yay! Another chapter! I think this is the fastest I've ever updated a story in my life . . . nothing like having a deadline, right? Anyway, we're nearly there! Nearly at the end! I'm thinking three more chapters to reach the end, unless something unforseeable happens in the meantime, which I'm not expecting, but that's why it would be unforeseeable, right? Anyway.

DICLAIMER: roll recorded message here

Promises Kept

Chapter Ten - Sacrifices

"Waiting for me?" Harry asked. "What do you mean, waiting for me? You knew this would happen?" He sat back on his rock and watched as his parents exchanged a glance very much like the ones Ron and Hermione had gotten so good at in the past year.

"No," James said slowly. "Not really. Not in the way you mean. It's always been a possibility, but it wasn't our purpose."

"Then what was?" Harry asked.

"Why, helping you, of course," Lily said, sounding surprised. "In whatever way we're permitted." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Surely you've noticed?" she asked him sardonically.

"The dreams were from you, then?" he asked, looking round at them all.

"Well, of course they were from us!" Sirius thundered. "What did you think?" Harry fixed an amused look on his godfather.

"Well, for a long time, I didn't know what to think," he said. "I've always been lousy at Divination."

"Well, this wasn't really Divination," James said. "More like . . . assistance from realms beyond." Harry gave his father a look, and he heard a snort stifled behind him. James glared at his wife, who then laughed out loud.

"No, no, James, by all means, continue!" she said, still laughing at him.

"Well, if you're just going to laugh at me –" James started, pretending to look affronted.

"No, not at you," Lily corrected. "Just at your dubious word choice." And she flashed him a brilliant smile that he couldn't help but return.

Harry watched the two of them with interest, and the tiniest pang of regret. He had never watched them in anything but memories and dreams. This is, as he had said before their graves a year ago, what he had deserved. He gave a small smile, though, as he realized who they reminded him most strongly of. In a way, he supposed, he had watched his parents all these years, through Ron and Hermione. Then, with another pang, he realized he would never be a part of Ron and Hermione's banter again.

For just a moment, he wished there had been another way. He wished he had been able to defeat Voldemort without dying himself. But he cleared his head of that thought immediately. It did no good to dwell. This was the way it had to happen. He'd made the sacrifice; it had to stand. With an inner sigh, he forced himself to focus on what his mother was saying.

". . . it was really just a matter of finding a memory to match the message. With four of us, that wasn't difficult at all. And you, dear, got the hang of it quicker than we could have hoped." She smiled at him and he tried his best to smile back, but he had turned to feeling decidedly melancholy. His mother noticed. She reached out and took his left hand in her own. Slowly, he met her eyes, and he knew she knew. "We're all very proud of you," she said quietly. He nodded.

"I know," he said to her, very quietly. Then, determined to make the best of things and not drag the entire circle down with him, he said, "And whose idea were the dreams in the first place?" Then he couldn't help but grin. "As subtle as it was, I'm willing to bet it wasn't Sirius or Dad." He saw his mother holding back a shocked laugh. He glanced over at his father and Sirius, who were looking decidedly offended.

"Did you hear that, Prongs?" Sirius said.

"I did, I did," James said. "I can hardly believe it!"

"Your own son!"

"You'd think you'd have brought him up better, Padfoot."

"Yes, you certainly – hey!" Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Me? Why does that fall to me?"

James shrugged innocently. "You had the handling of him when he was older. I only had him for fifteen months, and he was sweet and good-tempered and well behaved then."

"Yes, but that sort of response wasn't garnered by me, old friend," Sirius said, a sideways glance over at Harry. "Sounded more like Remus, if you ask me."

"Quite right," James agreed, smiling now. "Definitely Remus' influence." He shook his head in mock gravity. "You should know better, Harry," he chastised. "You should know better."

Harry laughed, glad to have distracted them from his darker thoughts. "Whose idea?" he asked again.

"Mine," came a new voice, and Harry watched the shadows behind the empty stone, and sure enough, a small, watery man emerged.

"Why are you only coming forward now?" Harry asked him.

"I wasn't sure you would want me here," Peter said quietly.

Harry glanced around. "If they don't object to your presence, how can I?" he asked. "I forgave you long ago, Peter, surely you know that. You were the first, and . . . it made the others a little easier, I think." The small man smiled at him, and Harry noticed that all trace of his nervousness was gone. He had a quiet confidence now, and seemed a completely different person.

"The dreams were my idea," Peter repeated. "I remembered how, a few years ago, you were informed of Voldemort's plans and feelings through dreams. I thought the idea might be adapted to suit our purposes."

But Peter's words had brought back the melancholy, and with it, the guilt. Glancing at Sirius, then looking down to avoid everyone's gaze, Harry muttered, "Because it worked so well the first time."

The atmosphere in the Grove changed instantly. Harry could feel his parents and godfather and the others all exchanging glances, trying to decide how to speak. It was Sirius' voice that broke the silence.

"I warned you this would happen," he said, and Harry looked up, because the words didn't make any sense. But he saw then that his godfather had not been talking to him. "You've gotten him to forgive everyone who's ever done him wrong in his life. Snape, Petunia, even Voldemort, but you can't show him how to forgive himself!" Sirius' voice rang in the clearing, hard. Surprised at his godfather's tone, he followed Sirius' gaze to his mother, now sitting straight, defiant, her jaw set.

"And what would have you had me do, Sirius?" she asked him, steel in her own voice. "Abandon the plan? Leave him to fight alone because of the chance that this might happen? I did what had to be done! We all did. Without what we did, Voldemort would be walking free now! No one could have done it alone! You know that! "

Harry suddenly appreciated the fact that his mother was a red-head.

"Yes," Sirius said quietly. "Yes, I do. I know it had to be done, Lily. I helped you do it. But what you couldn't see was that as each person he blamed was taken away, he took more and more of the blame onto himself, and that's what we have to deal with now!"

"So deal with it," Lily said sharply, and then she softened visibly, looking away, sad. "You're probably better suited to that task, anyway." Nodding, Sirius came and knelt before Harry, forcing Harry to look at him.

"Harry," he said softly but firmly. "You have to stop blaming yourself for my death." Harry tried to look away, but his godfather wouldn't let him. "You have to, Harry. Dumbledore told you, your friends told you, well now I'm telling you. You have to stop blaming yourself."

"How can I?" Harry asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "How can I, Sirius? It was my fault! Would you have me ignore what I know is true? You died because of me, because of actions that I took!"

Sirius shook his head. "I died because of actions that I took, Harry. Me. The truth of it was, I was tired, Harry. I was tired of hiding and tired of being on the run and tired of not being able to do what I thought I should be doing. I should have stayed behind. I should have been more careful. But I was impatient. I was reckless. Facing Bella . . . it was like being back at school again, and I got caught up in the moment. I taunted her, Harry. I knew how close I was to the Veil, I knew what might happen, but I was past caring. You gave me an excuse to leave. If you hadn't, I would have found another one sooner or later. You didn't cause my death, so stop blaming yourself. Do you know how hard it's been for me, watching you, knowing you were still carrying that around?"

Harry stared down at him, at the admission. "But . . ." he searched for something to say. "But you'd be free now if it wasn't for me," he whispered. Sirius shook his head sadly.

"No, Harry. I wouldn't. If you hadn't believed that dream and Kreacher – which, by the way, you had every reason to believe – if you hadn't been lured to the Ministry, Voldemort would never have been seen, and things would have gone on the same for me, until I finally cracked. But I wouldn't have been free. My name's cleared now; that's all I wanted."

"But –"

"Why must anyone be blamed, Harry?" James asked gently.

"Because it happened!" Harry exclaimed. "Because you're here," he said more quietly, to Sirius. "And you shouldn't be."

"Ah, the mystery that is death," came Dumbledore's calm, quiet voice. Harry closed his eyes and looked away. "You heard your father, Harry. Even those who have been here for near seventeen years cannot fathom its mysteries. Maybe there are times set aside for each of us to die. Who can say? Maybe some things are destiny, meant to happen. Will you make that call? Will you take credit for Fate's workings, if that's true? Or will you claim to be able to see how lives and possible futures are intermingled if it isn't?"

Slowly, Harry met Dumbledore's eyes. A long moment passed between them before another voice interrupted. "Blame me," it said, and Harry turned to his mother, shocked and horrified. "Blame me," she repeated, level and serious.

"How could I possibly do that?" he asked, shocked that she would even suggest it. She lifted her head a fraction of an inch.

"Because it was my action, Harry, that led to Sirius' death. If I hadn't tried to protect you, if I hadn't died, Voldemort wouldn't have been trying to hear the prophecy. He wouldn't have lured you to the Ministry, Sirius wouldn't have had to come save you, and Bellatrix never could have killed him. So you see, it is my fault. If you must blame someone . . . blame me."

"No!" Harry cried. "You can't say it's your fault!"

"Why not?" she asked, still perfectly serious.

"You have no way of knowing the same thing wouldn't have happened! You can't ask me to blame you! No one can prove that what you did had anything to do with what happened after –" He stopped abruptly as he realized what he was saying, what she had forced him to admit. He caught her eyes, his gaze accusing, and she smiled at him softly. She reached out a hand to touch the side of his face.

"Life has given you enough burdens as it is, Harry," she whispered. "Don't add to it by assuming ones that aren't yours to bear." He leaned into her touch, his eyes closed. What they was asking him to do, it was the hardest request anyone had ever made of him, harder than forgiving his aunt, Voldemort, everyone. But after a long, tense moment, he took a deep breath, and nodded.

As he let out the breath, he felt something inside the Grove shift and change, settling into a more relaxed state.

"Good man, Harry," Sirius said quietly, and Harry smiled.

"You lot don't ask for a lot from a person, do you?" he asked wryly, and a ripple of laughter spread across the Grove.

"You're ready now, Harry," James said, and Harry looked to his father, confused.

"Ready for what?" he asked.

"To go back," Sirius stated, as if it should have been obvious. "To live again. You're not here the way the rest of us are; you're still tied to life." And Harry looked where he gestured. Sure enough, radiating from his body was another silver cord, one that trailed out through the veil.

"Will it fade?" he asked quietly. "Dissipate."

"With time, it will," Lily said. "Which is why we need to send you back as soon as possible."

But Harry shook his head. "It will fade with time. Let it," he said, and five pairs of shocked eyes stared at him. "I'm not going back," he told them firmly.

When Hermione returned to where he sat, Ron surveyed her for the first time with colorless eyes – for that had been the price for having sight restored in both eyes. He could no longer see colors. But it was a price he had been willing to pay. It would be much easier to adjust to a world of grays than to a world only half there. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the shining brown of her hair, the pink that he knew would linger in her cheeks.

He gathered her to him when she came back, in the way he had seen Harry do with Ginny, in the way he had long wanted to be able to gather Hermione to him.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, relishing being able to say it now. She smiled up at him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

"I want you to stay here for at least ten minutes," Healer Bromton said to Ron. "To make sure nothing changes with your vision. Holler if it's affected in any way, yes?"

"I will," Ron said, shaking the man's hand firmly. Then he took Hermione's hand again, squeezing it. "I guess . . . we'll have to talk once all this calms down, won't we?" Hermione smiled at the ground.

"Yes, though honestly, I don't know how much there will be to say." She looked up at him then. "I've known for a long time," she said softly. He nodded.

"Me, too," he said around a lump in his throat.

"Earlier we were just being stupid, both of us, and then this year, we've been purposely avoiding it. Is that the sort of talking you meant?"

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "That and – talking to Harry –" Hermione's smile slipped as she looked away.

"Do you think he's all right?" she whispered., biting her lower lip in worry.

"I don't know," Ron whispered.

"Hermione!" Remus came toward them. "You found him, I see?" Hermione nodded.

"Yes, and sent a message to the Hospital for Fred, to let him know."

"Remus," Ron said, "how many of my family members have you been able to find?"

Remus looked at the young man, his gaze serious. "You know about Percy," he said softly. Ron swallowed and nodded. Hermione squeezed his hand to comfort him. "George was seriously hurt. Last word I had, they think he'll pull through, but they aren't sure what affects the curses will leave on him. Fred's with him. I have no news on Charlie, Bill, or your dad, only that they are not among the dead we've found."

"Remus, how many are dead?" Hermione asked.

"Eleven of ours so far," he said gravely.

"Remus, you should know. Snape's around here somewhere." Ron spat the name. "I saw him before I got dragged into the woods. He's–"

"He's dead," Remus said shortly. Hermione let out a gasp. "And Ron, you should know. He was the one who dragged you into the woods." Ron stared openly. "He was on our side. He took out about seven Death Eaters on his own. One of them got him in the end." There was stunned silence from the two teens.

"He was on our side?" Ron finally asked. Remus nodded.

"Yes," was all he said. "Hermione, Ron, I need to find Harry. If neither of you can tell me where he is, I'll need to take Crookshanks and find him. If he hasn't come back by now, it's likely he's hurt badly enough that he can't. We need to know what happened; the shock of the battle is clearing up and people want answers."

"He was heading for the Gaunt House in the heart of the forest," Hermione told him. "Hoping to confront Voldemort there." Remus nodded. He knelt to speak to Crookshanks, then straightened to follow the cat toward the woods. "Remus!" Hermione called out, the name escaping her before she could haul it back. Harry's words weighed heavily on her mind and heart, and she had to get them out. Remus turned back to hear what she had to say. "Harry said – the things he said before he left . . ." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "He sounded like he didn't expect to come back." A tear fell down her cheek with the last whispered phrase. Remus hesitated, taking that in, then nodded again.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, and then continued into the forest. Hermione leaned into Ron and let him hold her close, stroking her hair, comforting her.

"Don't grieve until we know, Hermione," he whispered.

"You heard the things he said," she whispered. "He was saying goodbye, Ron." Ron nodded.

"I know."

"What do you mean, you're not going back?" Sirius demanded.

"Just that," Harry said levelly, meeting his godfather's stern gaze. "I died, Sirius. And there's no spell that can reawaken the dead. I learned that long ago."

"Yes, but you're not here in the same way we are, Harry!" Sirius insisted. "You're not completely dead!"

"Close enough to it to be here," Harry retorted. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I knew going into this what would happen. That anyone who wanted to defeat Voldemort was facing death. I'm grateful to you that I can spend my eternity here instead of shackled to him for all time, but all the same. I died. That's why I'm here, and that's the way it has to be."

"Then why did you leave a connection behind you?" James asked. Harry frowned, confused.

"I didn't," he said. James pointed at the silver cord that trailed behind him. "I don't know what that is or why it's there."

"You tied yourself to life, Harry," Lily said. "That's what it is."

Harry's frown deepened. "I didn't," he insisted.

"You did," Sirius said.

"To a person you love and an object that already held power. You tied some of your life force to it and to her. Remember?" James asked. Harry looked to the cord, and heard an echo.

Hear me, Ginny. I love you more intensely than I can even understand . . . I want to believe that this protection is more than enough for the both of us, more than enough to keep us both safe . . .

"The ring," he whispered.

"Exactly," was James' soft reply.

"Like a Horcrux?" he asked softly, horrified at the idea.

"Similar," Lily said gently. "But with some important differences. The bond a Horcrux leaves is formed of pain and death. It's a willing and knowing shredding of one's soul. What you've done was formed out of love and devotion, so the bond is ten times as strong, stronger still for not knowing. But yes, Harry. All of your soul is not here, because you gave part of it away."

Harry looked at the cord for a long moment, then finally, shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It doesn't make a difference."

"How can you say that?" Sirius demanded. "Harry, you aren't supposed to be here. You aren't supposed to die! Not now!" Harry looked at his godfather, starting to get angry.

"You think I want this?" he asked. "You think I wouldn't rather go back there, back to Ginny and to Ron and to Hermione? Of course I do! But I can't! I made the sacrifice, and I know that this is what's needed! I negate everything by going back!" he insisted. "You know that!" he said, turning to his mother. "Because you did the same thing. You knew!"

"I didn't," she said, very softly.

"You did," Harry insisted. "You had to! You wrote that note, you –"

"I was grasping at straws, Harry," she said with a gentle laugh. "I knew a legend, a mother's tale, but I didn't know, at least, not in the way you mean. It wasn't planned."

"But –"

"Harry," she interrupted, her tone gently scolding. "It wasn't a matter of magic or spellwork. It was a matter of a mother standing in front of her child. No matter what I knew or what I didn't, I still would have stood in front of you, stood between you and Voldemort. I wrote that note to tell Albus why I hadn't made an escape. I wrote that note to tell him that I was tired of running and hiding. We'd been in hiding for three months, and it was driving me crazy! I was tired of always looking over my shoulder and not being able to do anything."

Harry sat quietly, taking all that in. "But the protection –" he started.

"The protection wasn't a matter of dying for someone else. It worked because I could have lived, but chose to die instead."

"And that's what I'm doing," Harry insisted firmly. "I'm choosing this to protect them." He jerked a finger at the Veil.

"Protect them from what, Harry?" James asked. "Voldemort's gone. They're only threat now in the fear they face in the aftermath. Does your death protect them from that?"

Harry didn't know how to answer, so he remained silent, hoping that something would spare him from answering. Just then, the cord shimmered and his head snapped to it.

"What is it?" Lily asked.

"They've found my body," Harry said, disoriented slightly by the sensation. "They're moving it."

Ginny sat, staring at the open magazine in her lap, her eyes unseeing. She was numb. Something was happening. The battle. She knew that much. She knew that the hospital was buzzing with activity, frantic activity, treating horribly cursed wizards and witches. What was happening?

She sat in Fleur's room at the hospital with her mother and her sister-in-law, waiting. Always waiting, some errant voice in head said. How could Fleur be sleeping? How could her mother be so calm? How could she not know what was going on?

She rubbed Harry's ring, twisting it around and around her finger, barely noticing that she was doing it. Was Harry all right? Had he beaten Voldemort? Had he been hurt. Had he –

I would know, she thought violently before the other thought could fully form in her head. I would know, she insisted.

Just then, the door to the ward burst open, and there stood Bill. He was dirty, sweaty, and streaked with blood. As if she hadn't been asleep just a moment before, Fleur was across the room, caught up in his embrace.

"It's over," he breathed. "It's over." Ginny's breath caught in her throat, and she couldn't speak. Why was Bill here, and only Bill? Why hadn't Harry come to deliver the news?

"Bill," Mrs. Weasley cried, coming to hug her eldest son to her. "What do you know?"

"Very little," he said. "Remus is on my heels though, and he knows more." And he took his young wife to the bed, and Ginny and her mother let them be. In only a few moments, Remus had come through the doors as well.

"Ginny," he said, and Ginny could see his pale face, he shaking hands. I would know, she thought fiercely.

"Remus, what is happening?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I don't have much time," Remus said. "Ron is safe at the Field, and Fred and George are here; George was hurt badly. Fred's waiting, downstairs." Mrs. Weasley's hand had flown to her mouth at Remus' words, but to her credit, she held back a sob. "I'll let Fred tell you everything, but right now, I need Ginny." His eyes locked with hers, and her first, stubborn thought was, I would know. "It's Harry," he said.

She started shaking her head and couldn't stop. No, she thought frantically. No. I would know

"Go, Ginny," her mother said softly, giving her a push. Somehow, she made herself follow Remus out of the room.

"He's dead?" she blurted out, shaking with terror at the thought, but she had to ask.

"Not yet," was Remus' answer, which didn't help. Her breath caught in her throat, but she was determined not to cry. "I found him in the woods. It's – they don't know what's wrong with him," Remus admitted. "The Healer told me his soul isn't in his body anymore, but that it's still tied to earth somehow. I don't understand it, but I thought maybe you might." He looked at her hopefully, and she began to panic.

"I don't!" she cried. "I don't – he didn't tell me anything!" Remus took her gently by the shoulders.

"He didn't give you anything?" he asked urgently. "Nothing to keep safe? No mention of a tie?" Ginny shook her head.

"No, nothing like that," she said, twisting her ring in her fingers. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing and dropped her hands to her sides.

"He left this for you," Remus said softly, drawing a scrap of parchment from his robes. Holding it out to her, she could see her name in Harry's writing leaping out at her. With a trembling hand, she took it and unfolded it.

Ginny, it read.

I'm sorry I won't be able to keep the promise I made to you. There are many reasons for it that I don't have time to go into now. I hope you will know them all someday. I have to give up my life for this cause; that's the only way I get rid of him. The prophecy was right. We can't both survive. We're tied to each other, and so our fates are connected, too, and I can't escape that. Know that I love you, with everything I have, and the thought of never getting to hold you again or say goodbye is the most agonizing thought I've ever had. And I can't escape that either.I know this isn't fair to you. I'm sorry, Ginny, so sorry, but there is no other way. I know, someday, you will find someone else, someone who deserves you far more than I do, someone who can make you happy, who you can respect and love. With everything I am, with everything inside of me, I love you. You will never be alone.

Harry

Without looking up from the parchment, she asked, "He's here?" Her voice was empty of every emotion.

"Yes," Remus told her. Then she looked up, and he saw the steely glint in her eyes.

"Take me to him," she said, and Remus knew better than to argue.

He led her to a small, private ward. She strode through the door when he held it open to her, her jaw set as she glared, fury building in her, at the curtained bed. "Healer Knowles," Remus said, "this is Ginny Weasley."

With an understanding nod, the Healer beckoned the girl over to the bed.

Harry lay upon it, waxy and pale, looking dead. Ginny strode to him, note crumpled in her fist. Healer Knowles and Remus backed quietly out of the way.

She leaned over the bed, glaring down at his body, and threw the note down on his folded hands with considerable force. "I do not accept this," she growled through clenched teeth. "I will not accept it. You don't get to die!" she choked out, her face turning red in her anger. Two tears spilled down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. "You don't get to leave me behind! You don't get to leave me waiting, and you don't get to turn me into the damsel in distress! I won't allow it, not from you! You made a promise. And you don't get to break that promise." Tears were streaming down her face now. "I do not accept this! You do not get to die!" With one angry motion, she ripped the ring from her finger and shoved it into his clasped hands. Hers still on top of his, she leaned down and hissed, right in his ear, "You promised!"

The abruptly, she turned on her heel and sat in the chair by the window, as tears streamed blindly down her face, refusing to look at him, refusing to watch him leave her.

Softly, carefully, Remus and the Healer left the room.

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