Author's note:

As always, it all belongs to JKR. I own nothing.

AN #2

I've posted an outtake to the story that chronologically comes between this chapter an the previous. It won't really matter, but if you want to read that first I'd suggest hopping over to chapter 2 of the outtakes and then coming on back here.

HPHPHP

Children of the Flame Saga

Book III: Flame's Final Burning

Chapter X

Things We Ought Not to Know

Truthfully, Harry was surprised things went as well as they did. Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day and the day after that and not a word from Tom, I-Am-Lord-Voldemort, Riddle.

Nothing.

Not.

A.

Peep.

Arthur had actually spent close to forty-eight hours – Christmas Eve till Boxing Day afternoon – at home. Harry didn't think he'd seen Molly ever smile so much. It was the 28th when the attacks began; all over the country. The Aurors and the Order were spread thin trying to deal with all of them. They were all gone; Bill, Fleur, Charlie, the twins and Arthur. For everyone left at the Burrow, there wasn't an official fighter amongst them. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione, they could fight, but they'd accepted their place in the war was the Horcruxes and Tom. Until it was time to deal with him, they were doing their best to stay in the background. That all changed as Harry and Ginny sat on the porch waiting for word about the attacks. The Fidelius was a very curious ward. In a way it was almost like a one-way window. From the outside, there was no looking in. But from the inside, one could most certainly see out. It also was possible to hear what was going on outside the ward. And the village of Ottery St. Catchpole was only a bit less than two miles away. So when a massive fireball erupted above the hill that hid the town from the Burrow he and Ginny were more than close enough to be forced to shield their eyes from the suddenly bright night sky. Seconds later, when the sound of the explosion reached them it was enough to feel it in their chests.

"What was that?" Ginny asked in a hushed voice.

Just as Molly and the remaining occupants of the house rushed out the door a jet of light flashed into the sky. It exploded into the eerie green light of the Dark Mark a second later. She stared at the apparition for a second before pressing her hand to her chest and softly whispering, "Oh my."

"Go," Harry said. "Get Luna and her father." Ginny was gone in a flash of Flames a second later.

"GINNY!" Mrs. Weasley cried.

Harry ignored her and turned to Hermione's father. "Are you coming?" David turned on his heel, running for his family's tent. Harry turned to Hermione. "Give him your bracelet when he gets back." It was clear she was torn, but after a second she just nodded and slipped her bracelet off.

"What are you doing?" Molly demanded.

Harry set her with a hard look. "Do you really need to ask?"

Ron stepped next Harry. "What's your plan?"

"We're the only ones left, Mum," Harry said.

"You can scream all you want, Mum," Ron said. "But I go where Harry and Ginny go."

Molly tried to stare them down but caved within seconds. "Alright," she agreed softly.

Just as Hermione's father rejoined them – carrying a rather large and nasty looking gun – another explosion lit up the night. "That has to be the petrol station," he said.

Hermione grabbed her father's hand. "Here." She slipped her bracelet on his wrist and activated it.

Ginny Flamed back with Luna, and Neville. "Sorry," she said. "I thought we could use Neville too. We left Luna's dad with Neville's grandmother."

"Good to see you, mate," Harry said. Neville just nodded.

"Alright," David said, taking charge. "We need to get somewhere we can see what's going on."

"The top of the hill will be the best spot," Ron said. "We can figure out what to do from there." Harry eyed David for a second before grabbing a rock from the ground and creating a portkey.

"What's that for?" Ron asked. "Why don't you just Flame us there?"

"Gunpowder is an entirely different animal than clothing or flesh. I don't particularly want to find out what happens if I can't keep it from going off."

"Good point," David said. Harry held the rock out and the others crowded around to touch a fingertip to it. Harry activated it and seconds later they landed in a heap on top of the hill overlooking the town of Ottery St. Catchpole.

David grabbed Luna's arm and roughly tugged her back down when she stood. "Stay down," he growled.

"Oh, my," Ginny gasped.

David had been correct. The petrol station was obliterated, little more than a hole in the ground anymore. The explosions had demolished buildings for blocks either side of it. Fully half the high street was awash in flames leaping hundreds of feet into the sky. And with the way the buildings were all pressed against each other those that weren't alight yet were in danger of going up very quickly. Walking like some kind of omnipotent gods down the middle of the street were a group of eighteen Death Eaters.

"I can feel the heat from here," Ron said.

"Is that Fiendfyre?" Neville whispered in horror.

"Oh!" Luna cried as a little boy ran out into the street only to be cut down viciously by a jet of yellow light from one of the Death Eaters they could see.

"I've got him," Harry said and was gone in a pillar of Flames.

David grabbed Ginny by the shoulder. "Fire is your deal," he growled. "You and Harry need to stop it or the whole town is going to be wiped out." He turned to Ron and Neville. "You two get down there and provide enough distraction to those arseholes so Harry and Ginny can deal with the fires. You," he pointed at Luna, "are with me. "Your job will be to move me when they figure out where we are." Fully expecting his instructions to be obeyed he set his rifle in place and turned his attention to sighting his first target.

Ginny grabbed Ron and Neville and Flamed with them to an alley between two buildings that weren't yet burning. From there she Flamed directly to the center of the inferno. The Flames of her travel were lost within the tempest of Hell she appeared in and the stone floor beneath her feet glowed red. Yet as she raised her arms to the side and Pulled, it wasn't heat, but instead cold that she felt. Cold that brought fear most malevolent to her heart.

"I'll deal with the Dementors," Harry said.

"Merlin," Ron whispered from the cover of the alley Ginny had left he and Neville in. Even sheltered by a stone wall the heat here was noticeable. He poked his head out just in time to see the chest of a Death Eater literally explode. An instant later a sharp crack reached his ears. It took him a moment to understand it wasn't the crack of someone apparating but the sound of Hermione's father's rifle. The group of Death Eaters weren't so enlightened of Muggle weaponry and were thrown into chaos as they searched frantically for the new arrivals. Even as Ron watched, a second spray of blood and gore exploded from the body of a second Death Eater. Once again the sharp crack to follow sounded just like someone apparating.

"Mother of Merlin," Neville breathed. He'd been at the Burrow one day last summer when Hermione's father had been practicing with his weapons. He'd not paid it much mind. It was loud, scared the chickens and Mrs. Weasley had obviously disapproved. He simply hadn't even conceived the idea that a Muggle weapon could be so devastatingly effective. He and Ron hadn't thrown even a single spell; yet from near a half kilometer away Hermione's father had killed two Death Eaters.

"I've got the big guy on the far left," Ron said, "Bludgeoning hexes on three."

"Right," Neville agreed. The whole thing just seemed surreal to him. Ginny, Luna and Luna's father had shown up at his home, told him they needed him and he'd gone without a single question as to what was going on. He could still see the shock on his grandmother's face; her teacup half tipped to her lips as Ginny Flamed away with he and Luna, leaving Luna's father to her tender mercy. The thought alone was almost enough to make him laugh out loud … And now he was about to fight Death Eaters and he wasn't even pissing his pants. He honestly wasn't nervous at all.

It. Just. Was.

"Three … Two … One," Ron counted down. Ron kept low and Neville high as they poked around the corner and unleashed a quick barrage of three hexes each. "COME ON!" Ron hissed loudly, pulling Neville back with him. An avalanche of spells blew out the wall they'd been hiding behind as they raced away. "Don't lose me," Ron said. He ducked down a passageway between two buildings barely wide enough for a single person to squeeze through. Neville didn't question him. With more than a dozen Death Eaters behind them they were badly outnumbered. They would have to play a game of hit and run to have any hope and he was going to have to trust that Ron knew the town he'd grown up in. Ron skidded to a halt and Neville nearly ran into him. "Do you feel that?" Ron hissed.

Neville forced himself to slow down and concentrate. A moment later he gave a shudder. "Dementors," he whispered.

Harry had barely landed after Flaming back to the town from the Burrow. It had taken precious seconds to leave the boy outside the wards, Flame to the house, grab Molly and bring her back to the child. But with the wards in lockdown mode only she could bring him past the Fidelius. He'd left again before Molly had even managed to scoop the child from the ground and he had no idea if the little boy would live or not. He was needed here and just had to trust that by getting him to Molly, he'd done everything for him he could. All the while the connection he shared with Ginny had allowed her to keep him informed of what was happening. She guided his travel back to the village; providing him with an image of where she wanted him so they could fight the flames together.

But then the Dementors had arrived. He walked out of the raging inferno that was formerly a dress shop with almost anticipatory determination. He'd driven off over a hundred Dementors as a third-year. He'd used the memory, or maybe just the imaginings of a memory, of his mother softly speaking to him as an infant to do so. Since then, his life had changed dramatically. Many things were worse. He had hundreds of memories to go with seeing his mum struck down by the Killing curse.

However, without doubt, one thing was better.

Her.

His mind settled on a half dozen different firsts with Ginny. A first kiss. A first date. The tree house last summer where he'd first begun learning the hills and valleys of her body. Their wedding. The first night sleeping with her in his arms with the full blessings of her family. The first time they made love.

The Patronus that preceded him from the ruined building was unlike anything seen since the Soul-bonded pair of Agatha and Anders Longbottom had first brought the Dementors to heel and bound them to Azkaban prison. A golden hue radiated, pulsing like a heartbeat from within the stag's body. Brilliant light washed the surrounding area driving the Dementors back. The stag reared up on its back legs and charged the nearest of the foul beings.

Lord Voldemort watched the scene unfolding before him. It had been shortly after taking the Ministry building that his attention had turned back to dealing with the Weasley family; and in particular the daughter who had resisted the Diary Horcrux for close to nine months before falling completely under its sway. The traitorous former head of the DMLE and current false Minister hadn't managed to steal everything away that night and he'd learned of the Soul-bond formed between young Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. He might have no use for things like Love and Soul-bonds but he wasn't a fool either. The Diary, the Soul-bond, she had to be the second person the Prophecy spoke of.

She and Potter needed to die.

For one brief moment he thought she had. Against all logic, Astoria Greengrass had appeared before him and claimed to have killed the girl. He'd seen the memory in her mind. There had been outside confirmation of the claim. Less than an hour later, Astoria, her sister, mother and his prized recruit, Percy Weasley, were all missing. Hours later news came from the school that Ginny Weasley was not dead. Somehow he had been tricked. His rage had been unlike any he'd ever unleashed upon his servants. More than one had died. A handful had been left with their minds completely destroyed by the effects of the Cruciatus. They had been disposed of. Of course he'd suspected Percy. But then the false ministry had produced his missing servant. Percy had been tried. He was convicted of murder and rape. His own father had joined Harry Potter and the rest of the pretenders in finding him guilty. Potter himself had been one of those to sentence Percy to death. His servant had gone to his death defiantly proclaiming his loyalty to his Lord and calling upon him to avenge his unjust death.

Lord Voldemort honestly didn't know what to think. He'd been tricked. Somehow the death of Ginny Potter had been faked. And then Astoria or someone disguised as her had boldly walked into his stronghold and taken the other two Greengrass women right from under his fingers. The moment he'd learned the two women were missing he'd poured the phials of their blood into the waiting cauldrons. The cauldrons had melted almost instantly and he knew the ritual had failed. Again, he didn't quite know where things fell apart. The phials of blood could have been a ruse. Or, Daphne and her mother could have had their blood sufficiently altered such that the samples he had were rendered useless to the ritual. Once again he had been thwarted.

He had turned his full attention to finding the Weasley's and their daughter. A task made near impossible because the home of the blood traitors had been placed under the Fidelius. Efforts to unearth the Secret Keeper were unsuccessful. But an idea had formed. The girl hadn't been seen at the school since the night of that ridiculous Ball. She was most likely home with her family. Potter would be with her. Because of the Fidelius he knew he might find himself staring right where they were hidden and not be able to see or enter the home. But perhaps he could get close. Perhaps if he couldn't enter, he might be able to draw them out. The break had come when the Parkinson girl had provided the information that Ginevra Potter had been friends with the girl, Luna Lovegood, before they had come to school. It stood to reason they lived fairly close to each other. And the Lovegoods, they could be located. The home was near the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was as good a place as any to see if he could flush them out. But first he needed to distract the Aurors and the old fool's Order; hence the attacks all over the country.

He was well pleased with the results of this particular attack. Targeting the petrol station had been a stroke of brilliance. Even he had been surprised at the force of the explosion and the resulting devastation. There would be hundreds of Muggle cattle dead. The filthy creatures ran about blindly screaming in terror. They were so completely focused on the burning buildings and trying to help the people trapped in them they were utterly oblivious to his Death Eaters walking down the street killing them.

It.

Was.

Glorious.

Surely, if he were near, this would bring Potter from his hiding place.

Absently he thought about the need to devise another method of setting off the explosion in the future. It might have been worth the death of the Death Eater who had done so this time, but to lose another servant in the same manner again would simply be a waste.

Just then a filthy Muggle child, barely old enough to be out of nappies, ran screaming into the path of his Death Eaters. With barely a thought Bella struck the child with a Disemboweling curse. Voldemort smiled.

Surely.

And then there were flames from nothing. His smile vanished. He had seen this before, flames appearing from thin air. Just as quickly they were gone. And with them, the child. He stared at the spot, wondering the meaning of the event. How did it tie in with Lucius? If he were to assume this was an attempt to rescue the child did it mean Lucius had not escaped his clutches but instead found himself being held prisoner somewhere else? What of Narcissa? Was it possible they were no longer alive?

It was while contemplating this that the first of his Death Eaters was killed. There was no doubting this. The man's heart just seemed to be violently expelled from his chest. The Dementors swooping down on the village distracted his thoughts. At the same time this happened, he also sensed a change in the flames that raged through the village. All of this occurred within seconds as he stood in a shadowed alcove observing and considering. There had been but a single crack of apparation that occurred well after his Death Eater had fallen. Before his eyes a second of his Death Eaters fell. This time the explosion of gore tore from his servant's throat. Again he knew the man was dead the instant it happened. And then came the crack of someone apparating again. He concentrated on listening for the sound of them reappearing. Whoever it was, was smart. Hit and move. Strike from distance. He couldn't help but be impressed by the force of the spell and the accuracy being displayed. He never did hear the sound of the person reappearing because not three seconds after his second Death Eater was killed, six rapidly cast Bludgeoning hexes slammed into his remaining servants. This time his servants were able to return fire; but a third had fallen as well. This one would live. His leg was only broken. Though shattered might be a better description. The man clutched at the portkey around his neck and was gone a second later. A fourth of his servants cast a healing charm on his damaged arm only to have his head explode a second later. Once more, the sharp crack followed his death. He stared at the dead Death Eater for another moment before it hit him. That wasn't the sound of someone apparating but the sound of a Muggle firearm. He immediately began to scan the hill beyond the town only to have the light cast by the flames raging through the village plunged into the dead of night by a light so purely white it threatened to blind him.

What followed was a screech of unimaginable terror so painfully loud he clapped his hands over his ears. His eyes watering as they tried vainly to adjust to the devastating brightness, his ears ringing from the keening wail of horror, he struggled to make sense of what was happening. His Death Eaters looked frantically at each other – then to where they knew he was hidden. The horrific shriek grew louder and louder and suddenly the Dementors raced by as fast as they could fly; hundreds of them in a mass exodus that blotted out the stars. They were chased by a massive stag Patronus that caught one of the trailing Dementors with its antlers and tossed it aside. Leaving the Dementor where it had fallen, the stag cantered off in search of other prey. The Dementor feebly tried to drag itself away as it burnt from the inside out. It didn't take long for its efforts to cease entirely; leaving Voldemort to stare at the blackened husk in disbelief. Dementors were dangerous creatures; unaffected by all but a few spells wizards might cast. They could be controlled, confined, forced through the Veil at the ministry, but to outright kill one, it was unheard of. Not since the creatures had first been brought to heel had there been a confirmed killing of one.

Yet there one lay.

Like himself, his Death Eaters stared at the burnt husk in disbelief. The shocks didn't end there as dozens of specs of light – almost appearing to be like fireflies – rose from the creature's remains and zipped away. He was trying to understand this when another series of Bludgeoning hexes struck two of his servants in the head. At the same instant whomever was wielding the muggle firearm killed yet another. Six of the eighteen who had participated in the attack were now dead, as was at least one Dementor. Almost as one, like the Dementors, his remaining servants fled. Only three remained; Bella, her husband Rodolphus and Rookwood.

"Master?" Bella hissed.

That was the moment Voldemort became aware of the fires again. They were receding; far more than should have been possible for the Muggle authorities to deal with. In fact he could only see one group of the vermin actually training their hoses on the fires.

Ginny stood at ground zero of the conflagration, her arms splayed to the side and Pulled. The inferno within her that was her true being called the flames destroying her village to become one with her. At first it was easy. The flames left behind by the Fiendfyre responded willingly, even eagerly to her. But the Fiendfyre was the spawn of Hell's deepest pits. She and Harry had been warned this Flame was their opposite. This Flame could harm them. Engaging It in battle could kill her.

She could feel Its heat. She could feel It resist her. She felt Its hatred, Its malice turn to face her. Her skin grew warm. Like it used to when she would sit too close to the fire in the Gryffindor common room or the parlor at home on a cold winter night before running upstairs and diving into her bed with the covers pulled over her head to trap the heat.

A Serpent of Flame half again as large as the Basilisk from The Chamber of Secrets shrieked an evil hiss and dove down on her; enveloping her completely within its cavernous maw. Ginny screamed back at the Beast and with a thrust of her arm banished the creature away from her. Smoke twisting from her scorched clothing she staggered slightly before righting herself to meet the next rush. A dozen of the Fiends hurtled towards her as she raised her now blistered hands to meet them. At the last instant, where she had once stood, a Pier of pure white Flame burst into Life. The Fiends crashed into Her and howled in anguish.

"Master," Bella whispered – he had somehow failed to notice her moving to his side, "what is it?"

The flames continued to diminish, seemingly being sucked back to their origination by some unknown force. Even the Fiendfyre was being dragged back. It raged and howled, resisting, then the hundreds of beasts turned and attacked. Shrieking they flew at the center of the inferno.

Lord Voldemort found himself unknowingly taking a step closer to the swirling conflagration. A hand on his arm stilled him. "Master," Bella said cautiously. He glanced sharply at her. She quickly removed her hand and bowed her head. "Forgive me," she said in a soft voice. He stared at her for a second longer before turning his attention back to the scene unfolding across the street. He didn't advance any closer though. Already he'd seen one thing he didn't understand tonight, now another unfolded before his eyes. The desire to understand warred with the need for caution. Caution won and he stepped back within the shadows. He needed to know what these new weapons were. The beasts of the Fiendfyre howled and crashed again and again on one spot within the devastated remains of the petrol station yet for all their ferocity they were not half what they were even thirty seconds ago. Between the tic and tock of one second passing the Fiendfyre abandoned their attack and tried to flee. The beasts made it only about fifty feet before their flight was halted and they were inexorably drawn back. Within the shrieking howl of the inferno came a voice … a human voice.

"I.

"WILL.

"BE.

"OBEYED."

As if the wind itself had grabbed them the Fiendfyre, along with all the flames still consuming the village, were sucked back in a tornado of fire centered on a pillar of white Flame. The reds, oranges and blues raged against the white but in less than a minute they had all been drawn into the white Flame and suddenly all was silent. A second later, out of the white Flame a girl appeared. She weaved unsteadily for a moment before collapsing bonelessly to the ground.

An instant later there was a flash of white Flame and a boy was crouched next to her. He scooped her from the ground and in another flash they were both gone. Voldemort stared at the spot they had been, trying to make sense of what he had seen. After a few seconds he glanced at his three remaining Death Eaters. They in turn stared back at him; waiting for some explanation from him. With sudden clarity he stalked into the open, intent on closer examination of the place the girl and boy had been. The distance was significant, but not so much that he wasn't certain it had been Potter and his wife he had seen.

David Granger laid prone on the ground with his eye locked on the view through the scope of his AWM 338 sniper rifle. He'd called in a world of favors with a number of his old SAS mates to get his hands on the British military's latest toy and then spent hours refining a skill he had thought to never need again. At one time he'd been one of the top shots in all of Britain. He'd just missed the Olympic team in 1980. Hermione had been born the year before and he'd become more interested in spending his time with his little girl than the thousands of hours he'd have needed to keep his edge. In a completely tragic way it was almost funny. Seventeen years previous, Hermione had more than likely cost him his shot at making the team. Now, that same child was responsible for him being a better shot today than all those years ago … It was amazing the focus you could find when a bunch of lunatics targeted your very reason for living with death.

Watching the scene before him he had to wonder about the intelligence of the average witch or wizard. He realized he was dealing with people who hadn't a clue about firearms. But good lord, who just stands around watching the people next to them drop like flies? Even without his military training it would take seeing a green jet of light he didn't understand killing the person next to him only once to get his arse moving for cover. It'd taken four kills on his part before the idiot Death Eaters had either sought cover or left the village altogether. And that said nothing of the four who had been hit by Ron's and Neville's spells. Idiot, didn't do it justice in his book.

"We should go as well," Luna said quietly.

They'd both just watched the raging flames destroying the high street be extinguished like they were sucked into a blackhole. Only in this case the blackhole had been a pier of brilliant white. A moment later those flames had ceased and Ginny had appeared in their place. She'd instantly collapsed. Not a second after that Harry had Flamed to her side; scooped her from the ground and Flamed away again. David assumed Harry had taken her back to the Burrow. "In a minute," he answered. His patience was rewarded when four people emerged from the shadows and made their way to where Harry and Ginny had just been. Forcing his body to calm he picked his target and tracked it. As he'd probably done a hundred thousand times before he drew a breath and held it. His finger was tensing on the trigger when a hand on his arm spoiled his aim.

"Not him," Luna said. He shrugged her hand away and tried to refocus. "You can't kill him," she pressed.

"Says some prophecy made by a woman even your headmaster agrees is a crackpot nutcase. I'll take my chances and see what a bullet in the head has to say about your bloody prophecy."

"You might kill his body, but not him," Luna said. "At best his spirit will flee till such time as he can once again create the conditions to perform a rebirthing ritual. We'll not know where he is or when he'll be back again. You must leave him for Harry and Ginny to deal with."

David Granger scowled. The idea that only two people in the world could kill this arsehole was just ludicrous. But then again, the things he'd witnessed over the last six months were ludicrous. Hell's bells, Harry and Ginny were some kind of human blowtorch right out of a comic book! "Fine," he said. His aim shifted slightly and he pulled the trigger. Just over a second later the bullet impacted.

Voldemort screamed as he was thrown to the ground. Howling in agony he clutched at his destroyed knee.

"MASTER!" Bella shrieked. She dove on top of his body and portkeyed away with him.

The two remaining Death Eaters stared at the spot their Lord had been for a moment before apparating away themselves. A second bullet passed harmlessly through where the heart of Rodolphus Lestrange had been less than a second previous.

"Damn," David Granger swore.

"Can we please go now?" Luna asked.

"Yep," he agreed. She grabbed his shoulder and activated one of her button portkeys to the Burrow.

Ron cautiously poked his head around the corner. With the flames no longer burning, the village was suddenly dark like it should be for a December evening. "Recon it's over?" he asked.

"It's awful quiet," Neville observed. Ron shot him a look. There were sirens blaring and people screaming all over the place yet. "Well quieter than it was," Neville said.

Ron cocked his head slightly. "Yeah. Not cold anymore either."

"There's only two people I know who could deal with Dementors like that," Neville said.

"The fires are out too. And Hermione's dad has stopped shooting."

"I think it might be time for us to get out of here," Neville said.

"Let's just hang out a bit and make sure there's no more Death Eaters hanging around," Ron said.

"Sure thing, mate," Neville agreed. Whatever his friends asked, he had their back. Because he knew they'd have his if he needed it. This village was Ron's home. He'd grown up here. These people might not be witches and wizards, but he was sure Ron knew some of them. He couldn't blame his friend at all if he wanted to make sure the attack was really over.

HPHPHP

Hermione Granger didn't think she'd ever been more grateful that Harry's connection with Voldemort had been destroyed than when she learned her father had shot the bastard in the knee. She didn't know what kind of punishment or healing the psycho's rebirthed body could manage, but her father had said a Muggle soldier would have needed his leg amputated by the amount of damage the bullet would have done. The thought of Tom's rage if he were to have indeed lost his leg to a Muggle weapon quite honestly terrified her. If Narcissa Malfoy were alive to thank for bringing about the circumstances that spared Harry feeling Tom's wrath, she would have got down on her knees and kissed her feet. Throw in six dead Death Eaters, another two injured, three dead Dementors and the fact that the Dementors suddenly refused to obey the Dark Tosser and she shuddered at the thought of the mind attack Harry would have had to fight and survive.

Of course, while they had dealt a savage blow to Voldemort, not all was good news. The village of Ottery St. Catchpole was devastated. Half the town was smoking embers. Much of the rest had suffered damage as well. There were more than a hundred Muggles killed in the attack; including the little boy Harry had tried to save. Without a magical core strong enough to make him a wizard, the effectiveness of magical treatments were severely diminished. Molly hadn't been able to do anything for the child but ease his pain as he passed.

And then there was Ginny. The Fiendfyre had pressed Ginny to her very limits. She'd suffered burns to more than seventy percent of her body. She was suffering from magical exhaustion, which was making it far harder for her to heal. As rest was the thing she needed more than anything else, Madam Pomfrey was keeping her in a potion-induced coma until her magic had recovered more.

Harry was a wreck. With Ginny in a coma their bond was a gaping black hole of emptiness. His sense of her was but a tiny prick of what had been blazing sun. She wasn't in his mind. She didn't respond to his attempts to speak with her. He didn't feel any physical pain she might be in. All he felt was loss. Loss so profound he described it as feeling like a Dementor was living in his mind. Even physically being in contact with her brought only the barest comfort. Just letting go of her hand long enough to go to the loo left him with shaking hands and spots forming in his vision.

"I'm telling you we need to wake her up," Hermione insisted.

"And it is my professional opinion that being in a coma is the best thing for her body and magic to heal," Madam Pomfrey reiterated.

"Your opinion is wrong," Hermione snapped angrily.

"Listen here," Madam Pomfrey retorted.

"NO!" Hermione cut her off. "You listen to me. It's been three days. She isn't getting better. She's getting worse."

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!"

"LOOK AT HIM!" Hermione shouted, pointing at Harry. She turned on Molly who was also in attendance. "They've never needed more than to hold hands to recover from being separated before," she implored. Need I remind you the state they are in under that blanket? There is nothing separating them yet he's shaking like a leaf in a hurricane."

Molly glanced between Hermione, Madam Pomfrey and Harry and Ginny. "I don't know," she hedged.

"Mrs. Weasley … Molly, Please," Hermione pressed.

Molly shook her head. "I'm just don't know Hermione … you've been wrong before," she said softly.

Hermione recoiled like she'd been slapped. She was instantly on the verge of tears but for Harry's and Ginny's sake didn't allow herself to break down. She swallowed thickly. "I didn't want to do this," she said, pushing past the two women to Harry's side. Bending down by his ear she sharply said, "Harry."

Harry blinked his eyes open. "Yes?" he asked weakly.

"Your Bond isn't just physical. You know what's going on and look how bad you are. Imagine how terrified and lost Ginny is. You need to wake her up or you're both going to die."

"Hermione/Miss Granger," Molly and Madam Pomfrey cried at the same time.

"Need I remind you who they named as next of kin in their wills?" Hermione retorted harshly. "Ginny is already incapable of making decisions for herself and it is painfully obvious that Harry soon will be as well. I will tell them what I want, when I want and I will thank you both to keep your opinions to yourselves until such time as I ask for them." Both women looked as if Hermione had slapped them but she spared them not another moment before turning her attention to Harry again. Just in those few short moments his eyes had closed once more.

"Harry," she said sharply.

His eyes fluttered open. "Wha?"

"Did you hear what I said about your Bond?" Harry furrowed his brow. His mind just wasn't tracking and it was difficult to remember. "You are dying, Harry," she said bluntly. "Both of you. You need to wake Ginny up so your bond can function properly."

"But Pomfrey said—"

"She's wrong," Hermione cut him off.

"I don't know."

"Damnit, Harry," Hermione pleaded. "At the rate things are going I give it two hours before you're unconscious too. At which point I will use the authority you and Ginny gave me in your will to make medical decisions for you and I will order her to wake you both … Only by then it might be too late for either of you. I'm telling you if you want to save Ginny's life you need to force her to wake up so your Bond opens again."

"You're sure?"

"Harry, I know I was wrong about the Blood-bonding with Saraphina, but I'm not this time. You're Bond is your life. It's physical, mental and spiritual. Right now you are only satisfying a third of it and it is killing you both." She stopped and waited for him to respond. "Please, Harry," she implored, "I can't do anything without your say right now and if you force me to wait till you're unconscious as well it will be too late." Harry searched her face. "You share everything, Harry. If your Bond is functioning properly then she should be able to draw from your magic to help her heal."

Harry blinked. One brief moment of clarity left him cursing himself a fool. "Do it," he said firmly. Hermione was reaching for the potion's stock before he'd finished speaking.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, "Harry, I must impress I don't agree with this."

Hermione ignored the matron and focused on Molly. "Are you going to help me, or are you going to watch your daughter die?"

Molly stared at Hermione trying to decide. She had been in her final year of training to become a Healer when she'd become a stay-at-home-mother. Everything she knew told her to follow Poppy's lead. At the same time it was impossible to deny the fact that Harry was fading. Fast. What Hermione said was certainly logical. If lack of physically contact was a strain on Harry's and Ginny's Bond, then the failing of the mental and spiritual aspects of the Bond also had to be a strain. Part of her wanted to trust the girl's intuition. There was, after all, no proof their current course was working. Over the last three days they had seen nothing to indicate Ginny was growing stronger. Nor was there anything suggesting Harry's downward trend wouldn't continue. The idea that Hermione might be right, that Harry and Ginny were, in fact, dying was highly motivating. But in the back of her mind was Ron. Hermione wasn't wrong often. But when she was, she was spectacularly so. Molly wondered if she would display such strength of conviction had she made such a terrible error.

"Fine," Hermione said and used her wand to raise Ginny's head and chest. Molly stepped forward and held Ginny so Hermione could concentrate on coaxing the potions down her daughter's throat. "Thank you," Hermione said quietly.

"You're welcome," Molly answered.

"Give it to me," Madam Pomfrey said, holding her hand out for the empty phial. Hermione stared at her. "I disagree, but it isn't my decision to make," she said.

Hermione gave her the phial and accepted the new one Madam Pomfrey took from the rack. Without a word she turned back to Ginny and tipped the phial to her lips. Once they'd finished administering the various potions, Molly gently lowered her back to the bed and Harry pulled her so her head was resting on his chest. Hermione then held her wand over Ginny's head, gently trying to stimulate her brain.

"Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked.

"Find her," Hermione said. "Use your Bond and find where her mind has locked her away."

"Right," Harry said. He took a moment to gather his strength before his eyes closed. Centering himself he sought out the door and passageway he and Ginny had constructed to allow themselves some privacy of thought and feeling. The door on his side was already wide open and as he passed the door on Ginny's side it swung listlessly on its hinges. Beyond, it was the same as before when he'd come looking. It was like stepping into a hastily abandoned house. There were memories about, but they were like a favorite recliner that hadn't been sat in for years; a kitchen that hadn't know a meal in decades, a rocking horse that hadn't heard a child's laughter in forever. They were empty; devoid of feeling … of life … of …

Her.

Harry suppressed a shudder. Hermione was right. He didn't doubt it one, single, bit. If he was suffering because their Bond was blocked, then Ginny was as well. He'd left her in the dark; cold, terrified and alone when she needed him and it was killing them both. But not any longer. She was lost, not dead. Somewhere in this personal house of horrors his wife was locked away and he would find her.

He closed his eyes and took a few breaths to center himself. Pushing everything away; he forced his mind to one, single, thought and Felt.

For how long he simply stood in Ginny's dreamscape, Harry didn't know. It could have been hours spent writing, 'I must not tell lies.' It could have been days spent watching Sirius fall through the veil at the Ministry over and over. It could have been weeks at the feet of Dementors reliving his mother's murder. All he knew is that it was all of those things and worse. Because the only thing that mattered, the only real thing in the world, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair as they kissed, was gone. And the longer he stood in this world devoid of her the more his despair grew. He was plunged into a world where he'd failed to save Ginny in The Chamber of Secrets; a world where he gazed on the lifeless body of a pale, red-haired, little girl lying sprawled in a puddled of water on the cold stone floor. And it was there, this place, this nightmare of what could have been, where they had both stood on the banks of the river Styx that it came to him where she would be … If only he wasn't too late.

"GINNY!" Harry screamed as he turned and raced through her dreamscape. He could feel her now; an aching well of misery and despair. He had told Hermione he felt as if a Dementor had taken up residence in his heart. Of course she felt the same. How could she not? If she was his other half, he was certainly hers. But where he was awake and aware, where he understood what had happened, where he could see and touch her body, watch as her chest rose and fell, hold her wrist and feel the blood pumping through it, she had nothing. And if there truly were nothing …

He skidded to a halt in front of the one door not swinging freely on its hinges and ripped it open. Rushing in he was assailed by the nightmares of her first year at Hogwarts. She'd told him these things before they had Soul-bonded, but now he saw them first hand. He felt her terror and confusion at waking, covered in blood and feathers after having killed the school's roosters. He lived her life as she called the basilisk from the Chamber and set it on her fellow students. He crawled into her bed and wept behind the closed curtains when Hermione was petrified. And he wrote the words 'AND HER SKELETON SHALL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER' in his own blood before opening the Chamber and disappearing from sight. All the while, believing that no one would even care he was gone.

But through it all, as he moved further and further into the year, drew ever closer to that fateful day, his sense of her grew. He stood by her side at the last doorway into Salazar Slytherin's hidden Chamber and together they hissed, "Open." He squeezed through the door the instant the opening was wide enough. She was there; clutching his lifeless eleven-year-old self to her chest. "GINNY!" he shouted just as she collapsed bonelessly on top of his younger self. "NOOO!" Harry staggered as he tried to race to her. His heart felt as if it was caught in the coils of a giant snake while his stomach burned with acid. "Ginny," he gasped, struggling to reach her. He was fifteen feet from her when his legs gave out; forcing him to crawl. The acid in his stomach spread to his limbs and his crawl became nothing more than dragging himself across the icy stone floor to her. With the absolute last of his strength he blindly reached out. His hand fell across her ankle as he joined her in the abyss.

The void is immense; vast in its emptiness. It is a sea made of glass, not a solitary ripple to disturb its surface. It is black; blacker than night, not a single star in the sky above. It is devoid of sound; utter silence. There is simply … nothing. The only knowledge there is even air to breathe in this void, this … Dark, is that you can, breathe.

Are you frightened? … You should be. Hidden in the Dark are things we ought not to know.

Now, let us add a single point of light. It is, in fact, but a pinprick within the Dark, too small for you actually define. Move closer; close enough to observe this light is moving; steadily from left to right, never faster, never slower. Watch it for a time … left to right … it is constant, inexorable, unchanging. Move closer again. Discover this light is nothing like that cast by a wand or perhaps a muggle torch. It is, instead, more like a star; a Snitch-sized sun roiling and boiling as it travels its path.

It is the most beautiful thing your eyes have ever seen.

You're close enough now that this miniature sun forces the Dark to give up a secret. This sun does not float freely in the void, but travels along a thin strand of silver as big around as your pinky. Walk with it now, as this sun travels its path. Turn back on the path you have traveled; note where the sun has passed the strand is now like charcoal.

Turn back and stop dead in your tracks.

You are no longer alone. Directly across from each other, the tiny sun between them, are two … beings. One you are not so familiar with; but the other, there is no mistaking Him. He is exactly as the stories tell; tall, skeletal, covered by a tattered black cloak. The hood raised, the scythe resting on his shoulder. As silent as a shadow you shrink into them … You were warned the Dark held things you ought not to know.

It is His companion who speaks and allows you to tear your eyes from Death Himself. She is a maid; newly ripened to womanhood. Her hair is long and blonde and falls in waves down her back. Her gown is green velvet. Her skin is like porcelain. She is perfection. She looks upon Death with not the slightest hint of fear and says, "Cousin."

You blink and when you look again the maiden is different. She is older with streaks of grey entering her glorious mane. She is a mother. A tear slips down her cheek and you follow its path to the floor. The drop splats loudly in the void but what now holds your attention are the two bodies at her feet. One male, the other female, they are both young, teenagers. His hair is black. Hers is flame itself. They lay sprawled on the floor unmoving. You cannot determine if they are even breathing. His hand rests on her ankle in such a manner as to imply it was his dying breath that allowed him to reach her. "So young," the woman sighs. You tear your eyes away from the teenagers at her feet to find she has shifted again. She is now the crone; bent and gray, frail everywhere but in spirit and mind. She … they … are the Goddess

"It … matters … not," Death rasps. The scream is at your lips but the gods must be protecting you because, as you clamp your hands over your mouth, you somehow remain unnoticed. Still, you will never, for as long as you live, forget the horror of His voice. His gaze leaves the bodies at his feet, shifts back to the miniature sun. There is a sudden flaring that causes you to blink back spots. When you are able to see clearly once more, where there was one before, now two suns burn. One is frail, barely emitting any glow at all. The other though, is stronger than the single sun it came from.

"Why?

You squint, trying to make sense of what you are seeing. The stronger sun now travels along a strand floating on an unfelt breeze. This strand does not stretch beyond the glow of the sun that burns it. It is mere feet long and this stronger sun is rapidly devouring what is left. It takes little thought to understand what will happen to the sun when the last of its strand has been reached.

Your attention is torn from the stronger sun by the Goddess, as Maiden's, voice. "He has found her." She is not focused on the stronger sun but instead the weaker and you follow her eyes to it. The strand it travels stretches beyond what you can see, but the sun traveling it has become too weak. Like throwing an entire tree on a single burning pine needle, the fuel it is feed has become too much for the weaker sun. It splutters and flickers, barely alive, becoming weaker by the moment. It is dying just as surely as the larger, stronger, sun will die when it has consumed the last of the fuel that feeds it. The Goddess draws breath. She blows softly on the dying ember, cycling from Maiden to Mother to Chrone within her single exhale. The sun flares stronger but her attention has left it and is now on the two bodies at her feet. "Their task has not changed," the Crohne rasps.

Death doesn't answer and the silence is a painful weight on your soul. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch this drama unfold. The stronger of the suns moves to the last few inches of its strand while the weaker sun splutters and fades to a softly glowing ember of ever dimming red. Again the Goddess draws breath and breathes life into the sun but this time her effort barely brings the ember to a strong glow. "It is for you to decide," the Mother whispers.

Death moves and you hold your breath. The very tip of the great scythe catches the stronger sun and draws it to the near dead ember of the weaker. A rattling inhale seems to fill His entire being, swelling the tattered cloak around him before he exhales. It is cold, ever so cold, cold to make you forget the fear of the Dementors that surrounds you, envelops you, fills you …

It is enough.

The suns rejoin and continue down the strand as if nothing at all has happened. You watch for a short few moments. When you look back, Death and the two teens that had been lying on the floor are gone. Only the Goddess, as Mother, remains. She turns to go but then focuses directly where you are standing. A flick of the Goddess' hand draws you from the shadows. You are petrified. She has taken away any ability to move or speak. Even though you know you should, you are unable to look away. She laughs softly. "Goodness, child, have you never heard the phrase, 'Curiosity killed the cat?'" Your heart pounds in your chest. "Go back where you belong," she says with a dismissive wave.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. Her heart pounded in her chest, she dared not move. It took only a moment or two to ascertain she was sitting in the chair in Ginny's and Harry's room at the Burrow. It was far longer though before she dared do anything but move her eyes around the room. Very slowly the tension in her body bled away and she was able to convince herself what she was seeing wasn't the nightmare she'd just woken from. What, was that? she silently asked herself.

"Harry?" The whisper was so weak Hermione almost missed it.

"Here, Gin," Harry's soft voice answered.

"I couldn't find you," Ginny said.

Harry pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin he gently stroked her hair. "I know."

"Don't leave."

"I promise." He kissed her crown. "Sleep now."

"Swear?"

"I swear." It was only a few short moments later before Harry spotted Hermione watching them. "Thank you," he mouthed.

"You're welcome."

He sighed wearily and closed his eyes. She thought he'd joined Ginny in sleep again but then he softly said, "I love you, Hermione."

Hermione gave a little hiccup as tears silently slid down her cheeks. "I love you too, Harry."

HPHPHP

Author's note:

Conclusion: Is Hermione not the bravest chick ever? Can you imagine the strength of conviction it took to stand up to Molly and Pomfrey after the mistake she made with Saraphina and Ron? Also, the scene with the Goddess, Death and Hermione might be my favorite of the whole story.

As always, thank you to all my readers. And a special thank you to those who have reviewed. I do appreciate hearing from you.

Sorcerer's Muse