Harry Potter and the Amulet of the Moon

semprini

Story Summary:
Sequel to Harry Potter and the Antiquity Link. Following the recent disaster suffered by the Aurors, new Auror Leader Harry Potter recruits fifteen trusted members of Dumbledore's Army to become the backbone of the Aurors. To prepare quickly to defend an Auror-less society, they go to an uninhabited island and go back in time a year, planning to train uneventfully, isolated from the rest of the world, and the timeline. But they're pulled back into the whirl of wizarding events in a way they never would have expected.

Chapter 06 - A Moral Imperative

Chapter Summary:
Furious at what he considers Harry’s attempt to manipulate him, George makes his way to Sydney Airport, planning to take the first plane to England to save his brother.
Posted:
09/02/2009
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Chapter 6

A Moral Imperative

George's first reaction was to be surprised that while a second ago on the island it had been fully dark, now it was twilight. Guess it's farther away from the island than I thought. He was in the middle of a triangle formed by three large trees, probably as close together as three trees could be and survive. Low branches and tall grass provided as good cover from casual observation as could be hoped for.

Still furious, he started walking, not paying attention to where he was going. So, Harry wants to tell me that if I go back to try to save Fred, it'll be like letting the whole population of England die, like in the test. Bullshit. It doesn't have to be that way. His death wasn't necessary for Voldemort's defeat. If I can change things, if I can save him, life will just go on in roughly the same way, just with a few minor differences. Maybe I'll just disappear, and find myself in the shop with him, living the life we were supposed to live before this happened. Who's to say? A few thousand-year-old books? Bugger that.

He'd said the same thing to himself dozens of times over the past few weeks, and many times had given consideration to the counter-arguments. As time went by, he said it to himself more and more, and listened to the counter-arguments less and less. After being forced to watch the Auror Leader test, he now was able to ignore them. Harry didn't even try to talk me out of it, he just showed me that, hoping to guilt me out of it. You don't resort to that if you have a good argument to make.

He'd planned it out many times as he sat in his cell, as he'd come to think of Kingsley's tent over the past week. Do roughly what Harry did when he went to Japan. The only difference was, Harry hadn't cared where his plane was going, but George did. He too would take a Muggle plane, but he would have to go into a Muggle airport. First, he had to find a city, a Muggle city. Then get a map, then head to the nearest airport.

Fortunately, he had prepared--not before leaving Kingsley's tent, but before his first attempt to leave the island. Well before the confrontation with Ron over the chickens, he'd prepared everything he could think of. He regretted that he hadn't planned for the possibility in England before leaving; the thought of going back to rescue Fred hadn't been a serious one until he'd arrived on the island. He'd considered snatching a few of the packages of miniaturized food, but Merlin only knew what devious spell Kingsley might have put on it. He didn't have currency--he'd foreseen no need for it on the island--but he had a few valuable knickknacks that could be sold if necessary.

He took his shoulder bag out of his pocket; at two inches in length, it easily fit. He increased it to its natural size, reached in for his broom, then increased that as well. He Disillusioned himself, mounted the broom, and took off.

He had no idea where he was, but luck was on his side: no more than five minutes after he took off, he saw the coast, and the lights of a good-sized city. Another five minutes, and he was over the city. Concentrating on choosing a good place to land, he was almost unconscious of the rumbling noise near him. Finally it became loud enough that it occurred to him to look around to see where it was coming from. Right and left, nothing. He looked over his shoulder, and adrenaline surged through him at the sight of an airplane bearing down on him, far closer than was comfortable. He dived straight down, and didn't look up until he heard the plane pass above him. He took a deep breath. Merlin, that was close. He wasn't sure whether it would've hit him if he hadn't seen it, but he was glad not to have to find out. Be ironic, he thought, to do all this and get killed myself, by something stupid.

Looking ahead, he saw the plane gradually descending, and it suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly what he was looking for. There must be an airport around here! Deciding to follow the plane, he quickly realized that he had no hope of keeping up with it. Fortunately, he could see by the angle of descent that the plane would be landing soon enough that he had no chance of losing sight of it. A few minutes later, he realized that he needn't have worried, as the plane was making a wide turn, clearly circling to land. He looked down, and saw the airport that he hadn't noticed before, having already flown directly over it. Rolling his eyes at himself, he descended, looking for a spot as close to the main entrance as possible, yet out of sight.

The building wasn't as big as he would have guessed an airport might be, but he found a place, assisted by the encroaching darkness. He miniaturized his broom, put it in his bag, and walked in the front door under the large letters spelling out the words 'Rockhampton Airport.'

A desk near the entrance had an 'information' sign over it. Well, that's perfect. I need information. He walked up to the attractive young woman and smiled. "Hello. Can you tell me which plane goes to England?"

Smiling at first, she was suddenly taken slightly aback. "Uh, well, if you mean directly to England, we wouldn't have that. This isn't an international airport. Do you mean, a connecting flight to England?"

Not quite sure what she meant, George convincingly acted as though he'd just committed a mere slip of the tongue. "Yes, of course, that's what I meant. Do you have that?"

Smiling again now that she was less discomfited, she replied, "Yes, you're in luck. A flight to Sydney leaves in fifteen minutes; if you hurry, you can make it. Of course, you'd have to wait overnight in Sydney, the next flight would be tomorrow morning there."

"Yes, that's fine," agreed George. "Where do I go?"

"Well, you need to go to the Qantas counter over there," she said, gesturing, "to buy the ticket, then to Gate 4 in the departures wing."

Not buying anything, but she doesn't need to know that. "Thank you very much."

"Not at all. Have a nice day," she said cheerily as he walked away. Nice lass, he thought. Wonder if she fancied me. Now, do I just walk onto the plane, or pretend to buy a ticket? Depends on how crowded it is. Approaching the Qantas counter, he found that the plane was only half full. Perfect. No need for a ticket.

He quickly walked over to the gate, stood in a corner where he couldn't easily be observed, and surreptitiously pointed his wand at the wall. Using the highly useful spell he and Fred had learned at an early age, he was able to see through the wall into the hallway connecting the plane and the gate. Confident that he wasn't currently being observed, he Apparated to the spot he was looking at. He strode confidently onto the plane, then decided to used the restroom before sitting. If I wait until the last minute before sitting, then I won't take anyone else's seat. Blimey, these things are tiny, guess everything has to be small on a plane. Thank Merlin for brooms. Could've flown to Sydney on a broom, probably, just this is easier. Can just sit and relax.

The flight was slower than he'd imagined, taking an hour and a half. Amazing, he thought, that Muggles get around like this. If they had, or knew about, fireplaces, Portkeys, and so forth, this whole industry of airplanes would collapse. It takes so long, and don't these things crash sometimes? He was sure he'd heard about it. Picking up the magazine from the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him, he saw on the back an ad for Qantas, which emphasized its status as 'since the advent of the jet airplane, the only major airline to have zero accident fatalities.' Wow, he thought, what luck. I should see if I can get this airline to England.

Upon landing, he disembarked like any other passenger, cheerfully saying goodbye to the flight attendants. He found his way to an information desk, which confirmed that no more flights were leaving that evening, and that the earliest flights to England would be tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. The woman asked George if he wanted hotel information, but he declined, deciding it wasn't worth the trouble. Just for one night, he'd stay in the airport. Assuming they would clear the area as it got late, he planned to Disillusion himself so he wouldn't be seen, but was surprised to see that the airport staff apparently had no objection to people spending the night in the terminal, as a dozen other travelers appeared to be doing the same thing. He wandered around the airport for over an hour taking in the unusual sights, then found a row of reasonably comfortable-looking chairs and lay flat across them.

Normally he had no trouble sleeping, and he reminded himself that as it was apparently a few hours earlier in Australia than on the island, it should be fairly late from his body clock's point of view, well past midnight. But he found he couldn't sleep. He attributed it to tension over the task ahead. He'd devoted considerable thought to it, but still hadn't finalized one plan of action. The absolutely safest plan--leaving a letter with Fred, a long one with unquestionable proof of identity, making the case for not joining the final battle--was also the potentially least effective, as Fred was likely to ignore it whether it was genuine or not. The most effective plan--wait until the night of the battle, go to Hogwarts, catch himself and Fred by surprise, stun them both, and make sure they could not join the battle--was the one that contained the most risk of detection. He was leaning towards that one, however.

He would drift off, then suddenly wake up, try again, and the same thing would happen. Finally, he fell asleep...

...and in his dream, he had taken his father's form with Polyjuice Potion. Catching up with himself and Fred on the day of the battle, he asked them to step aside with them to have a private word. "It's about your mother," he'd added, to be sure they agreed. Alone, he quickly Stunned both, Apparated them back to the shop, and secured them well. They would both be out until long after the battle.

He skipped the battle himself, as he knew it had been won, but decided to show up soon after he knew Harry should have defeated Voldemort, as indeed he had. Looking for Weasleys, he found them near the corpses of Percy, Bill, and his mother--

He bolted awake, sweating, heart pounding. Breathing heavily, he looked around and saw the same mostly-empty airport terminal he'd fallen asleep in, though the first rays of sunlight were coming through the windows. He cursed himself for having had the dream. It's not going to happen that way. It's because of Lee, all that stuff he said about unintended consequences. Just because I have a dream doesn't mean it's going to happen.

He looked at a clock and saw that it was 5:45 a.m.; he couldn't have slept for more than three hours. He tried to calm himself, and lay back down on the chairs to see if he could get some more sleep. He fell in and out of fitful sleep and had a few mini-dreams, or if they were normal dreams he could only remember one scene: he and Fred were running the shop when Draco Malfoy, dressed in purple robes and a hood, came in to buy five dozen Canary Creams. "The Dark Lord loves them," Malfoy explained. "Not to eat himself, of course. He gives them to us, we become canaries, and he laughs and laughs. The Dark Lord always had an underappreciated sense of humor." When Fred asked about payment, Malfoy replied, part menacingly and part fearfully, "Send the bill to the Dark Lord... if you dare." He swept out of the shop as Fred and George exchanged a confused glance.

George awoke again, took a few seconds to register that it had only been a dream, and rolled his eyes. That was a weird one, he thought. How could it be that I succeed, but Voldemort lives, yet we're allowed to keep the shop? Never mind, it's all stupid anyway.

He was able to ignore that dream fairly quickly, and tucked his head under his arm to shut out the incoming sunlight. He was asleep again...

...and he burst into the Room of Requirement; the whole group was there, just before the battle. There were now two Georges in the room, and everyone looked at him. "He's an impostor!" shouted the other George.

"No, I'm not! Remember that time when you were six, you wet the bed and blamed Fred? No one else could know that--"

"Okay, you're not an impostor! But shut up!"

"You shouldn't be here," said Harry suspiciously. "This is all about me. I'm going to save everyone."

"No, I am!" protested George. "I'm from the future!"

"Then you're here to kill us all! Seize him!" shouted Harry; Ron and Hermione rushed forward to do Harry's bidding.

George backed away into a corner, pointing his wand at Ron and Hermione. "No! I must save Fred! He'll die if I don't!"

Fred and the other George laughed. "You think you can cheat fate?" laughed Fred. "You always did have a big head."

The other George seemed to have an inspiration. "Big head! That's it!" He pointed his wand at George, as did everyone, and George felt his head swelling. "Big head! Big head!" everyone chanted. George put his hands to his head, which was now the diameter of a human body, and bumped against the ceiling.

"His big head will save us!" cried George. Pointing his wand skyward, he shouted, "Onward! To battle!"

In an instant, they were in the midst of the battle; spells were flying, Neville was throwing dangerous plants at Death Eaters, and a dozen DA members were hiding behind George's head, firing spells. Return fire hit George's head; each blow was painful, and by the time the battle was over, his head was throbbing with pain. But the battle was won, at least temporarily.

He collapsed; Cho bent over him. "Oh, no! He's dying!"

"But it was for a good cause," said the other George, as Fred nodded. George faded out of consciousness...

...and was suddenly awake; the first thing he noticed was a pounding headache, worse than he'd ever had before. "Bloody hell," he muttered out loud.

He looked up, and found that the time was ten o'clock; there were many more people in the airport than there were the last time he'd been awake. Some people were now sitting near him, and while many seats were still available, he sensed that the time at which it was acceptable to lie down on seats had passed. He sat up, and immediately regretted having done it so fast, as his head pounded even harder.

Remembering that the earliest flight to England was at ten-thirty, he slowly stood, and walked toward a more central location at which he'd seen the day before there was a large board containing flight information. After a trip to the restroom, he found it after walking around for several minutes. There it was, sixth on the list: 10:30 a.m., London, British Airways. That's pretty soon, he thought; if I'm going to do it, I need to do it very soon. He read down the list, and saw 11:45, London, Qantas. Oh, maybe I'll take that one. Give time for the headache to go away, and also, that's the airline that never crashed. Be a bloody shame to die in a Muggle plane crash on the way back. I'll just sit here until eleven, then look into whether I need to get a ticket.

Sitting in the chair with his head in his hands, he lost track of time. He was yanked back to reality when he felt a hand on his arm; he moved his hands from his head and saw a girl standing in front of him. He guessed that she was no more than ten years old. She had sandy blonde hair and light brown eyes that were unusually large. There was something slightly odd about her face, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was.

Before he could say anything, she took a step toward him, and reached out to pull him into a hug. Baffled, he halfheartedly reciprocated, wondering if this was some peculiar Muggle custom. She held on tightly.

Over her shoulder, he looked around to see who she might belong to, as it couldn't be common for children to run around airports unaccompanied. Could it? A few seconds later, he saw a family approach: a man and a woman who appeared in their early fifties, a daughter who looked his age, and a son who looked sixteen or seventeen. Each was pulling a suitcase that had a handle and wheels.

He started to let go, feeling as if he'd done something wrong. "She just--"

"Oh, don't worry," said the man genially. "She does that sometimes. Sorry if she bothered you."

"No, I was just surprised--Hey!" he exclaimed as she reached into his jacket and pulled out his wand. He took it back, preparing to think of a cover story, but the man nodded in recognition.

"Don't worry," said the man, "I think that's just her way of letting us know that you're one of us," he added, making a wand-swishing motion with his right hand.

"Ah, you're wizards," said George, dropping his voice. "Are you meeting someone here, or..."

"No, we were traveling. We went to Greece, India, and Indonesia," the man explained. "We like to use standy transport."

George shook his head. "Standy?"

"It's our word for non-magical people," he explained. "You have a different one? You're... by your accent, I'd guess, British?"

"We say 'Muggle,'" said George. "Yeah, I'm British. Name's George Weasley," he added, standing. The movement caused his head to throb again; he winced as he extended his hand to the man.

"Ah! What a coincidence," said the man as he shook George's hand. "That's my name, too."

"Your name is George Weasley?" George asked humorously, knowing what the man had meant.

The man laughed heartily, as did the whole family, except the little girl, whose expression was placid. "No, George Foster, actually. This is my wife, Nellie, and the children are Anne, Daniel, and you've already met Angel, in her own inimitable fashion."

George shook everyone's hand except the girl who'd already hugged him. "Angel?" he asked, surprised. "Is that a nickname? I mean, she kind of looks like one."

"Everyone says that," said Anne, an attractive woman whose hair was the same color as her youngest daughter's. "No, it's her real name. We actually had a name picked out for her before she was born, but when we saw her, we felt we had to change it. Angel just suited her perfectly, but back then, we couldn't have guessed just how perfectly."

George was about to ask 'how so,' but before he could, Angel pointed up at him. "Your head is bad!"

Strange thing to say, he thought. With mock indignation, he replied, "That may be, but it's the only one I've got."

The family again laughed. "I think," said Foster, "she means that you have a headache, which I thought I noticed too. Is that right?"

George now allowed himself to rub his head. "Yes, it is. A pretty nasty one, actually."

"Where you headed?" asked Daniel. "Or have you just arrived?"

"Headed out, back to England."

"Bought your ticket yet?" asked the father.

"No, not yet. Was going to soon." George hadn't strictly planned on 'buying' his ticket, but there was no point getting into that.

"Well, in that case," said Foster, "and not to be too forward, but I wonder if you'd come back to the house with us for a while. We don't get a chance to talk to Brits very often, and you seem like a nice young man. Also, maybe we could help you get rid of that headache. You could catch a later flight."

George paused; he had to admit to himself that it seemed like a reasonable idea. Even if he went to England immediately, there would be nothing he could do for a while, or at least, nothing that couldn't wait for quite a while. It would be nice to get rid of the headache before leaving. And there was something compelling about the young girl, who was looking at him wide-eyed, seemingly hoping for him to come. Why not, he thought.

"You sure? I mean, you just got back--"

"Oh, absolutely," Nellie assured him. "The last flight wasn't very long, so we're fine. We'd be very pleased if you could come."

"Well, then, it's quite kind of you. Thank you."

"Great," said Foster, with a friendly pat on the back. "Well, we go this way, the exit for us is over there." They all started walking.

George leaned down a little. "So, Angel, what do you like to do?"

She smiled at him, but said nothing. Anne answered, "Sorry, she's... not much for conversation, in the usual sense. She speaks when she wants to, but usually only when she has something in particular to say. It's just her way."

"Ah," said George. "But she's not, I mean..."

"No, no, she's fine," said Anne. "You give her intelligence tests and she does above average, quite well. The way I usually put it is that she's very selective about what she chooses to vocalize."

"Oh, I see," said George. "My mother would appreciate that. She always wanted me to be much more selective about what I chose to vocalize."

Anne laughed, along with the others. "Let me guess, you were the class clown."

"Guilty as charged," George acknowledged. "I was popular among the other students, and I must have been quite popular among the teaching staff, which clearly desired my companionship judging by the many hours of detention I was assigned."

"And what did you do after you got out of school?"

George had to stop himself from beginning the sentence, 'my brother and I.' "I opened a joke shop, which was doing rather well."

"Was?" repeated Daniel.

"Little problem with the government. Was taken over by evil wizards. Not so much into the jokes."

Foster nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I read about that."

George was surprised. "Really? It wasn't in our media at all. Of course, the media being controlled by the Dark wizards might have had something to do with that."

"I would think so," Foster agreed. "I should say, it wasn't in our media as a statement of fact, but rather as a foreign policy analysis based on actions taken by the new government. Did that affect your travel?"

"I suppose you could say that," said George, trying to decide how to present his travels if asked. "My family's had to go on the run. Too well known as opponents of Dark forces."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," said Nellie sadly. "That must be terrible."

"I try to read the foreign media when I get a chance," said Foster, pointing to a bank of elevators as their destination. "In the English media, one reads a lot about this Harry Potter fellow. Do you know him, by chance?"

Yes, drew blood from him just yesterday, George thought wryly. "Family friend, in fact. Younger brother's best mate. Always getting into trouble. Well, I get into trouble, by causing mischief. He gets into trouble by being heroic, thereby making enemies of Dark wizards."

"You look like you've gotten into a bit of that kind of trouble yourself, if you don't mind me saying," said Daniel, with a glance at George's head.

"Ah, the ear," nodded George. "Sometimes I forget. Yes, lost that to a Dark wizard. That was a close one, nasty business. But then again, my mate pointed out that it wasn't such a loss, since I never listen to anyone anyway."

Foster chuckled. "Over here, this elevator." He pushed a button, and the doors opened instantly.

"Don't Muggles ever use it?" asked George.

"When they look at it, they see a 'not in service' sign," explained Foster.

"Very clever," said George. It was a large elevator, so six people and five pieces of luggage had no problem fitting in. "What do you do, George, if I may ask?"

"Always a difficult question for me. The basic answer is that I'm independently wealthy."

"Oh, good for you. That's what I hope to be someday."

"But that hardly means he does nothing," added Nellie.

The elevator door opened, and George was astonished to suddenly find himself on an open-air arcade. "This can't be below the airport," he commented.

"No, it's several dozen miles away, actually," explained Foster. "The elevator is one of several in different Muggle locations, all of which arrive here. This place is the main, well, the only, assemblage of wizard-only shops. The arcade forms a large circle, surrounding this building." Foster pointed to a large, modern office building which was surrounded by well-kept grass, several trees, and well-designed landscaping.

"And this is surrounded by shops?" They started walking along the arcade, George trying to take it all in.

"Not only shops, but yes," said Nellie. "There's a library, a social center, an elder care facility, things like that mixed in with the shops."

"And is there a wizarding neighborhood?"

"No, there isn't," said Foster. "We're all spread out, all over the country. This is where we get together. There's also a theater, a sports arena, that sort of thing. I know you have a few wizard neighborhoods in England, but the situation is different here."

"Why is that?" asked George.

"Well, let's head on home, and I'll explain it there," said Foster. He and his wife were headed for a door that was located in a wall between two of the shops on the arcade.

Foster pointed his wand at the door. "373," he said, and opened the door; George could only see a white fog. "Where does it go?" asked George.

"Home," replied Foster. "You have to take somebody's hand, or else you can't go through." As he spoke, Angel took his right hand. "I see Angel's got you. Follow her, then."

The girl led him through the fog, and in less than a second he was in a smallish room that was clearly an entrance room; in front was a large living room. The last of the home's inhabitants had come through, and the door closed behind them. Everyone left their suitcases near a wall; George imagined that Nellie would pick them up later and deal with them.

"The doors to homes all work this way," Foster explained, motioning at the ordinary-looking door they'd just come through. "Only the home's residents can just walk through. For anyone else to come through, they have to be touching a resident. So, if someone comes for a visit, they point the wand at their door, say '373,' and knock; we hear it, and we answer. We open the door and see the person. If we want them to come in, we offer our hand, they take it, and walk through."

"Very clever," remarked George, impressed. "It's a lot better than fireplaces. You see, in England--"

"Oh, we know about that," said Foster, who gestured George into the well-lit, spacious living room. "Please, have a seat." George sat on the sofa, Foster in a chair next to it. Daniel took a seat across from the sofa, and Angel sat on Daniel's lap. Smiling, he put an arm around her stomach.

"We've seen magical customs, things like fireplaces, in a number of countries, and it's endlessly fascinating how many different things have developed," Foster went on. "England has some of the most unique ones, with the longest history."

"I like this better, to be honest," said George. "Makes more sense, seems more efficient. I mean, I grew up with fireplaces, but when I see this, I think, why don't we do this? A lot of things would be easier."

Foster nodded. "Anne actually wrote a long paper on this topic for her Magical History class. The gist of it is that while we may now know of things that are more efficient, countries like England with a long magical history have been doing some things in the same way for such a long time that it's hard to change. Inertia is powerful; imagine what effort it would take to change the entire country from fireplaces to the kind of doors we have."

"Probably couldn't happen," said George. "I suppose people would be too attached to fireplaces."

"Yes, exactly," said Anne, having come in from the kitchen. "Everyone would have to do it, or it wouldn't work. Australia was the only country I could find that took such a utilitarian approach to magical transportation."

"And you were able to do it because... you're a young country?"

"Partly that," said Foster. "But also because of the nature of the immigration from England to here. You see, while many Brits came here to build colonies a few hundred years ago, no wizards did, because they weren't interested. England already had a tight wizarding community, and nobody in particular wanted to leave it. Now, contrarily, a number of wizards came to North America in the 1600s, because at that time there was a Darker government in power, and anti-Standy, excuse me, anti-Muggle prejudice was high. Many Muggle-born wizards chose to leave for the New World, where they could found a new wizard community, free of prejudice. Whereas, by the time of the emigration boom to Australia, the atmosphere in England was much more tolerant, and no one wished to leave. So, the wizarding population of Australia is entirely from what English would call Muggle-born, or their descendants. We don't have that many wizards; the latest census puts it at about 6,500."

"Wow," said George, impressed. "So, everyone must know each other."

"Not exactly, but it's not far from it," agreed Foster. "We don't have a wizard neighborhood, unlike most countries, because there's never been persecution of wizards here. No need for it."

"No Dark wizards?"

A disturbed looked passed over Foster's face; George immediately regretted asking the question. "There've been a few. Nobody the Aurors couldn't handle, but it's a tragedy for all of us when it happens. It's always somebody from a family you know, or a family someone close to you knows. Sometimes you see it coming, but there's just nothing you can do about it. If somebody's got it in their mind to do something, they're going to do it."

It struck George that someone on the island might say the same about him, and he tried to push away the thought. "In England, we seem to have a whole segment of society that at least has the strong potential to become Dark wizards. Their... unifying theme, I guess, is anti-Muggle prejudice. Their families have been wizard-only for generations. Well, I mean, mine has too, but we don't take any special pride in it. We think it would be silly, like preferring white over black skin color, like that. But the Dark types, they get all high and mighty."

Nellie came in and sat next to her husband. "We were lucky to avoid that, not having that kind of history. But I'm not surprised they band around that. One thing about human history, both wizard and Standy, is that if you find a group of people who've chosen the path of evil, there's bound to be a group that they feel they're better than. Sometimes it's just 'everyone but us,' but often it's one particular group."

"For Standys, that group is usually the Jews," noted Daniel wryly. Seeing George's blank look, he explained some of the basics of Muggle world history involving Jews.

"Wow, that's terrible," said George. "I didn't know that. In our school, we only learn wizard history. Okay, well, in my case, pretend to learn. I was never good with the books."

Foster nodded. "It's interesting how many cultural differences there are between your country and ours, considering we share a similar heritage and language. Most of those differences, it appears, stem from the great age of your country and the young age of ours. In our school, we learn both Muggle and wizard history, maybe partly because we have so little of our own history here. You separate yourselves almost completely from the Muggle population, but we don't; many of us have friends in the non-magical community. So, it's important for us to learn their history, but not for you."

George shook his head, genuinely impressed. "Very interesting indeed; I had no idea. I can see why traveling is a good idea."

"Oh yes, we've learned a lot about quite a few cultures. For example, on this trip, in Indonesia, we talked to..."

Anne prepared lunch as they talked, and lunch was spent with the Fosters taking turns telling George stories of their most recent travels, and a few stories from older ones. Captivated, George just listened, his headache gone and forgotten.

* * * * *

It was decided that for the afternoon, Daniel and Anne would accompany George to 'town,' as the arcade area was generally known. George asked that if they ran into anyone they knew, they introduce him using an assumed name; he explained that he didn't want to take a chance on his whereabouts getting back to the Dark wizards in England. They agreed, without asking any questions, and Angel tagged along, not speaking for the entire time they were gone. She always held someone's hand, switching off between the three. While they walked, George talked about the shop and the products they sold, but always avoiding any mention of Fred.

Later in the afternoon, he was given a tour of the property the Fosters owned, which wasn't magically enhanced in any way. He was very surprised to learn that the Fosters had a car, which they used occasionally, though not often; it was necessary when dealing with Muggles.

Over dinner and afterwards, George talked about wizarding England, including the events of the past several years, especially involving Harry and Voldemort, and the events of the Umbridge year, including his and Fred's escapades; it was the first time he'd mentioned Fred to them, though he'd said he had five brothers. He was finishing telling the story, the one he'd heard secondhand from Ron, about Harry's actions on the day Dumbledore had died.

Foster shook his head sadly. "That boy's been through too much. For anyone, never mind his age. Daniel, he'd be about your age."

"I wouldn't want his life, that's for sure," said Daniel emphatically.

"So, Harry and the headmaster, Dumbledore, were close?" asked Anne.

"Yes, they were. I think Dumbledore felt guilty because he sent Harry to live with his relatives, who were not at all nice people." He described some of the conditions of Harry's early life, and their breaking Harry out of his relatives' home at the beginning of Harry's second year.

"Amazing, that they would treat him like that," marveled Nellie. "What an awful thing."

To George's surprise, Angel spoke, for the first time in hours. With a distinctly mournful expression, she asked, "Was Harry sad about Fred?"

George answered reflexively. "Well, of course. When he spoke at the funeral, he talked about..." His brow furrowed as the realization struck. "Wait, how did--how did she know that? I didn't--" George cut himself off, staring at Angel with shock, met by the same sad expression.

"George," said Foster somberly, "Angel is... special. And not just because she's different. She has... abilities; abilities that we imagine are based in magic, that we don't truly understand. Sometimes she just knows things, things that seem impossible for her to know. The common factor is that they always have to do with emotions."

"Do you mean, she's an empath? I've heard of a few people like that, who could tell moods, like another sense."

"Not like that, no, although she definitely has better-than-average abilities in that area as well. No, I mean, she knows things. Usually not details, but broad strokes. When we walked into the waiting area at the airport, she pointed at you--we were a few dozen meters away, we weren't sure who exactly she was pointing at--and she said, 'he lost half of him.' Then she ran up to hug you. Half of the time, including this time, when she says something like that we don't even know what it means. Just before, when you mentioned Fred, she must have gotten that impression again, the same one she got at the airport. She... intuited, for lack of a better word, that Fred was the one you lost. And the 'half of him..." I would guess that means that he was a twin. Is that right? George nodded, his expression somber.

"Fraternal or identical?"

"Identical."

He saw a slight wince of sympathy from Foster. "I'm sorry, George. Was he like you, with the jokes?"

George nodded. "Joking was our standard method of communication. When I lost the ear, he was the first one to make a joke about it. Mum thought it was terrible, of course, but I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Stiff upper lip," suggested Anne.

"I suppose," agreed George, "but also, just a sensibility that we shared, that there was almost nothing that couldn't be joked about. Except for his death, of course. And even then, the day after the funeral, he came back as a ghost. Very first thing he said to me was, 'filthy layabout, I knew you'd amount to nothing without me.'"

"If I may ask," began Foster cautiously, "very few people come back as ghosts here, and most that do have some problems. I don't know if it's the same in England--"

"Yes, it is. Your question is, why did he come back." Foster nodded. "There was a... battle, you could call it, with the Dark wizards. We promised each other that if one of us died, we'd come back. Honestly, I don't think either of us truly expected to have to honor that."

"Wow," said Daniel sorrowfully. "It sounds like he was your best friend, so you lost both that and a brother. It's hard to imagine. Is that what made you decide to travel?"

George thought about how to answer the question without mentioning time travel. "Yes and no. It had something to do with it, but only indirectly. It's kind of difficult to explain."

No one said anything for a moment; George broke the silence. "So, I guess Angel must be pretty famous among the people who know you."

Nellie smiled. "She's famous in almost the whole country. She's so unusual, and her abilities are so amazing, that many have heard of her. Our newspaper wrote about her once, relating a few of the stories involving her abilities." She went on to talk about that, and the conversation drifted away form anything to do with George.

Later, they invited him to stay the night, and he accepted, though insisting that he had to leave the next day. They put him in their guest room, he talked more with Daniel about spells, and finally went to sleep.

* * * * *

As he'd told them they could, Ron and Hermione entered Harry's tent without knocking. He put down the book he'd been reading, and gestured them to the sofa. He'd quietly asked them at dinner to come by his tent in an hour or so. "Thanks for coming."

"How are you doing?" asked Hermione.

He shrugged. "I find myself answering that question with the idea of--"

"We're still here," suggested Ron.

"Exactly. It's a weird thing, thinking that at any moment, your entire reality could vanish. A little unsettling. How's everyone doing with it?"

Ron's face suggested he wasn't sure. "We might not be the first ones people would tell. There were a few nervous jokes, but we haven't heard anything suggesting a lack of respect for what you did. Nobody's second-guessing you, at least that we can hear. One person did say, 'I hope Harry knows something we don't,' which I think is a pretty understandable sentiment."

Harry nodded. "It definitely is. And I wish I did, but I'm not at all sure of that."

"Did Kingsley talk to you? Devil's Advocate?"

"Nope."

"Wow," exclaimed Ron. "I'm surprised he didn't, but I guess he still might."

"I don't think he's going to," said Harry. "I think he knows that this is a gut call, and not the kind of thing you can rationally debate. Whatever he said, I would just say I thought it was the right thing to do, and he probably gets that. It's funny; he gets on me for tiny, niggling things, but then I make this decision that has possibly enormous consequences, and he doesn't say a word. I know why, but it's still strange." He paused. "Anyway, I must say, I'm a little impressed that there isn't any more negative sentiment than that about what I did. It does suggest that they have a lot of regard for me."

"Considering the risk, I'd say it means they have an extreme amount of regard for you," said Ron. "I'm also a little surprised. Although, Mi--I mean, one person--"

"Nice save, Ron," interjected Hermione with a wry smile.

"Well, give me a break, I'll get used to it. Anyway, he said, 'We're going to be putting our lives in his hands, so we may as well get used to it.' I thought that was a pretty good way of summing it up, actually."

"No, you're right, it's entirely reasonable," agreed Harry. "I can't ask for much more than that. So, anything else from when I was gone that I should know about?"

Ron and Hermione paused, thinking. "Ron is a little more popular than I am," she said, with a small grin at Ron, who rolled his eyes and explained what had happened. "I suppose," he concluded, "that it was us because we're closest to you, and they knew you'd have confidence in us."

"Interesting," said Harry. "You two have such different personality types, so it was kind of a clear choice. It seemed to work out okay."

"I listened to her advice, so, yes," said Ron humorously. "Other than that... oh, you'd better talk to Cho, she was taking an attitude about the cooking thing. She doesn't want people to expect her to do it, and she didn't do it the whole time you were gone."

"Okay, I'll talk to her. It would be nice if she could put a couple of hours into it most days, just to help Luna, but I'm not going to make her do anything she doesn't want to. I did tell her that she'd be able to spend a lot of time studying and doing other Healer-related stuff, so we may have reached the limit of what she's willing to do."

"And also, there could be a thing with Cho and Luna," added Hermione. "Cho was acting kind of disdainful, especially after the thing with the chickens. And Luna's been... a little different all week, since then. More... spacey, like she used to be. More off in her own little world. You know what I mean."

Harry nodded. "I noticed that, even today, just a little. I know, she was getting better about that, until now. Do you think it's connected with Cho? Just how she responds to stress, maybe?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm beginning to think it might be a good idea to put them into the quarters-sharing rotation. Luna's never going to complain; people used to treat her a lot worse than anything Cho's doing, and it never seemed to bother her--"

"Maybe that's because she was in her own little world, as you said," suggested Ron.

"Could be. Anyway, Harry, if I was Luna, I wouldn't want to be in the same tent all the time with someone who had that attitude about me. If you ask her, she'll say it's fine, but I think you should consider rotating them without asking either one if they think it's okay."

"What would be my reason for doing that?" Harry asked humorously.

"Hmmm..." muttered Hermione as she thought.

Ron spoke up. "How about this: Luna and Cho were invited to vote, because they're on the island, though not Aurors. In fact, even better: include Kingsley in the rotation as well. What happened made you realize that we are a group of Auror trainees, but also the group on the island, and it's important for all of us to get to know each other for the sake of getting along on the island, not just as Aurors." He looked from Hermione to Harry, clearly wondering what they thought.

She looked impressed. "Not bad. I don't see anything wrong with that."

Harry hesitated. "I'm not happy about changing the rules in the middle of the game for them. I'd rather at least make it optional for them."

Ron shook his head. "If you make it optional, Luna will say no, because saying yes makes it seem like she wants to get away from Cho. So, do this. Tell them you're doing this--talk to each one privately--by the way, what will Kingsley say?"

"He won't care. Or if he objects, it'll be for a specific reason, not just preference."

"Okay. Tell each one that you want to do it this way, explain the reason I said. Say they'll be in rotation unless they specifically object. If they do, they won't have to. Cho may object; she may not want to move around. But Luna won't object. She's cooperative, she'll do what you tell her. So, she gets away, without having to explain to Cho why, since it was at your request."

"Wow. I've got to say, Ron, I'm impressed," said Harry. "Well thought out."

"Didn't think I had it in me, did you," Ron teased him.

"I wouldn't say that. Okay, I'll talk to Kingsley first."

To Harry's mild surprise, Kingsley not only didn't object, but thought it was a good idea from the point of view of group cohesiveness. He also approved of Harry's adoption of Ron and Hermione's suggestion that all trainees take turns assisting in food preparation.

Next, Harry summoned Luna to his tent. He decided to first ask some questions about what had happened in his absence. She tried to brush off the chicken incident with 'you probably already heard about that,' but he insisted on hearing her version. She related it diffidently, more as if it had happened to another person and not her. Harry wasn't sure if this was her 'spaciness' coming back, or embarrassment at having reacted as she had; he decided not to push her regarding her feelings about it.

As expected, she had no objection to being included in the tent rotation, her only reaction being 'whatever you want, it's up to you,' and similarly had no strong reaction to getting help with the food preparation. He talked to her for a few more minutes about how she would work with those helping her, then thanked her, and she left.

Next, he went to Cho's tent--Luna hadn't yet returned--and asked her to come to his tent for a few words. They talked for a half an hour about a variety of topics including her living status (she didn't want to join the rotation), her view of the events in his absence, her feelings about food preparation ('happy to help occasionally, or teach'), her plans for her time (Healer study, careful observation of everyone's physical condition), and Harry's request for her to teach the trainees how to do first aid and other necessary medical knowledge ('just tell me when'). He found nothing to complain about in her attitude, or how she planned to spend her time. Toward him, she was her usual cheerful self, which Harry found a contrast to Ron and Hermione's account of a less-than-kind Cho who'd spent most of Harry's absence by herself. In addition, Harry wasn't sure--he didn't generally pay attention to this kind of thing--but he was fairly sure that the shirt Cho was wearing during their talk, a lighter and more summery one, was different than the one she'd worn throughout the day. But for one brief incident, it would have escaped his notice completely.

Reasonably sure he knew, but wanting to be certain, he walked over to Kingsley's tent after talking to Cho. He knocked and opened the door, standing not far from it to signal his intention not to stay for long.

"Yeah, Harry."

"Um... I don't know who else to ask this, so I'm asking you..."

"Okay."

"If a woman is talking to you, and she's wearing a little bit of a low-cut shirt, and at some point she leans over--not to pick anything up, just no particular reason--and you can, you know, get a view... is it possible she really didn't realize what she was doing?"

Without hesitation, Kingsley shook his head. "No. She knew."

Harry nodded. "That's what I thought. Okay, thanks."

"Sure."

* * * * *

Fred and George entered the Caves of Eternity, using their wands as flashlights. They'd gotten no more than ten yards before seeing a flickering translucent field in front of them, which obviously had to be traversed before they could proceed towards their objective.

"Over here," said Fred, motioning George to the wall of the cave. On the wall was scrawled, 'The first to touch, will die. The second, can pass."

They exchanged a look. "Rather unfriendly of them, if you ask me," said Fred.

"Quite so, old boy," agreed George. "So, shall we?"

Fred motioned toward the field. "After you."

George made the same motion. "Oh, no, you first."

"I absolutely insist."

"You may insist, but it'll do you no good," countered George. "You really must go first."

"I couldn't possibly be so rude," said Fred, trying to sound gallant. "Please do me the honor of preceding me."

"You deserve it more than I do."

They paused, and it occurred to George that in characteristic fashion, they were using humor to put off the inevitable. "Well, something must be done."

Fred nodded, seeming to reluctantly yield to this conclusion. "I suppose so. But what?"

Inspiration struck George. "I know! We'll go through together."

Fred grinned. "Capital idea, old man."

They linked arms and walked toward the field, so that both would touch it at the same time. They were a second from touching it, and

George bolted awake to a sitting position, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a few deep breaths, then started to calm down. "Damn you, Harry," he muttered. Never would've had that dream if not for him...

He couldn't stop himself from wondering what he and Fred would have done if they'd been in that situation. The solution contained in the dream was nonsensical--better to turn back than have both die--but it had to mean something on a deeper level. Bugger deeper levels, George thought savagely. Not going to think like that. It's just a stupid dream.

A look at a clock showed that it was seven-thirty a.m. May as well get up, he thought. He left the bedroom and came into the living room. "Hey, good morning," said Daniel, reading a newspaper. It was tabloid-style like the Prophet, but looked only half as thick.

"Morning," George returned the greeting. "Do you get that delivered?"

Daniel nodded. "Once a week, every Sunday morning."

"Is it Sunday? I'd totally lost track of that. So, you have a daily paper and a weekly one?"

"Only a weekly. Like Dad said, there's only six thousand-plus of us, so what news can there really be? Also, we hear half of it through the grapevine before it appears here anyway. We also get the Standy papers, there's plenty of news in that."

George looked over Daniel's shoulder at the paper. "Funny, this seems really... I don't know, dull, maybe. The Daily Prophet has a kind of more sensational style, like they're really trying to catch the reader's attention. This is more like... bureaucratic notification. Have you ever seen the Prophet?"

"No, I haven't. Dad looks at it occasionally, as he said yesterday, but I think he's unusual. Also, I'm kind of busier than he is. Sometimes, anyway."

"You go to school?"

Daniel nodded. "We had a week off last week, so we traveled, which we often do when we have free time. I go back to school tomorrow."

"Do you know what you want to do after you finish school?"

He shrugged. "Not really. No hurry to decide, of course. One feeling that runs strongly in this family is to follow your heart, your intuition. Don't do something for the sake of doing it, but because it's what you want to do."

"So, you said your father is sometimes busy. How does that work, when he's independently wealthy?" George sat in a chair opposite Daniel.

"Like he said, it's difficult to explain. The easiest way to say it is that he helps people. He has a lot of friends, and if someone needs help, they know they can ask him. If he can help, he will. Sometimes it's something small, sometimes big. When he's not doing that, he learns things. He reads, travels, figures out how to do this or that. He always says, "You can--"

"You can never know too many things," his father finished in unison with him as he entered the room. "Good morning Daniel, George. It's good to know that I've instilled in my children a love of clichés."

George and Daniel both laughed. "Of your clichés, anyway," said Daniel.

Foster rubbed his son's head lightly as he passed behind him. "Well, for me it's true, anyway. But everybody's different. For example, George, I was amazed last night by the variety, and mostly the sheer inventiveness, of the goods you sell in that shop. I've never been the creative type; I couldn't begin to come up with anything like that. We all go where our heart takes us."

"And Daniel says yours goes to helping people. Just curious, what was the last thing you did like that? Who did you help, and with what?"

As he sat, Foster took a few seconds to remember. "A friend of ours, man named Ryan Hannigan. He's having a house built, and he wanted me to help him with the home magic, the routine spells you get built into a place. He wants to be able to turn it on and off, as he has Standy friends who might come over, and it wouldn't do for a dish to leap up, sail over to the sink, and wash itself."

Daniel grinned. "Standys would want to get that too."

"Reckon they would," his father agreed. "So, George, what can we show you today? There's the Sydney Opera House, lots of visitors love to get a look at that, and--"

George waved him off. "It sounds great, but I really should be getting on. Not that I'm not tempted to impose on your hospitality, because you're very hospitable indeed, but..."

Foster nodded. "Worried about your family?"

"Suppose you could say that," George agreed.

"Well, can you at least stay until lunch? I'm sure there are flights in the afternoon."

George felt inclined to agree, as he didn't want to be rushing out; lunch sounded reasonable. "I don't suppose there's an easy way to find out when their flights go out."

"Well, sure, we can give them a call," said Foster. He stood and walked across the room to pick up a wireless telephone, and started pushing buttons.

George was familiar with the basic function of a phone, but it still seemed strange to see one in a wizarding house. On further reflection, another thing struck him as odd. Leaning over toward Daniel, lowering his voice so as not to distract Foster on the phone, he asked, "I'm wondering, your father walked over and picked up the phone. His wand is right next to the chair; he could have Summoned it. Why didn't he?"

Daniel smiled. "House rules, which are rules because it's what he and Mum want. Ever since we were small kids, the rule was, no Summoning. You want something, you stand up and get it. They thought it made you lazy."

"I suppose I can't say that's totally wrong," George allowed. "But then, what's the point of being a wizard if you can't use magic to make life more convenient?"

"We said that, many times," agreed Daniel. "To no avail, of course."

They chatted for a few minutes while Foster was on the phone. Hanging up, he looked at the note he'd written as he walked back to the chair. "British Airways is 11:20, 3:40, and 5:50. Qantas is 1:45 and 4:30. All to Heathrow."

"Thanks, mate," said George.

"No problem. Here, you keep this," said Foster, handing George the note. George tentatively decided to stay for lunch, then catch the 1:45 flight. He ate a big breakfast with the family, and spent the morning talking about the differences in spells between the countries.

Lunch finished at 12:30, and George had decided he wanted to leave a little on the early side, no later than 1:00. He lingered and chatted after lunch, then went to the bathroom. He came back, and stood near the sofa. "Well, I'm sorry, folks, but I must be on my way. I really enjoyed my time here."

Foster stood. "As did we, of course. Okay, well, I'll go with you to the airport." He turned in the direction of the patio, and shouted. "Angel, honey, would you come in for a minute?" Daniel and Anne were already in the room, so George imagined that Foster wanted the whole family to say goodbye.

She ran into the room, looking at her father expectantly. "It's time to say goodbye to George, honey. He'll be--"

"NO!" she shrieked, racing toward George and, to his shock, hugging him and pushing him down to the sofa. "No, no, no," she repeated desperately, clinging to him.

Wide-eyed, George patted her on the back. "Angel, I'm sorry, but everyone has to go sometime--"

"George," said Foster gravely. "Please stay for a few minutes. This is very serious."

"It's okay, I'm not leaving yet," George assured a sobbing Angel. "Calm down." She stopped making noise, but still held onto him. To Foster, he asked, "How do you mean, it's serious? In what way?"

Foster took a deep breath; his wife sat next to him, an equally serious look on her face. "Angel very rarely has this strong a reaction, and there are things we can guess based on our experience with her. In this case, her reaction tells us that if you go back, there'll be a death. Maybe yours, maybe someone else's, we don't know."

"She can tell the future? Is that one of her--"

Foster cut him off with a gesture. "No, she can't. All she knows," he said, with a significant glance at George, "is what you know. Which means that you know, or believe, that your going back will or is likely to cause one or more deaths."

"More," whimpered Angel, in a high-pitched voice.

Indignant, George looked down at her. "Now, wait a minute. I don't know that."

"But you suspect it," suggested Nellie gently. "Or you think it's a strong possibility."

"George," said Foster, "We won't try to stop you from leaving. But I would recommend, very strongly recommend, that you put it off until we figure this out. I know you're a good person, and don't have any malicious intent. If you did, Angel would never have done what she did. She stays away from anyone with evil intent. So, this is worth taking seriously, believe me."

George put his head in his hands. I don't believe this, he thought. It's like fate is conspiring to keep me from doing this. He'd been able to brush off the concerns of those on the island, but these people didn't even know exactly what he intended to do. He found he couldn't in good conscience dismiss them. All right, he thought, let's do this thing.

He looked up, and found that Daniel and Anne were gone, while Angel was still at his side. Looking at Foster and his wife in turn, he asked, "Have you ever lost someone? I mean, not from old age, but someone who had many years left, someone you didn't expect to lose?"

Foster and his wife glanced at each other, their faces making clear that this was something they wished they hadn't been asked. "Lindy," murmured Angel, her head on George's shoulder.

"Our daughter, Linda," clarified Foster. George saw a faraway look in the man's eyes. "If she'd lived, she'd be 15."

"Last month," added Nellie.

Foster nodded. "October 9. Not a day goes by..."

Silence hung in the air. George waited to see if his host would resume the sentence. As he was about to say something, Angel did. "Uluru."

George looked down quizzically, then back at her parents. "Our daughter," said Foster heavily, "is telling us that we should tell you what happened. Not our favorite thing, but we've learned not to argue with her."

He sat up straighter, as if bracing himself, and began. "Uluru is one of Australia's most famous natural features, maybe the most famous. People from other countries know it as Ayers' Rock." Grasping from George's expression that he didn't know it, Foster went on. "It's either a very large rock, or a small hill made of rock, depending on how you want to look at it. It's very beautiful, and the colors it appears change based on the time of day.

"It was twelve years ago; Anne was eight, Daniel five, and Linda three. We took a family trip there. We spent some time on top of the rock, walking around, taking in the view. I was explaining to the children some of the history I'd read about it. Of course, we'd set up a magical barrier to prevent the children from wandering too far, far enough to fall over the edge.

"We spent more time up there than we'd thought, and the barrier spell wasn't as strong as we thought. Whatever the reason, at some point when we weren't looking, Linda ran toward the edge, the barrier wasn't there, and she fell off. It was about fifty feet to the ground." He paused again. "Her neck was broken; there was nothing we or anyone could do."

George's chest tightened; it had started midway through the story, as it became clear what the end would be. Not the same as my situation, but almost worse in some ways. "I'm sorry."

"Everyone was," agreed Foster. "Of course, it was crushing. Bad enough to lose a child, but to lose her because of negligence, inattention, whatever you want to call it... at the time, we didn't see how we'd get through it. But you do, because... what other choice is there?"

The question, though rhetorical, seemed a perfect opportunity for George to ask his own. "I'm sorry, but let me ask... if, after it happened, some opportunity had come up for you to go back in time to prevent it from happening, would you have done it?"

Foster and Nellie exchanged a surprised glance; clearly, the notion had never occurred to either of them. "Do you mean," he asked, "we re-live the same event with foreknowledge, or go back in such a way that there are two of us at the same time, and intervene with our past selves to prevent it?"

"The second one."

Solemnly, he answered, "It depends on how long after it happened you mean. If it had been a few hours, or a day, I have little doubt that we'd have done it, and been grateful for the opportunity. Even the near-certain likelihood of a destructive time-paradox, I suspect, wouldn't have been enough to dissuade us. At that time, you may be able to imagine, we were in a very bad way.

"Now, if you put us a month or two after it happened... of course, we were far from recovered, but just beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I believe we would have enough perspective to understand that while it was very tempting, we would be putting others in danger, probably a large number of people. I'm pretty confident we wouldn't have done it. A year later, definitely not. While the pain was still there, and always will be, we accept that these things happen for a reason."

"It was so hard," added Nellie, "to work through the grief, the pain, and the guilt. It was something we had to fight every day, and then take care of the two children we still had. We're thankful that we had family and friends to help us. It was a very dark tunnel." She put her hand on her husband's knee; he put his hand on hers.

"Why are you so sure," asked George, "that there would be a destructive time-paradox?" He felt for them, but he was tired of hearing that from people who couldn't really know, or relying on legends.

"Well, at that time, I didn't know for sure," said Foster. "It just seemed like common sense. Two contradictory events can't both happen, so something's got to give. But since then, five years ago, I had an interesting conversation with an Indian man, a wizard who's done research into the magical legends of this sort of thing, as well as study of quantum physics as it relates to magic. It would take a long time to explain, and I'm not even sure I could persuasively, but he made a very convincing case that while it wouldn't destroy the world, it would--and has--caused a space-time disturbance with the paradox point, as he called it, at the epicenter, with the shock waves radiating outward. There's plenty of historical evidence that this has happened, more than once."

"I'm not aware that any way now exists to go back in time," said Nellie. "George, are you thinking of going back, to prevent Fred's death?"

Time to lay my cards on the table, thought George. "I am back in time," he said, to his hosts' shock. "Fred's death occurred, will occur, in May of next year. I came back with a group of people for a different purpose, which would take a while to explain. My presence isn't crucial for their purpose. As we speak now, Fred is alive and well. I would really like for that not to change." George could hear the emotion in his own voice.

"George, believe me when I say that if there's anyone who can understand how you feel, it's us," said Foster gently. "But believe me... if you got him back, it would be in a world that you wouldn't want to live in. The results are unpredictable, but I am very sure they wouldn't be good."

"Would you tell us, George," asked Nellie, "what happened, what happens, from now? I assume that last night, you stopped your story at this point in the timeline. Please tell us what happened after that, what led you to this point."

George spent the next ten minutes telling them, getting as far as the night of Fred's death and Voldemort's defeat. George paused for over a minute, the reality of his plans starting to catch up with him. What if, he thought, I screw up what Fred died for, what Harry almost died for... Colin, Remus, Tonks... could I save them, or just make their deaths be for nothing?

Nellie spoke again. "I'm sure that people have told you that Fred's death was a heroic and worthwhile one, that he died helping to save your society. I'm also sure that that knowledge does you no good. Nothing can make you feel better about what happened. There are hundreds of ways to look at it, to try to make sense of it. Metaphysical, religious, philosophical, and so on... I've been through it all. But I wouldn't try to say it to you, because at this point it wouldn't do you any good."

He looked up at her. "What do you mean, 'at this point?'"

"I mean," she said earnestly, "that you haven't grieved yet." In response to his quizzical look, she continued, "What I say depends on a certain understanding of the word 'grieve.' Of course, you felt grief when he died, and you still do when you think about it, which I suspect is a lot.

"But when someone you loved dies far before their time, it takes a long time to truly grieve. We go through stages, and the mind doesn't easily let go of the person we loved. We want them to stay, and at first, the fact that they're gone doesn't dissuade us. We cling tenaciously to their memory, we feel that we betray them by truly accepting their death and saying goodbye. Day by terrible day, we must be beaten over the head with the reality of their passing until we begin to reluctantly loosen our grip. Only with time, agonizing time, do we reach acceptance. They're gone, and we must go on without them.

"There's a reason, George, that most people don't come back as ghosts. A few reasons. One is that it's not natural, and the ghost may feel depressed. But another is that it short-circuits the grieving process. You're only at the beginning of the process, and the ghost is there. You're happy, because they look and sound like the person you loved, and in an important way, they are. It's their spirit. You can talk to them. But you can no longer grieve for them. You came back in time, for another reason, and now he isn't there, you can't talk to him. But you suddenly seem to have an option, one you didn't have before. One you didn't think of before going back, because there wasn't this pain of his absence, the pain that only grieving can begin to heal. It's a long and painful road, but we all have to go through it."

George looked down, emotion starting to rise up; Angel moved closer to him and tightened her hold on him a little. He knew, but couldn't bring himself to admit, that what she said was true. There must be another way, he thought desperately.

"George," she said, "if it could have been you instead of him, would you have had it be that way?"

He struggled to keep his emotions in check, as he could tell by her voice that she had considered the question many times, and that her answer was the same as his. "Yes," he managed to answer without breaking down.

"And having done so," she continued, compassionately but relentlessly, "would you have him take this kind of risk to get you back?"

The defenses his mind had built up against being dissuaded from his course of action lay in ruins, and he was finally forced to starkly confront himself in the mirror. He knew the answer to her question. The sobs started to come. Angel moved closer, wrapping both arms around him, holding him tightly. He put his arms around her, head on her shoulder, and wept as he never had before.

When he finally stopped, rubbed his eyes, and blew his nose, he looked down at Angel, still looking at him silently but compassionately. He shook his head in amazement. "Now, I really understand why you have that name." She smiled, but said nothing.

Turning to her parents, he said, "And I also understand that when Daniel said that you help people, this must be one of those things. Does she... find people for you to help?"

"You could say that," agreed Foster. "It just sort of evolved. She started doing that when she was five years old. The first few times, we ignored it, told her to leave them alone. But fortunately, she kept doing it, and once it worked out in such a way that we understood that the person had a problem that we could help them with. We started paying attention more when she did that, and we soon worked it out. Now, we wouldn't think of ignoring her."

"The common factor," added Nellie, "is that the person is a good person who is struggling with personal demons, you could say. The person often isn't consciously aware of their problem, and is never aware that they themselves are blocking a resolution to the problem. The problem is always causing a great deal of emotional pain. We... do our best to provide an environment in which the person can come to terms with the problem, or at least, recognize it. It's always a little different."

"Bet you've never had one involving time travel before," said George wryly.

"No, we haven't," agreed Foster. "Which was why we've never seen her panic like that, when you were about to leave. I suppose that deep down, you knew the danger, knew it was real--"

"But refused to admit it to myself, or brushed it aside with the notion that it wasn't 100% certain. I think I used that as a way to give myself permission to do something I knew was wrong. It just seemed... so compelling to get him back. Like something I had to do..."

"Maybe you told yourself that it was dishonorable not to, and that only you could understand that," suggested Foster.

George touched his finger to his nose, and pointed at Foster. "You're sure you don't read minds?"

With a small grin, Foster shook his head. "Just experience. Whenever anyone is contemplating something drastic, there's always the fact that being a good person, one needs to justify one's actions. We've seen people with such convoluted justifications that they make you look like an amateur."

"I'll bet," agreed George. Glancing at Angel, he asked, "You don't have any idea why she's like this? Has she ever been looked at?"

"Once or twice, when she was younger," said Nellie. "It used to bother us that she talked so little. But she's always been happy and sweet-tempered, so it wasn't as though she was suffering. Some people are just different. Who knows what will happen in the future, but as long as she's happy, we're happy. As for her ability, we really do feel that it's a gift, a precious one. It's not as though she and we can help everyone in the world, but it enriches us to know that we can make such a difference."

George could easily imagine it. "Is there anything that bothers her? Besides guests who leave before they're supposed to?"

"Yes, actually," said Foster. "The first time we went to the top of a skyscraper with her--she was four--and looked out at the observation point, she screamed her head off; she was terrified. Another incident confirmed it; she's very afraid of heights."

George's eyebrows rose; it was an amazing coincidence. "That's got to make you wonder."

"Oh, yes," agreed Nellie. "It reinforced what we already felt about her, that she was the light at the end of that dark tunnel we went through. A year after Linda's death, George sold his business, and we decided to do what we could to help other people. It was our way of coping, I think. Trying to make up for a mistake that can never be made up for. When Angel's ability came along, we felt as though the universe, whatever you want to call the powers that be, was telling us that we were doing the right thing, by sending us someone who was extremely well suited to help us in what we'd chosen to do. We've been able to do a lot of good. I don't know if that balances any cosmic scales, but it has helped us learn that the ways of the universe are beyond us. Things happen, you deal with them as best you can, and you move on. If there's a reason for anything, it's to help us learn. And we can learn from anything; it's just a matter of whether we do or not."

"Wonder what I can learn," George mused.

"From this, there are many, many possibilities," said Foster. "We wouldn't try to tell you what they might be, because you learn better when you work something out on your own. And we might be wrong anyway. Whatever you learn will probably pop into your mind when you're thinking about something else."

"Would you tell us, George," asked Nellie, "why did you go back in time?"

"Why don't you call Anne and Daniel back in, it's an interesting story..."

George talked with the family for the rest of the afternoon and stayed for dinner, but declined their invitation to stay another night, this time because he knew that the others on the island had to be worried, "both about me, and them disappearing at any instant," George joked. He shook hands and exchanged goodbyes with Daniel and Anne.

Nellie stepped forward and gave him a hug. "Feel free to come back, if you feel like a vacation," she urged him.

"I will, but if it's all right with you, what I'd also like to do is urge Harry to do that," said George. "Not because he needs Angel's help specifically--though with what he's been through, who knows--but just for a place to get away from it all. He could do with a week of leisure."

"Well, tell him he's welcome, of course," said Nellie. "Poor young man, I do feel sorry for him."

"Most of us do," replied George. "Except me, when I'm being a twit and making his life harder."

She gave him a mildly reproving look. "We all have to go through what we have to go through. He'll understand, if you explain it to him."

"I hope so," said George. He turned to Foster. "Thanks for everything. You do a lot of good. I'll always appreciate it."

Foster shook his hand and clasped his shoulder. "Good luck, George."

"You too, George," replied George humorously. He knelt, and was eye level with Angel. "And you... this face, I'm sure, I'll see in my dreams when I'm an old man. The world is full of the wonderful and mysterious, and you are living proof of that." He reached out; smiling, she moved closer and hugged him. "Thank you, Angel."

"Goodbye, George," she said. He stood and walked toward the door.

"You sure you'll be okay getting there?" asked Foster.

"I can get there from the airport, I looked at where I was. I should be fine. Goodbye, all." He pointed his wand at the door. "Rockingham!"

"Rockhampton," corrected Foster humorously.

George grinned, and so did they. "I will actually be all right, once I get there. Rockhampton!" He opened the door, and with a last glance at the family, walked through.

* * * * *

As he walked across the dark field, he couldn't help but wonder about what their reactions would be. He Disillusioned himself so they wouldn't see him from a distance if they happened to be looking in that direction, and reversed the spell when he was within ten meters. A few seconds later, Justin saw him.

"George!" he exclaimed. A dozen people were hanging around the table, though not Harry, Hermione, or Ron. A dozen heads whirled in his direction.

In view of what he had done, George had decided that his standard whimsical attitude would be put on hold for a while. "Hello, all. Would somebody use the whistle? I'd like everyone here."

Neville took out his wand and waved it, causing a sharp whistling sound lasting for a few seconds. Seconds later, people started coming out of tents. "George! Thank Merlin," Ron exclaimed.

"Hello, George," said Harry, his expression one of both relief and caution. "Glad to have you back."

"Glad to be back." George realized that Harry couldn't actually be happy or relieved until he knew that George wouldn't try such a thing again; he couldn't blame Harry.

"I have a few things to say, and it's not easy, so I wanted everyone here so I wouldn't have to say it twice," began George. "The most important thing is that I want to say to everyone that... I want to apologize for being an enormous ass, in pretty much every way possible. I caused you all kinds of difficulty, then all kinds of worry. I'd like to try to explain why, not so much in hope of forgiveness, but because you all deserve the best explanation that's in my power to provide."

He took a breath and paused, glancing around at the nineteen pairs of eyes on him. He knew it wouldn't be easy to say, but he also knew he had to do it. He continued, "Of course you all know that Fred's death hit me hard, much as I pretended otherwise. Then he came back as a ghost, as we had promised each other we would if the worst happened. It was great to have him back, even if only in that way.

"But then we came here, and something happened that I didn't expect. Suddenly, here I was, in 1997, when Fred died in May of 1998. He was, he is, alive, as we speak, and he's going to die in a little over half a year. I understand that, and will no longer try to stop it. But knowing that he was alive made me feel like I had to help him.

"I met a family in Australia, a very kind family, and they helped me understand a few things. The main one was that... I never really grieved for Fred, never really accepted his death, the pain of it, not deep down. He came back as a ghost, so I didn't have to. If I had truly accepted his death, then come here, I would have seen going back to save him as bringing the dead back to life. But not having accepted his death, I saw going back to save him as preventing the death of a real, living person. I don't know if you can understand the way I saw that difference. It might seem semantic. But to me, it was all the difference in the world."

"I understand," said Hermione somberly. "I wouldn't mind going to Australia to fix the situation with my parents."

"Yeah," said George. "I can see that. So, I became..."

"Obsessed," suggested Lee.

"Yeah, that's it. Obsessed. Obsessed with saving him. Only I could understand why it had to be done, it was a moral imperative. No point trying to explain it to you lot. But what was I to do? I'd come here under certain understandings, and one of them was to not do things like what I tried to do.

"So, and I wasn't really conscious of this, but I started being a pest, started annoying everyone in sight. I couldn't be a part of the group, because that meant accepting the rules, and one of the rules was, no going off the island. If I could alienate everyone, I could blame them for alienating me, make you cast me out. I'd then be free of my moral obligation, and could feel free to go do what I needed to do.

"Now, one little flaw in my plan was that Harry, and you all, were extremely tolerant of my actions. Harry wouldn't push me out, much as I unconsciously wanted him to. Then Kingsley's little test gave me another chance. I didn't vote to choose a new leader because, of course, I had no intention of obeying whoever it was. It was Ron. Cool! He's easy to tick off. I was home free." Ron rolled his eyes, but clearly understood George's intent.

"Well, wrong again. To my great surprise, Ron was even more tolerant than Harry was. Which I'm sure wasn't easy."

"No, it wasn't," nodded Ron.

"I can imagine. And I want to say, Ron, that I'm very sorry for that. You didn't deserve that, to put it mildly." Ron's eyebrows rose slightly; he nodded his acknowledgement. "I suppose, having lost Fred, there was a lot of sympathy working for me," went on George. "Then, finally having exhausted all your patience, I went to work on the chickens, which I'm not exactly proud of either. And Luna... I met someone in Australia who reminded me of you, in some ways. I think I can understand why you were so upset about that. So, I want to apologize to you specifically as well."

Luna nodded casually. "You don't have to apologize to me, George. But you might want to--"

"Apologize to the chickens, I know," he said as she nodded. "Don't worry, I will. Then, I spent a week in the slammer, courtesy of our clever friend the Minister. Harry came back, and..."

He looked at Harry. "I don't know why you let me go, mate," he said, then paused to control the emotion that was beginning to creep into his voice. "If you hadn't, it would've been a hellish year for me. I'll always be grateful for that. You showed a faith and confidence in me that I totally did not deserve."

"Clearly you did, since you're here," said Harry, obviously affected by George's words.

George slowly shook his head. "It was a near thing. I never did go back to England, but I was in a Muggle airport, a half-hour away from doing it. I don't even know for certain, now, that I wouldn't have done it. But without you, I'd never have had the chance to find out. So, thank you. And I also want to apologize to you, the biggest one. You've got ten million burdens, and I became the greatest of them all. I'll be a while making it up to you."

Harry nodded. "Just be the person you normally are. That'll be enough."

"Well, what I hope is to be someone who can be entrusted with responsibility, which is not exactly who I used to be. I can't pretend that Fred's death won't change me at all. I did, in a way, lose half of myself. I'm not sure I can be the same. The important thing is that I'll do my best to be a valuable part of what happens on this island, contributing whatever I can. I want you all to know that who I was for the first few weeks on the island is not who I intend to be, and I hope you'll all give me the chance to prove myself again." He paused to think about whether there was anything else to say, then decided that was enough for the moment. "Anyway... thanks for listening."

He started to walk toward the tents, then stopped. "Which tent should I be in, anyway?"

"Number 5," answered Hermione. "With Luna."

"Luna? But I thought... never mind, I'll figure it out."

He took a few more steps as Angelina stood, walked briskly over to him, and hugged him. Emotion rose again as he returned her embrace. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I'm glad you're back," she whispered in return.

Lee stood up. "Hey, George, sit down. Tell us what happened. I want to hear about this family."

George hesitated. "I'm not sure everyone wants to hear the story..."

"If they don't, they can go to their tent," Lee persisted. "Come on, sit down."

George sat, and started talking. No one returned to their tent.

Three hours later, George entered tent number five. "Hello, George," said Luna, in her nightclothes.

"Hi, Luna. I'm not disturbing you, am I? Were you about to try to sleep?"

"No, I wasn't. Maybe in a half hour. So, I wanted to ask, you said someone you met there reminded you of me. Was it the older sister?"

George sat in a chair and shook his head. "No, it was Angel."

He wondered if she would be surprised, but by all appearances, she wasn't. "Is it because I don't talk that much? I mean, I don't think I talk that little."

He grinned. "No, it's not that. And it's not looks, or anything like that. It's a little difficult to put into words. The best way I can think of to say it is that I think if they had chickens, she would walk among them, and they would let her pick them up if she wanted to."

She nodded serenely. "Do you think it's so rare?"

"We had chickens at the Burrow, so yes, I think so. They never let me or Fred get to within five meters of them."

"Well, clearly, you had a reputation."

He grinned. "I suppose so."

They talked for another few minutes, said goodnight, and retired to their respective sides of the quarters. Luna curled up in bed, took her wand off the nightstand... and there were Snorkacks! She had seen them from the island once before, but this was a family! A baby Snorkack! So rare... She approached no closer, not wanting to risk the mother's wrath... looked intently for a few more seconds... and was back in her bed again. Oh, I have to try again, she told herself. A baby Snorkack!

* * * * *

Four tents away, Kingsley entered Harry's tent. "So, I imagine you're pretty relieved."

Sitting in a chair, Harry shrugged. "I guess so. But honestly, the thing I feel most is being happy that he's back, and happy that he worked it out. But yes, knowing that I'm not going to suddenly disappear is good, too."

"For me as well, I admit. I want to ask, had you figured that out? Did you have an idea why you thought he'd come back, or was it just faith?"

"I didn't realize he hadn't grieved, which now seems like the most important part of what he figured out. What I did realize, mostly from talking to Lee and Angelina, was that he saw it as a personal mission, and was probably deliberately pushing aside the idea of the consequences. I was trusting him to eventually realize that, and I figured that there's a big difference between what you intend to do when you can't actually do it, and what you'll do when you can actually do it. Given the actual possibility, I thought he'd come to his senses."

Kingsley nodded. "And how are you thinking about the possibility of him becoming an Auror in the future?"

Harry paused to think. "Haven't had much time to think about it, of course, but my basic reaction is... I believe he was serious about doing better on the island, and I'll be very surprised if he doesn't do what he said he'd do. Assuming that happens, I'm inclined to not think about it until the year is almost up, then see what both he and I think about it. I know he committed a huge breach of trust and rules, and you could say that should disqualify him from being an Auror right there. Still, I want to wait the year, and see how it goes."

"Makes sense. And... keeping in mind that you shouldn't judge a decision by its results, now that this is over, how would you evaluate the decision you made?"

"Hmmm... I suppose that if I don't judge by results, it's the same as before I made the decision. I would do it again, I think it was a... I was going to say 'good,' but I'm not sure you can say this was good or bad. I think it was the right thing to do."

"If it had been, say, Corner instead of George..."

"Interesting. I'm not sure; a lot would have depended on the exact circumstances. I know your point is that I have an emotional connection to George that I don't to Michael, and it's a good point. I know it's something I should keep in mind. But I just can't say."

"Okay. As for me, I don't have any real comment; I just thought this was something that you should think about. One more thing... is there going to be any punishment for George? For doing what he did before he left?

It had never occurred to Harry. "No. He was already in your tent for a week, which is a kind of punishment, but... he apologized, he knows what he did wrong, he explained it pretty well... I don't see what the point of punishing him would be."

"Some people would say it's for the deterrent value," suggested Kingsley. "When I was an Auror, people got punished for much less than that."

Harry shrugged. "Probably because there wasn't a Leader. The Auror Leader portraits actually talked to me about this. There were a few exceptions, but most of them aren't big on punishment. Most of them said, you just let the person know that they've let you down, that they've lost your confidence. If they're any kind of decent Auror, that's enough for them to want to work to get it back. George clearly wants to get back not only my confidence, but everyone's. In general, I don't think I'll be doing a lot of punishing."

"I'm not surprised; I was just curious about how you felt about that. That's the good thing about having a Leader; without one, there's no one who can wield that kind of moral influence. Needless to say, most Aurors didn't respect the Head of the Auror Office. Or the Minister, for that matter. Morally speaking, the main thing that people worried about was having the respect of their fellow Aurors, and some people cared about that more than others. So, the Head of the Auror Office sometimes resorted to punishment. In any case, of course, what you say makes a lot of sense. By the way, have you read 'The Fifteen?'"

"No. I hadn't even heard of the book before becoming Auror Leader, of course. Haven't had time to read it, and since I can talk to the fifteen, there doesn't seem to be much point. But I was thinking of reading it to them, see where they think it's right or wrong. It's, what, thirty or forty pages on each Auror Leader?"

"Yes. I looked at it again recently, but I'd read it long ago. I heard that Flourish is rushing out a new printing in response to sudden demand. I suspect that the portraits will say that it's not very good, at best a sketch. Most of them presided over difficult and complex times, and how can you boil that down into forty pages? Most, I think all, have biographies devoted to them. Anyway, I have a copy if you'd like to read it."

Harry shook his head. "Maybe in the future, but I'm mostly reading about spells, training-type stuff. Things I need to worry about right now. But thanks."

"Sure. Well, that's all for now, I guess," said Kingsley as he stood. "With any luck, things'll quiet down for a while."

"That's never really been my experience," responded Harry wryly.

Kingsley gave him a small grin. "We can only hope. Good night."

"Good night."

Harry read for a while, then lay in bed and tried to sleep. His eyes open, he suddenly had a sensation that, for the fleetest of instants, his surroundings had changed. He did a double-take, and looked around, but could find nothing amiss. Must have imagined it, he thought. He closed his eyes and went to sleep, certain for the first time in three days that he would wake up in the morning.

* * * * *

Author's note: I have a new blog, http://sempriniblog.blogspot.com , in which I write fairly lengthy posts (like these stories!) about various topics I find interesting. The most recent one is about the Harry Potter stories, and includes links to pdf versions of the stories.

* * * * *

Next, Chapter 7, Out of Place: A new problem arises, bringing with it the now-familiar threat of destruction of the timeline, causing Harry to regret having taken the group into the past.

From Chapter 7: "What could have caused this?" asked Dean.

"Harry was warned," said Hermione, "that disruptions to space/time could cause..."

"Weirdness," suggested Ron.