The Chalice of Morgridar

Chapter 2

The Divided Heart

It took Harry several moments to realize he was still staring across at Professor McGonagall rather dumbly. In those few moments, a great many images had swum through his mind. It was almost as though Dumbledore himself had entered into Harry's head to compress the minutes of his strange dreamlike vision at the lake into seconds. Suddenly, what moments before had been forgotten shadows now rose with crystal clarity in his mind.

"Can I get you a glass of water, Harry?"

McGonagall's still unaccustomed use of his first name shocked Harry back to the here and now.

"What?" he managed.

He immediately felt slightly stupid as he looked across at McGonagall and saw that her eyes had now misted over.

"I - I'm sorry, Professor, I mean I - "

"Minerva, Harry. You're not a child anymore." She let out a great sigh and wiped lightly at her eyes. McGonagall seemed to face even her sudden and uncustomary display of emotion with a kind of quiet dignity. "And there's no need to apologize," she added. "I know you and the Headmaster were very close. As for me, well," McGonagall sniffed lightly. "It was a long and happy association shall we say. I didn't want you to hear this from someone else."

Harry fought hard to steady the expression on his face. McGonagall was right: he had been close to Dumbledore, closer in some ways than anyone had been, but now he couldn't seem to feel grief for the death of his former Headmaster. What seemed foremost in his mind was a dawning realization of the enormity of the task that now faced him: if the vision in his dream had been true, then he was responsible for finding Dumbledore's successor, someone who would agree to and be capable of guarding over the strange forces that had been protected all these years on the island. Harry wasn't sure what the consequences would be if he didn't. His mind reflected on those horrible final moments in the cavern beneath the lake when Ginny had been the only thing separating the world of both the living and the dead from total annihilation. Harry suddenly found he could remember vividly from his dream Dumbledore telling him that if he did not succeed in finding his replacement within a few months then he would "not be able to predict the consequences."

"Harry."

Harry forced himself to concentrate on McGonagall for the second time; on this occasion, his attention did not waver. His instincts told him that he mustn't tell McGonagall anything that Dumbledore had shared with him the night before. It wasn't that Harry had any doubt as to the Headmistress's loyalty, but he also knew that Dumbledore would be loathe to tell anyone who didn't have to know. He didn't want McGonagall to mistake his non-responsiveness for anything other than shocked grief.

"I'm sorry, M - Minerva," he said, fighting hard to repress the urge to wince. "I - I - it's a bit of shock. I suppose I - I never really thought he would die."

That much was true. Even when Dumbledore had told him on the lake the previous week that he thought his days were numbered, Harry hadn't managed to believe that the great wizard wouldn't be able to find some way to prolong his life. Harry wondered fleetingly whether Dumbledore had decided he was too tired to carry on, but then he dismissed the thought almost instantly: Dumbledore would have known how difficult it was for Harry to find his successor and how much had been at stake. But then why hadn't he given Harry more of a lead? Certainly Dumbledore must have known many qualified wizards or witches who could take his place and Harry could think of none at all whom he knew. Perhaps Dumbledore still intended to give him some sort of clue, another dream or another vision.

Harry became aware McGonagall was talking and realized that, in spite of his resolve, he had drifted into thought for a third time.

" - rely on your discretion until the matter is generally known."

"Yes, of course," said Harry quickly, hoping that McGonagall hadn't begun the sentence with a negative.

It was McGonagall's turn to pause then.

"Well," she finally said, with a sigh. "I suppose that will be all, Harry. I will, of course, be in touch about the funeral arrangements. I would have thought the Headmaster might have liked you to speak on his behalf, but the owl that brought the news of his death explicitly stated that you should not. I'm sure Albus had his own reasons."

They shared a very brief look then and Harry caught the end of a questioning expression on McGonagall's face, but he must have returned it quite blankly for the look disappeared. Strangely, Harry found he knew right away why Dumbledore hadn't wanted him to speak: he had wanted to draw as little attention to Harry and his task as possible. He ruefully remembered how the Headmaster had seemed to abandon him during his fifth year only to discover that Dumbledore had possessed very grave reasons for his apparently indifferent attitude. Harry had no doubt that things were similar now.

He managed a quick nod to McGonagall, enough to show that he understood but hopefully not why and then got to his feet. His already heightened sense of self-consciousness increased as his chair made an awkward scraping noise but McGonagall didn't seem to notice. In fact, she seemed lost in her thought.

Harry had not quite reached the door, however, when McGonagall's voice called out again.

"Oh, and Harry," she said. "It really would be best if you did not arrive to teach your classes by broomstick. We'll leave the Quidditch lessons to Alicia, don't you think?"

Harry turned back to give McGonagall a nod and then allowed himself a weak smile as he descended the spiral staircase. To think that he had come into the Headmistress's office worried about how he had arrived at school.

***

"Th - there's your father walking past."

Siosia quickly took a large bite of the roast chicken sandwich she had seemed barely able to contemplate a moment before. She then looked up to give her father what she feared was a far too large and unconvincingly happy smile and wave. Harry Potter replied with a slightly lost looking smile and wave of his own. If Ginny Weasley Potter had been present at that moment, it wouldn't have been lost on her how much alike father and daughter had looked at that moment and how bad both of them were at concealing their true emotions.

But as it was, she was not, and so Siosia and her father both succeeded in what, to both, was the extremely important task of deceiving one another into thinking all was right when in fact both were deeply troubled.

"Thanks," Siosia mumbled to the boy sitting across from her and then looked quickly back down at her sandwich, as though deciding whether or not it was worthy of another bite.

"I - I n-n-n-noticed you weren't at b-breakfast this morning," the boy added, nervously twitching his fingers on the edge of Siosia's peripheral vision. "I-I was worried."

At this, Siosia looked up cautiously.

"You were worried?" she said in a carefully non-committal tone of voice. "I don't even know you."

"I-I-I-I'm Chris-Christopher," he said. "I-I'm in your class. Y-y-y-ou don't know m-my name?"

"I know your name," said Siosia without looking up. "But I still don't know you. We've never talked before. I'm sorry, I - " she got up. "I have to leave now."

"B-b-b-but you haven't touched your lunch, a-a-and you didn't eat breakfast."

"What do you care?"

The words had come out of Siosia's mouth before she'd had a chance to think about them. With everything that had happened the night before - and frankly every day since she'd first been sorted into Slytherin - she was defensive, on edge, and though hated to admit to herself - scared. She wasn't in the mood to trust anyone from her own house. Clarissa had been friendly to her the first couple of days, hadn't she? But she hadn't really wanted to be Siosia's friend. She must have wanted something; Slytherins always did. And finally she hadn't been able to conceal her true hate toward Siosia and had called her a blood traitor. Now this Christopher, who had never spoken to her before, was pretending to be friendly as well. Siosia dearly wished that the circular table she was sitting at near the far corner of the Slytherin end - the only one that had been entirely empty at the time she had entered the Great Hall for lunch - could have magically moved to the Gryffindor side just as her Uncle Ron had told her it had one day long ago. There she could have made some new friends in the house where she really belonged, just as she had always imagined she would before that horrible night of her sorting.

Yet Siosia had never been mean spirited; her mother had always saved her sternest rebukes for the times in which Siosia had rushed to a harsh judgment of others too quickly. Her defensive anger had sounded foreign on her lips and she quickly wondered whether her new house was making her into a person she did not want to be.

She cautiously glanced back at Christopher. He was a very short, very skinny boy with a shock of short blonde hair and slightly protruding ears. She could imagine it wasn't easy for him to live with several roommates who, even at the age of eleven, seemed to have already grown tall, large, and brutish. But then Siosia fought her budding sympathy just as she had tried to second-guess her anger the moment before: appearances could be very deceiving. She clearly recalled looking at a picture from her father's old album that had been taken of the first-year students on their arrival at Hogwarts in the autumn of his first year. There he had sat in the first row, scarcely taller than she was, with the same blonde hair as Christopher, and the childish of smiles on his face - Draco Malfoy: the monster who would grow up to become Lord Voldemort.

But yet again, from the descriptions her father and mother had given her, Malfoy hadn't seemed the type that would react to a retort by looking sullenly down at his twitching fingers, even in his first year, which is exactly what Christopher was doing at the moment.

Before she could think further, Siosia sat back down at the table.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, after a moment's pause.

Christopher very slowly began to look up. He had not spoken, however, when another voice sounded out from somewhere very nearby.

"Oh, good! I was hoping you two could be friends. You're both the most interesting in your year, do you know that? Perhaps even the most interesting in the house - besides me, of course."

Siosia and Christopher both let out an involuntary shriek, jumped out of their chairs, and backed away from the table.

"Oh, don't be so frightened now," the voice said again. "Just because you humans prefer to eat your lunch at the table doesn't mean I can't eat under the table. It's perfect, actually, just how I like it. I can crouch in the darkness and rest against the table legs."

"I - I - is it one of the ghosts?" Christopher asked.

"No," said Siosia decisively. She crouched down and found Nybyn with his feet tucked up against his stomach, leaning against one of the table legs. He was devouring a chicken leg in what seemed to Siosia an uncomfortably animal sort of way. As she peered down at him, he looked across at her, smiling beneath the tendrils of his hair.

"Pity you decided to come back in a way, though," he went on. "I had fancied the rest of your chicken sandwich. Didn't you wonder why there was no one sitting here when you came in? I'm a second year, remember? They've all had a year to get used to me and I think they've decided to stay as far away as possible."

"Are you eavesdropping on our conversation?" asked Siosia sharply.

"That's hardly fair. You haven't really started a proper conversation yet. But, yes, I was thinking of eavesdropping. Just pretend I'm not here."

Siosia sighed heavily and sat back up on her chair, returning her attention to Christopher, who still looked very alarmed.

"It's all right," she explained, half-wondering why she hadn't decided to take the conversation somewhere else. "He's friendly - I think. Anyway, he gave me a charm last night that helped me against that horrible Clarissa."

Christopher seemed to look down for a moment and his cheeks flushed red, but then he looked up again.

"I - I - I wanted to w-w-warn you about her," he said. "Sh-sh-she always tr-tr-tries t-to pr-pretend she l-likes you, b-b-but she's s-s-said horrible th-th-th-things about you b-b-behind your-your back, you know."

Siosia peered at Christopher for a moment.

"Are you nervous?" she asked curiously.

"N-n-no," Christopher replied. "I-I-I I have a st-stutter."

He looked down again.

"Oh," said Siosia after a moment's pause. "But I didn't think wizards could have a stutter. I thought there was a potion to stop all - I'm sorry," she quickly added, realizing that she had gone on too long.

"N-n-no, it's okay," said Christopher, but not yet looking up again. "Y-y-you don't have to a-apologize. I-I often get asked that q-question. Th-th-there is a potion, but i-it only works on the v-v-very young. My parents didn't kn-kn-know about i-it, you s-s-see, but they didn't ask for h-h-help either. I-I-I think th-they were ashamed of m-m-m-me."

"Ashamed of you?" said Siosia quickly and once again without really thinking. "It's not your fault." She hesitated. "Is it?"

"N-n-no," said Christopher quickly. "Th - th - th - they th - th - they - "

Christopher stopped himself and shook his head. He seemed very frustrated. Siosia wasn't sure what she was supposed to do and ended up sitting somewhat frozen in place waiting for her new friend to gather himself to continue. She became aware that a nervous vein was pulsing somewhere in her neck as she did so.

"Th - th - they're old Slytherins," he said with undisguised disdain. "Pr - pr - pretend they're purebloods. They're n-not r-r-really, of c-course," he added. "M - M - Maybe you kn - know the s-s-sort."

Siosia did know the sort - or she thought she did. Wealthy old wizards who lived in big, ugly mansions and looked down on anyone with the slightest connection to Muggles. It was these sorts of wizards that had always disgusted her mother and father. Families like Christopher's had been healthy recruits for the Death Eaters - the Malfoys in particular. Considering how so many of those families had ended up after the war, Siosia was surprised anyone still wanted to be like them.

"I h-h-hate them," said Christopher darkly, his face turning bright red; Siosia was surprised at the malice in his voice. "A-a-and the o-only time they were e-e-ever proud of m-m-me is when I g-g-got sorted into th-th-this house and I-I don't ev-ev-even want to be h-h-here."

"That makes two of us," she said sighing.

Christopher looked up then. "I-I-I know," he said. "Th-th-that's why I-I-I wanted to w-w-warn you; th-th-that girl, Clarissa, sh-sh-she's my c-c-c-cousin."

There was a moment of silence then during which another peal of laughter could be heard from under the table.

"I was wondering when he was going to get to that part."

Siosia lifted up the tablecloth and stared down at Nybyn just as he crunched a chicken bone into pieces in his mouth.

"Will you stop interrupting?" she demanded.

Nybyn shrugged.

"I-I-I don't kn-know why I d-did end u-up in th-this house," said Christopher again, after a moment's pause, as Siosia popped her head back up from under the table. "I-I'm not at all l-l-like them, r-r-really." He looked up at Siosia and for a moment, it seemed he needed to convince himself of this.

Siosia frowned. "Professor - " She stopped herself. She felt a sudden urge to trust Christopher, to confide in him all her frustrated anxieties of the past two weeks but she forced it back. No one could know about Professor Dumbledore: her parents had been as clear about that as they had about anything. But perhaps she could tell Christopher some of what they had said.

"My Dad," she began again. "My Dad said that I was sorted into Slytherin because I wanted to prove myself. He said that it was because of them, even though they didn't really mean to...." She shook her head, frowning more deeply. "I'm not sure if that makes sense."

Christopher looked at her for a moment.

"Well, I-I-I suppose y-your Dad would k-k-know," he said non-committally.

They didn't say anything more for a moment but just looked at one another. Siosia wondered whether Christopher had something to prove about himself as well. She was still wondering when the table took a hard shake and Nybyn emerged from underneath. Siosia winced and moved her chair out of the way as pieces of uneaten chicken bone fell down the front of his robes. She noticed for the first time that his fingernails were long, sharp and tinged in yellow, as though he (or his kind) were accustomed to hunting their lunch for themselves. Siosia thought that Nybyn looked almost vampiric rising up from the ground as he did at that moment. From the now terrified size of Christopher's bright blue eyes, Siosia could see that he was even more unnerved. Siosia jumped suddenly as she became aware of screaming from directly behind her and turned around to see two third-year Hufflepuff girls running quickly away. Nybyn responded with a surprisingly charming smile and a wave which Siosia thought broke his fearsome façade quite abruptly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said politely, "but I rather think that if we continue to stand here talking, we'll find ourselves late for class."

Siosia quickly scanned her watch and was shocked to discover that three minutes remained until her father's lesson. She took a quick look at Christopher and then turned to dart out of the Great Hall. She stopped, however, at a tap on her shoulder and looked quickly around to see Christopher holding out his hand.

"F-f-f-f-friends?" he asked, a little uncertainly.

Siosia took his small, slightly scrawny hand and shook it vigorously.

"Friends," she said with conviction.

They had not yet broken their grip when a third hand folded on top of theirs. This one had long yellowing fingernails.

"Friends," said Nybyn and flashed Siosia and Christopher one last Cheshire-cat grin.

***

Harry tried not to make it look like he was rushing to his lesson. He had already attracted far too much attention by arriving to his first class on broomstick, not that it was very much on his mind at the moment. It was precisely because he'd been thinking about Dumbledore, turning the now strangely clear events of his dream over and over in his head again, that he'd lost track of time in the first place. He had almost reached the top of the stairs and the corridor that led to the classroom where Gilderoy Lockhart had once unleashed a cage full of Cornish Pixies - the classroom that now belonged to Harry - when the sounds of Rockin' the Quaffle by the Whizzing Fizzbees suddenly rang out through the air. A passing Ravenclaw girl looked warily around the ceilings and walls to see if Peeves was planning an ambush. Harry, however, ducked quickly behind a statue of Uric the Oddball, waited until the girl was out of earshot, and then reached into the pocket of his robes to produce one half of his father-in-law's present from Christmas last. He touched something on its metallic surface, and placed it to his ear.

"I'm late for class," he said breathlessly.

"This will only take a minute," came the small metallic voice of Ginny from out of the metal box, sounding almost equally as anxious.

"I don't have a minute, Ginny."

"By my count you do. It's not as if you're going to get detention."

"It's Siosia's class," Harry replied, lowering his voice even further. "What kind of an example - "

"Harry, just tell me what's going on!"

Silence.

"Harry?"

"Wh - what do you mean?"

"Harry, I can feel you all the way to London. You've got more nervous energy than a Hungarian Horntail has spikes!"

"I - I - something's happened."

"You don't say, now - "

"Dumbledore's dead."

Silence.

"Now I can feel you."

"Oh, Harry, I - I'm really sorry," said Ginny finally. "I - gods, it was just the other day we - oh, gods."

"I - I know and that's not all. I have - I have to find his - his successor."

"His what?"

"The person who's going to replace him on - on the island."

There was a short pause before Ginny said:

"I didn't know anyone could replace him."

"I'm not sure anyone can," said Harry, and Ginny did not miss hearing or feeling the darkness in his voice, a darkness she had not heard in some while.

"But you've got to find someone, haven't you?" she said quietly.

"Yeah."

"Or else?"

"Or else."

And Ginny didn't have to ask what Harry meant. She was all too aware for what she had once been prepared to give the ultimate sacrifice.

"Oh, bloody hell, Harry, I'm sorry," she finally said.

Whatever Harry might have replied to this, neither discovered for, at that moment, a much louder voice bellowed down the corridor.

"Pottie's late! Pottie's late! Peevesy still remembers how wee little Pottie was always late to class when he was a wee little mite! Wasn't the headmistress ever so upset then? Just as she will be when Peeves tells her he still hasn't changed! Still hasn't ever grown up! Oh, how Peevesy never tires of seeing the headmistress get angry. The death of her he'll be one day; the death of the poor headmistress!"

A shrill cackle of laughter echoed off the walls of the corridor.

"Haven't they gotten rid of him yet?" asked Ginny in disbelief.

"It's worse, he's got a girlfriend now. Look - "

"I know, you'd better go."

"We'll talk more tonight."

"Harry, it's - it's going to be all right."

Harry didn't answer. He closed the Muggle mobile phone and bounded quickly to the door of his classroom. He had almost reached it when he became aware that another smaller set of footsteps were running equally as fast from the other direction. He looked up just in time to find himself face to face with his own daughter, the skinny blonde-haired boy with her. They looked at each other for a moment in astonishment, their faces flushed from running, then Harry opened the door and they all entered the classroom.

***

"Stop playing with that, Caroline!"

"It's all right, Hermione," said Ginny, but she took the mobile phone from her niece nonetheless.

"What's that awful sound it plays, anyway?"

"Oh, Mum," protested Caroline Weasley, pushing a strand of curly brown hair out of her face. "That's what makes it so charmed! Whoever thought of a Muggle phone playing Rockin' the Quaffle?"

"Is that the one sung by that awful chap with the bowtruckle in his hair?"

"He's the drummer," Ron explained, his mouth rimmed with Butterbeer. "And it's just a spell."

"Not you as well," said Hermione, taking out her wand and waving it twice to remove Ron's foamy mustache. "Why would anyone even want to pretend they had a bowtruckle in their hair?" She looked across at Harry and Ginny. "And what are you two doing with a Fizzing Whizzbees song spell on your mobile phone?"

"Whizzing Fizzbees," said Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Caroline in unison.

"Pardon me. Well?" she asked persistently, as Madam Rosmerta arrived with six helpings of treacle tarts.

Ginny shrugged.

"Hermione, are you saying we're too old to be cool?" said Harry smirking.

Hermione stiffened slightly. "Have you seen one of their concerts? Their fans aren't exactly our age."

"No, but obviously you have," said Ginny, smiling wickedly as she raised a spoonful of tart to her mouth.

Hermione blushed.

"Anyhow," added Harry. "In a couple of years, we'll have a teenage daughter. We have to try our best to fit in."

A smirk still danced on Harry's face as he caught his daughter's eye but it began to feel a little out of place. He had not failed to notice that since she had stopped playing mobile phones with her cousin, Siosia had fallen into one of her quiet moods. Ever mindful of her problems adjusting to life in Slytherin, he felt suddenly uneasy.

"Go on then, Siosia," said Ron. "What's it like to have two parents who are actually cool?"

"I wouldn't know," she replied, but gave her father a smile and a wink which made Harry feel very much relieved.

"I wouldn't either," added Caroline acidly.

"Hey! I like them," Ron protested, looking a little miffed.

Siosia and Caroline giggled.

"Anyway, Hermione," said Ginny. "It was either the Whizzing Fizzbees singing it or me."

"She's got a point, you know," said Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry, feeling a little buoyant, "she does a pretty good impression of Celestina Warbeck when she's singing in the shower."

Ginny punched Harry on the shoulder while everyone else laughed.

"How's work, anyway, Ron?" said Harry after a moment's pause while Ginny continued to eye him.

"Don't change the subject, Harry," said Ron, still smiling at Ginny. "I want to hear about Celestina."

They laughed again.

"No, seriously, mate," said Harry.

Ron's smile faded and he shrugged.

"I dunno, bit boring really."

"I expect anything would seem boring compared to being in the field," said Harry, almost a little wistfully.

"Yeah," echoed Ron.

"Although," Harry added, looking down at his wizard ring which had just emitted a cautionary stab, "it would be cool to plan all those sieges, outfoxing the enemy, that sort of thing, just like Professor Nevins used to do."

"Well, there isn't much planning to do at the moment."

"Some of us should be so lucky," said Ginny sighing and Harry gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Well, I for one don't miss it," Hermione declared, "it was awful when he went on assignment. He couldn't tell me what was going on and I never knew when he'd be - Caroline, put that down - how did you - never mind, I told you to stop playing with it!"

"I'm not going to break it, Mum!" Caroline protested, her fingers moving deftly over the digits on the mobile phone, while Ginny looked down at the table in front of her, surprised at how the phone had made its way back into the hands of her niece.

"Oh, leave her alone," muttered Ron, almost under his breath. "She's right; she's not hurting anything."

"Ron!" Hermione protested. "That's not the point! Did you see her? She took that right out from under Ginny's nose!"

"Yeah, pretty sharp, I thought," said Ron, in a way that Harry could tell was meant to goad Hermione.

"She should at least ask for something before she takes it!"

"It's all right, really," said Ginny, a little lamely. "I expect - "

"You may think it's funny but you're setting a very poor example!"

"Sorry I can't be the perfect father all the time."

"Well, you'll have to do better, won't you? You're going to be around a lot more than I am now. Until Megan Jones recovers from her head engorgement mishap, I have to do two people's jobs!"

"That must be very difficult," Ginny tried again. "You'll - "

"So?" said Ron. "She's at Hogwarts most of the time anyway."

"Talk about me as if I'm not here again," muttered Caroline.

"That's not the point, Ron."

"Well, what is the point then?"

"We have to be united on this. You can't always - you just can't tell her it's all right for her to - " Hermione took in a sharp breath and then another. Just when Harry was convinced she'd taken an overdose of gillyweed, Hermione got up and threw her napkin down onto the table.

"I'm going outside for a moment," she declared. And with that, she threw back her chair loudly and eased her way toward the door of the Three Broomsticks.

There was a long moment of silence.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," said Ron finally, sighing. "She seems to have gotten off the wrong end of her broomstick more than once lately."

He looked up hopefully at Harry and Ginny but found himself greeted with two very stony stares.

"I suppose you think I ought to get up and go after her," said Ron, a little sheepishly.

"What do you think, mate?" asked Harry, not cracking a smile.

Ron slowly got up from the table but then paused.

"She's probably Disapparated somewhere, you know," he said. "I could be ages walking around out there."

But neither Harry nor Ginny looked very sympathetic.

"Right," said Ron and started to walk away. "I'll find her or get lost trying."

"Hang on a minute," said Harry, before Ron had walked out of earshot. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Sorry, I was never very good at divination."

"Can't you feel her?" asked Ginny, her eyes seeming to burn into her brother's. "Can't tell you tell if she's nearby?"

Ron frowned.

"Your ring?" asked Ginny, pointing to his finger.

"Oh, that," said Ron. He looked down. "We - we - uh - it's - it's not working - or something."

"Not working?" said Ginny incredulously. "What do you mean?"

Ron looked down. "Hermione did something to them. I - I don't know what - she's the expert at counter-charms, anyway. All right," he said, not looking up. "I'll try to find her or - or something."

And he got up and walked out of the door himself.

Harry felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice down his back. He looked across to see that Ginny was as pale as a ghost. He took hold of her hand and found that it was clammy and cold.

"It's all right," he whispered to her.

But as he looked into Ginny's limpid brown eyes, he could see that it was not all right. And he knew exactly what she was thinking. Neither of them could imagine what it would be like to not feel the other anymore and it was terrifying to think that either would ever want it.

"I'd better go make sure they're okay," said Ginny finally, giving Harry's hand a squeeze and breaking the reverie of their shared feelings.

Harry looked as though he was about to protest but then nodded.

"Stay here," Ginny whispered to Harry. "Caroline," she said in a louder voice. "Stay here with Uncle Harry until we all get back, all right?"

But Caroline didn't respond. She absently played with her treacle tart, though she didn't look as though she was planning to eat any of it.

Ginny waited for a moment but when her niece still said nothing, she let out a sigh and quickly made her way toward the exit of the Three Broomsticks.

Harry watched her leave and then turned his attention to the two pre-adolescent girls now sitting at the table in front of him. He wondered what on earth he was supposed to say to them but was spared the trouble when Caroline noisily moved her chair back and left the table herself, her tart untouched. With a bossy wave of her hair that was uncannily reminiscent of her mother, she made her way quickly out of the pub, almost knocking over an elderly wizard who was just walking in through the door. Harry was fairly certain he should have said something to stop her but it seemed that nothing could come out of his mouth. Perhaps it was because he knew that nothing he could say would stop her.

He sat there for another moment looking across at Siosia.

"I wouldn't bother going after her, Dad," she said. "You won't find her. She'll go back to the school."

"Will she be all right?"

"She'll make it back safely, I should think."

Siosia looked across at him with one of those looks that didn't seem to belong on the face of an eleven-year-old child. Sometimes those looks would frighten Harry; other times, they made him wonder what his daughter might really be capable of, but this time he felt suddenly angry, angry that she should have to put up with all this, angry that she couldn't be silly, giggly, and ignorant, just the way a child should be.

Just the way he himself had never been allowed to.

Harry suddenly got up from the table, not entirely sure why. He walked over to Siosia and put his hand on her shoulder.

"I - I'd better go after her and make sure she's all right."

Siosia shrugged.

"I'm sorry this happened," Harry went on. "We'll go to Fortescue's after this, all right?"

Siosia nodded.

Harry bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Rosmerta," he said, catching the attention of the now grey-haired proprietor. "I know you're busy but - "

"Not to worry, Harry," she said. "They haven't grown out of it, have they?"

"No, they haven't," he replied, feeling his face burn.

"Hi, Siosia," said Madam Rosmerta, giving her a wink, and drawing up a chair at the table next to her.

Harry waited until the conversation had passed through a few exchanges and Siosia was no longer looking at him, then he moved his way in between the tables and out into the damp autumn air.

***

"I thought you were out with your Mum and Dad."

"We got done early," replied Caroline in a tone of voice that invited no further questions. She took out a very large second-year Potions book and opened it loudly on the same table in the Gryffindor common room where her mother had once poured over her own studies.

"Never mind that," said her best friend and roommate Felicia, peering across at her through a pair of narrow green eyes. "I talked to Robert." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He says his friend is coming tonight."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Ridiculous."

"He means it, Caroline!"

Caroline peered further down into her book as though, in doing so, she could make Felicia disappear.

"Even if he did, Lichee," she finally said, addressing her friend with a nickname she had chosen the first day they had met, "we can't go leaving the castle; we'll get expelled!"

"Your parents used to do it."

"My parents lived in a different time. My uncle was unexpellable, and so his friends were, too. You and I are not destined to defeat some scaly Dark Lord. Although," she added, in a bitter aside, "perhaps then I would finally get their attention."

Felicia lowered her voice further. "Anyway, you won't have to go into the forest; he's coming here."

"What?"

"Sssh! He's coming here, I said."

Caroline granted her roommate a narrow smile. "That's not possible." And then added in a strangulated high-pitched mimic: "'No one can Apparate in or out of Hogwarts. How many times do I have to tell you?'"

"Well, maybe he isn't Apparating, I don't know, but he's coming."

"He can't get here any other way, either. There are spells and wards and all kinds of things protecting the castle. Oh, Lichee, you don't have to be quite so smitten that you believe everything that boy tells you."

"I am not smitten," insisted Felicia, going red. "And he isn't lying. Or maybe he isn't," she decided. "Don't you want to know about - "

"I told you already I know all about it. My parents started it. It's - "

"Have you ever considered that your parents didn't tell you everything? Oh, I'm sorry, Lye, but you know what grown-ups are like."

"Yeah," said Caroline vacantly.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"No," said Caroline decisively, and turned the page of her book as though she was reading it.

Felicia paused for a moment.

"Fine then," she said. "I guess I'll see you at dinner."

"I'm sure you'll give me a full report," said Caroline breezily.

Felicia walked on. She did not notice Caroline look up from her book and give her roommate one last curious stare.

***

"Caroline! Carol - "

Harry stopped in mid-call. He suddenly decided his niece wasn't very likely to answer. He supposed it was the thing he ought to do, what all adults should do when trying to locate wayward children, but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to continue. Perhaps it was because he had never had parents himself, or an aunt and uncle who had possessed anything but spite for him, but it was obvious suddenly to Harry that Caroline would want to be left alone and that, in any case, she was bright enough to take care of herself. Harry doubted he would feel much different if he were her, anyway, and the thought made him feel even angrier. What was wrong with them? After all these years, why couldn't they just stop it? There they were, all of them, two families blessed with bright children, all joining in the happy banter of conversation, and then suddenly it had all turned sour. Harry didn't understand it and didn't want to understand it. How many years had he put up with this? No more, he decided. This time, he really had had it. Sunday was the only time they had with Siosia now and they were just going to spend it together, the three of them, as a family. No more Ron and Hermione and their endless quest to fulfill the self-fulfilling prophecy of growing up to become to a bickering old couple.

Still exasperated, Harry realized he was turning around in place in the middle of Hogsmeade high street. Perhaps he should just walk back to the Three Broomsticks. Perhaps he should call -

"Harry, it's all right," said a nearby voice. "She went back to the school. I just talked to her. Well, sort of talked."

Harry turned around in place again, trying to see where the voice was coming from. He finally located it in the form of a heap of black cloak curled up around messy brown hair sitting just inside an adjoining alleyway.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" A tear-stained head turned in his direction.

"Hermione, what are you doing down there? Were you like that when Caroline came past? Hermione, what's wrong with you?" Harry demanded, anger seeping into his voice. "Both of you."

"Why don't you ask Ron?" said Hermione, her voice cracking slightly. "You're his best friend."

"I'm your best friend, Hermione, or maybe you've forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten, Harry!" Hermione cried out stridently, attracting the attention of a tall witch walking on the street just behind them who quickly looked away when Hermione stared right back at her. "I just - you - you don't know what it's like."

Fresh tears worked their way down Hermione's cheeks but Harry still did not express any sympathy. There was far too much he needed to get off his chest.

"What were you thinking, going off like that at Ron in front of us? In front of your daughter? How do you think she feels?"

Hermione said nothing. She let out a small sob.

"I don't know what's gotten into you! You're not a child anymore! And I'm not - I'm not - I don't want to - "

"Then don't!" snapped Hermione suddenly. "Don't care! I didn't ask you to! I'm sorry I spoiled your afternoon. It won't happen again. Now leave me alone!"

The last few words were spoken with such venom that Harry took a step backwards. He wanted to shout back at Hermione even more, tell her she'd no right to shout at him on top of everything else, but then he suddenly felt all his anger seep away as though someone had unloosened a knot in his body.

"Hermione," he said more quietly. He sat down beside her.

Hermione continued to sob into her cloak.

"Hermione." He touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Go away!" Hermione cried, not looking up. "I said 'go away!' I don't want your - "

Hermione suddenly stopped shouting. Another minute or so passed. She continued to sob and Harry continued to sit beside her. Then she slowly reached over and buried her head in Harry's chest. He pulled her toward him a little awkwardly, feeling a few strands of her cold hair slip through his fingers. It seemed like several minutes, though it was probably not as long as that, before Hermione moved apart from him, wiped away her tears on an impeccably folded handkerchief that she removed from her pocket, and then turned to look back up at him.

"Sometimes I just can't take it, Harry," she said very quietly. "Sometimes I just think it would be better if...." Hermione sighed and shook her head. Harry found himself hoping very much that she would not finish her sentence.

"Ron said you put a counter-charm on your wizard ring," he finally said, looking less at Hermione and more at the brick wall beside them. "I - I don't know how - I didn't think - well, I suppose you would find a way."

"It took a lot of research," said Hermione in a flat, somewhat emotionless voice. "And no, I didn't think it could be done either. It might not last forever."

Harry felt a definite chill when he heard the note of fear in Hermione's voice. He wanted to ask her why she was afraid but then she started to talk again, sensing his question.

"I - I just couldn't take it anymore, Harry. I don't think either of us could."

"Hermione, I remember when you and Ron were first joined. You were so happy. And - and you could feel each other - you knew exactly why - there were so few misunderstandings between you then."

"I think it got worse when Ron became an Auror," said Hermione after a moment's pause. "We were both very happy at first and I remember being so glad that I could feel his relief." Hermione furrowed her brow as though trying to recall a distant memory. "But then things got worse. I didn't - " Hermione bit her lip. "I didn't think things would still get so dangerous and then - the time they rounded up the - what was left of the Lestranges and their children and there were all those killings - "

"It wasn't easy, I know."

"I don't know if you do know, Harry. It was - I just couldn't - I don't understand why he had to blame himself for everything and then feeling that morose guilt flooding through me nearly every hour of every - oh, Harry, I just couldn't take it anymore. I would try to find every excuse to get as far away from him as possible and he - "

"But what was the difference between that and when Ginny was killed? Didn't he think - "

"Of course, that was worse, but we all felt it and - and thankfully with - well, whatever it was that happened, she came back and then he was all right after that. But this business with the Lestranges seemed to go on for years. Oh, you wouldn't notice it if you were just having a pub lunch with him every Sunday but the things he was keeping inside, I just - " Hermione buried her face in her hand.

"Didn't you think about how much he was suffering, Hermione?" asked Harry, starting to feel angry again. "I mean - "

"Merlin, what do you think, Harry? I couldn't think about anything else! But if you really want to know, he was the one who begged me to find a way to turn the bloody thing off. He said he couldn't stand how much I worried about him when he wasn't there. Then he felt bad that he felt that way and that made him feel even more guilty and then finally - I - I just had to do it, Harry, for both our sakes, not to mention Caroline; it must have been hell to live in the same house with us like that."

There was another long moment of silence. Harry realized that Hermione was now telling him things she and Ron had kept bottled up between them for years, all the while still smiling their way through an endless series of Sunday lunches. Only lately, in fact, had their constant bickering seemed to have taken on a vindictive edge. Harry spared a thought for his niece; how long had she put up with this herself?

"And now?" he finally asked. "You seem to be fighting more than ever."

"I thought things would get better after Ron got his desk job. But he seems to miss being in the field after all the grief it brought him. It seems really stupid to me. Of course, I can't always tell what he's feeling now."

Harry turned his head to face Hermione for the first time.

"Then why don't you try to find out?" he suggested. "Re-link the rings. I'm sure you know how."

Hermione's face twisted. "I know how," she admitted. "But Harry, I - I'm afraid - " Hermione lowered her head again. "I don't feel I know him anymore." She sighed heavily. "He says - oh, Harry, I don't know what this sounds like but he says things I just - he says I've said things to him that I know I didn't say and that I - " Hermione stopped talking and shook her head. " - I guess I'm just not sure I want to feel what's inside his head now."

"All the same," said Harry slowly. "I think you should try. You've faced a lot worse than this, both of you. And it's not just about you, either."

"Harry," said Hermione, looking up at him. "I am really worried about Caroline."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking meaningfully back at his friend. "Yeah, so am I."

***

"Lye, wait! Caroline! Don't walk so fast."

Caroline swung her bushy hair back and glared at Felicia.

"I thought you were the one who was so keen to go," she said in a loud whisper.

"And I thought you weren't."

Caroline turned away from Felicia again and continued to walk up the darkened corridor. She didn't care to let her roommate see the infamous Weasley blush. In truth, the curiosity had been far too much and she'd decided very soon after their conversation that afternoon that she couldn't bear to have Felicia go without her. Besides, after the fiasco at the Three Broomsticks, she was feeling a little reckless and, well, maybe -

"Lye, stop! You've gone on too far!"

Caroline stopped and looked back at Felicia who was standing about fifteen meters behind her. She looked around her, squinting in the darkness, but it was difficult to make out anything that looked like a door.

They were on the third floor in an old deserted corridor, the same old deserted corridor that her parents and uncle had once walked down when they were younger than she was now and had their first encounter with Fluffy, the three-headed dog. Caroline's mother had whispered the story again and again into Caroline's ear as she had gone to sleep as a small child. In happier times, her father had gently ribbed her mother for the nightmares it had been bound to give her but Caroline hadn't been afraid. She had begged her to keep telling her. And no matter how frightening her mother had made it sound, somehow, in Caroline's mind, Fluffy had always been as loveable and cuddly as an oversized teddy bear.

Only now did she question that. And only now did she start to wonder about the rumors that Fluffy still resided on the same third floor corridor, especially as students still weren't allowed there.

But whatever darkened shadow Felicia was now pointing to, Caroline was fairly sure it was not the locked room her mother had described to her. Then again, Caroline supposed that a lot had changed in the past twenty years.

"How do you know it's here?" she asked Felicia a little defensively.

"'Cause that's where Robert told us to go, behind the statue of Bartemis the Weird."

Caroline cautiously walked back to see a cracked, lopsided stone statue of a wizard doffing his hat, a deranged expression on his bearded face that was made all the more grotesque by the dim light from Felicia's wand.

"But there's nothing back there," Caroline protested, trying to conceal a slight quiver in her voice.

"There is," said Felicia with certainty. "It's just made to look like there isn't."

Felicia tapped the wall with her wand and began to mutter something to herself. Caroline felt an uncanny sense of déjà vu and took a cautious step backward. She tried to place where the feeling was coming from and then recalled what her parents had told her about another room, the Room of Requirement, a room that you had to wish into existence, a room that Voldemort had used as a base during her parents' seventh year. Caroline started to feel very uneasy but then she remembered that that room was on the seventh floor, so then what was -

Caroline's thoughts came to a quick end as a person-sized block of wall behind the statue suddenly disappeared. There was nothing but blackness behind it. Caroline felt her heart quicken but she said nothing. She was terrified of what was beyond that dark space but not nearly so terrified as she was of letting Felicia think that she wasn't up to the challenge of going inside.

And so, ignoring the surprised look on her best friend's face, Caroline walked purposefully into the dark space she had opened.

Caroline could see nothing. The room was pitch dark as she entered. It felt cold and musty, as though no one had been in it for some time. She walked forward quickly, still unwilling to betray any temptation to hesitation. The floor was hard and smooth but slightly slippery. Caroline sensed it was covered in dust. She continued to walk but then sensed rather than felt something narrow and tall looming right in front of her. She began to hesitate. She cautiously reached out a hand.

And then suddenly before Caroline had time to react, the room was bathed in light.

The room looked as musty as it had smelt. The ceiling was fairly high, about two stories, but the room itself was not large, only about half as long as the Gryffindor common room and about as wide. The entire room, so far as Caroline could tell, was made of smooth brownish stone. If not for the thick layer of dust that coated the floor, she was sure she would have been able to see her reflection. She didn't stop to test out this theory, however, as her attention was riveted by the one piece of furniture in the room.

It was narrow wooden chair; the seat and legs were made of chipped, peeling wood; like the floor, it was coated with dust. The back of the chair, however, was made of some material Caroline that didn't recognize. It was a smooth, cobalt blue, the only color in the room and that made it even more striking. The back rose to a narrow point and then an odd sort of tube that traveled all the way up to the ceiling.

"I was wondering when you two were going to get here."

Caroline failed to suppress a gasp at the perfunctory voice that came out from behind her. She swung around to see Robert standing there with his arms folded. The expression on the burly fifth year's face was unreadable but his blue eyes seemed slightly fearful, and Caroline couldn't ever remember having seen him that way before. A shock of brownish curls clashed as always with his loosened Gryffindor tie and silver Prefect's badge.

"Scared, Weasley?"

"You are."

Robert scoffed. "You can come in now, Fingle."

Caroline turned to see Felicia still standing in the doorway. She trotted noisily into the room and frowned at Robert but Caroline did not miss the slightly hurt look in her eyes at being told off by her not-so-secret crush.

"Where are we?" asked Caroline.

Robert smirked out of the corner of his mouth. Caroline didn't think it looked very pleasant.

"Where do you think we are?"

"In a horrid little room on the third floor."

Robert's smile widened slightly but it didn't turn any more pleasant. He took another step forward and Caroline had the sudden sense he was tensing himself for something.

"You are standing in the headquarters of the Defense Association," he announced.

Now it was Caroline's turn to scoff.

"The Defense Association met in the Room of Requirement."

"Their first year, yes. After that - " Robert held out his hands and gestured around the room.

"They didn't even meet after that! Much less here."

"Not officially. But meet they did. Some of them, anyway. The ones like your parents. The ones that were," Robert paused for a moment, "loyal," he finished. "The ones that knew what had to be done to keep this school safe. But I suppose it's understandable not to tell these sorts of things to your twelve-year-old daughter; I hardly think I would. What do you think, Weasley?"

"I think you're full of doxy dung if you really want to know."

"Do your parents know you talk like that?"

"I doubt it."

"I bet there's a lot they don't really know about you, Weasley, just like there's a lot you don't really know about them. Wouldn't you like to find out?"

"From you?"

"From me, actually."

Felicia screamed. Caroline spun around.

The chair that Caroline had been looking at when she'd first entered the room was no longer empty. A man in a long black coat was now sitting on it. He had a young face; Caroline guessed he was little older than Robert, but old enough that she knew he was no student. He had slicked back hair and a long beak-like nose. His lips were curled up in an odd sort of smile that rendered his features strangely grotesque. His eyes seemed the strangest thing of all: his irises were almost as black as a raven's and yet they seemed to penetrate into Caroline as she looked into them. And they were old eyes, shrewd and keen, eyes that didn't seem to belong on such a young face. The visitor seemed to be studying Caroline as though she was the only person in the room who interested him. He put two fingers thoughtfully to his lips and Caroline noticed that he wore a gold ring with a large blue stone, a stone that matched exactly the color of chair back behind him. As soon as Caroline saw the ring, she had the odd feeling there was something familiar about it, but she couldn't quite place what it was.

Caroline took all of this in within the span of an instant. In the next, she had her wand out in her hand and aimed at the new arrival.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Just the very question I was about to answer," replied the visitor.

Caroline furrowed her brow for a moment. Now that she heard it a second time, she realized there was something strange about his voice as well. It was silky and almost inviting, yet there was a slightly gravelly quality to it that also didn't seem to belong on the youthful face now sitting down in front of her.

"How did you get in here?" Caroline demanded again, holding her wand further out in front of her.

"That, young lady, might be very difficult to explain."

"Well, try to make it a little easier."

"Put the wand down, Caroline," said Robert. There was a note of impatience in his voice but Caroline sensed it was not altogether genuine. She still had the feeling he was afraid - of something.

"No," Caroline retorted, not taking her eyes away from the strange figure in the chair. "This is serious. He's not supposed to be here."

"Indeed, I am not," replied the stranger ingratiatingly, "and you've every right to report me to your teachers."

"Too bloody right, I do!"

"Caroline!" said Robert warningly.

"He's a dark wizard! Can't you see?"

The stranger smiled again. "My dear young friend, believe me, nothing can be further from the truth. You can trust me, I assure you; your friend does."

"You'll have to come up with a better reason than that."

The stranger paused for a moment as though considering his words carefully. "I'm on very good terms with your uncle, you know."

"Is that so? You know, I might believe one or two of your lies if you'd at least tell me how you got here."

The stranger shook his head and tutted. "You can hardly have a secret organization without a few secrets."

"Caroline, he's here to tell us about the D.A," said Robert, sounding confident for the first time. "He's here to tell us the truth."

For the first time, Caroline hesitated. Nothing she had heard made her trust anything about this, but unusually for her, she had run out of things to say. Felicia chose this moment to speak up for the same time.

"Oh, come on, Caroline. Don't be such a baby pixie. Just hear what he has to say."

Caroline paused again.

"Five minutes, that's all," she said.

And then, very reluctantly, she lowered her wand.

The stranger smiled again.

"You don't know how much I admire you, you know," he said, still gazing fixedly at Caroline. "Your parents and your aunt and uncle were great, far greater than you realize, and their potential is far from fulfilled. And tonight I will show you how their bravery helped to make this school safe and could still do again. Tonight, I am going to lead you to become their heirs; tonight, the Defense Association begins again."

And then the stranger reached into the pocket of his cloak and produced a single shiny Galleon.