Without Wand or Wire

Bill was talking with Charlie near the food table, but his eyes were on Fleur, who sat chatting with Penelope, Percy, and their parents, at one of the smaller tables nearby.

"Oh yeah, doxy toes are a delicacy, we eat them all the time in Romania," Charlie remarked.

"Uh-huh," Bill said.

"You know, I think Mum would look excellent with green hair."

"Uh-huh." Bill replied.

"Did Dad tell you he quit the ministry to join the Death Eaters?"

"Uh-huh."

Charlie shook his head with a chuckle, then gave the back of Bill's shoulder a shove. "Get it over with, already!"

"I can't! We're missing people!"

"Huh?" Charlie looked around. The room looked pretty full to him at first, but another sweep of his eyes told him Bill was right. Where were the kids, and their cousin Fae?

The first place Hermione suggested they look was the kitchen.

"But why?" Fae had asked, baffled. "We're havin' dinner already!"

"No crowd, no relatives pinching cheeks or stopping them to chat, no chance of Ron's brothers having gotten to all the good stuff first, no mother to tell him to leave some for everyone else," Hemione answered, ticking off the reasons on her fingers.

Fae had laughed and agreed that the kitchen was a good place to start. And indeed it had been, for apparently the boys had stopped there.

"Do you know where they went, Dobby?" Ginny asked the elf, wondering why he was scowling.

"Harry Potter said something about the Come and Go room, miss. He seemed very excited."

Snape raised a brow. "The what?"

Dobby swallowed and backed away, cowering a little. "The Room of Requirement, sir. It's a place that only appears when you have a need, with whatever it is you have need of inside it."

Snape scowled. "Students aren't supposed to know of that room! ... Wait, is that where Potter held those club meetings last term, the ones that got Dumbledore thrown out?" he asked the younger girls.

Hermione nodded, blushing.

Ginny met his eye balefully. "Seems to me that it's Umbridge who got him thrown out. You have to admit that Harry did a better job teaching us than Umbridge, so don't get mad at us for having had to take our lessons into our own hands!"

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed, gawking.

"What? It's not like school's on; he can't give us a detention for speaking our minds!"

Fae grinned, and even Petunia smiled despite herself.

Snape blinked. The surge of affront that washed over him went away as quickly as it had come; the girl had a point. Several, really. It was Umbridge's fault Dumbledore had been kicked out, Harry had done an excellent job of teaching the students Defense (their O.W.L. scores were proof of that, no matter how much Snape wanted to deny it), and he really didn't have any grounds to try to punish her for her cheek. In fact, she reminded him -- painfully, for a moment -- of Lily. He smiled wryly. "Maybe not. But you'd best watch yourself once term starts, Miss Weasley."

Ginny smirked.

Fae put her hands on her hips, impatient. "If the two of yeh have finished with the pissin' contest, can we go look for the boys? Where is this 'Come and Go' room?"

Ginny led the way this time.

Pansy had always suspected she would have to do something... personal, in order to maintain her cover as a supporter of Voldemort. Still, she had also assumed (at first with some distaste, but eventually with acceptance -- and, lately, even with enthusiasm) that any possible tawdry acts she was called to perform would be carried out with Draco. And that was even back when she'd still seen the act of dating Draco as a duty, rather than a pleasure! Now she would have given just about anything to have been with him instead, whether she loved him or not -- which she did, but that was besides the point. Then she would still have her dignity, at least.

Perhaps, in light of the war and the deaths that would come with it, dignity wasn't -- and shouldn't be -- a priority, but if having dignity also meant having the circulation back in her arms, the blood she'd lost back in her body, and the stinging gone from a very personal place, then by all means, she wanted her dignity back, along with what else Voldemort had just taken from her. True, she had offered herself to him, but it wasn't like she'd really had a choice in the matter. Well, all right, she did: she could have confessed her true loyalties, or even just kept quite, and been killed for it. Hah. Some choices. What happened to her may not have technically been rape, but it was as good as. She'd die to save a life, if it proved necessary, but not to just save face. For the sake of her life and her mission, it behooved her to do whatever she could to prove her "loyalty" to the Dark Lord.

Although, the way she was feeling now, she wasn't sure there was much of a difference between dying and being used by the Dark Lord. Voldemort hadn't just been having his way with her: he'd been working powerful, Dark magic. He'd used her as a spell component, and now she felt drained, as if she'd become a human battery, powering whatever wards he'd placed around his new stronghold.

Now that Voldemort seemed finished for the moment (he was sleeping), she allowed herself to think of Draco. She had wanted to pretend it was really him she was lying with when Voldemort had taken her, but she feared the Dark Lord would discover the truth of her thoughts if he should happen to look into her eyes. She kept her memories of Draco and their newfound love locked tight within her mind, then wove a false front of adoration for her master to mask her true contempt for the so-called man. She'd had to completely lose herself in the illusion in order to survive the ordeal, had to convince herself that she did want to be with Voldemort (otherwise she likely would have sicked-up all over him, and she doubted that would have gone over very well). Yes, she had become a very fine method actress indeed.

There was another reason she had decided not to pretend that it was Draco she was with; she didn't want, when she finally was with Draco, to suddenly see Voldemort's face in lieu of his, didn't want to think of the Dark Lord's hands on her when she was being held by Draco, didn't want their love to be spoiled by the association. As it was, she still wasn't sure if she could ever bear to be touched again; she felt ... contaminated. She didn't feel the guilt that she'd heard many women did after such an act -- not the guilt of a victim nor the guilt of an adulterer. Slytherins had no qualms with doing whatever was necessary to make ends meet, so long as appearances were kept up. But she did feel like she'd just been swimming in a sewer, and would never get completely clean again. Draco might understand why she'd done what she did, but, forgiveness aside, could he bring himself to touch her tainted skin? She couldn't even stand being in her own body at the moment! If not for the bindings around her wrists, she might very well scratch at her itching flesh until she bled.

Draco, please get me out of here! she thought, tears stinging her eyes. She closed them, letting her guard down for just a moment, allowing herself to walk through the corridors of her mind to that hidden room. She found a mirror in the hall, next to the door. Where did this come from?, she wondered, peering into the glass and seeing nothing but darkness. She heard the whisper of an unfamiliar tune. She found words springing unbidden from her lips, in drawn out notes that stung her eyes and pained her throat. The words hadn't sprung from her own mind, but they may as well have:

"Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home?"

Draco's face suddenly leapt into view. "Pansy!" she heard him say, his face white with shock.

The image seemed so real, she turned to see if he was behind her! Of course he wasn't; she turned back to the mirror. Draco was wearing strange clothes -- jeans and a t-shirt. Very un-Draco-like. Now why did she dream him up in clothes like that? Not that he looked bad -- in fact, she kind of liked the look ... And he was sitting on the floor with Potty and the Weasel. Why the hell was she imagining them there? This was no memory she'd ever had!

"Is this an illusion? Is the Mirror just showing what I want to see?" the dream-Draco asked Potter.

Pansy's heart swelled, but quickly deflated. This was just a daydream or something. Even if it wasn't, there was still the very real possibility that Draco might not want to be with her anymore, once he learned what had happened. ...

"I don't know ..." the dream-Potter replied. "I mean, I can see her too!"

"So can I!" the dream-Weasley chimed in.

Draco scowled. "... I think it's safe to assume you two don't have designs on my girl, right?"

"Draco?" Pansy asked, before either of the other boys could answer. "Draco, is this real? Are you really here, in my mind, like when Snape brought you in with Occlumency?"

"In your mind? No! Er, well, I'm not sure. We're in the Room of Requirement, at Hogwarts, looking into a magic mi--" he stopped, eyes widening in understanding. "Of course! This is an Eternity Gate!"

Harry looked mildly puzzled as he asked, "What's an Eternity Gate?"

Meanwhile, Ron's eyes were bugging. "I thought that was just a myth!" the redhead protested.

"So did I," Draco replied, looking back at the mirror behind him. "In the wizarding world, Harry, there is a belief that, if you have two mirrors face each other, you will create a doorway to another dimension. I've never tried it: it's supposed to be very dangerous. I hear that Muggles do that sort of thing all the time, making mirrors face each other, but either they don't notice the effects because they aren't wizards, or maybe the mirrors have to be magical in order for anything to actually happen."

"And since finding Pansy was your desire, but finding her captured by Voldemort was your fear, the Mirrors worked together, maybe even with the Room too, to connect you to her!" Ron guessed excitedly.

Draco nodded, impressed. He had definitely underestimated the Weasley boy's intelligence. "For all the good it does us -- it would have been better if the mirror actually led to her, not inside her head!"

The wireless suddenly sprang to life. Pansy felt herself drawn forward, through the glass, as if it were made of water. The music highjacked her mouth again, making her speak her feelings and thoughts in its own words.

"Why is everything so confusing?
Maybe I'm just out of my mind..."

"Literally, even! That wireless has a strange sense of humor," Ron remarked.

Pansy landed gently on her feet just before Draco. She reached out to touch him, but her hand went through him, as if one of them was a ghost. He did his best to wrap his arms around her insubstantial form, as if by doing so, he could conjure more than her soul within his embrace.

The music changed, and Pansy found herself singing once again.

"Hold on to me, love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid ...

Draco's heart swelled with his own love fear her at hearing those words. He wanted to say them back to her, but the wirless wouldn't let him speak. Pansy continued to sing.

"Can you hear me?
Can you feel me in your arms?"

Tears began to fall from Draco's eyes, and from Pansy's as well. She kissed his cheek. She could feel herself being drawn back to the other side of the Mirror, back into her mind. But the song wasn't over, the words forcing their way through the tightness forming in her throat.

"Look for me in the white forest, hiding in a hollow tree
Come find me!
I know you hear me ...
I can taste it in your tears!

"I'm holding my last breath,
but safe inside myself
are all my thoughts of you,
sweet raptured light!
It ends here tonight..."

The music changed again, though the new tune seemed well-matched to the prior. Draco had tried to reply, only to find the wireless putting words in his own mouth as well. He wanted to say so much, tell her how he'd changed, and how much he loved her, but there seemed to be no time...

"I look in the Mirror and see your face,
if I look deep enough--
so many things inside that,
just like you, are taking over!

"I believe in you!
I'll give up everything just to find you!
I have to be with you,
to live,
to breathe!
You're taking over me!"

The image of Voldemort stepped into view, to stand beside Pansy. She gasped as he grabbed her arm. Draco did the same a split-second later, falling to his knees as the Dark Mark on his arm turned black. Harry's scar flared to life, but the pain didn't even make him wince.

"If anyone's going to be doing any 'taking over' around here, it's going to be me!" the Dark Lord hissed.

Things seemed to click into place in Harry's mind. Without any hesitation, he grabbed up the dagger he'd found earlier, in his left hand, then grabbed Draco's left forearm in his right hand. The pain became a hundred times worse, like bad reception on a radio station that suddenly became crystal clear -- and in stereo. He staggered for a moment, and grit his teeth against the pain.

Ron had been transfixed by the horrible visage of Voldemort, and didn't see the fall of the dagger until it was too late. His body seemed to be moving through thick jelly as he moved to stop his friend, his cry of "Harry, no!!" sounding like a vinyl record playing on the slowest speed. But what shocked him more was the intended target: Harry didn't plunge the bright metal into Draco's arm, but into his own abdomen!

Voldemort screamed in agony, blood pouring forth from between his fingers, the red stark and bright againts his faintly-green flesh, as he clutched at his own belly. Releasing Pansy, he fell to his knees. Then the Mirror went black.

Harry's hand still gripped Draco's arm painfully, as the boy awkwardly tried to catch Harry's falling form with his other hand. Ron caught Harry by the other side, and they gently lowered him to the ground. Ron's sweat-drenched hair was dark and vivid against his pale, frightened face. Harry's own visage was ghostly-white, but his face held no fear, or even much pain: only triumph and eerie calm. His left hand still clutched the hilt, the blade buried deep.

Ron reached for the dagger, to pull it free, but Draco, looking more than a little shaken himself, still had enough presence of mind to stay the Weasley boy's hand. "If you remove it, he'll bleed to death!" Draco pointed out; being in the aristocracy, he'd seen a few swordfights in his day. "We need to get help! I can't get him to let go of me, so it will have to be you!"

Legs trembling, Ron managed to push himself to his feet and hurried out the door, intent on fetching Madam Pomfrey.

The search party could hear the wireless music as if it were playing right next to them, though they couldn't hear Pansy or Draco singing. Snape stumbled when his Dark Mark flared to life, but to his dismay, he didn't receive any "instructions" on where to meet Voldemort and find Pansy. After reassuring his companions that he was all right, they hurried on. The castle stones were cold against Petunia's bare heels -- it had proven too difficult to move quickly in heels -- and her feet were starting to ache, but she made no complaints, even as she quickly lost her sense of direction. The search party was still a few corridors away when they heard Ron's cry, which again sounded as if he were right beside them. They raced the rest of the way, Hermione running smack into Ron on his way to the hospital wing. Ginny helped Hermione up off the floor, while Snape and Fae each grabbed one of Ron's arms and hoisted him to his feet. The moment he regained his balance, he grabbed Fae's arm in turn and pulled her towards the Room of Requirement.

"Hurry! Harry's been hurt!"

"Noooo!!!" Bellatrix cried in anguish.

She had been woken out of an exhausted stupor by Voldemort's cry of pain, and found him bleeding on the floor. She hurriedly did healing spells on him, but she was so drained from creating their tree-tower, she could do little to mend the wound. Rudolphus, Rastaban, and Pettigrew weren't much help either, but their master was at least out of mortal danger when they finished.

Bone-weary, Bellatrix still found the strength to deal Pansy a harsh blow across the jaw. "What did you do to him?!" she shrieked.

"Nothing!" Pansy spat, her spittle pink with blood. "How would you expect I could do anything to him, with my hands tied like this?! This was obviously Potter's doing! He's connected to our lord somehow, is he not?"

Bella glared at her silently for long moments. "I don't know how, but I'm sure you had something to do with this. Don't think I don't know you're in cahoots with my traitorous nephew!" She kneeled down, her fetid breath assualting Pansy's nose. "I think I'll torture and kill you right in front of him," she mused, "before I actually do him in."

They found Draco kneeling beside Harry, his relief palpable when he caught sight of his godfather. For Hermioine and Ginny's part, each of them, for a moment, thought it was Draco that had stabbed Harry, until it occurred to them that Ron wasn't trying to kill Malfoy. Fae hald Petunia by the shoulders while Snape immediately set to mending Harry's wound with his wand, first reciting a spell to prevent blood-loss when he removed the dagger, then starting another to seal the injury. Hermione used Fae's Glass to contact Madam Pomfrey, who appeared in a trice -- with Dumbledore and McGonagall at her side. Snape stepped aside to let the Healer through.

Poppy cast Scourgify to get a good look at the wound, then picked up where Snape had left off. She didn't get much farther, though: Harry moaned, and suddenly everyone (save for Draco, whose arm Harry still held in a death grip) was thrown against the walls in a burst of energy, just like back in the room at The Leaky Cauldron.

Save for Ron, Hermione, Petunia, and Fae, who had witnessed the feat already, they stared at Harry, awed. Snape had healed The Boy enough so that his injury was no longer critical, but he was still wounded -- and yet he still commanded that kind of power? Wandless, even?

The wireless began to play another song, as Harry struggled to his feet, Draco helping him. Finally releasing the blond youth's arm, Harry eyed each of the crowd in turn, looking mildly annoyed. He finally centered on Snape. "Who asked for your help?" he muttered.

Snape bristled, thinking that the boy was simply objecting to him in particular -- until Harry began to sing.

"Wish I'd died
instead of lived
A zombie hides my face ..."

For a moment, all present would swear they saw something start to form around The Boy as he sang, only to vanish when he stopped.

Harry's friends -- Draco included -- gaped at him in horrified realisation. That's how he'd seemed all day to them: a zombie. They felt guilty for not pressing him to confide in them, for not guessing that there was something so seriously wrong that he would even consider suicide; if not for Snape's quick reaction, he might have succeeded in killing himself!

"Mr. Potter ..." McGonagall began slowly, "are you telling us that you stabbed yourself?" She hadn't had the opportunity to observe him as the others had -- nor had she been told about his having taken up self-harm -- and had even less reason to suspect Harry might try such a thing.

"You don't think I did it?!" Draco protested -- though truthfully, he could easily see how someone might jump to that conclusion.

"Draco." Snape warned his godson into silence, marginally afraid that Draco was indeed responsible -- though still more inclined to believe this was a suicide attempt, given what he'd learned from James.

"Harry," Dumbledore began gently when Harry didn't answer, "we know about what you've been doing to yourself. ..."

The kids looked up at this. "No we don't!" Ron snapped. "What do you mean, you know what he's 'been doing to himself'?"

Pentunia covered her mouth, a small moan slipping through her fingers.

Harry ignored Ron's question. He looked at Dumbledore unflinchingly, his voice harsh and determined, as he sang.

"Wish I was
Too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all ...

The raw honesty in his voice sent chills down the spines of more than one person in the room. Even Snape knew Harry wasn't "just being maudlin." Something formed around him again, a faint black haze that grew stronger, and began to swirl around him. The Boy continued, seeming to welcome the black cloud.

"You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go till he bleeds..."

His last line was emphasised by a surge of green light in the cloud, which dispersed as soon as he'd stopped.

"Oh Harry ..." Dumbledore sighed, his face as weary and grief-stricken as it had been the night of Sirius' death. "How can you be certain it would have even worked? Riddle might very well have survived, and you could have lost your life for nothing!"

"What does it matter?" Harry asked evenly. "I'm nothing but a weapon, and I was doing my job. I had a shot, and I took it. And thanks to Snape, I guess you'll get another try out of me now. I just ... I wanted it to be over. One way or another. I'm tired. I can't ... I can't keep this up anymore." There was the faintest hint of pleading in his voice, but he mostly sounded bored -- or maybe defeated.

Everyone's heads had followed the cryptic exchange, bouncing between Harry and Dumbledore as if they were watching a tennis match.

"What was he trying to do??" Ginny finally demanded, voicing aloud the question on everyone's lips.

Harry looked at his friends a moment, considering. He shrugged, then drew his shirt over his head, revealing the lines he'd drawn all over himself with fire and steel.

Ron and Draco each gave a horrified hiss, recoiling; Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. Ron suddenly felt terribly guilty for having spent the summer hanging out with Hermione, while Harry had apparently been struggling all alone. Hermione, beside him, didn't know if she wanted to hug Harry or shake -- maybe even slap -- some sense into him. McGonagall cried out in dismay, feeling as though she had failed him, as a teacher, a mentor, a guardian; how could she not have seen some warning in his behavior that this coming? Draco was starting to realise just how much he had misunderstood Potter all this time: he had seen Harry as nothing more than a happy-go-lucky goody-goody golden-child, and had never entertained the notion that such dark things might writhing beneath the surface. Perhaps the Sorting Hat wasn't so far off the mark after all, in wanting to put Harry in Slytherin... he reflected. Ginny looked very, very angry, even as tears spilled from her eyes.

"This..." Harry gestured vaguely to his body, "started out as a way of handling the pain of the curse scar." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he were speaking of a case from a textbook, something that had happened to someone else. His voice was quiet and tired, and he stared off into space, more like he was just talking to himself, reasoning things out aloud, rather than making excuses to his guardians and friends. "It's an old Muggle trick: causing a small but painful injury to distract yourself from the pain of something else. Only problem is, when the pain is chronic, or ... or when you think you've done something wrong and deserve the pain, the act of burning or cutting becomes sort of ... addicting. Brings a sense of ... I dunno, order and control to your life.

"I convinced myself that if I got used to pain, then Voldemort couldn't hurt me anymore. That I could do the Occlumency and make him think I didn't care about anyone or anything. And if he believed that -- if I could hide my real feelings from him -- then he couldn't pluck the names of the people I loved from my thoughts -- the way I'm sure he did this afternoon, when he blew up The Burrow. Anyway, after a while, I got used to the smaller pain, so I needed bigger injuries, with greater pain, to distract me from the pain in my scar."

"And, eventually," Snape supplied, "you got so used to pain, and so used to locking away your emotions, that suddenly you weren't trying to drive the pain away anymore -- you were desperate to actually feel pain, to feel alive again. ..."

Fae gave Snape a suspicious glance. She wouldn't be at all surprised to learn the man had dabbled in "cutting" as a youth.

Harry heard the anger in the man's voice, and assumed it was directed at himself, not the actual target: Voldemort. Harry didn't let the seeming accusation upset him, though. He simply shrugged. "If you say so. At any rate, I noticed that Voldemort seemed to feel the pain I inflicted in myself, so it also became a method to drive him away. And then, just now, when the Mirror of Erised somehow tapped into Pansy Parkinson's mind--"

"What?" Snape roared.

Fae grabbed Snape's arm and hissed, "Let him finish!"

"Apparently, having the Mirror of Erised and the Mirror of Raef facing one another like this," Harry gestured to both mirrors, "creates ..."

"An Eternity Gate," Draco reminded him.

"Right! Thanks, Draco."

Snape goggled at Harry's use of Draco's first name. When had the boys started getting along like this, anyway?

Everyone else glanced uncomfortably at the arrangement of the looking glasses, noticing them for the first time. They all knew what two mirrors facing each other could do. Even Dumbledore look startled -- then speculative.

Harry continued. "So Ron got to thinking that it was this Eternity Gate, coupled with the power of the Room of Requirement, that showed us Draco's desire: to find Pansy. And it took his desire a little more literally than usual: she came through the Mirror of Erised, like she was a ghost, and told Draco to come find her. Then she went back into the mirror, and Voldemort showed up. He grabbed her Dark Mark, and Draco felt the pain in his own Mark--"

"Just as I did, in mine!" Snape told Dumbledore, confirming that it was not all just a very convincing illusion.

"--and that's when I got the idea to grab Draco's Mark," Harry finished. "I figured between my scar, the Mirrors, the Eternity Gate, the Room, and the Marks, the connection between Voldemort and me would be stronger than ever, and he wouldn't be able to break free."

"But once you were dying, you couldn't maintain the connection on your end," Dumbledore conjectured.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose not."

His flippant attitude infuriated Ginny. "Geez, this birthday just gets better and better, doesn't it?" She stepped up to Harry, wiping some of her tears away as she faced him. "Did you think my house getting blown up wasn't a traumatic enough thing to have to remember, year after year? You wanted me to be reminded of your death, as well?"

Harry seemed to wake uop a little with her words, looking stricken. The last thing in the world he'd ever want to do was hurt her -- he was trying to protect her! It had never really occured to him that she might be as devestated by his death as he would be by hers. ...

He wanted to apologise, but ... what could he say? When the music, sensing his need, gave him the words, he tried to fight the tide of emotion that came with them, the battle driving him to his knees. His not-wholly-healed wound burst open; he covered it with his hands. The the tear in his body seemed deeper than flesh, his buried emotions finally flowing freely with his blood.

"I tried to kill the pain
but only brought more
I lay dying
and I am pouring
crimson regret
and betrayal..."

He held his red-stained hands up before him. The others tried to go to him, but it seemed no one could move. They watched, horrified, as the black mist began to swirl about him again, once more lit by a pulsing green light.

I'm dying!
Praying!
Bleeding!
I'm screaming!
Am I too lost
to be saved?

Harry looked up at Dumbledore as he sang, his eyes wide and frightened, but all the old man could do was look back at him, sorrowfully, hands held out in a helpless gesture. Petunia, McGonagall and Poppy cried openly. Petunia begged the wizards and witches to do something. Minerva went so far as to cast random spells at her own feet, trying to free them, while Poppy tried to cast healing spells at Harry, only to find her wand useless for the moment. Fae stood with her eyes closed and lips parted, completely enthralled by the music. Hermione, Ron, Daco, and Ginny all struggled, like McGonagall, to reach Harry. Even Snape's usually stiff heartstrings were moved by what he found in The Boy's eyes; he would have tried to sooth the child, but he was rooted to the spot all the same.

Harry turned his eyes to Ginny.

"Am I too lost?" he asked her pleadingly.

Ginny felt herself suddenly freed from whatever had held her in place, as she stumbled to her knees before him, the black cloud parting as if before the rising sun, before disappearing again. Frightened, she pressed her hands against Harry's wound, desperately wanting the blood to stop. She failed to notice the oily substance on her fingers, where she had wiped her tears.

Harry gasped at her touch, as he felt a bubbling, something like peroxide. The jewels in his pocket burned pleasantly, like the sun on a chilly day. He looked down and saw the sword wound close, just as the basilisk wound had closed when Fawkes had wept over it, during his second year.

Ginny leaned back in surprise. "What ... what just happened?"

Fae grinned like a cheshire cat. Madam Pomfrey gaped at Ginny, as if the girl had just sprouted another head. The rest of the crowd looked confused, to varying degrees. And of course everyone was relieved.

Dumbledore put a steadying hand on Poppy's shoulder, and said to Ginny, with an obvious smile in his voice, "I dare say tears can be a powerful curative in the right hands, Miss Weasley. You might talk to Poppy here sometime about studying to be a Healer. ..."

Ginny got to her feet, then held out her hand to help Harry up. He looked at her hand oddly -- she assumed because it was covered with his own blood -- then raised his eyes to hers. He held her with his gaze, and she wondered, momentarily, if this was what it would have felt like if she had looked the basilisk in the eye, during her first year at school. If it is, this is one basilisk who can do with me what he likes. ...

Harry pulled out his wand, cast Scourgify to clean her hands and himself, then picked up a box and put his wand away, ignorant of the curious (or in Dumbledore and Fae's case, oddly knowing) eyes on him. He shifted, so that he was only on one knee, and pulled the cloth out of his pocket. He unfolded the fabric, revealing the necklace and the ring. Everyone had a clear view of what was in his hand.

Snape, Ron, and Hermione all gaped; how had Harry found the ring? Ron and Hermione then exchanged astonished smiles -- was Harry really going to ...? Had he and Ginny really gotten that close over the summer, just through letters? Ron and Hermione both had been hoping the two would hook up, but this day had been so surreal so far, they each expected to wake up at any moment and find it all a dream. ...

"Happy birthday, Ginny," Harry told her as he slipped the ring on her left "ring finger."

She gasped, holding her hand before her eyes. The ring was oddly warm, but she assumed that that was because it had been in Harry's pocket. She attributed the strange in her arm tingle to the simple fact that Harry had touched her hand when he'd slid the ring onto her finger. (She wouldn't let herself consider the significance of the finger he'd chosen.) She thought she should protest -- it was too expensive, surely! -- but it just felt so right on her hand, she didn't think she could take it off again even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. She likewise didn't protest when Harry stood and lifted the chain over her head. The phoenix pendant came to rest just over her heart. It, too, had a pleasant warmth to it.

The tears in her eyes were happy ones this time. "They're beautiful, Harry! I don't know how to thank you!"

His smile bore an edge of sadness. "Well, since you just saved my life, I was kind of hoping this would actually go towards my thanks to you."

She grinned and threw her arms around him.

He embraced her more tentatively, as if she were made of glass and might shatter in his grasp. For a moment, the emotionless mask he'd been wearing fell. From where they were standing, Ron, Hermione, and Draco could see the fear and sorrow etched into the lines of his face as Harry pressed his cheek against Ginny's hair.

Hermione felt her heart lurch. This wasn't right. Harry didn't think he was going to survive the war, she could tell. What should have been a proposal of marriage to Ginny -- after years of courtship, of course -- felt more like a goodbye. And Harry and Ginny had never really even had a chance to say hello! Hermione gasped as her hand was squeezed painfully tight. She looked to Ron and saw his lips clenched and trembling, his brow furrowed and eyes glittering. She wondered if Ro had reached the same conclusion -- and if he had, whether he was angry for or at Harry.

Draco remembered the time he had teased Ginny in the hall, after Harry had been embarrassed by her Valentine's card, and felt a flush of guilt. They had all been so innocent then; it only seemed natural to tease them, her for her crush and Harry for being the object of it. Now it all just seemed so sad, that it had taken Harry so long to really see Ginny. Now it was too late -- for all of them. Fate was a wicked breaker of hearts -- he would lose Pansy, Ginny would lose Harry, and he imagined Granger and the Weasel would lose each other. He wondered what it was that kept the Gryffindors going -- faith or simple stupidity?

"Well, let's take this party downstairs, shall we?" Dumbledore asked with a sweeping gesture towards the door.

The looks his fellow teachers gave him clearly questioned his sanity.

"Oh come now, these ... things will still be here when the cake is gone," Dumbledore told them firmly, gesturing to the objects that filled the room. "Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Potter's wound is quite healed, and I dare say we could all use a bit of a breather -- and a reason to smile. And I'm hungry."