a child. I can easily understand why you didn't."

She stroked his hand gently in the silence. "Also... I talked to Harry before I came here."

He looked confused. "I thought... he was overseas..."

"He's back. He asked me to tell you that he forgives you too."

Xenophilius closed his eyes; a few more tears came. "It's so... kind of him... he's a good man, better than I could ever be--"

"Daddy," she gently admonished him. "You're a very good man. You've just had more than your share of tragedies."

"So... has he... but look at what he's done. It's all right, darling, it's no shame to... not be as good a man as he is. I'm... glad he's your friend. Please help him if you can."

"I have, and I will."

"Good," he gasped. "And promise me one thing... promise me that you'll have a happy life."

She smiled, absently touching the pendant. "I promise. And, Daddy... will you do one thing for me?"

It was very easy to see the love in his eyes. "Of course, darling. If I am capable of it, I will."

She Summoned a jar, and handed him her wand. "Would you give me a few memories? Of you, Margaret, and Alexandra?"

"Of course." He was silent, thinking, and then with her help, he started to transfer the memories, the silvery strands starting to fill the jar...

* * * * *

Next: Chapter 20, The Gringotts Massacre: Harry's visions continue, as he is shown events from a hundred years ago, during the last conflict between goblins and humans.

From Chapter 20: "Do not presume to tell me what my wisdom is," said Dennekin dangerously, his tone suggesting a man with a short fuse. "You do not want the situation to escalate, because you would find yourselves on the wrong end of the scythe. As for me, I would double my popularity by issuing a three-word proclamation, 'kill all goblins.' This, to me, is wisdom."