The next thing Rane knew was falling through salt-smelling air, and then landing on cool, rough sand.

She staggered to her feet, staring around her, feeling dazed. She was on a long, temperate beach. Behind her, the sea was rushing against the shore, foaming and rough, grayish-blue against the starry sky overhead. She stepped back as the wake neared her boots, dampening the sand where she'd just landed. Crickets chirruped around her, and she peered into the sky, feeling disoriented.

There was a groan to her left, and she turned her eyes down the beach. There were five figures, staggered over some twenty feet or so, as if their Apparition had been hectic and jumbled, leaving them strewn across the beach like wreckage survivors. The nearest to her was Harry, who was straightening from where he'd clearly just lain the form of the goblin who Bellatrix had been interrogating. Near his long-fingered hand lay the ruby-crusted sword, glittering benignly in the dim light. Beyond them, Rane could make out Ron, lifting Hermione's limp form into his arms and hurrying up the beach towards the wavering sea lavender that surrounded the coast. Further on, she could make out a small cottage through the fog.

"Are you okay?" Rane asked Harry, grasping his shoulder. He turned his eyes to her, looking as shell-shocked as she felt.

"I - er - yeah, I think so," he stammered. "Are you?"

"Oh, Jesus," Rane said softly, her eyes past Harry. Harry turned quickly.

Dobby stood there, not far from them, clutching his chest and looking at Harry. The hilt of Bellatrix's dagger protruded from his chest. As they looked, he stared down at the dagger, then fell awkwardly toward the sand, quivering.

"Dobby?" said Harry, starting forward. "DOBBY!"

Harry tripped forward and caught the little house elf in his arms, falling to his knees. Rane drew her wand, kneeling at his side, but when she saw the wound, she slowly put it back into her pocket.

"No - Dobby - Rane, HELP HIM!" Harry stared at Rane with wild eyes.

Rane looked at him, silent, then back down at Dobby, who was looking up at Harry, his eyes shining. Harry glared at Rane, then turned his head toward the cottage.

"HELP! SOMEONE - HELP!"

"Harry, no," said Rane gently.

"WHY DON'T YOU HELP HIM?" Harry shot at her, his eyes burning. He looked at her with a fierce indignation that bordered on hatred. "YOU'RE AN AUROR, YOU CAN HELP HIM -!"

"We can't help him," said Rane, still very soft. She reached over and took one of Dobby's hands into her own. His fingers closed over her own with panicky tightness, cold and trembling.

Harry glared at her for a moment longer, his eyes shining, then turned to Dobby, who was reaching out towards him with his free arm as if for succor. Harry lay him on the grass beside them. Across Dobby's front, a dark stain was now spreading, and his breath had become quick and unsteady.

"Dobby, no, don't die, don't die . . ."

Dobby continued to look up at Harry with an expression close to rapture, full of adoration and without fear. He drew a shaky breath and with clear effort spoke two words to him:

"Harry . . . Potter."

And with this, he fell very still and said no more.

The hand that had grasped Rane's now loosened and fell away. Harry knelt over him, grasping the elf's face in his hands, saying his name again and again. Rane remained where she was, letting him have his moment to absorb what had happened.

As she sat kneeling in the sand, she heard thudding footsteps approaching and lifted her eyes. Several figures were striding towards them; she could make out Dean and Luna, the two Hogwarts students that had been imprisoned along with Harry and Ron. There were two more behind them, and as they drew nearer, Rane realized that it was Bill and Fleur, of all people, both in nightclothes and looking anxious.

"C'mere," Rane said softly, and reaching out she gently pulled Harry away from Dobby's body. He was weeping silently, and at first she thought he might try to hit her, so acute had his anger been moments before. Instead he turned to her and embraced her with panicky tightness, burying his face in her shoulder. She curled her arms around him and hugged him to her as they knelt on the sand, stroking the back of his neck.

The four figures had reached them, but Rane cast them a dire look over Harry's shoulder and they all stopped where they were. Luna caught sight of Dobby's body and clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

"Give him a second," Rane said to them. "Please."

They did. After a moment Harry moved away from Rane, bent over Dobby and reaching out pulled the dagger from the elf's small body. He tossed the dagger away with clear disgust, then pulled off his jacket and placed it over Dobby's body.

"Hermione?" he said abruptly, glancing up at Bill, Fleur, Dean and Luna. "Is she alright?"

"Ron's taken her inside," said Bill. "She'll be alright."

Harry glanced backwards at Rane, his expression desperate, and she rose to her feet at once, turning to the crowd that had gathered.

"Rane, what are you doing here?" Bill asked her frankly, looking amazed. "How did you -?"

"She helped to rescue us from Malfoy Manor," said Dean. Hesitating, he added, "Dobby went and found her."

"Is zat true?" Fleur asked Rane.

Rane nodded. She glanced back at Harry, who had placed one hand on Dobby's chest and was staring across the ocean, his back to them.

"Are you alright?" Luna asked Rane.

"I'm fine," said Rane. She glanced backwards at the goblin, who was stirring feebly on the ground. "Bill, you worked at Gringott's, right? Do you know that goblin?"

"'Course, that's Griphook," Bill replied at once, catching sight of the goblin. "What's he -?"

"He was in the dungeon," said Luna. She was still staring at Dobby, tears rolling down her face silently. "With Mr. Ollivander and Dean and me."

"Where are we?" Rane asked, looking at Fleur and Bill. "Why did we come here?"

"You mean it wasn't you that Apparated them?" Bill asked.

"No," Rane said, shaking her head. "I think it was Dobby, or maybe Harry. I don't know. I couldn't tell, it was all kind of blurred."

"This is Shell Cottage," said Bill, snaking an arm around Fleur's waist. "This is our home."

Rane shook her head. "Oh . . . Oh, yeah, Ron said . . . He mentioned . . ."

She paused, glancing around her.

"We should get the goblin indoors," she said. She felt a dry, businesslike solemnity coming over her, something she associated with work; the desire to take the reigns and guide those around her, she supposed, must come from her father, who seemed to always become the default leader in any crisis. But she didn't feel like much of a leader right now; what she felt was confused, and deeply unsettled. Beneath her cool demeanor her mind was in chaos: Dobby, perishing hours after he'd roused Rane from her bed, making her clearly complicit. Bellatrix, so near to her, insulting Sirius and Idril. Harry, a hair's breadth away from death in the first half-hour they'd spent together after months of absence. Hermione, tortured, nearly turned over to Greyback. Wormtail, dead by his own hand before their eyes. She had never felt less like an Elf in her life.

" . . . inside."

"What?" Rane looked up, startled out of her reverie.

"I said I'll carry him inside," Dean repeated. He was already bending, scooping up the goblin into his arms. Fleur bent and retrieved the sword, and side by side they hurried up the beach towards the house, away from them.

"We should bury him," said Bill. He was looking at Dobby, his face drawn. "Luna, do you think you could help Harry get up to the -?"

"No, Luna, you go on," said Rane quietly, glancing at Luna. She nodded at once, her eyes still full of tears, and turning strode back towards Shell Cottage. "Bill, is it just the four of you up there? Anyone else?"

Bill shook his head. "No, it's just us, Fidelius Charm. I'm the Secret-Keeper, no one will find us here."

"You haven't been at work?"

"We can talk about that later," said Bill, his eyes on Harry. "Look, I've -"

"I want to do it properly," said Harry suddenly, not looking at them. "Not by magic. Have you got a spade?"

Bill glanced at Rane, then turned and jogged back towards the cottage. Rane stood where she was, watching Harry's back, the cool ocean wind blowing her hair back from her face.

"I'll leave you alone," she said softly, turning.

"No," said Harry at once, and he half-glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were red and swollen. "Stay. Please."

Rane stopped, then moved forward and knelt on the sand behind him once again, putting a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Okay."

HALF an hour later found Harry digging a grave at the end of Bill and Fleur's garden, using the spade that Bill had provided. He worked alone, eschewing Rane's help; the sweat was beading at his brow by the end of it, and he worked grimly and silently, without looking at Rane or acknowledging anything around him. Rane sat some ways away, cross-legged on the sand between the sea lavender, watching him in silence, her hands clasped between in her lap. He did not address her, but she sensed that her presence was wanted - perhaps needed - nonetheless, so she remained, waiting. Overhead, the sky began to lighten towards dawn, at first only a glow of pink on the horizon over the grim, thrashing ocean. At length, Rane realized that Luna had appeared at her side, along with Ron, Dean and Hermione, who was wrapped in a dressing gown, her face pale. Ron grasped her about the waist as she approached. Bill and Fleur were not far behind, grasping hands.

At last, Harry emerged from the hole he'd made, throwing the spade aside. He grasped Dobby's body, carrying him towards his final resting place, and placed him at its edge, falling to his knees before him.

"We should close his eyes," said Luna, stepping forward. She dropped to her knees, and tenderly rolled each of the elf's eyelids shut.

"There," she said, glancing up at Harry. "Now he could be sleeping."

Harry picked up Dobby's form, climbed into the hole he had made, and laid the elf down gently on the soft, sandy earth, placing his small hands atop his chest. He stared down at Dobby's face, now peaceful and placid with his empty gaze obscured, and then climbed back out laboriously. They all gathered around the grave, staring down at the little house elf.

"I think we ought to say something," said Luna. She looked around. "To say goodbye. I'll go first, shall I?"

Everyone looked at her. She stepped forward, clasping her hands behind her back and addressing the elf before them.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah . . . thanks, Dobby."

"Thanks," muttered Dean.

"Will you say something too, Rane?" Luna asked, looking at her. "In Elvish?"

Rane looked down at the tiny body beneath her. She cleared her throat.

"Si'e gwanna Menel," she said softly. She touched her chest, then trailed her fingers off into the air. "Hiro hyn hidb ab'wanath."

"Hiro hyn hidb ab'wanath," Harry echoed, just as he'd done the night Albus had died. "Goodbye, Dobby."

Bill raised his wand, and the mound of reddish sandy soil moved over the grave and covered Dobby's body for the final time.

"Do you mind if I stay here for a moment?" Harry asked.

None of them did. They all moved inside, leaving him alone.

SHELL Cottage was lovely, reminiscent of Rane's childhood home in many ways; the colors were light, pastel, and photos of both Fleur's family and the Weasleys adorned the walls (Rane even caught sight of one of Percy). A merry fire danced in the corner, and everyone was making themselves comfortable in the livingroom while Fleur busied herself in the kitchen, making tea and pouring wine.

"How is everyone?" Ron was asking Bill, sitting down at Hermione's side. Hermione still looked pale and unwell, but far more alert, in any case. Rane tweaked her shoulder as she strode by, and Hermione offered her a wan smile.

"They're okay, now that they're out of the Burrow," Bill replied. "We've moved them all to Muriel's," he added as Ron looked bewildered. "They're bound to know you're with Harry, so they're going to target us, of course."

Harry entered abruptly, covered in mud and Dobby's blood. Fleur, who had emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, gestured towards the hallway.

"You can wash your 'ands in 'zere," she said gently. Harry remained where he was.

"They'd have targeted you guys anyways," Rane said, curling her legs beneath her Indian-style beside Luna on one of the sofas. "That was a smart move. No one mentioned it to me."

"It wasn't Order business, just between us," said Bill, looking a touch uncomfortable. "We had to be careful, you understand, Ginny being so young and all -"

"How are they protected?" Harry asked as he came back into the room. "The Weasleys, I mean."

"Fidelius Charm," Bill replied. "Dad's Secret-Keeper. There's one for us too, don't worry," he added as Rane opened her mouth. "I don't think they're quite as keen on Fleur and I, but you can never be too careful -"

"Where are Griphook and Ollivander?" Harry interrupted.

"'Zey are still 'urt, 'Arry," Fleur replied, looking at him cautiously. "'Zey will need to sleep -"

"I need to talk to them right away," Harry replied.

"No," said Bill, getting to his feet.

"I'm going to wash up," Harry said. The authority in his voice was startling, and everyone responded to it. "Then I'll need to talk to them both."

With this, he strode out of the room. As his footsteps diminished, Bill looked at Rane.

"What is going on?" he asked her sharply.

Rane shook her head. "You know that's not my business to discuss," she said quietly, reciting this for perhaps the hundredth time.

"Well, forget Harry, what's going on with you?" Bill said, his voice rising slightly. "What's going on with you, Rane?"

"What do you mean?" Rane asked him, a trifle truculently. "Dobby came to the house, asked me to come help Harry, I came . . . Here we are."

She spread her arms, as if demonstrating.

Bill watched her for a moment, chewing his lip, as if deciding whether to go on. Rane returned his gaze, silent.

"Okay," he said at length, as if deciding that it wasn't worth pursuing. "Fine. Fleur - come on."

He and Fleur strode out of the room. A moment later, Rane - as well as the rest of the room, who were all perfectly silent, listening - heard them confronting Harry in the hallway, asking about why he needed to see Griphook and Ollivander.

The sound of thundering footsteps rising the stairway came to them in a moment, followed by Bill striding back into the room, his face set.

"Rane, a word?"

She rose, following him out of the room. He led her into a broom closet adjacent to the kitchen, where he shut the door, closing them into semi-darkness.

"Rane, can you explain to me what Harry's up to?" he asked her. His fractious tone suggested that he already knew what her answer would be. "You show up here with a dead house elf, a semi-conscious goblin . . . Hermione looks like she's been tortured, but Ron refuses to tell me anything . . . And none of us have seen you in ages, what's -?"

"'Scuse me," Rane said, trying to move past him. Bill, however, put one arm across the entrance to the door, barring her. She looked over at him, grim in the dim light.

"Bill, I made a promise."

"Well, we may well be past promises at this point!" Bill snapped at her. Then, as she tried to duck beneath his arm, he grasped her wrist, staring into her eyes. "Rane, what is happening? We need to know, or we can't help -!"

"Let me GO!" Rane suddenly hissed, jerking her hand free roughly. Bill recoiled. Rane remained still for a moment, looking at him, then took a step back, dropping her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Bill, it's . . . it's been a rough night. Please, let's just drop it. I don't have it in me right now. I really don't."

Bill looked at her for a moment, his eyes flickering between her own.

"Fleur's made a bed for you downstairs, across from the livingroom," he said. His voice was cool. "Make yourself at home. We'll talk tomorrow."

Rane nodded, not meeting his eyes, then turning she strode from the room.

The bedroom was simple, adorned only with a single bed and a nightstand, but Rane took it gladly. She crawled beneath the blankets, leaving her wand on the nightstand, and lay on her side, staring out at the crashing ocean beyond. The sound of the waves would have been gentle, placating, in any other situation, but tonight it was loud, caustic, bringing to mind scenes of death, loss, horror.

Rane had spoken to Sirius at great length about Peter Pettigrew. She couldn't help but find herself wondering now, after seeing him die before her eyes, if he'd deserved what happened to him. She had never met Harry's parents, though she loved him, and neither had he. What had caused that silvery hand to turn on its owner? Was it something Harry knew, that he had never shared with her? What else had he never told her? And the way Bill had looked at her tonight . . . How ashamed of her he was . . . And could she blame him? She'd done the bare minimum in the Order, biding her time away at Grimmauld Place for the rest of it, weeping into her whiskey and eschewing the whole world. What kind of a woman was she? What had she become?

She felt a sudden, almost crippling sense of loneliness, of not belonging; how had she gotten to this place in her life? It seemed not so very long ago that she had just been a pretty unremarkable young woman, graduating from Hogwarts, going to work as an Auror, with only her own fulfillment in mind, with an insurmountable work ethic and guts out the gills. Now here she was, not yet thirty, alone most of the time, unemployed, estranged from her friends, estranged from her people, estranged even from her own daughter. Her chance at a normal life - at a man, a good man, and a home, and a kid - had been taken from her. And how had she fared since? In the years since?

For the first and last time in her life, Rane felt a cold, sulky resentment rise inside her for Sirius Black. A year, just one measly year was all she'd gotten, and it turned out that for Rane Roth - the Auror, the half-human, the daughter of a maethor, the tough and clever and unsympathetic resistance fighter - a year with a man was all that was required to undo her. How completely and pathetically she had fallen for him, and what a troublesome bastard he'd turned out to be! She'd ended up alone anyway, knocked up and robbed of her very vitality after he'd gotten himself killed, like some Civil War-era widow left to tend the wasted farm with her apron tied dutifully and her eyes red with misery forever after. Had she never met him, would things have turned out differently? If she had just gotten out of bed and shut the window against the cold wind all those years ago and then gone right back to sleep, rather than traipsing off downstairs to the point on the Black porch where their two trajectories would intersect . . . what would things be like now? If she had turned Sirius away rather than giving into his warm mouth on hers that night, and for so many nights afterwards . . . if she had kept him right where he was, sitting across the table at each Order meeting where he could look at her wistfully all he wanted to . . . if she had listened to her father and retreated from Sirius, retreated from the pitfalls of the plunge -

"Bullshit," Rane whispered under her breath. The sound of her own voice startled her.

It was bullshit, though. His face swam before her, and the memory of him was suddenly, heartbreakingly close, whiffing out her anger like a weak candle. The nights they'd spent together, drunk on wine, laughing, curled together in bed and talking into the wee hours; the feeling of his fingers interlacing with hers; the gentle touch of his hands, warm and strong, wrapping around her waist, and the feeling of his mouth, warm and rough, on her neck. His eyes in the sunlight, so gray they had seemed almost ashen. His voice, his manner of speaking - quick, pensive, temperamental; his London accent, which Rane had once jokingly described as "posh Cockney" (he had hated that, and had spent the rest of the afternoon imitating Rane's own Southern American accent with surprising accuracy). The smell of him, the taste of him. The heat of his breath against her, the sensation of his heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath her hand. The feeling of him, of loving him, the rightness of it. His lips forming her name.

Suddenly she felt a shame so profound that it nearly undid her. No, she did not regret Sirius, no more than she regretted Idril. Sirius had been good, and what had come after he was gone . . . that was all Rane, and no one else. She had returned to her broken self once his love had departed from her, that was all. If there was redemption left for her, she didn't know how to find it.

You're the best one, Sirius had told her, when she'd dreamt of him the night after he had died. I wouldn't give any of it up. Not for anything. Not even after this.

Rane squeezed her eyes tightly, feeling tears seeping from them and trickling down her cheeks, insipid as they were indisputable. She fell asleep that way, her long dark lashes damp with the tears that continued to trickle down her smooth cheeks until her breath lengthened, her long hair pooled behind her, curled into a slim comma beneath the thin blanket. Above the ocean beyond, the sun began to rise, fiery and insatiable, casting its red light over her face.