True Love Conquers All

by Terra King

Love, love, love. Dear old Dumbles is always and forever insisting that True Love Conquers All, that True Love will Save The Day, and that HE ALONE knows True Love BEST, but...what happens when Henrietta LITERALLY turns to TRUE LOVE to WIN? One-Shot. But hope you all will still enjoy this. :)

True Love Conquers All

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters mentioned here. If I did, then the fates of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape would have turned out extremely differently. Yes, I LOATHE those three and I always would. So, if you happen to be a fan of any of those three, or all three at once, please turn back now, for this is NOT for YOU. You all have been warned. To those who are NOT fans of those three, who LOATHE them as much as I do, or who just want to read, WELCOME! A ZILLION WELCOMES! :D

Though this is a One-Shot, it is still my sincere heartfelt desire that you all will enjoy this as much as possible. Oh, and of course, there is always that oh-so divine little Review Button over there, and I always dearly love to know and read your reviews, thoughts, opinions... Thank you all. :)

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As they say, when the so-called "nice ones" do snap…watch out!

One would have expected Henrietta Lily Potter to be pleased or, at least, relieved at the end of what had to be the crappiest fifth year that any Hogwarts student had ever suffered. After all, everything seemed to finally be heading in the right direction: Voldemort had failed to get the prophecy, the Ministry was forced to acknowledge the monster's return and eat no small amount of crow – courtesy of Amelia Bones, who had been appointed as the new Minister almost immediately after Fudge's utterly humiliating sacking, Umbridge had been also been sacked and even sent packing to Azkaban by a most thorough and subsequently righteously outraged Minister Bones, Sirius' name had been cleared, Albus Dumbledore had finally given some beyond-overdue "answers", etc.

But no.

Henrietta was not in the least relieved, let alone pleased. Something had snapped within her in the aftermath of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, of Dumbledore's so-called "honest explanations about everything", and not even the Headmaster's saying that she would be allowed to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place with her godfather during the second-half of the summer holidays made anything better.

If anyone in their right-thinking mind had been there when Dumbledore said that to Henrietta, they would have told him that he had sealed the fate of his and Henrietta's relationship, that if he had been hoping that would suffice as either an apology or olive branch, he could not be more wrong – that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

In hindsight, alarm bells should have started ringing for him when, the very next day after the day of revelations, he learned that Henrietta had written directly to Amelia, formally requesting for the Trace on her to be lifted and citing all the reasons why it has to be, and not only was the request officially and immediately approved, but also officially announced to all, and Minister Bones had even seen to it that Mafalda Hopkirk was sacked for incompetency. When he and Minerva McGonagall had tried to question Amelia about it, the formidable witch just gave them a look that actually made them recoil a little, and said, "Given what is after that poor girl, it is something that should have been done long ago. She needs everything she can possibly get, and this is one of them. And after everything she has been through, I daresay that it is the least I can do for her, which is more than what you two together have done for her. And before you two try to defend yourselves or argue with me on this, I would like to ask this, "Did you or you not know that that toad had been forcing Miss. Potter and other students at Hogwarts to mutilate their own hands on a regular basis? If you two had known, how could you have let it happen? How could you have been bystanders to something like this? If you two honestly did not know, how could you have been so oblivious, so in the dark about something like this?""

Needless to say, neither Albus Dumbledore nor Minerva McGonagall had acceptable legitimate answers to those, and had not dared to pursue the matter of Henrietta being fully, legally allowed to use magic as and when she pleased. McGonagall, in particular, had the grace to be ashamed and even angry with herself, but was also at a loss about what she should do next, especially with her idol equally lost about the utter indifference that Henrietta now treated them with.

Yes, Dumbledore had expected Henrietta to come back to him with more questions, or pleas for training, or both, while McGonagall, who had been alerted to the change in Henrietta by a certain bushy-haired, bucktoothed, bossy-voiced book-eater who was supposed to be one of Henrietta Potter's best friends, had tried to reach out to her.

But she had not gone back to the old man, and she had as good as slammed the door right in the old woman's face, but before she did, she said, "Fifteen years too late, Minerva McGonagall, fifteen years too late."

The very worst part was, of course, when she said that to her Head of House, she did not say it angrily or even sadly. But calmly, indifferently, as if she had made some once-and-for-all decision that did not bode well for McGonagall and Dumbledore both.

The next bell that rang was that Henrietta had withdrawn from Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley altogether. Instead, she was spending more and more of her time with Noelle Longbottom and Artemis Lovegood. If Alastor Moody or Kingsley Shacklebolt had been there to witness it, they would be torn between marvelling at the way Henrietta did it and warning Dumbledore about how some friendships were coming apart at the seams, if they had not already. For Henrietta did it quietly. Subtly. Slowly, but gradually, one would say. And she did it with the same calm gravity she did when she told McGonagall about her being years too late.

Then again, even if he had been told or bothered to find out more about the matter, in his infinite wisdom, Albus Dumbledore would dismiss the matter as inconsequential, some passing phase that all friendships had to go through sooner or later, just like how Ron had turned against Henrietta over that stupid tournament, as well as how Hermione had opted for neutrality instead of really doing anything to get Ron to see sense. He would even chuckle and say that when the three of them finally made up, their friendship would be stronger than ever. It would not occur to him at all that, no matter how temporary this so-called unpleasant phase was, it deprived him of his two most reliable Henrietta Potter monitors.

After all, that was how everything worked in the World of Albus Dumbledore.

And besides, he already had his hands full with what he viewed as more important matters, such as trying to save his most precious Severus Snape from Minister Bones, who was leaving absolutely no stone unturned when it came to getting the bottom of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and stopping that monster once and for all.

"Albus, my dearest boy, you may trust him with an obsession that borders on idiocy at its very worst, but I do not. By hook or by crook, I am going to get all the answers I can possibly get from him, I am going to determine once and for all where exactly his loyalties lie, and…I am going to make him pay for what he has done to St Mungo's Hospital, to the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and to my former Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Here! I believe this would make everything perfectly clear! Now get out! Do not worry – Mommy still loves you, and she always would, but…currently, she is in no mood to humour you any more, my dearest boy, for she has a lot of work to do! So very much to do! So, get out now!"

Dumbledore had been forced to make an immediate retreat then, in a turmoil comprised of his legendary disappointment over his wishes being denied, his bewilderment and hurt over how the Minister had treated him (yes, he and Amelia Bones had never been bosom friends, but she had never ever treated him like that before), and physical pain from how the pile of documents had been literally thrown into his face.

He had not dared to try again with her, not when he had read the documents for himself – documents whose authenticity was indisputable, and was forced to acknowledge that Amelia and so many others had so many perfectly justifiable bones to pick with Snape. Not when…he was extremely loath to even think about this, he was…despite the Ministry's forced diet of crow in the aftermath of Voldemort's public exposure, he had only been reinstated to one of his three former positions – the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and from the way things were going, he was not getting the other two posts back anytime soon.

Needless to say, he had inquired about the matter, but it was none other than Griselda Marchbanks who spoke first before Minister Bones could, and as she did, she looked at him in a way that made him grateful that looks could not literally kill, "We are at war, Albus. That monster is back, and getting stronger by the moment. It is all hands on deck for every able-bodied witch and wizard there is in the wizarding world. But not all of us are going to make it. Blood will be shed. Lives will be lost forever. Those are inevitable. One of the only things we can do is to protect and defend our children, the younger generations, as best as we possibly can. For they are our hope. Our future. I am honestly surprised that, after all these years at Hogwarts, you do not seem to understand that, or that there is a real need for you to truly and properly prioritise. That at a time like this, you could still find it within yourself to desire political power when your sole paramount concern should be the safety, welfare, and lives of your students, especially considering how six of your students had been tricked into going where they should not have and were almost killed. Or…Albus, you are always going on and on about the power of love. Are you telling us now that your love for your positions as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump surpasses your love for the students of Hogwarts, all of whom you are always insisting to be the grandchildren you were not fortunate enough to have?"

"And you should think before you speak, Minerva," this was Minister Bones, who had been eyeing McGonagall like one would a villain's lapdog, and had struck the very instant said lapdog had opened her mouth to, no doubt, defend her master, "Think hard and consider as much as possible before you speak. Oh, sure, you and our dear boy here can say all you want, and perhaps you are right that neither Madam Marchbanks nor I here know all there is to know about the situation. But…we are perfectly, absolutely, one-thousand-percent sure about some things: first and foremost, like what Madam Marchbanks had just pointed out, not all of us are going to see this through, and so one of our most important safeguards is to protect the young ones. In other words, the students of Hogwarts. Second, I believe that for as long as anyone in this whole wide wizarding world could remember, our dear, sweet, tender boy here had always and forever insisted on the power of love, going on and on about all love conquers all. Oh, and of course, that he loves each and every Hogwarts student like his very own biological grandchild. Loves them dearly. Most dearly. With his entire soul and being. Thirdly, the Headmaster position is a full-time one that requires all the love, care, and devotion that one could possibly give, for the children are our future, our most beloved hopes. Last but not least, at a time like this, each and every one of us have to play by our greatest strengths, more than ever. As the Messenger of the Power of Love, should not your sole place be Hogwarts, Albus, dearest boy? Should not your responsibility be loving and caring for each and every single one of your students? What loving old darling grandfather would prefer politics to his grandchildren? Is that not right, Albus dearest?"

The looks on Albus Dumbledore's and Minerva McGonagall's faces had to be seen to be believed. As Dumbledore's woman through and through, one would have thought that Minerva would persist or even tell the two witches off, but she did not. Dared not, actually, for even the Deputy Headmistress knew better than to get into a genuine nasty confrontation with those two, and Henrietta Potter's statement and subsequent absolute indifference had shaken her usual self-righteous confidence. It was not that she had not tried to reach out to her in hopes of resolving their issues, but she was having the hardest time in the world trying to catch her, summons no longer worked, and during those rare few instances where they encountered each other, the Girl Who Lived ignored her completely and just went on her way, as if Minerva McGonagall did not exist.

It had been partly McGonagall's concerns and urgings, and partly his own desires that led him to decide to increase Henrietta's time at 12 Grimmauld Place from second-half to two-thirds, and on his orders, the Order had given the Dursleys a very genuine, very unmistakable warning when they picked Henrietta up from the train station. It did not hurt to sweeten the pill after all, and it would get Henrietta out of this phase faster. Most of all…it gave him the assurance that there were some things that he was still fully and firmly in charge of, that were still under his full control, and that all would eventually go back to the way it should be, especially where the Girl Who Lived was concerned.

His Greater Good demanded no less.

This time, however, the legendary Albus Dumbledore good luck did not smile upon him.

In fact, one would doubt whether it was still there.

During the first-thirds of the summer holidays, Dumbledore received numerous reminders of why he and Minister Bones were never the best of friends, and more than once, he was force-fed humble pie.

To begin with, she had ensured that Severus Snape was well and truly neutralised: in a very public and most thorough trial, the grease-haired monster whom Dumbledore dearly loved as the son he never had received a life sentence. And that was not all – his Mastership in Potions and teaching credentials had been permanently revoked, all that he had was liquidated and subsequently split amongst all his victims, and…he was force-fed a potion that not only permanently and irrevocably stripped him of all his magic and all his magical knowledge, but also rendered him deaf and mute forever.

Yes. Deaf and mute forever.

And no one, not even Dumbledore's most ardent supporters, dared to breathe a word against that. Not after they had heard with their very own ears all the songs the foul little jailbird had sang after all the antidotes were flushed out of his system and he was dosed with Veritaserum. Not after they had seen with their very own eyes all those terrible, terrible memories that had even Dumbledore pale and give Snape looks of genuine disbelief and hurt betrayal, as well as had McGonagall torn between attacking Snape and throttling Dumbledore with her bare hands there and then. Not after what the Wizarding Examinations Authority, St Mungo's, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Society of Potioneers had given their Veritaserum-verified testimonies, thereby proclaiming the harm that Severus Snape had inflicted on Wizarding Britain.

Hearing sugar-and-honey-coated things from a grandfatherly old man with long flowing hair and beard and twinkling blue eyes in his office was one thing, but having the brutal facts of life shoved down the throat in an official court of law with oaths and witnesses and everything was another altogether. The most condemning thing was, of course, that as Severus Snape was led away to Azkaban after being force-fed the potion that ensured neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort would attempt a rescue (what good was he, a deaf and mute Squib with no magic and no magical knowledge whatsoever, to either of them?), despite the tears flowing uncontrollably down his corpse-shaming face, his head was still held high, his bearing as arrogant and domineering as ever, and his entire demeanour practically screamed, "I have done nothing wrong! Nothing wrong at all! Nothing, you all hear?! Do with me as you will, but I will not apologise! I have no regrets! No regrets at all!". Yes, he looked anything but the humble, decent, and honestly reformed sinner that Dumbledore had always insisted him to be.

And as thoroughly ashamed as Minister Bones, Madam Marchbanks, and the few other truly decent ones were to acknowledge this, the grim reality was that besides what Severus Snape had done to Wizarding Britain, the second most important reason for his sentence being such was the sheep's desire to placate a certain Miss. Henrietta Lily Potter, or, as they would prefer, The Chosen One.

Now that almost all the cats were out of the bag, and reality had been shoved down their throats like how a thoroughly fed-up parent force-feeds their sick yet naughty child medicine, the sheep were forced to see how unkind they had been to Henrietta, as well as how they needed her a million times more than she needed them, and if – Merlin forbid! – she decided to…so, the general consensus was that permanently getting rid of the one person at Hogwarts who always went out of his way to make life as difficult, unpleasant, and miserable as possible for her was a good third step in buttering her up. The first and second steps had been, of course, Fudge's being sacked and sending Umbridge packing to Azkaban for good, and just like Snape, Umbridge's assets had all been liquidated as compensations for all those she had hurt, meaning that the weight of Henrietta's coffers had increased significantly as well.

Fools! The lot of them! The damage has already been done! And as if she needs or wants that kind of money! Minister Bones reflected to herself in the privacy of her office after Snape's trial, her own heart heavier than any burden at her own failures where Susan and Henrietta were concerned. After all that has happened, I would not be the least surprised if Henrietta were to give us the finger and tell us all to take a hike! And I would not blame her for it! I cannot! None of us can!

Madam Marchbanks, on the other hand, had absolutely no qualms with making her displeasure known to a certain Headmaster and his lap cat of a Deputy after their greasy foul surrogate son's trial was over. "I honestly do not know whether I should applaud your ability to truly and wholeheartedly love as a son someone who does not deserve it at all, or be appalled at how blind, deaf, and mute your love for him has made you to the love that you should have for others," she almost spat at him as she took in how he was still trying to come to terms with all the dreadful revelations and the final judgement, "I am not saying that love is an all-bad thing, and I do know it is inevitable that parents and grandparents would have favourites, but not to this extent. Never to this extent. Your love, my dearest boy Albus, is truly one of a kind, and I must say I shudder to think about what it would cause next. Last time, we had some numbers, but this time, because of your love for that greasy spitting cobra, the odds are against us, Albus! We have so few!"

Then she turned to McGonagall, and was surprised to see no sign of the passionately, devotedly defensive "Dumbledore's woman through and through" look and stance. If anything, she looked – for once – furious and ashamed beyond words with her idol and even her own self, but that did not deter Madam Marchbanks one bit, "Your love for our dear boy here is also a real marvel for the ages, Minerva, especially given all that you had let him, Snape, and so many others get away with for so many years, and the part you had played in why our numbers are so few in this new war that is highly likely to destroy us all. I had thought that you, of all people, would know that love does not mean always letting and even ensuring that someone gets to do whatever they want whenever they want with absolutely no consequences. But I was wrong. You are not the woman that I thought you were, Minerva McGonagall, and – may Merlin and all the Gods forgive me for saying this – but I realise now it is a blessing in disguise that Elphinstone passed on when he did, or he would have literally died from grief and shame of having a wife who loved another infinitely more than she did him, and so much so that she went against everything he had stood and fought for. But then again, for all we know, his spirit is here right now, watching us, and as much as it grieves me to say this, I believe he is currently burning in a hell of shame over all his widow had done in the name of love." With that, Madam Griselda Marchbanks, the Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, an Wizengamot Elder, one of the most powerful women in Wizarding Britain, Apparated away.

"Minerva –"

SMACK! SMACK!

Believe it or not, the unbelievable had happened: Minerva McGonagall slapped Albus Dumbledore on both sides of his face with all the strength she could muster. The old fool staggered, his hands reaching up to cup his swollen face, tendrils of blood flowed from both of his nostrils and one corner of his mouth – such was the force with which she had slapped him. But the considerable pain was nothing, nothing compared to the shock that the woman who had been his very best lieutenant as well as his most ardent supporter had actually physically struck him, and not once, but twice consecutively. For a moment, he wondered if he was trapped in some horrible nightmare.

But as he took in how McGonagall looked at him as she would the likes of Voldemort and Bellatrix, and the flush in the cheeks and the tears streaming from those blazing eyes, he knew that it was no dream, and…he found himself at a loss for words. It was not that he had never ever seen her cry before, but that had been many, many years ago, and that she had actually struck him…

In an instant, McGonagall Apparated away, leaving a "I do not know what to think or feel or do now at all" old man to deal with the pain and the fact that there was a very lost, very shocked, but also most curious and most interested audience…

The next serving of pie came in the form of Minister Bones declaring the emancipation of Henrietta Lily Potter – an official public declaration that, most unsurprisingly, none of the sheep dared to breathe any protest or dispute against. Of course, a certain surrogate grandfather had been dismayed to learn of it, but his Deputy was now ignoring him completely, and his Charms Master, of all people, put it flatly, "Contrary to what you may think and feel and believe, Albus, Miss. Potter is not a saint, but a person. And just like any other person, she has a breaking point, and she is certainly not immune or invulnerable to hurt. You yourself should know better than anyone how much you yourself had, unintentionally or not, hurt her ever since James and Lily died. She has been through a zillion times more than what anyone should have to go through, and we all know it. If you really want to continue driving her like this, well, it is your choice, for I know better than to stop you. But do not come crying to me or anyone else if she does something really, really drastic. Something not in accordance with your oh-so brilliant plans. After all, thanks to all the "wonderful" relationships she had fostered here and the "marvellous" opinion she has of our world under your wise and loving guidance, she has nothing left to lose, but everything to gain. That makes her more dangerous than anyone could ever imagine."

It was the "breaking point" and "she has nothing left to lose, but everything to gain" parts that caused Dumbledore to pause. When he had both absolute power and absolute favour, it was effortlessly easy for him to put rose-coloured glasses on and convince himself that all was well and would always be, but with Henrietta's indifference towards him, Umbridge's and Snape's trials, the fury and contempt of three of the most formidable witches in Wizarding Britain being constantly directed at him, and of course his lost positions, well, the glasses had been shattered. Not irreparably, perhaps. But still very, very badly. He could no longer pretend the way he used to.

Yes. Deep, deep, deep down…he knew. It was the understatement of the millennium to say that Henrietta Potter had not been best-treated, and his culpability in that was nothing short of tremendous. It also did not help that, while he did not specifically impose any ban this time, so far, she had not been answering to any of his, or Ron's, or Hermione's, or Sirius', or anyone from the Order's letters to her.

Not even once, and as loath as he was to admit this, he had the distinct impression that not only did she not bother to read any of those letters, but they had ended up in either the fireplace, or in the garbage, or even down the toilet without being opened. Once upon a time, he would possess that notorious self-righteousness to be upset and disappointed with her, firmly believing that she should know and behave better than that. But after everything that had happened, well, that particular nerve of his had been considerably diminished, though not exactly vanquished, and something told him it would not be wise of him to pay her a visit at Privet Drive right now.

What well and truly convinced him to drop the matter regarding her emancipation was, however, the combined force of Minister Bones and Madam Marchbanks. They had paid him an unexpected visit in his office, and before he could even open his mouth to welcome and offer them refreshments (purely for courtesy's sake, it must be said), they made it clear that they were there to put to rest whatever concerns or worries that he, the person who truly and wholeheartedly loved Henrietta Lily Potter most, may have about her emancipation. When this lovely meeting was over, the two personages left him a thoroughly cowed and thoroughly shaken old man who could not help but question his previous decisions where Henrietta was concerned, as well as fear that all the dirty laundries he had done his all to keep secret would be aired. Griselda Marchbanks did have a long memory, and Aberforth had no qualms at all about…well…it would not do him any good at all if those cats were let out of the bag, especially during these times.

One of the things that had chilled his blood the most had been Madam Marchbanks' last barb as she left his office, "Like Amelia and I keep saying, Albus dear boy, we may not know all there is know, but we do know for sure that you believe it is up to Miss. Potter to stop that monster and its minions once and for all, and she is going to accomplish that through the power of love. But you cannot force love, Albus, and falling out of love is as easy as falling in, if one had fell in the first place, that is. After everything that has happened, after all she was put through, does she really still love us? Love this world that has taken literally everything, everything from her, and gave nothing but pain, misery, and sorrow in return? Does she, Albus? Has she even loved us to begin with?"

All excellent questions.

All perfectly good questions.

All questions that he did not know the answers to…or rather, he did not want to answer.

All questions that he could no longer unreservedly, confidently, and optimistically give his desired answers to, especially with Henrietta's new attitude and the distance that she now kept everyone at.

It has not been a good year for her. She has been through a great deal. But one letter to either Ron, or Hermione, or Sirius, or, Merlin's sake, anyone would not hurt, right? It was not like they did not want to write or contact her; they were just following my orders – orders that I now know to have been a terrible mistake. Poor Ron and Hermione and Sirius and the others are now at their wits' end with trying to get her to respond. Well, if this is her idea of punishing us all for last summer, she is doing a fine job at it…I know! During her stay at 12 Grimmauld Place, I will give her permission to leave the house as and when she pleases as long as the duration is reasonable, and she is constantly accompanied by Order members during those periods. I will get Sirius to teach Potions and Remus back here as the Defense Professor once more! Sirius is her godfather, the closest thing she has to a parent, and she likes Remus. That should…

Most unfortunately for our dearest Albie boyie, his plans to appease Henrietta through his new choices for Potions and Defense Professors were not meant to be, for Minister Bones and Madam Marchbanks intervened yet again, force-feeding him his third serving of humble pie through the Head of Society of Potioneers and, much to his astonishment, a certain Andromeda Tonks.

Betsey Trotwood Copperfield-Granger, the Head of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, was a handsome woman, tall and well-built, with flowing dark hair, the walk of a Queen, and hands that were simultaneously soft yet rough – rough from near-daily experiments and brewing and concocting, yet also soft from the constant care that any true Potions Master or Mistress must devote to their hands. Those hands, though, seemed itching to wrap themselves around his neck so she could throttle him, and the way that her eyes – large all-seeing grey eyes that would stare unflinchingly at saint and sinner alike – looked at him as she spoke had him grateful that looks could not literally kill, "Albus, dearest boy, there is nothing for you to worry about. Absolutely nothing. You will be getting a new Potions Master who is infinitely better than Severus Snape in every imaginable way. You will know who he is when the time is right. You love surprising people at the very last minute, do you not, dear baby boy? So, you should also love being surprised yourself at the very last minute, right? But what I am saying? Of course, you do! So, just wait! I believe you will most dearly love the surprise that is your new Potions Master."

"But there is one surprise that you will be getting now, Albus. Your new Defense Professor is here." This was Andromeda Tonks, whose gaze was no less stony and implacable than Betsey's as she regarded the old man who was a worse plague on Wizarding Britain than Voldemort ever was. Despite her status as a wife and as the mother of a full-grown daughter, it must be said that she was still a truly beautiful woman, with her immaculate hair a light, soft brown to Bellatrix's ebony-black and Narcissa's spun-gold, and her large long-lashed eyes a dark chocolate-brown to Bellatrix's onyx-black. But every inch of her beauty – the legendary aristocratic Black beauty – now radiated disapproval and utter unwillingness for any negotiations or protests whatsoever. "Me. Yes, Minister Bones, Madam Marchbanks, Madam Copperfield-Granger here, and the others had discussed the matter most thoroughly, and decided to approach me. And I have said yes. Given how you had absolutely no qualms with getting my daughter to join your little vigilante group, I believe you would have absolutely no problems with having me as your Defense Professor, right? Oh, but of course, you do not, for you are everyone's dearest boy."

And there was nothing Dumbledore could say or do about that. Not when he no longer wielded the same influence he had before. Not when neither Betsey Copperfield-Granger nor Andromeda Tonks were friends of his, let alone supporters. And with his glasses badly shattered, he could no longer lie to himself and deny the reality that they did have respective bones to pick with him. Betsey had never ever approved of his decision to employ Snape as the Potions Professor of Hogwarts, and had repeatedly, consistently tried to do things about that, and it had taken him some effort to keep those things at bay, but now that his power and popularity were drastically diminished, he knew better than to fight her on her legitimate "I told you all so! I told you all so many times, did I not? Are you all happy now? Well, now you all are going to listen and do as I say! And no buts about that!" stance. Andromeda, on the other hand, had not been pleased at all with her daughter's decision to join the Order, and while she knew better than to try to change Nymphadora's mind, she had still made her displeasure over his undeniable part in that matter crystal-clear to him. She also made it crystal-clear that, if anything, anything at all should happen to her daughter while she was on one of his nonsensical missions or errands…well, there was a reason why he never sent Nymphadora on her own, and always paired or grouped her with the most skillful and experienced Order members.

Yes, even Albus Dumbledore knew better than to cross Andromeda Tonks, who had made it perfectly clear to him that, despite what her own sisters, the rest of her estranged Black family, and all the other pure-blood supremacists believed of her due to her choices in love and marriage, she had still been born and bred a Black, and she was no Sirius Black, whose days were now spent writing to Henrietta and begging her to reply to him, to send him at least one word.

"Why this silence? Why?! Why is she not writing back? Why?!" he would wail, almost tearing his hair out, his eyes feverishly bright in crazed desperation, his every pore oozing the legendary Black madness. Utterly gone was the exuberance that had overwhelmed him when he learned that he had finally been exonerated of the crimes he had been accused, and compensated accordingly. Instead, there was the madman that had constantly, ceaselessly haunted Hogwarts during Henrietta's third year, only that in this case, his obsession was no longer a traitorous rat, but a goddaughter who seemed to have withdrawn from him completely, and he could not help but feel as though it was due to his having done her a great, great wrong. "Days have been turning into weeks, and not one word! Not even one! Why is she not writing back?!"

"Sirius, calm down!" Remus would say, though it was as plain as day that he was no less upset, worried, and uncertain about the matter as his best friend was. Initially, like a classical Dumbledorist, he had taken the Stance of Self-Righteousness and Disappointment where Henrietta's silence was concerned, and so had sent more than one letter of reproach to her. But…as time, who unveiled all truths, brought about Dolores Umbridge's and Severus Snape's extremely public and most revealing trials, he had been knocked off and figuratively punched in the face numerous times by the forces of shame, guilt, and remorse. In fact, he grew to curse himself endlessly for that initial nerve that led him to send Henrietta all those rebuking letters, and was now burning with increasing impatience for the moment where she would come stay at 12 Grimmauld Place, so he could apologise to her face-to-face and make whatever amends he could. "Henrietta has been through a lot last year. More than anyone could ever have to go through. She is probably making full use of all the peace and quiet she could get at Privet Drive to rest and recollect hers –"

"Oh, really?!" Sirius interrupted with a mirthless laugh. "Really?! Do you even hear what you are currently saying, Remus? Do you even know what you are currently saying? And do you really believe this pitch you are trying? Have you forgotten how angry and – oh, Merlin! – sad she was last summer due to our lack of contact? Have you forgotten how that toad had physically and emotionally tortured her right under our noses? And have you forgotten how that pathetic piece of grease had not only mind-raped her, but had also done everything he could to make life shit for her, and it had been as easy as breathing for him to do so? Have you –"

As always, it all came down to Henrietta, did it not? I should have done everything I could to ensure that Dolores Umbridge never set foot in Hogwarts, let alone in a position that she never ever should have had. I should never have given Severus the Potions Professor post. I should never ever have hoped that somehow, someday, he and Henrietta could become good friends, like how he and Lily were in those golden days of old. I should not have done many, many things, I have to admit that now. I will need to have another private heart-to-heart conversation with Henrietta when she comes to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place. I need to make amends. Perhaps I will make her an official legitimate member of the Order? Let her attend meetings and have a say that would be really listened to and taken into real consideration? Let her accompany me on my Horcrux hunt? Let her…

The Henrietta Lily Potter who showed up on 12 Grimmauld Place when she was finally allowed to be there could not be more different from the one that all were accustomed to.

For instance, her hair, which had previously seemed in eternal need of brushing ("Just like your old man! Oh, you truly are a regular chip off the old block!" Sirius had crowed more than once in the past), was now neat and sleek, and just shone with health and wealth as it hung to her waist. Her hands, which had been unusually rough and calloused for someone of her age ("James' hands! The hands of one who was born and bred to masterfully play Quidditch!"), now shone clean and slick, as if hand cream had finally been regularly applied to undo years of hard labour and neglect. Instead of cast-offs or second-hands, she now wore clothes and shoes that not only appeared to be newly-purchased, but also fitted her perfectly and set off her good features to full advantage. But the most striking transformation was her eyes – eyes that were now freed of their usual glasses, enabling all to see how truly beautiful they were. Yes, they shone bright and clear, an excellent complement to the pink roses in her cheeks and her creamy sun-kissed complexion – that was right, she was filling out and actually looked healthy for once, or at least, on the route to good health. And the very best part was…while her hair could have been the courtesy of Sleekeazy Hair's Potion, there was still nothing particularly pretentious about it, and it did not look the least out of place with the rest of her, which was perfectly and beautifully natural.

But…those long-lashed, almond-shaped, spring-shaming eyes could not be more indifferent as she regarded the lot of them, and there was not even the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. Indeed, indifference oozed from her every pore, and from the way she looked at them, they might as well not be there.

One would have expected the likes of Ron, or Hermione, or Molly, or all three of them at once to flare up, especially given how she dodged their hugs and did not return their smiles, her entire demeanour that of a person who was there because she had no choice, or had her own agenda. But Dumbledore had made it perfectly clear in advance that, given all that she had been through the previous year, Henrietta had every right to be angry and upset, and they had to give her time. Space. They had to be as patient with her as possible, and do everything they could to ensure that she knew she was not alone, that she would always have someone to talk to. Someone to help her with whatever she needed help with. Besides, the combination of Umbridge's and Snape's trials, Dumbledore's current state of disgrace, and how Minister Bones and her allies were running things had also shaken their formerly invincible confidence. Even Molly Weasley, the Empress of All Banshees, knew better than to get on the bad side of the likes of Amelia Bones and Griselda Marchbanks, and while Ron and Hermione were astounded and more than a little upset about how the newly-ran Ministry still did not look kindly upon Albus Dumbledore, even they knew better than to say anything aloud about it.

Nymphadora Tonks, in particular, had said, "I have never ever seen Madam Bones this furious. This upset. This…swift. Albus, everyone, she had told me to tell everyone of us here that she views the Order as an illegal vigilante group that had and is still continuing to fail its so-called cause miserably, and the sole reason why we are not behind bars is because she knows that our side currently needs all the muscles and brains we can get. She blames her own self and all of us for the present situation, which is why she is now pushing herself and everyone around her so hard. She also said that, even if, by some miracle of magic, we all manage to survive this war intact, she is still going to see to it that each and every one of us are held accountable for our respective wrongdoings, and Albus, Minerva, Rubeus, that includes your leaving Henrietta on the Dursleys' doorstep right after her parents were killed. She had told me to ensure that the three of you are aware of this."

"Nymphadora is right, Albus," this was Kingsley, whose countenance and demeanour now shared one notable similarity with Nymphadora's: the look of a person who had received an excellent well-deserved scolding, who had absolutely no way to refute or protest any innocence, and who had to serve punishment. "I know you are probably sick and tired of hearing this now, but Madam Bones blames you for our present lack of numbers in all the mandatory places. She even said that she would hold you accountable for each and every innocent life that is shed or lost during this war, for she believes that you could have nipped it in the bud back then when Voldemort was first defeated, but as you did not for your own selfish and nonsensical reasons, it has now worsened into a dreadful mess of nettles and thorns that is highly likely to choke the life out of the field that is our world (her words, not mine)."

Alastor Moody said nothing, but his silence and the way he looked at Albus, Minerva, and all the other Dumbledorists still said everything. Even Elphias Doge was keeping quiet and not looking at the person whom he would usually defend with his last breath. Minerva McGonagall gave said person a look of utter derision which, lightning-swift though it was, was still caught by the intended recipient.

No wonder why even the legendary Empress of All Banshees was shaken, and so did not flare up at Henrietta's indifference.

Sirius and Remus had tried to smile hopefully at Henrietta, but her utter indifference caused their smiles to droop pitifully. They did not even dare to entertain the thought of hugging her. So much for the power of positive thinking – or rather, Dumbledorist thinking, it must be said.

"You have got quite some luggage there, Miss. Potter." Alastor observed, as cordial as a veritable warrior who was trying to make simple conversation could be.

"Oh. I wanted to wear something apart from cast-offs and second-hands that do not even fit me at all. So, I went to get myself a whole new wardrobe and new shoes to match. It was the very, very first time in sixteen years that I went shopping like this, getting nice things that I really liked and would make me look nice, actually."

While her voice was as cordial as Alastor's was (later on, it would be realised that he was one of the few whom she did not exclude completely), Henrietta kept her gaze firmly fixed upon Ron and Hermione as she explained, as if expecting the former to become pea-green with jealousy again, and the latter to erupt into a rant about how it was too dangerous for her to go out by herself, that she should have known better than to go out for something as trivial as shopping, that she should have followed their Headmaster's orders to the letter, etc.

But the expected reactions did not come.

Instead, they both recoiled at the sheer silent intensity of her look, the like of which they had never ever received from her. Henrietta's new attitude towards them since that battle at the Department of Mysteries did have an impact on them, and with their unwilling yet undeniable realisation that Dumbledore may have, well, erred where she was concerned, they did not have the nerve to be either jealous or scolding or self-righteous. But they did hope that she would no longer be that upset with them, and that they could get a chance to have a private heart-to-heart conversation with her when she finally got there at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Alastor nodded, his one good eye warming as he regarded her, though he did not try to smile like the others. "It is excellent to see that you are looking well, Miss. Potter. Would you like me to help you with all those?"

Henrietta shook her head, somehow managing to give the old Auror a look of pure warm gratitude even as the others all continued to feel the sting of her sheer indifference. "No, thank you, Mr. Moody. I can do it myself. By the way, may I know where is Kreacher?"

"Dead!" Sirius piped up before Alastor could speak, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Hermione whenever a Professor asked a question in class as he did so. He was that desperate for a decent look from his goddaughter, or at least, some acknowledgement from her that he had finally done something right. "As dead as dead can be! The first thing I did when I got back from the Department of Mysteries was to invoke magic itself to judge him for his deceit and betrayal, and so he was immediately destroyed. Yes, disintegrated into dust and blown away into nothingness. And right on the spot at that! So, no worries about having to see his traitorous ratty little head on a plaque on any of the walls here! No worries at all!"

Henrietta did not turn to look at Sirius, but just raised her eyebrows in query at Alastor, who nodded in affirmation, and then she turned to look at Hermione, who bit down on her lower lip hard and said nothing – a real surprise, that. Then again, even if her former best friend started to raise one of her typical ruckuses over the matter, she had mastered the art of either going deaf to those tantrums, or just viewing it as a pathetic attempt at entertainment to add spice to her life. Yes. She no longer cared about what Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley thought, or wanted, or believed in, or even what they did.

"Would you like me to show you to your room, Miss. Potter? I mean, I honestly hope you would not mind, but I had picked out one for you here, all to yourself."

Sirius, Molly, Hermione, and Ginny all threw Alastor a look of dismay and betrayal at his offer, with the latter two's countenances being the worst, for they had always shared a room with Henrietta during their stays at 12 Grimmauld Place the previous year. That she was being offered a room all to herself now…and this offer from someone who was supposed to be one of their beloved Headmaster's oldest friends and most ardent supporters…did it mean that he was no longer on the Headmaster's side? That he agreed with what they said about how the Headmaster and them having made one big mess? More importantly, would that (her having her own room) not make it more difficult for them to patch things up with her? Sirius would have said something, but Remus quickly put a hand on his arm and shook his head, and he fell silent. Molly, on the other hand, was compelled to keep her mouth shut by the look that her husband was currently levelling at her, for when Arthur Weasley gave you that particular look, you know to behave yourself.

"Thank you, Mr. Moody. It is the nicest offer I have heard all day."

It was only when they had gone up the stairs did Sirius jolt back into reality. "She did not even look at me," he started, shaking his head, looking every inch a lost little boy who did not know what he should or could do, "Not even once. It is like…like…like I do not even exist to her. Like I am not there. At all. And…and…and…hey, she is my goddaughter! I am her godfather! And this is my house! Who is he to pick rooms for my goddaughter in my house?! Who is he to –"

"He is Alastor Moody. That is who he is." This was Arthur, who somehow managed to continue keeping Molly quiet despite the fact that his look was now tinged with unmistakable sadness and disturbing resignation. He had not told his wife about it, but Amelia Bones had had more than one private conversation with him regarding the matter that was Albus Dumbledore's management of everything, and he now harboured serious regrets about how he had indulged his wife the way he had to ease his guilt. "He is the one person amongst us all who had always called them as he saw them, no matter how ugly or unbearable they are. And from the look of things, he is the one person amongst us all whom Henrietta wants to talk to. That is who he is."

What was more damning? The fact that Arthur managed to render everyone else utterly silent with what he said…or the fact that he was absolutely right?

If any of them had hoped they would have better luck later on, they were to be disappointed: Henrietta did not venture from her room at all for the rest of the day, not even to have dinner or use the bathroom – Molly, of course, tried to raise one of her legendary ruckuses when Alastor revealed that her new room had its own bathroom, and when he bought her dinner, but…a certain usually henpecked husband drew out his wand while levelling yet another uncharacteristic look at her, and she fell silent.

Alastor went on to throw away the key to the lock on her mouth by stating with his gaze firm and stony upon her, "She is neither your daughter nor your daughter-in-law, Molly. She already had a mother, and I daresay even you should know a million times better than try to replace or – Merlin and Goddess forbid! – usurp Lily Potter's place. I also daresay that, from the look of things, she is not going to be your daughter-in-law (he threw a meaningful look at Ron as he said this, and was rewarded by the vision of the notorious swine flushing yet shrinking back, not daring to say anything) either. She is her own person. She has never ever been allowed to be a child the way your children or Miss. Granger or any of us here had been, let alone a baby whom you believe you have every right to pet and coddle and dress up and toy with and suffocate at will. Not after everything that has happened. Not after everything she has been through. It is high time we accepted and respect that. Remember: she saved your daughter when she was only twelve, and your husband at only fifteen. You and your family owe her. And how she is treating us now is nothing, nothing compared to how we all as a whole had treated her, especially last summer. An eye for an eye, a shoe for a shoe, that is the way the world works. Even Albus had been finally forced to accept that. Why else do you think neither he, nor Minerva, nor any of the Hogwarts staff are present now to welcome Henrietta? Did none of you here ever wonder why they are all absent during her first night here? But…if it makes you or anyone else here feel any better, to her, I am just only the very best available option out of a group of bad choices, though…who knows? Things might get better tomorrow."

What other choice did the Empress of All Banshees have but to be content with that? It was the very first time Alastor Moody, the Alastor Moody, had spoken to and eyed her in such a way, and so it had a definite impact, especially given how he was one of those whom she dared not intimidate or cow, not that she would have been successful even if she tried her best. She was also more than a little taken aback by Arthur's drawing his wand out while giving her that look, for it was as though he would not hesitate to use magic on her if she did not hold her tongue and her temper – an intimidation warning tactic that, in all their years of marriage together, she could not remember him applying on her.

"Do not worry, Sirius," Remus gave Sirius' shoulder a firm reassuring grip, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. His only remaining Marauder friend did not throw a tantrum or fit or go into one of his Molly-Weasley-worthy hysterics, but anyone could see that he was falling apart. He himself felt sick – the sickness of a person who knew that he had permanently lost his most precious treasure, and that he had no one to blame but himself. "Like what Alastor said, things might get better tomorrow. We will talk to Henrietta then."

If Remus did not have his hands full with trying to reassure Sirius, and if Hermione less depressed over Henrietta's indifference and how everyone else seemed to have turned against them, either or both of them would have noted the meaningful look that Alastor and Arthur shared with each other.

When Alastor said "things might get better tomorrow", what he meant was…

The next morning, 12 Grimmauld Place received a thoroughly unexpected surprise: Noelle Longbottom, Artemis Lovegood, and the Diggorys.

"I know I should say something like "Good morning, have you had breakfast? No? Would you like to share ours?", but given the current situation, I would get straight to the point: she has been expecting you."

Elena Diggory, Amos' wife as well as Cedric's mother, smiled at him. "If there is one thing I have always liked about you, Alastor, it would be that unlike some we know, you always go straight to the point, no matter how hard said point is."

"I will take that as a compliment." Alastor returned her smile, though his grin faded away as he turned to look at the other Order members, "And before anyone says anything, I was the one who gave them permission to be here. I let them in. and they actually have every right to be here. They should have been here last year. I trust I do not need to remind anyone here of who and what Noelle's parents were, as well as what Noelle would have been if Riddle had chosen differently all those years ago. She has just as much right as Henrietta to be here, to be heard, and to be respected. Pandora may not have been a full member, but she still had provided the occasional assistance to us during the previous war, and her son here had more than proved his strength and worthiness last year – well done by the way, laddie, well done! As for Elena and Amos…I myself owe them some favours, and considering what that monster and his minions took from them, they have every right to be here as well. Come along now, I will show you all to Henrietta's room. Like I said, she has been waiting for you."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron, of all people, took her arm in a firm grip and shook his head as she turned to look at him, and she fell silent. This role switch would have been funny if the situation, the atmosphere was not so grave. Neither Sirius nor Remus had it within them to say anything, not when Henrietta did not show up for breakfast. And besides, Alastor was right. If anything, the Grim and the Woe-Is-Me Wolf only hoped that the company of this unexpected group might bring some cheer or comfort to the surrogate niece whom, they now feared, wanted nothing more to do with them.

It was when the door to Henrietta's room shut did the dam break, "Why did you do that?!" Hermione rounded on Ron, her hair wild, her eyes blazing, steam coming out of her ears as she spat her words like a spitting cobra spat venom, "Why did you stop me just now?! Why did y-"

"Because Sirius, who owns this house, did not say anything! Moody may be Secret-Keeper, but Sirius could still have them literally thrown out of this house if he did not want them to be here, remember?! Because Moody is right! They have every right to be here! Because Dumbledore screwed up! Big time! Even if he were here now, there is nothing he can say about this! Let alone protest! And because Henrietta, who is supposed to be our best friend, wants to see them!"

Henrietta's smile was that of a person who truly welcomed her visitors, as well as truly touched by their visiting her, "I thank you all for coming."

"Of course." Amos said softly, trying to smile at her as Elena and Noelle gently, carefully drew Henrietta into a hug, and their faces warmed when she returned it – something, no doubt, that would make Molly Weasley shatter all the windows in Britain and beyond if she had been present to see it. Artemis, too, managed a smile – a sad smile, yes, but also tinged with the hope of better times coming soon. Then again, if what they intended tonight went successfully, perhaps those longed-for times would arrive sooner than expected. "Of course, we would come. It is good to see you looking, well, as well as the current situation allows one to be. I, I trust that you have taking your meals regularly and getting whatever decent sleep you can?"

"I have, Mr. Diggory, and thank you for asking. I have made full use of the time I had to myself this summer to get all the healing I could. I even got myself a new wardrobe, new shoes, my hair tamed, contact lenses replacing my glasses…I know I still have a long, long way to go, but I daresay I have made a good start. You all also look as well as can be."

That was true. Noelle Longbottom, sixteen-years-old like Henrietta, wore a simple brown gown that fitted her well, its simplicity emphasising how she was taller than her friend, as well as how she had the built and complexion of a true Herbologist who spent long hours daily in either greenhouses or in the wild. But her golden-bronze skin also shone with the sleek, supple smoothness of regular care, the warm brown of her gown made her hair sparkle and gleam like fine spun gold, and made her chocolate-brown eyes appear more vivid. At the moment, those eyes regarded her friend with warmth and support, and those autumn-berry-like lips were in a genuinely assuring, genuinely relieved-at-seeing-my-friend-well smile that Albus Dumbledore was utterly incapable of. Like Henrietta, she wore no makeup, but did she need any?

Artemis Lovegood, now seventeen-years-old and a minor no more, was a real surprise: a tank-top and distressed canvas carpenter pants set off a tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built physique to full advantage. His hair, a darker shade of gold than Noelle's, was tied into an elegant manbun, but still shone rich and thick. His eyes, which used to be occasionally dreamy or distracted, were now sharp and clear, more silver than grey, as if coming of age had finally given him the full clarity he had lacked in earlier years, and his flawless skin shone as fair and clear as that of the moon deity whom he had been named for. Yes, Artemis Lovegood had matured into a real sight for sore eyes, and could have his pick, but the very obvious, very unmistakable, very visible name tattoo of Noelle Longbottom on his arm said all that need to be said, especially with how he stood by Noelle's side, a powerful protective presence.

Amos and Elena Diggory, on the other hand, were dressed from head to toe in the black of mourning, they shared the same "parents who had lost their beloved only child" pallor and had shadows under their eyes, and their very air oozed injury beyond recovery. But Cedric's father still stood tall and straight, his usually scrubby brown beard now immaculately trimmed, and a brave cheering smile on his lips as he regarded Henrietta. Cedric's mother, too, did not slouch or appear burdened to the point of permanently breaking from grief, one could effortlessly see that her hair – a shade darker than her son's – was glossy and immaculate despite being tied back, her posture was regal, her every movement graceful, and her startling blue eyes – Cedric's eyes – and her smile were no less warm and comforting than Noelle's as she regarded Henrietta. Yes, despite her age, her devastating loss from two years ago, she was still a ravishingly beautiful woman whom her son had inherited his legendary handsomeness from, and while it was as plain as day that she and her husband shared the look of people who had been dealt a crippling blow the memory of which would haunt them forever, it was also tinged with the unshakeable determination of avenging that blow and the hopeful optimism of better times coming soon.

In fact, that was why the four of them were there now, in Henrietta's room, where no one could enter or break in against her will.

"But, Henrietta, before we do anything else, there is something that I have to say to you. Something I must get out. I have to." Amos spoke up, his look and tone now strangely uncertain yet still madly sincere. "I know I had said it to you already, and had included it in my letters more than once, but I must say it again: I am sorry. I am truly, genuinely, wholeheartedly sorry. I am sorrier than I can ever say for everything."

"Mr. Diggory-"

"No, please. Please hear me out. Please give me the chance to get this out. Or I might lose my nerve. I am truly sorrier than I can ever say for how rude and unkind I was to you during our first meeting. I am truly sorrier than I can ever say for my atrocious attitude towards you because of that thrice-accursed tournament. I never meant anything wicked. Or evil. I swear. It was just, just, just – I let my paternal pride get to my head, causing it to swell until not even my poor Elena here could get me to come back to reality. I know you still blame yourself for Cedric's death, you still blame yourself for Elena and I losing our only child, and you even blame yourself for getting us involved in all this. But this is not your fault! None of this is! You hear? It! Is! Not! Your! Fault! If there is anyone who is to blame for Cedric's death, it is me! Me! Cedric only entered that idiotic tournament because of me! Me and my stupid pride and my stupid need to constantly brag and my stupid desire to be the Father of the Triwizar-"

The next thing Amos knew, he was being hugged by Henrietta, and still shaking with emotion, he returned the hug. Elena smiled, her eyes bright with pain and joy. It was times like these that reminded her of why she had fallen in love with Amos and married him. Yes, just like any other person, he was not perfect, he could be a braggart, a peacock, a rude lout, but at his core, he was a truly decent person who truly loved and cared for his family with every inch of his soul and being, and would do anything and everything for them. Oh, and of course, he was also one who could owe up to his mistakes, sincerely apologise for them, and do anything and everything he could to make amends. "Amos is right, Henrietta," her voice was as tender and warm as a devoted mother caressing her sleeping child, "None of this is your fault, and we want you to really know that and take that to heart. Amos and I know our son, and we are perfectly sure he would also say you are not to blame. At all. And as for our being here…well, I believe no one here would disagree with my saying that the five people in this room all have their respective bones to pick with that accursed, thrice-damned nest of vipers. Cedric was the light of my and Amos' lives, our pride and joy, and they took him away from us when he was not even eighteen. Well, Amos and I will be as damned as Lucifer is if we let those things get away with it. Yes, we will directly and personally ensure that they pay, and pay most dearly at that. So, shall we begin?"

---

It was as fine an altar as ever was spread back in the Golden Age of Magic: a miniature of the Goddess that was to be invoked, candles of red and pink and blue and white and gold, scallop shells and other seashells, a necklace of pearls and rose quartz beads, flowers of rose and anemone and myrtle and myrrh, and even oil that was used for bedroom pleasures. They also included framed photographs of their lost loved ones – it seemed strangely appropriate, especially considering who and what the deity they were going to invoke was, and it was like those figures who smiled, laughed, and moved in those photographs could contribute to the proceedings.

The candles were lit, the special potion of apple, lettuce, pomegranate, and other magic (which Amos and Elena had been painstakingly brewing ever since Henrietta secretly, extremely secretly, approached them with her plan) drank, and they were ready for the invocation.

"Before I start, I would like to ask this one last time: is there anyone here who wants to back out now and leave? If there is, please do so now, and please rest assured that there will be no hard feelings or retaliations whatsoever on my part if you do so. This I swear by the Goddess whom I am as determined and certain as can be to invoke in this hour, and by all the other Gods as well. Well? Is there anyone? Any second thoughts? Or are you all with me? One mind, one will, and one heart?"

Henrietta looked around, catching each and every one of them directly by the eye and looking straight, as if she would make windows into their souls to discern any doubts, or pretensions, or hesitations. But she saw none. Instead, each and every one of their faces, their essences, radiated faith, trust, warmth, and wholehearted willingness. Their smiles made her actually made her feel like she was not alone, and that come what may, they were with her till the end.

"Let us hold hands. All together." This was Noelle, who was the very first to take Henrietta's hand in hers.

Henrietta took a deep breath and, drawing on every ounce of concentration, focus, willpower, and sincerity she was capable of while keeping her eyes firmly on the miniature, she started the chant,

"We call on Aphrodite, Great Queen of Beauty and Love,

She who rose naked and dripping from the sea and walked upon this earth,

Blessing it to blossom the flowers of desire and fruits of fertility.

Humbled by her grace, her might, her charm, and her strength,

We beseech her to come post-haste to this hallowed place."

There was a moment's silence, where they could actually hear the pounding of each other's hearts, then the candles all flared as one, and the miniature of Aphrodite started to glow with power – power that they sensed to be simultaneously soft yet potent, primordial yet ever-accommodating, as if it always kept pace with the passage of time without ever changing its origins. A wind blew, a soft gentle zephyr that brought with it the intoxicating aroma of freshly-baked bread, fresh pure honey, and newly-bloomed roses of every imaginable colour. Then, both zephyr and aroma intensified as if they were one being, and a glowing gold ball materialised from nowhere and spun around the five summoners, before exploding in shards in front of them to reveal a vision the like of which none of them had ever seen or could have imagined.

Then again, considering who and what Aphrodite was, it was not in the least surprising that when the five summoners saw her in the flesh, they thought they had never before known what the true definition of beauty was.

Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of Beauty and Love, had a wealth of silken hair that rippled to her hips in thick apricot waves, a stunning golden-peach colour that was neither red nor gold in any traditional sense, but the most harmonious, most glorious compound of both colours, and how it sparkled and shone! Her eyes, crowned by dark arched eyebrows and framed by voluptuous dark lashes, flashed the deepest blue of the sea from which she had risen, but were also filled with the shadows of experience. There were untold memories of joy there, of sadness, of triumphs and defeats, for she was love itself, and love could be as painful as it was wonderful, as easy as it was difficult. They were eyes that one could literally drown in like one would drown in a pool of honey. Her perfect bow-shaped mouth, as red as the most mouth-watering autumn fruits, just begged to be kissed, promising a taste and a pleasure beyond all imagination. She wore no jewellery, and her feet were bare, but on her head was an exquisite wreath of never-wilting ever-fresh flowers from the Gardens of Olympus – roses, crocuses, hyacinths, violets, narcissuses, and lilies. If Sandro Botticelli and Michelangelo Buonarroti were present there and then, the former would have wailed in utter despair about how the Birth of Venus had not done her full justice, and the former tear his hair out in inconsolable grief about how her face and form – lovelier than any dream – were wholly beyond his skills to sculpt or paint. Oh, and her gown (if one could call such a thing a gown) just clung to each and every one of those bedroom curves, the aquamarine material so ethereal, so sheer that anyone could see how the flawless skin beneath it was fairer and finer than any ivory, and seeming to issue the most irresistible invitations.

But none of the five summoners were in the mood to be jealous, or envious, or otherwise, and besides, despite her provocative attire, the Goddess of Love stood as tall and straight as any true war deity would, every ounce of her aura was that of a personage whom not even Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort combined could ever rival, and when she spoke, her rich sweet voice was every bit that of a true great Queen, "Who summons me?"

The five bowed, though it was Henrietta who answered graciously, "We five, who are honoured by your presence, Lady Aphrodite. I am Henrietta Lily Potter, and these are my friends: Noelle Longbottom, Artemis Lovegood, Elena Diggory, and Amos Diggory."

Aphrodite nodded, though it was obvious that, like any other person in the wand-wielding communities, she had immediately recognised Henrietta at first sight. "And why have you five summoned me?"

"For help, Lady Aphrodite. And for justice and vengeance as well, we must confess."

"The one who calls himself Lord Voldemort. And all who follow him. Yes. Even Olympus knows of what a monster he truly is. As well as how he has been consistently made a fool of by you, Henrietta, though each and every time has always been a tremendous expense on your part." Those fathomless, unearthly blue eyes were soft with numerous things – respect, pity, warmth, and love – as they locked with Henrietta's green orbs. "Though no fault of your own, you have been at the forefront of this war since your birth, and while you were always viewed as the primary and sole defense, you have never ever been viewed or treated like a person. Not by the vast majority, who are ever inclined to let the loudest voice, or the prettiest promise, or the easiest thing win. Oh, I will help you. I will help you five get the justice and vengeance you all deserve. But before I do, I must say there is something I ardently desire to know."

"What is that, Lady Aphrodite?"

"Why me? Why not Zeus the Thunderer, whose symbol you, Henrietta, bear on your forehead? Or Themis, who presides over justice, which all of you here have been denied for so long? Or Nemesis, who rules retribution and vengeance, which all of you burn for? Why is it me, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, whom you have summoned for this quest of justice and vengeance?"

Henrietta managed a smile, but it was a smile of wisdom learned through too much pain and blood. "Albus Dumbledore had been wrong about so many things. Countless things. Even now, I know for sure that he still believes it is up to me to stop Voldemort once and for all, and the only way I can do that is through the power of love. As much as it galls me to say this, there is still a little sense in this belief of his, for I also know for a fact that Voldemort is not hate, but indifferent. Yes, he is indifferent. It is a common misconception that the opposite of love is hate, when it is actually indifference, and Voldemort is indifference itself. He is utterly and irrevocably incapable of loving or caring for anyone or anything, not even his own self. One only has to take a look at him to know that this is a creature wholly ignorant of what self-love and self-care are. He has absolutely no love, or care, or concern about his followers, and derives the most sickening pleasures from torturing them daily, and I honestly believe that, for all his acknowledgements about Bellatrix Lestrange being his most loyal servant as well as his very best lieutenant, he would not hesitate to kill her in an instant if he wanted to, for that is how indifferent he is. Even now as we speak, he is spreading his indifference, determined to destroy the entire world through it. Yes, Lady Aphrodite, he goes against all that you, as the embodiment of all love, stand for. What would become of love, of beauty, of fertility and even the desire to live – your domains – in this land if his indifference wins? This is why you were my choice, and I convinced the others that it has to be you, for are you not the Queen of Beauty and Love, as well as the Lady of Fertility and Desire?"

Aphrodite smiled. "Go on."

"Of course, I also have my own selfish reasons, Lady Aphrodite. The most important one being that, when Dumbledore does find out about this, and I have no doubts that he will, I want him to be unable to say or do about it. Please kindly pardon my usage of this foul language, Lady Aphrodite, but I want him to be in a position where he has no choice but to shut his pork trap and keep it zipped, and for good at that. Yes. I have no doubts at all that, despite all that has happened, he still has plots about how exactly I am going to use the power of love to destroy the monster of indifference that is Voldemort. But I would prefer an eternity in Tartarus to dancing to his thrice-accursed tune for the umpteenth time. No, I will not. I want him, the so-called foremost authority in how the Dark Side should be defeated, to be made a fool of. A laughing stock. Him and all who follow him like mindless sheep. I want the whole lot of them to have to open their eyes, their ears, their minds, and their hearts – if they have any – to the reality of how wrong they have been, and how they have absolutely no choice but to admit how wrong they were. Call me a woman scorned, or a vindictive unforgiving bitch, or whatever, but I want them to suffer that kind of humiliation. Especially him. For all that he had done to me. For all that he had done to so many others. And all that done in the name of what he calls love.

As you yourself have observed, Lady Aphrodite, I could have decided on other deities, but besides my honest wholehearted belief that Voldemort goes against all that you stand for, I also believe with every inch of my soul and being that no other deity would affect Dumbledore the way you would if you would help us. As the Styx, which none of the Grecian Pantheon dare swear by falsely, is my witness, it is not that I believe any other deity is your inferior or less impactful. But I know that it has to be you, Fair Goddess, for you are the Goddess of Love. Albus Dumbledore had always used the power of love as one of his primary crutches, believing and proclaiming himself to be some messenger or prophet of love itself, and countless follow his so-called lead of love. But you, Lady Aphrodite, are well and truly love itself, and what better way to strike a false messenger of love down, and render him incapable of rising up again than the Goddess of Love Herself directly and personally intervening in something he adamantly believes he alone is calling the shots? Yes, My Lady, I believe with all my heart that you alone are the only divine personage whose intervention would force him and his to eat their own words along with the whole humble pie. You, and no other."

As Henrietta paused to take a breath and calm herself down though she was obviously not done, Noelle, Artemis, Elena, and Amos all felt a razor-sharp pang. They had never seen her like this before, so open, so emotional. Noelle, in particular, was on the verge of tears – oh, what have those monsters done to her friend? What have they done? And how could they? But she did not cry, for she knew Henrietta's grief was beyond tears, and then, miraculously, she felt the sting lessen considerably though it did not go away, as if some incredible divine power had soothed that emotional agony, and she heard Aphrodite's voice in her mind, "Do not grieve, do not fear, and do not despair, Noelle. The past may be filled with pain, but there is always the future. I can and will help. You have my word as a Goddess on this. But first, there are certain things that I must do, and giving Henrietta the chance to let it all out is the first." "There is more, is there not, Henrietta?"

Henrietta nodded. "Last but not least, Lady Aphrodite, I do not believe I can kill him. It is not that I will not, especially with everything he had done to me, but that I am unable to. Oh, I know what has been revealed to all. What everyone now believes in, and what they are now calling me. If Albus Dumbledore were here now, he would no doubt beg to differ with my saying I am unable to, for my so-called prophesied role had been his other most important crutch ever since Sybil Trelawney pulled that stunt of hers. He told me that my ability to love is "the power the Dark Lord knows not", and that it was my destiny to vanquish him through that power. But…I am truly sorry if my honesty comes off as impertinence, Fair Goddess, but I do not believe him. At all. Goodness, even after all that has happened, what I have heard, I am not sure if I even believe in that prophecy. Or, at least, I do not believe in Dumbledore's interpretation of it. For since when was he, Albus Dumbledore, an expert in Divination, in foresight, in prophecies? I mean, from what I know, he did not take the subject during his own Hogwarts years."

"Henrietta is right, Lady Aphrodite," Amos spoke up, as Noelle took Henrietta's hand in hers again in a firm yet gentle hold. "Elena and I had triple-checked: he did not take Divination during his school years. He is neither a True Seer, nor a professionally recognised Divination expert. He is no Unspeakable, let alone one of those whose job is to study and analyse prophecies in hopes of interpretation. He is in no official legitimate position to claim his own interpretation of any prophecy as fact. But that was exactly what he had done, Lady Aphrodite, and he has done unspeakable evil through it."

Aphrodite nodded, and Henrietta went on as Artemis gave her shoulder a comforting grip, "I did not say anything to him then as I did not want to hear any more of his yarns, but I did not believe him. I still do not believe him, and I know for sure that I never would. Not anymore. If there is one thing I do believe in with my entire soul and being, it would be that I do not stand a chance against him in a real duel to the end. I am just an ordinary sixteen-year-old witch, and I have never ever been taught how to use love as a lethal weapon against the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time. In each and every one of those instances where I managed to defy and flee from him, I had been perfectly prepared to die, for I did not believe I would survive. Perhaps some would protest by bringing up how I had defied him numerous times so far, but you should know, Fair Goddess, that each and every single defiance been oh-so narrow, and I had always gotten away with the skin of my teeth only through a combination of luck, impulse, recklessness, help, and other things. Regardless of what Dumbledore and his may think, feel, and believe, I know for sure that I am unable to kill Voldemort at his very worst, that I do not know how to and am unable to use love to literally kill someone, and that while it is a miracle I had survived to this very moment, I am not the miracle-worker that they want me to be, for I am just an ordinary person.

But you, Lady Aphrodite, are a different matter altogether. Like I had said earlier, if there is any divinity who can put an end to Voldemort permanently while forcing the entire Order of the Flaming Turkey to keep their pork traps shut and choke down humble pie, it is you. You and you alone. I had read the stories. I know that, as the Goddess of Beauty, Love, Pleasure, and Procreation, you are at once beyond terrible in your wrath and beyond generous in your grace. When Psyche betrayed your son's trust, though you imposed on her four trials any legendary hero would find trying as penance, after she passed them all and was awarded with the gifts of divinity and eternal matrimony with your son, you danced at their wedding to bless them, and gained both respect and affection for your daughter-in-law and supported your son's love. When Hippomenes begged for your help to outrun Atalanta so he could win her hand, you answered his prayer with three golden apples and taught him how to use them, and while you later transformed him and Atalanta both into lions for his forgetting to thank you, you still saw to it that, even as lions, he and his wife never parted and were always lovingly devoted to each other. When Narcissus was cruel to Echo, a favourite of yours, you punished him by making him fall in fruitless love with his own reflection in the water, and freed Echo from the pain of his rejection by allowing her to fade away. You even once brought a statue to life so that a King's seemingly impossible wish for love became reality, and you watched over and assisted your son, Aeneas, throughout his entire life, and even saw to it that he was made a Roman deity when his mortal days ended.

Yes.

All this is why I choose you, My Lady. Not any other, but you. And, with all that I have and am, I hope you will help me. Help us."

For a moment there was silence as Aphrodite drew close to Henrietta and gently, tenderly cupped her face with her hands, locking eyes with her as if she wanted to see her soul in its entirety, then, "There is one other thing. Do you, Henrietta Lily Potter, with all that you had been, are now, and would be, deny the prophecy made by Sybil Patricia Trelawney and all that it is, now and forever?"

"I do."

Aphrodite repeated the question six more times, and each time, Henrietta answered in the affirmative. Oh, she did not know what exactly was going on, but still did as her instincts told her. After the seventh "I do", the Goddess of Love gave a smile as pleased and victorious as any deity who had been honoured by their devout worshipper, and kissed Henrietta on her forehead, at the exact place where her scar was – a long kiss. Henrietta did not know how or why, but as Aphrodite kissed her scar, she felt a change within her, a strange sweet tingling in her entire body, along with an unspeakably wonderful sensation like her very blood becoming cleansed of all impurities, then the kiss was over, and she instinctively reached up to touch her scar, only to find…none. There was no scar. She rubbed and patted the spot repeatedly, almost wondering if she was dreaming, but the skin there was unscarred. Wholly and totally unscarred, as if the scar had never been there to begin with. But there was more: somehow, she knew for sure that the connection between her and Voldemort had been permanently, irrevocably, and irreparably severed, and she had also forever lost her ability to speak and understand Parseltongue. She looked around at her friends, all of whom exchanged looks of relief and delight as they saw that her scar was gone, and then back at Aphrodite, who nodded at her, her smile as warm and sweet and loving as ever.

"As they say, no loose ends."

With that, Aphrodite turned to Noelle, cupped her face with her hands and, as sea-blue locked with chocolate-brown, asked, "And do you, Noelle Longbottom, with all that you had been, are now, and would be, deny the prophecy made by Sybil Patricia Trelawney and all that it is, now and forever?"

Seven times in total this question was asked, and just like Henrietta had, Noelle firmly and clearly answered in the affirmative seven times as well. After Noelle's seventh "I do", the Goddess of Love gave her forehead a kiss.

"So be it. And it begins now. Fear not, all of you, for you are with me."

Aphrodite raised her arms and started to glow, a light that illuminated her alone and left all else dark. She stood before the five of them, now seeming to be tall beyond measurement, beautiful beyond endurance, terrible and worshipful and wonderful all at once. Strange to say, none of them were in the least afraid, not even when her eyes glowed a blazing blue worthy of any of Zeus' thunderbolts, and in their minds' eyes, they saw – an ugly gold ring set with a large black stone aging till it disintegrated into nothingness, followed by a heavy gold locket with a serpentine "S" in glittering green emeralds melting away like an ice cube would in the midsummer sun, then a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles and a badger engraving upon it exploded (Amos and Elena gasped and turned to look at each other), next was a delicate-looking diadem melting away in a way similar to how the locket had (Artemis' eyes widened a little), and finally, a monstrous green snake gave a shriek of finality, fell to the ground motionless (Henrietta, Noelle, and Artemis exchanged glances with one another), and disintegrated into dust that was swiftly blown away by a wind scented by Aphrodite's unique divine aroma.

But what made them all truly stare was this: Lord Voldemort seated on a throne-like chair, deep in evil silent contemplation when, suddenly, six midnight-dark ghostly shadows emerged from the ground – three from his left, and three from his right – and floated around him, each and every one of them wailing like a Banshee proclaiming his very own doom. He would have snarled and reached for his wand, but to his shock and horror, he found that he could not move an inch, like he had been utterly paralysed, and there was no sound when he tried to call out or shriek for his followers, as if his very voice had been silenced forever. He could do nothing, absolutely nothing, but watch in increasing dread as the six wailing shadows floated all around him, then his eyes – those merciless, monstrous red eyes – widened as he took in those shadows one by one, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream of purest agony as, one after another, the shadows entered him like an utterly unwelcomed guest forcefully barging into a host's home.

The five saw how, with each and every time a shadow entered Voldemort, his scream intensified though it was still soundless (courtesy, no doubt, of the Goddess of Love), and after the sixth shadow's entry, an incredible transformation occurred: the bald, red-eyed, slit-nosed, corpse-complexioned, skeletally-thin monster that was the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time turned into what looked to be a human man in his seventies, with jet-black hair streaked with grey and white, a nose worthy of a sculpture, and there was more colour in his skin. But he was only little more than skin and bones, and while his eyes were no longer that livid scarlet-red that had haunted Henrietta's nightmares for years, there was still pure evil in them, and most of all…he was still screaming. Screaming like he was suffering pain that would ultimately kill him. Then again, perhaps he was.

"And it never hurts to make sure…"

Suddenly, copper shards erupted from the ground and punctured Voldemort's body, though it was already impossible for his soundless scream to worsen. Waters from the very ocean the Goddess of Love had risen from then filled the room he was in, beginning to drown him, making him gurgle beneath the seawater. Large splinters of myrtle-wood then stabbed into Voldemort's legs and arms, though he was already paralysed in his chair and unable to move at all, and earth fell onto him, crushing him. A torch-like beam of the fire of love and desire then went right into his wide mouth, and with a suddenly-audible-to-them scream of helplessness and utter finality, Lord Voldemort's eyes, nose, ears, and mouth erupted into flames and there was then a massive explosion as he was blasted into smithereens, smithereens which were instanteously scattered away by Aphrodite's scented winds.

Yes. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time, one of Albus Dumbledore's very greatest – or rather, very worst masterpieces, the enemy of all that was good in the world, the embodiment of all indifference, was gone. Vanquished. And by the very power whom Albus Dumbledore had always touted, though it must be said it was most definitely not how he had wanted it to go about.

In the next instant, the five were fully back in Henrietta's room, which was no longer darkened by the Goddess' glory and power, and Aphrodite herself was no longer in her wrathful form, but as warm and sweet and approachable as she was when she first manifested to them, and her voice was soft and comforting.

"It is as what you have seen. Tom Marvolo Riddle is no more. I have vanquished each and every foothold he has to this living world, then he himself, and forever barred him from this and every other living world. This and every other Earth. And there is no power in this or any other world or any other time that could bring him back. Not now, not ever. I, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, the Lady of Pleasure and Procreation, the Mistress of Fertility and Desire, have made life itself strictly and utterly forbidden to him forever."

There was a moment's silence as the five stared at Aphrodite, and at her firm reassuring nod, Henrietta suddenly ran forward and hugged the Goddess, who laughed like a loving mother would when her beloved child welcomed her home from a long trip in such a way, and returned the hug warmly. Amos burst into tears of joy and pain, and was only vaguely aware of Elena's hugging him as he muttered about how Cedric had been avenged and could rest in peace. Elena herself was also in tears, but she did not sob aloud or mutter like her husband did – that had never been her, but her heart said the same things he did, adding a most sincere, most devout prayer that, no matter where her son's soul currently was and what awaited him, he would always be happy, safe, and contented. Noelle cheered and hugged Artemis, who returned her embrace with an ear-to-ear grin.

"A monster of indifference like that being vanquished is indeed cause for celebration." Aphrodite stroked Henrietta's hair, her smile as warm as summer sunshine as she looked at her and the others. "And all of your joy brings me great joy. But I am afraid that there is still more to be done. For that monster is only one of the numerous heads of this Hydra that has plagued your land for so long, and while it is gone, the others still remain, and they must be taken care of if love, life, fertility, and all that is good are to truly flourish in this land again. And I am just as determined as you all are that those other heads are taken care of, so that all the clouds blocking out the sun are cleared and this land gets to bloom again in the light, fresh air, and sweet dew of a new sunny dawn."

Henrietta looked up at her – she was tall, but Aphrodite was of course taller. "You mean –"

Aphrodite nodded and patted her face. "I have seen. I have heard. I have viewed all of your memories. Albus Dumbledore. Bellatrix Lestrange. Some others…well, I, Aphrodite, now say that the age where the name of love is exploited in every imaginable way by monsters to gratify their own selfish desires is at an end."

"With all due respect, Lady Aphrodite, but according to our research, a summoner may have only one request, and my friends and I had Voldemort in mind when we summoned you."

Oh, poor child. My poor, sweet child. I already knew that you and your friends had him in mind when the five of you called me here, but I was also determined to help you all the way. Why else do you think I asked you for your reasons for choosing me out of all the deities there are? And why else do you think I asked you that question seven times, and did the same with Noelle? Oh, poor child. You have suffered so. You have given so much, and asked for so little. Well, fear no more… Aphrodite gave a little sigh and patted Henrietta's face again like the most understanding and supportive of mothers comforting her child, "True. That is the usual case. But I am not one for any loose ends, especially in a case like this one. And like what you had said, Henrietta, I am the Goddess of Love, and what the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Bellatrix Lestrange are and do literally go against all that I am. All that what love, beauty, pleasure, fertility, and life truly are. I cannot and must not overlook that, or let that go unpunished. If I do, I would be unworthy of who and what I am, and I would not have fully answered your prayers as the problem would be only partially-solved. So, I am going to take care of the Hydra's other heads, once and for all, and I daresay that you all will enjoy what I have in mind for those other heads…"

---

To say that Albus Dumbledore and his Order of the Flaming Turkey had never been in a more…uncertain situation would have been the understatement of the millennium.

Usually, it was the miserable old wretch who held court at the so-called meetings, and the kitchen that served as their meeting room was scarcely less gloomy than the rest of the house that was 12 Grimmauld Place – something that, it must be said, had always made a certain Empress of All Banshees seethe with helpless wrath, for she viewed it as an affront to her domestic abilities. But now, that very afternoon, someone else held court instead, and the kitchen was almost unrecognisable in the sense that every surface now shone, copper pots and pans glowed rose, and the wooden table top gleamed. Even the chairs on which the members of this thoroughly unexpected last-minute meeting were seated had been arranged in a neat comfortable style instead of their usual "crammed" impression.

Of course, it was all the courtesy of said someone who now took the old wretch's place at the head of the table, and she did not look the least out of place. In fact, she looked more in place than Dumbledore ever did, as if an Empress had come home and, whether he liked it or not, the self-appointed yet hopelessly useless Regent was forced to return the reins to her and face her judgement for his wrongdoings. Then again, at his very core, Albus Dumbledore was only a mortal wizard, while Aphrodite was a Goddess born and bred, and not just any Goddess, but one borne of the beauty of the seas, and she could actually claim Uranus, the Primordial God of the Sky, as her father. There was no comparison.

And speaking of Dumbledore, despite his present calm appearance, with his hat, hair, beard, and robes as immaculate as ever, he had never ever looked so pale, and his hands were sweating. He had believed the practice of summoning, of divine invocation to be extinct. He had thought all knowledge of and all references to that particular art to have been either lost for good, or irrevocably destroyed. Not that he would ever tell anyone or confess his part in that elimination, of course. He would also never spill the beans about what his true thoughts and opinions about the Gods were, as well as why there were absolutely no references to them at Hogwarts, let alone subjects. But in the fathomless eternity of Aphrodite's gaze at him as he sat the other end of the table, he was more than nervous – he was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been in his life. He did not even dare to be upset or angry with Henrietta, Noelle, and the three others for having done what they did. How could he, when Aphrodite's very divine presence pervaded the entire house, when she radiated unchallengeable divine power as she sat there and looked at him, and it was as plain as day that she was not pleased with him at all?

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, is dead." Goodness, there was such power and beauty and finality in the words that none of the Dumbledorists dared to flinch when the Goddess of Love spoke Voldemort's name. "For I, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, the Lady of Pleasure and Procreation, the Mistress of Fertility and Desire, personally saw to his demise. Yes. He has been vanquished, and is never ever returning. But…there is still some unfinished business that I have to take care of."

She snapped her fingers, and Dumbledore and his Dumbledorists saw, in their minds' eyes, what the five who summoned her had seen just now – the destruction of the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake, and finally, Tom Riddle himself. There was an absolute silence where breathing could be clearly heard when it was over, and Dumbledore was drenched in cold sweat, now so white that one had to wonder if he still had any blood in his veins. His entire being trembled. What shook him more? The fact that the monster of his creation had been well and truly vanquished in the most terrible manner by the Goddess of Love? Or that the vanquishing had not been how he had planned for it to be? Or that the game that had been one of his primary crutches for all his morally questionable actions for so long was over? Or that he was no longer calling the shots? Or that he could no longer play the role of the puppeteer? He did not know, and he did not want to find out.

Aphrodite gave Dumbledore a smile, but it was not a nice smile. Oh, the beauty of it still took one's breath away, but it was the cold, harsh beauty of an ice storm that glittered and sparkled like diamonds as it froze the very blood in one's veins. "Tell."

Dumbledore managed to find his voice, shaky as it was, "I beg your pardon?" Oh, this is not happening! This is not happening! This cannot be happening!

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Albus Dumbledore. Either you do it of your own accord, or I will make you do it. And if I do make you do it, I assure you that you are going to find it most unpleasant. And I want it done in full. Complete. Nothing whatsoever left out. I am only giving you this choice because I believe that, somehow, despite all your actions and inactions for so many years in the name of your nebulous Greater Good and what you call the power of love, you still retained the tiniest shred of decency. A lingering faint ghost of a conscience that knows what a mess you have made, as well as how you owe each and every one a full complete story that contains truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. An honest complete account that I, the Goddess of that which you have exploited in every imaginable way for your own ends, am determined to get from you here and now through your very own mouth, your very own voice, your very own words. So, what is it going to be?"

Molly opened her mouth, but Arthur gave her hand a sudden hard pinch that caused her to flinch and look at him, and at the look on his face, she fell silent. Elphias Doge and Rubeus Hagrid, too, looked as though they wanted to say something, but Aphrodite somehow managed to give them a look while keeping her gaze firmly at Dumbledore, and they sat silent. Alastor Moody quickly caught Hermione's eye and shook his head firmly. Even the twins did not dare say anything, but kept still and mute, one of the extremely few times they did. Most surprisingly, Minerva McGonagall and Ron Weasley did not seem to need any warnings from any of the others. In fact, their gazes were fixed on Dumbledore, as if they awaited his story with all eagerness.

"We are waiting, Albus Dumbledore."

For a moment, just a moment only, it seemed as though Aphrodite would have to compel him to spill the beans, but then he gave a laugh that did not suit him at all, turned to look at everyone present in the room, and cleared his throat.

Slowly, gradually, an incomparably guilty conscience was unburdened, and a terrible, terrible tale of manipulations was told. It was the strangest thing imaginable, but for someone who had been lying for so long, honesty still came out of his mouth as easily as breathing, and full complete honesty at that. He spoke for a long time, leaving nothing out. Nothing at all. It was as though Aphrodite had still used her powers on him to force him to spill his guts out in entirety, or that Aletheia, the Goddess of Truth and Sincerity, had taken complete possession of his mouth, forcing him to reveal all the machinations that would forever destroy even his fanatics' faith and trust in him.

But the question that finished everything was the one that Molly, who had been reduced to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed, corpse-pale, tear-shedding wreck by then, asked, "Did you truly mean for Henrietta to literally die to save our world?"

Dumbledore gave a nod, a final damning nod. His own face and beard were wet with tears. "I had believed that the only way Voldemort could be vanquished for good was if Henrietta were to die by his hand. She was his seventh Horcrux, the Horcrux he never meant to make, but still did that very night he first tried to kill her. He told her blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment her mother laid upon her when she died for her. His body kept Lily's sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survived, so does Henrietta and Voldemort's one last hope for himself. Given that, I had hopes that there would be one more miracle left for Henrietta, especially with how he had tethered her to life while he lived."

"What you do mean, you had "hopes"?" this was Hermione, who was no less of a wreck than Molly was. This cannot be true. I do not believe it. This cannot be true… "You meant; you were sure. Perfectly sure. Absolutely, one-million-percent sure. Right? Professor Dumbledore? You were utterly sure, right?"

Dumbledore turned to look at the book-obsessed young witch whom he had ill-used for so long, then turned away and shut his eyes. "No, Miss. Granger. I was not sure. Never had been. Never was. I only had hopes, my own guesses, but I was never ever sure."

With roars that would have shattered every single window and fragile object in the house if Aphrodite's power was not at work, Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and even Bill and Charlie Weasley made to throw themselves at Albus Dumbledore to make an end of him with their bare hands, but the Goddess' eyes blazed thunderbolt-blue and the Order found themselves as utterly bound to their seats as Voldemort had been during his final moments, unable to move even a single inch.

Henrietta was barely aware of how Noelle's and Artemis' arms were firmly around her, as well as how Amos and Elena had risen from their seats and positioned themselves protectively by either side of the three of them. While the rest had turned to stare at Aphrodite when she restricted them to their seats, the five of them stared at Dumbledore, though Henrietta's stare was the very worst. She had told herself she was done with him. That she was through with him. That no matter what he thought, or acted, or said, she was and would always be nothing more than a favourite pawn to him, and that the occasional kindness was only the occasional good piece that one would throw to a dog under the table to keep it contented. But…it was unbelievable, she knew, but before then, there had been still a tiny, oh-so tiny, part of her that had hoped somehow, this old man who always insisted on being her surrogate grandfather of sorts had a somewhat reasonable acceptable explanation for all his actions and inactions, and that he did have some genuine feeling of love or affection for her, no matter how miniscule it was.

That hope was gone.

Most fortunately, there was no engulfing emotional wave of grief, or rage, or disbelief, or anything. She did not cry, or shriek, or roar, or give any emotional outbursts like the other Dumbledorists had. She was beyond that. She just stared at him like someone reeling from pain from having just cut off a rotten piece of flesh from her body, knowing that the pain was only temporary, and that she would heal in time.

Oh yes, you will heal. Your springs will flow, Henrietta. You will blossom again…Aphrodite whispered firmly, comfortingly, reassuringly to Henrietta's mind even as she spoke to the Dumbledorists with a regal imperiousness worthy of Hera, "None of you have any right to do what you want to do now with him. None of you! Not when all of you had gone with him in everything he did. Everything! Unwitting or not, each and every one of you have been complicit in his sins, and each and every one of you should be well-aware of your own wrongdoings! You do not have any right at all to do what you want to do to him now. Absolutely none! True, he is a true master, and he had deceived the lot of you, that much I would give you. But that does not absolve you of your culpability in all that he has wrought! Especially considering how you had let him deceive you! Especially considering how many of you should have known better! Should have done better!"

At this, the Dumbledorists hung their heads, unable to look at anyone in the eye. They were either bawling like babies, or silently sobbing, or looking as sick as they had never been. Even Mundungus Fletcher was green – throughout his life, he had been doing things no decent person would ever be proud of, but believe it or not, he still had certain standards, and Albus Dumbledore…well, he gave a real new definition to the phrase "to a whole new level". Then, slowly, yet firmly, Alastor and the two oldest Weasley brothers turned to look at Aphrodite and bowed their heads to her, their posture, their countenances, their very air that of a person who knows the thrashing they just received was their due punishment and had accepted it as such, and was fully determined to learn from it and do much, much better. The Goddess of Love could not help but soften a little at this. At least, these three are not total losses. There is still hope for them.

Minerva McGonagall had never wished more that she could literally die on the spot, or at least, that the Earth would open up to swallow her whole. Ever since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, she had been consistently receiving figurative slaps alongside Albus Dumbledore, each more painful than the other, and her eyes had been forcibly opened by Severus Snape's trial and Griselda Marchbanks' calling her out on how she had shamed her husband's memory. She had been beyond furious, beyond disappointed, and beyond disgusted with Albus Dumbledore and herself, and had made certain he knew of it. However, there had still been a considerable part of her that had been hoping against hope that, somehow, everything he had done would eventually make sense, that she had not been wrong in putting the entirety of her faith and trust in him all those years ago, that she had not wasted her life in the service of someone who was not worth it. Yes, it was not unlike how Henrietta had hoped, for Dumbledore had been McGonagall's teacher, Deputy, and even comrade, and a relationship like that…she had to hope. She had to.

So much for that.

What have I done? What have I done? Oh, what have I done?!

Sirius Black was no better than Minerva McGonagall. While his sobs were silent to Remus' noisy bawling, he looked as if he had aged a thousand years on the spot. As the tears flowed ceaselessly down his face, his every pore oozed the grief, guilt, and despair of a person who knew he had reached the end of the road through his own wrongdoing, with nothing to do and no hope of things getting better. Like what Aphrodite had said, while Dumbledore had been a master, they had let themselves be lied to, and his culpability was definitely greater than anyone else's, perhaps even greater than Dumbledore's, for he was supposed to be one of Henrietta's parents' best friends, as well as her godfather, and yet…

Some godfather I turned out to be, huh? Some best friend I turned out to be, huh? I had thought of my own parents as monsters, but I turned out to be a worse monster than they ever were. I had thought of myself as clever, but I turned out to be a fool, and an irredeemable fool at that…

"That was some story, Albus Dumbledore. Some story indeed. Throughout my existence, I have heard stories, seen travellers, and viewed deeds, but the story you just told still one of a kind to me. Please rest assured that I would cherish it always, and share it with my fellow deities at the first available opportunity. And now that we have heard it all…" Aphrodite turned to look at Henrietta, her smile now one of genuine warmth and heartfelt support, "Henrietta, is there anything you would like to say to him? Anything at all?"

Henrietta took a breath, turned away from the old wretch to look at the Goddess of Love, and shook her head with the ghost of a smile. There is nothing left for either of us to say to each other. You have my wholehearted everlasting gratitude for getting rid of Voldemort and forcing this wretched old liar to be honest about everything for once. Thank you, Lady Aphrodite. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this.

My pleasure, Henrietta, my pleasure. Aphrodite's smile widened; her eyes danced. And I am not done, actually. She turned to look again at the now-sobbing old wretch, her exquisitely beautiful face now full of a sympathy and a desire to comfort that, strange to say, made said old wretch shrink back in his chair, "Oh, come now, Albus, my dear boy. Why so melancholy? As I have said, that was truly a story like no other. I could barely remember the last time I had ever been so entertained. You could really give the likes of Hermes and Scheherazade a run for their money, and that is saying something. Well, just like how Shahryar rewarded Scheherazade by sparing her life permanently and making her his beloved Queen, I am determined to reward you as well for the entertainment you have given me."

Dumbledore stared at her. "I, I beg your pardon?"

Aphrodite's sympathetic comforting smile turned back into the dark chilly one she wore when she told him to confess his machinations in full. "You did not hear me wrong, my dear boy. I am determined to reward you. Mmmm…on second thought, make that you and yours. Yes, I am determined to richly reward you and yours."

With a snap of the Goddess' fingers, a long towering rectangular cage containing five gagged and chained figures suddenly materialised on the table, which miraculously did not groan and still held steady.

Dumbledore and his Dumbledorists would have reacted as they recognised the figures in the cage, but they suddenly found themselves bound to their seats again, and this time, they could not say anything or make any sounds. The five summoners, though, turned to look Aphrodite, who now looked as impish and playful and triumphant as Hermes was when one of his finest pranks succeeded, "Henrietta, Noelle, Artemis, Elena, Amos, it gives me great joy to introduce you to Albus Dumbledore's new wife, Minerva McGonagall's new husband, Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy, and Mr. and Mrs. Peter Pettigrew."

There was a stunned silence. The five summoners exchanged glances with one another. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the five in the cage (who had been struggling with their chains and trying to speak) looked as though they had been literally frozen into ice statues. The rest, unable to move an inch and utterly silenced, were wide-eyed and open-mouthed like gargoyles. Aphrodite laughed, bells forged by Hephaestus and blessed by Apollo in the air, "No, you did not hear me wrong. Henrietta, Noelle, Artemis, Elena, and Amos, it gives me great joy to assure you that Bellatrix Black, Minerva McGonagall, Dolores Umbridge, and Rita Skeeter are respectively engaged to Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, and Peter Pettigrew. Yes. Engaged! Sealed and unbreakable, I must add! Oh, and the wedding will be held tonight at the Burrow. Is that not wonderful?"

Henrietta's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared at Aphrodite, turned to look at Dumbledore and the Dumbledorists, then at the five in the cage, turned back to look her, but said nothing. This was something that she never could have imagined, and part of her wondered if she should pinch herself to double-check the reality of it all. But when the Goddess reached out, took her hand in hers and gave it an assuring grip, she knew for sure that it was neither dream, nor hallucination, nor fantasy, and that it as real as can be.

But still…Albus Dumbledore, to be married to Bellatrix Lestrange? Minerva McGonagall, to become Mrs. Severus Snape? Dolores Umbridge and Draco Malfoy, a couple? And Rita Skeeter and Peter Pettigrew are to be wed?

Noelle, though, was quick to recover from her shock. She turned to look at the statue-like Dumbledore, then at the bug-eyed, corpse-pale Bellatrix in the cage, and gave a little grin. Four matches made in Olympus, I must say, especially this one. Yes, these two, who just love to play with their food before they eat it, are compatible in every imaginable way, and their marriage would definitely be the talk of the millennium. They would make such a lovely couple. I know I had said this before, Lady Aphrodite, but I will still say it again: thank you from the bottom of my heart for this.

Like I said, Noelle, my pleasure. I am the Goddess of Love after all, and so it is my job to bring compatible people together so that, eventually, there is plenty of feasting, dancing, and merrymaking to the songs of wedding bells. Oh, what a tale I have to share with Queen Hera later on!

With all due respect, Lady Aphrodite, I must say that I really, really did not expect this. I mean, it is not that I do not appreciate all that you had done for me already, and I do not want to be an ungrateful killjoy, and I know you must have your reasons, but this, this is –

Be at peace, Henrietta, for I know what you mean. You have given no offense, and there has been none taken on my part. Absolutely none. And yes, I do have my reasons for this. So, why do you not just sit back and enjoy the show? They have been viewing you as their very own show for so long, and it is only fair that they return the favour now, right?

Lady Aphrodite is right, Henrietta. Come on, just sit back, relax, and watch! After all, it is not every day that one gets to watch something like this.

As Henrietta, Noelle, and Aphrodite telepathically conversed, Artemis stared at Dumbledore, smiled an uncharacteristically dark smile, shook his head and turned away. Truth be known, he had been simultaneously surprised yet unsurprised by Aphrodite's "reward". He was Artemis Lovegood after all, and his family had always been one of the extremely few in the land that still practiced the ancient ways, regularly and properly honouring the Gods, though the likes of Dumbledore meant that it always had to be done in absolute secrecy. Oh yes, he was well-aware of the old wretch's part in the decline of the ancient ways, how only a handful in the land still knew them, and why they were not taught at Hogwarts. Hence, when Henrietta thought up the summoning to deal with the old snake while forcefully shutting the old wretch's pork trap, he had suggested the very deity whom he had been named after: Artemis, the Goddess of the Moon, Hunting, and Wild Nature. For she was one of his family's patron deities, and his beloved mother – the Gods rest her – had raised him in her stories, telling him that she was every inch a woman of action and did not suffer fools. In fact, he had fancied her transforming Voldemort and Dumbledore both into stags, and then setting hounds on them to tear them into pieces, just like how she had with Actaeon in days of old.

But he also had no problems with Henrietta's final choice, and from the look of things, he believed that Aphrodite's judgement was every bit as ruthless and effective as anything Artemis could deliver if she had been the one summoned. It does not matter which deity metes out to them the punishment, as long as it is meted out, and I must say I am impressed with how creative it is. A veritable work of art.

Thank you, Artemis. I always do my best. "You are a preacher." Aphrodite started, her gaze now firmly at Dumbledore again. Her countenance had turned expressionless, and power was in her eyes and her voice, "You have always been a preacher of forgiveness. Of acceptance. Most of all, of love. I believe there is no one in this whole wide world who would disagree with me on this. I also believe that you believe there is no one in the universe who knows about forgiveness, acceptance, and love better than you do. Given that, why could I not expect you to practice what you preach by forgiving Bellatrix Black all her past misdeeds, and accept and love her as your wife? Just imagine the kind of example you will be setting for all future generations! How you will be lauded for it! And besides, just like how you love Severus Snape as a son, and expect everyone else – especially Henrietta and even Noelle – to be endlessly forgiving and eternally accepting of him, I honestly and wholeheartedly believe Bellatrix is fundamental in bringing you personal happiness in the golden years of your life. After all, you had given your entire life in love's service, have you not, Albus, my dearest boy? So, it is only fair for me, the Goddess of Love, to reward you with a blooming and beautiful bride so you could love and be loved, is it not? Besides, what better way for a preacher of love, forgiveness, and acceptance to practice what he had always preached than to marry a villainess who has committed more crimes than anyone could ever imagine, and convert her through the power of his love? True love conquers all, does it not, Albus dearest?"

The look on Albus Dumbledore's face was priceless. So was his colour, for he would have emptied his stomach's contents right on the spot, but the Goddess' power, which rendered him immobile and mute, also made him incapable of that. It was still as plain as day, though, that he was terrified, more terrified than he had been when he learned of the summoning, when he saw the fate of the Horcruxes and Voldemort in Aphrodite's hands. More terrified than he had ever been in his entire life, actually, for he knew that what was happening was real, and there was no escape ever.

The Goddess of Love then turned to look at Bellatrix who, despite the enchanted gag in her mouth and the blessed chains that she could never break, actually looked sane, especially with how her eyes had gone bug-like with inexpressible stunned horror (something that, Noelle would confess later on, gave her a pure ecstatic joy) and how, like her husband-to-be, she was drenched head to toe in cold sweat. "The so-called love of your life is dead." The Goddess began, a dark victorious smile on her lips as the Slytherin version of Minerva McGonagall tried to scream through the gag at that. Hot, salty tears flowed down an aristocratic face that was usually as beautiful as it was cruel. "Dead, and never ever coming back. For I have directly and personally seen to that. I know only too well what he had meant to you, as well as how heartbroken you will be at his passing. But life still has to go on, and as they say, what better way to move on from a failed relationship than starting another one as soon as possible? This is why I have chosen Albus Dumbledore for you, and arranged for the wedding to be tonight. The sooner your new relationship starts, the better it would be for you. I have every confidence that you will be a happy, contented, and beloved wife. For there are so many similarities between him and Voldemort, especially if you were to consider hubris, vanity, ambition, and hypocrisy. Wed to him, it would be like Voldemort had never truly left you, and you also get to have something wonderful and unique in its own right. Oh, and of course, you and him share this one great similarity: playing with your food before you eat it. Yes. You will be happy and beloved. Happier and more beloved than you had ever been in your entire life. Oh, and there is no need to thank me. Absolutely, utterly no need at all. It is all part of my duties as the Goddess of Love, after all."

To her credit, after shedding those tears at the reminder and confirmation of Voldemort's death, Bellatrix did not continue crying, and there were no further tears at the Goddess' words to her, but her entire being still trembled like she never had before. This is not happening! This cannot be true! It cannot be! Yes, this is just some horrible nightmare that I would be waking up from any moment now! Yes, I will be waking up any moment now, and when I do, I am going to find that everything is as it should be! With my beloved alive and well and having devised our next course of action to take over! Any moment now! Any moment now! Any moment now!...

There was a tiny part of Aphrodite that was tempted to feel sorry for Bellatrix, for despite her innumerable misdeeds, her love for Voldemort – no matter how obsessive, unhealthy, and warped it was – was still real in a sense, and she was the Goddess of Love. She cannot deny that, unlike Dumbledore, who was loveless in and out, a major part of everything that Bellatrix had done had been truly out of love. She had to give her that. But then she recalled all those whom Bellatrix had deprived of love in the name of her love, as well as how foul and ugly her love had caused her soul to become, and that miniscule impulse to feel sorry was gone in an instant. Bellatrix had to pay for all she had done in the name of love and against love, and Aphrodite was determined to have her pay alongside Dumbledore.

The Goddess of Love then turned to look at Minerva McGonagall, then at Severus Snape in the cage. Oh, she had no sympathy at all for either of them. Not when McGonagall had proven herself to be more loveless than Dumbledore by going with him in all that he did despite her conscience's protests, and doing things she knew her late yet truly loving husband would never ever have approved. Not when Snape had, in the name of so-called love, done evil worse than Bellatrix ever had, especially considering the importance of Potions as a subject, as well as how Lily Potter had willingly made the ultimate sacrifice for Henrietta, to whom he had always been as cruel and abusive as he could at every available opportunity. What man would treat the daughter of the woman he claimed to truly love the way Severus Snape had? And not even the fact that he looked like he had been having a hard time in Azkaban, and that she was obviously as terrified and incredulous as Dumbledore and Bellatrix were appeased Aphrodite any. She had given him back his hearing and made it razor-sharp for one reason only, and it was not to alleviate his sufferings, or to make him feel better, or out of any pity for him on her part.

It was to make him wish that he had not regained it.

"There is a reason why I restored your hearing, Severus Snape, and had even made it sharp as it never was before. I know you believe that you love the late Lily Jolene Potter," she started, her grip on Henrietta's hand tightening a little as her other hand gave Henrietta's hand a gentle pat of reassurance. "But as the Goddess of Love, I know for sure that it is not her whom you are truly, madly, passionately in love with. It is none other than Minerva McGonagall here, another darling who, through her devoted service to dear Albus, had been another preacher of love, through and through. Given everything she had given and done for love's service – my service – all these years, how could I not return her the favour, and allow her to continue tormenting herself by keeping her true affections for you a secret? You must believe me on this, Severus, for as I have said, I am the Goddess of Love, and I cannot be fooled in such matters of the heart. You will not believe the number of times our dear Minerva here has eyed you in hapless desire to lick you from head to toe, how her eyes would trace your lips, and how she would imagine your body beneath your robes, pressing down on her…you have to trust me on this, she loves you just as much as you love her. And you love her, I know you do, and most dearly at that. There is absolutely no need for you to hide or deny that. Why else would each and every one of your robes, and even each and every pair of your shoes be the exact same shade of black as her hair is? Why else would you go out of your way to be as much of a stickler for the rules as she is? And why else would you be as passionate about Quidditch as she is? Since there is no Dark Lord to worry about anymore, I honestly do not see why you two should not give in to your true feelings and marry. Oh, you two will be another loving couple. Perhaps not as loving as Albus and Bellatrix would be, but still loving nonetheless. Oh, how lovely it is all going to be!"

If Severus Snape could, he would have thrown up. Or he would have gone on his knees and kowtowed to beg for the mercy he had never given anyone. But he could not. He could only stare at Aphrodite and tremble. To say that he had been having a hard time in Azkaban would have been an understatement, for while the Dementors had deserted the prison to join Voldemort, the new magical measures that Amelia Bones, Griselda Marchbanks, and the others were quick to impose had still been effective and creative. Most creative. Not to mention that no one truly minded what the new guards did with their deaf-and-mute, former-teacher-turned-prisoner as long as he lived and was not too seriously injured. He had thought it Hell, a Hell worsened by the reality that Albus Dumbledore could no longer help him, and Voldemort would not take the trouble to rescue him, for what use he had left to either of them? But now, he would give whatever he could, everything he could to be back there, even if it meant being deaf again forever, as well as being tormented daily like how he had once tormented others. He even wished he had never ever made an enemy of Henrietta Potter, for he knew that what was the Goddess of Love was doing was taking revenge on her behalf. Revenge for all he had done to her, to Noelle, and so many others. Filius and Pomona had warned me more than once that if I kept it up, I would be sorry one day, and then it would be too late. Oh, why did I not listen to them?! Why?! Oh why?! Oh why?!

What was that? Oh, you wish that you were back in your cell, deaf like how you were before I was summoned? Well, no worries. You will be back in your cell…after your wedding tonight. After all, a good wife follows her husband wherever he goes, lives where he lives, and shares weal and woe with him, and I have every confidence that your cell will make a lovely new home for you and Mrs. Severus Snape. I am afraid that you will have to keep your hearing, though. For one's hearing is essential to one's matrimonial life, especially where the pleasures of the bed are concerned, and as the Goddess of Love, I cannot and must not stand in the way of that! And oh, you wish you had not made an enemy of Henrietta? That you had not treated her as you have? Well, I certainly would not disagree with you on that. You should have listened to Filius, to Pomona, and to all those who had tried to stop you from abusing others you believe are unable to fight back, Severus Snape. For when they snap and do fight back, you would not like it at all!

Minerva McGonagall, on her part, hung her head and started to cry, though of course she still could not move or make a sound. She hated to admit it, she really did, but with everything that had happened, and the wonderful story Albus Dumbledore told just now, she had expected something like this. For just like Aphrodite had observed, she did have something of a conscience, but she had failed to let it be her guide, and now it had returned to bite her in a way that neither she nor anyone else would ever recover from or ever forget. The blindfold had been removed from her eyes at long last, but it was – as Henrietta had pointed out – fifteen years too late, and so she had to pay the price. No, she realised now that from the very moment she put her faith and trust in Dumbledore, it had been too late for her, and karma was only knocking on her door now as it could get payback with interest. She did not even try to plead with the Goddess of Love through her eyes, or her mind, or her heart, or all three at once for mercy, for she knew that she would receive none. This was retribution, and even if it choked her to death while she was swallowing it, she still had to swallow it…

---

The wedding that was held at the Burrow that night was more like a funeral.

The most morbid, most bizarre, most nauseating one imaginable.

Unsurprisingly, it was the brides that drew everyone's attention first.

As loathsome as it was, no one could deny that Bellatrix looked beautiful: her thick, glossy black hair fell clear to her waist in a dark waterfall, crowned with an exquisite garland of genuine red roses (from Molly's rosebushes, to be precise, not that the Empress of All Banshees was in any position to approve or disapprove of how her precious roses were used for this), and her skin shimmered like pure alabaster, with a dash of rogue accentuating her chiselled cheekbones, and black eyeshadows enhanced her aura of sexual mystery and wonder. She wore a scoop-necked, sleeveless gown of pure blood-red Acromantula silk that had not a single embroidery, but the way it flowed around her and flared in all the right places served to set off an undeniably appealing hourglass figure to advantage. The belt of pure gold and red rubies at her waist also emphasised a sleek slimness that enabled two arms to effortlessly circle around it, while red satin heels displayed a pair of dancer's feet. Yes, not even Sirius, who loathed Bellatrix with his entire soul and being, could deny that his most hated cousin looked succulent and voluptuous.

The horror.

Minerva's hair, as dark as Bellatrix's, was also worn loose for the occasion, and crowned with genuine orange roses (also from Molly's rosebushes, which Aphrodite was determined to utilise as much as possible for the event) that perfectly complemented her scoop-necked gown of pure autumn-orange Acromantula silk, which had been cut and styled to emphasise how her figure had, despite her age, still retained a svelte beauty through discipline and abstinence (if she had only bothered to apply those to her devotion to Dumbledore, Aphrodite had mused to herself). Instead of red rubies, the gold belt at her waist was set with dark, polished amber gemstones, and her heels were of orange satin. The real surprise was that for the first time since her first husband's death, Minerva McGonagall wore makeup – an orange-gold eyeshadow that went well with her garland, gown, and shoes, her cheeks were gently rouged, and her lips shone cherry-red. If the other Dumbledorists had not been bound to their seats and muted in advance, some of them might have remarked about how Minerva was still a handsome woman.

Dolores Umbridge still wore her characteristic black bow in her mouse-brown hair, and while her wedding garment was of the same high-quality Acromantula silk as the other three brides' gowns, it was as black as midnight, and cut in a Gothic style that did no wonders for her figure. Her feet looked to have been literally squeezed into the tightest pair of black satin slippers, and instead of a jewelled belt, there was a gold necklace around her neck that spelled, in cursive letters, the words "Beauty Never Had A Chance". Oh, there was makeup, but it only accentuated the impression of her being an ugly toad that had painted itself black with dashes of rose-red here and there to try to look beautiful, and the ending result was a new definition to the term "a ghastly fright" ("By the Styx, I truly tried my very best," Aphrodite remarked later on, though it was obvious that she was not in the least bothered about what an ugly bride Dolores made for Draco Malfoy. "But some people are just as hopelessly ugly on the outside as they are in the inside, and in those cases, it is wholly beyond even my powers to do anything about it.").

Rita Skeeter was another surprise: her hair, which was usually set in elaborate rigid curls, had been "uncurled", and flowed almost to her waist, while a dark blue eyeshadow made her aquamarine eyes (now free of those ridiculous jewelled spectacles) and her magenta-red lips more vivid. Her nails, though, had been trimmed from their usual two inches to normal length, and were unpainted. Her gown and slippers were the same shade of grey as her husband-to-be's Animagus form, and the gold belt around her waist glittered with rhinestones (her favourite gemstones), but as unbelievable as it was, there was something about the way those rhinestones sparkled and shone that told everyone that this was the very last time Rita would be adorned in jewels, and while she was an undeniably pretty bride, there was not even a ghost of a smile on those lips, which usually gave any spitting cobra a run for its money. Despite the fact that Molly had been rendered as immobile and mute as any of the Dumbledorists were by Aphrodite's power, she still inwardly wailed when she saw the garland of genuine blue, green, orange, and even red roses that crowned Rita's head. My roses! My rosebushes! Oh, my poor, beautiful, beloved roses! My colourful, rainbow-shaming darlings! Oh, how can this be?! How could you have been condemned to such a fate?! How could…

The Dumbledorists, who would have been powerless to do anything even if they were not bound by Aphrodite's power, immediately knew that the Goddess of Love for how the four brides were groomed and dressed, and found themselves torn between disbelieving admiration and blood-chilling horror – her tastes had to be admired, especially given how the toad and the bug looked as…well, presentable as a toad and a bug could be on their wedding day. But…if this was Aphrodite's vengeance on Henrietta's behalf where those four pairs were concerned, then what would she do to the rest of them once she was done with that lot? She had made it as clear as can be that she held them no less culpable in Henrietta's sufferings and the mess that was Wizarding Britain.

So, what was she going to do to them then?

Merlin, the mere thought of it made them tremble, at least inwardly. Just look at the tears flowing down Dumbledore's, Minerva's, Draco's, Rita's, and Pettigrew's wide shell-shocked eyes as the eight condemned souls were magically compelled to take their places beside the respective spouses Aphrodite had chosen for them. Look at the ghastly, expressionless countenances of Bellatrix, Snape, and Umbridge as the brides linked their arms with those of their respective bridegrooms.

Aphrodite, on the other hand, had also undergone a transformation of sorts: in place of her evergreen garland of her sacred flowers was an exquisitely wrought yet delicate gold crown, the daintiest earrings of pure gold danced in her ears, a gorgeous gold necklace sparkled at the base of her throat, and the most stylish gold sandals shod her lovely feet. She also wore a robe that looked to have been literally woven of sea foam and sea waves – how beautiful it was! Oh, how it sparkled and flowed, flashing all the colours of the sea and foam, and her hair seemed like the sunset itself. But neither the robes nor the jewels could outshine the Goddess of Love, who now looked as strong and forceful as she had been ethereal and sensuous when she had answered the five summoners' prayer and then went on to deliver her judgement on the eight monsters. Yes, though her eyes did not glow thunderbolt-blue this time, they were still bright with undeniable divine power, and the smile on her lips would have had Voldemort fleeing for the hills if he were still alive to see in it. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate four unions of eight faithful souls…"

...

"If there is any person who can show just cause why these four pairs should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

It was deliberate.

Absolutely deliberate.

And everyone knew, just like how they knew there was also absolutely nothing they say or could do. But…believe it or not, as the Dumbledorists saw collars and cuff bracelets materialising around the eight monsters' necks and wrists as the plain wedding bands were slipped on fingers, they felt as though darkness was being burned from their minds, leaving the world clear at last. This was real. This was well and truly happening. But most of all…this was karma.

"Then I, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, the Lady of Pleasure and Procreation, the Mistress of Fertility and Desire, now present to you all Mr. and Mrs. Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Snape, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew. The bridegrooms may know give their brides the sacred kiss that unites two souls as one, and what I have joined together, none can ever tear asunder."

The five summoners, Amelia Bones, Griselda Marchbanks, Betsey Trotwood Copperfield-Granger, and the Tonks (Ted and Andromeda) all clapped as Dumbledore, Snape, Draco, and Pettigrew were compelled to shove their tongues down Bellatrix's, Minerva's, Dolores', and Rita's throats. Oh, what a vision! What a war between tongues!

"Love!" Aphrodite's attendants, the Charites (the Goddesses of Grace and Beauty), sang. They had walked down the aisle before the brides, strewing petals of their mistress' sacred flowers as they went, but now, as the bridegrooms shoved their tongues down their brides' throats, they conjured a rain of fresh fully-bloomed blossoms over the new couples.

"Love!" Aphrodite's other divine attendant, Hymenaois (the God of Weddings and Wedding Hymns), sang as well. He waved his torch over the four couples, and their collars, bracelets, and rings seemed to glisten as the torch's flame flared seven times – another seal.

The Charites and Hymenaois then danced around the four couples seven times, after which they and their mistress sang in union, "True Love Conquers All!"

Molly, Hagrid, and Doge would have swooned, and Hermione would have shut her eyes tight, but Aphrodite's power compelled them to observe, fully conscious and fully aware, just like it did for the other Dumbledorists. Ron's stomach rebelled most violently, but as he was unable to vomit, there was nothing he could do but sit and bear it. If they could, Sirius and Remus would have exchanged glances, and find that they wore the very same countenance of dismay, horror, and remorse. Ginerva Weasley shrank into her seat as if wishing it could swallow her up somehow, her insides shuddering like never before from the unspeakable yet undeniable reality of it all. She and Ron had never been kindred spirits or even good friends, and she had believed that Henrietta could do a million times better than him, but she had still accepted her mother's and Dumbledore's plans for her brother and Henrietta as less of a probability than a certainty. Other than her own selfish desires, such as her personal fixation with Henrietta, and her wanting Henrietta to teach her how to become just like her, the only reason she had never once disagreed with her mother's and Dumbledore's dictatorial plots was that they had arranged for Henrietta to become Ron's, and if her mother and Dumbledore willed it, it would come to pass. She had been raised in this belief after all, and had seen it become reality more times than she cared to count. Her mother, Molly Weasley, and the Great and Powerful and All-Wise Albus Dumbledore were never ever opposed. But now?

"Now is the time for the marriages to be fully consummated, for the bridegrooms and their respective brides to join together in passion and purpose, flesh and spirit, trust and consciousness. For Mr. and Mrs. Albus Dumbledore, the consummation will take place in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bed. For Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape, it would be in Mr. Ron Weasley's and Miss. Hermione Granger's beds, which I have transfigured together to become one new bed big enough to accommodate you two. For Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy, it would be in Mr. Percy Weasley's and Miss. Ginny Weasley's beds, also transfigured into one new bed. For Mr. and Mrs. Peter Pettigrew, it would be in Mr. Sirius Black's and Mr. Remus Lupin's beds, transfigured into one new bed as well. Now go, and pray, do let these old walls sing with the music of your lovemaking."

Slowly, mechanically, his entire being trembling with the noiseless sobs of a condemned criminal who knew there was no escape from his fate, Dumbledore led Bellatrix (who was astonishingly silent as if she had gone into shock – then again, perhaps she had) up the stairs. They were followed by a stoic Severus Snape, who held Minerva in a tight grip even as, suddenly, she started bawling loudly and wildly, "No! Please! No! Someone please do something! Anything! I did not mean anything wicked; I swear! I never did! I know I trusted the wrong person, but I never ever meant anything evil! I swear! I swear by all the Gods of Olympus and the Styx! Lady Aphrodite, Fairest Goddess, Most Benevolent Goddess, please forgive me! Please! Miss. Potter, Henrietta dearest, please forgive me! Please forgive me! Please! Anything but this! Please! Not this! Please..." Draco Malfoy was no better as he was forced to lead his new wife to their designated room, "Why is it that I am being punished like this? Why? All I ever did was to follow and be faithful to the teachings of my parents, my childhood, and my peers. All I ever truly wanted was for her to really notice me, to take me seriously, to look at me and only me. Truly! That was all I ever wanted! Why is this happening to me?! Why?!"

Rita's wails were the very worst of them all, giving Molly a run for her money as she begged for mercy, "No! Please! Not this! No! I will quit! I will leave Britain for good! I will never write anything again! Never ever! I will never ever touch a quill again! I will never ever touch any writing or reading materials again! Never ever! I will never ever do anything bad again! I swear! I swear by the Styx! By all the Gods there are in this universe! Please! Please spare me from this! Anything, anything but this! Please! Oh, please! Please…"

Peter, however, paused at the foot of the stairs and turned to look at Sirius and Remus. His countenance was one of sheer defeat and utter resignation, and hot, salty tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was steady like it had never been before in a life of cowardice and greed, "James and Lily have been avenged. With interest, I must add."

As the four rooms clicked shut, Aphrodite transported her attendants, the five summoners, and the guests back to 12 Grimmauld Place, where a meal dressed with newly-bloomed midsummer flowers awaited them: rich, steaming potato soup, freshly baked bread (some crisp and some soft with melted cheese and melted butter), along with fresh spring water, iced lemonade that was just right (neither too sweet nor too sour), sweet hot tea freshly brewed, and the common iced pumpkin juice. The Goddess of Love had initially considered a full English dinner, but ultimately decided against it. She knew that Henrietta had been put on a diet of sorts due to her treatment for Albus Dumbledore's Dark-Lady-Training Program, and as much as it was relieving to everyone to see justice and retribution finally being served, it still took an inevitable toll on them, so it was best to keep the meal light yet filling.

"There will be no children," Aphrodite reassured Henrietta as they tucked into the delicious soup, "I have made sure of that. Oh, nightly consummation is mandatory, and they will be compelled into it whether they like it or not, but there will be no children. No children at all. The one and only thing they would be capable of is making one another miserable. Perfectly, absolutely, seamlessly miserable. More miserable than they had ever made their victims."

Henrietta nodded, unable to speak, but her eyes said all that needed to be said, and Aphrodite smiled and patted her hand. Oh, but Henrietta, there is one more thing that you have to know. Something that you are entitled to know, actually. It is about your Invisibility Cloak, that black stone from the ring that was Voldemort's Horcrux, and Albus Dumbledore's wand. There is a great secret about them. An extremely great one that you have every right to know.

Henrietta stared at Aphrodite as she took a sip of lemonade. Really? What is it, Lady Aphrodite?

Later. Aphrodite patted her hand again, her eyes and smile taking on a meaningful intense one. Later, after we all have eaten, and we two have some privacy to ourselves. For this is something that I do not intend for other ears to hear. Rest assured that you will still know all there is know about it later. In the meantime, eat well and drink well, my sweet child, for you need it.

It was only when the first noises of ugly loveless sex mingled with cries, threats, curses, shrieks, and pleas started were the Dumbledorists released from their restraints. Ron managed to cover his ears with his hands as he made a beeline for the bathroom to empty his stomach's contents, with Arthur hot on his heels. Molly, Hagrid, Hermione, and Doge fell to the floor in a dead faint. Nymphadora Tonks seemed to have gone into shock, being totally unresponsive even when Kingsley took her in a firm grasp and Disapparated. When her parents had arrived for the wedding, their eyes had met, but they had looked at her with that infamous "You are our daughter, and we will always love you, but we are now angry and disappointed with your choices. With what you have gotten yourself into despite our repeatedly advising you against it. We will talk about it later." look, and then refused to look at her. Ginny just sat at her seat as if still bound by divine power, the way she stared unseeing and unmoving strangely reminiscent of the Basilisk-Petrified victims of her first Hogwarts year.

"I need a drink at the Leaky Cauldron." This was Alastor Moody, whose countenance was now unreadable. His air, usually that of a thoroughly hardened war veteran accustomed to seeing, hearing, and even doing things that would have others wetting their pants or having horrible nightmares for years, was now truly grieved and truly exhausted. "Bill, Charlie, you two want to join me?"

The two oldest Weasley brothers nodded, unable to speak, though in their eyes, their posture, and their very air was that same acknowledgement of having received a thoroughly well-deserved thrashing, and knew they had no one to blame but themselves. The twins' faces bore a greenish cast, but somehow, they managed to not throw up like their youngest brother and their father had, and they just exchanged one long silent glance at each other, then Apparated away.

It must be noted, though, that it was extremely telling how, as Bill, Charlie, and the twins left, they did not so much as glance at their unconscious mother on the ground, or their shocked sister in her chair.

Sirius started to bawl. "It is over for real, is it not, Moony?"

Remus was also bawling like a soul broken beyond repair. "I think it is, Padfoot, I think it is. Wormtail had been right about one thing: Prongs and Lily have been avenged with interest. And that interest is us. For how we have failed them and Henrietta, who will neither forgive nor forget our crimes against her, and who wants nothing more to do with us."

For a moment, just a moment only, Sirius and Remus thought they saw James and Lily, staring at them with something worse than loathing or contempt. They looked at them as if they were not there, as if they had never been truly there at all. Then, slowly, determinedly, firmly, they turned their backs on them, and disappeared with a finality that confirmed their very worst fears.

What could the two former Marauders do, but cling to each other and weep?

---

For a long, long moment there was an utter silence as Henrietta stared at her Invisibility Cloak, the Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand, then she took a deep breath to steady herself and turned to look at Aphrodite, "So that is a true story? Only that the Death in the story was actually Persephone, the Goddess of Spring as well as the Queen of the Underworld?"

Aphrodite nodded. "None other. That river whom those three brothers – your ancestors – had crossed through the bridge they conjured was sacred to Persephone, for it was formerly one of her playmates as well as Demeter's trusted confidant: the naiad Cyane. When Persephone eloped with Hades, Cyane had tried to stop them, and as she had always been as vocal as Demeter was regarding her utter disapproval of Persephone's and Hades' love, the indignant King of the Underworld restrained his wrath no more: through his divine powers, he compelled Cyane to become one with her own river in the most literal sense, rendering her utterly incapable of speaking and taking on any corporeal form ever again. This was why, before those three brothers came about, any who tried to swim or wade across that river always drowned – its very flowing and ripples contained Cyane's and even Hades' divine essences. Or, to be more precise, the essence of the divine power Hades manifested to utterly stamp out opposition, and the essence of Cyane, a mere naiad who actually tried to defy him with all her strength despite knowing it was utterly futile. Neither Demeter nor Persephone could undo what Hades had done to her, so the latter had to be content with making it one of her sacred rivers, you know, putting it under her own divine patronage. And it just so happened that that very night the brothers crossed the river was the night where she and Hades had eloped eons ago."

"Oh. No wonder she was upset. But still…with all due respect, Lady Aphrodite, it would not have hurt for her to put a literal warning sign of sorts beforehand, right?"

Aphrodite chuckled. "You are right. It would not have, and perhaps she should have. But unlike what the story said, she was not upset to the extent where she wanted them dead, or she would have either struck them down on the spot, or caused the Earth beneath their feet to open up and swallow them whole. No. She had been upset, yes, surprised in an unpleasant way, yes, but also intrigued. Yes, Henrietta, she was intrigued. For she sensed something special and unique about them, and no, it was not their magic. Not only that, to be precise. She sensed their capacity for magical manufacturing, the like of which even we Gods had rarely seen in mortal wizards. Albus Dumbledore believed that they were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating these powerful objects, and in a way, he was right: the three brothers were indeed accomplished magical manufacturers, similar to your father and his former friends, but…you probably think my saying this is typical divine arrogance, Henrietta, but only we Gods can manufacture objects such as these. That evil old fool just convinced himself that they were the work of ultimately mortal hands because he was afraid. Afraid that there were truly supernatural or genuinely divine entities out there whose powers and knowledge surpass his own, and who might be displeased with how he and his beloved Gellert had tried to find these objects for their own selfish ambitions."

Henrietta nodded, recalling how he had given her something that was hers by right for a Christmas present during her first Hogwarts year. She had been a silly, ignorant, weak, pliable-to-a-fault girl then, never once wondering why someone who was – at the end of the day – a stranger had her father's Invisibility Cloak, and why he had only returned it to her as a so-called Christmas present during her eleventh year. Then again, it did not matter anymore. "You said that my father had shown Dumbledore the Cloak just a few days before the night Voldemort attacked, and he asked to borrow it for examination, for he could not resist." An incredible wave of sorrow and resignation washed over her, though she did not cry. "It would not have made any difference, would it, Lady Aphrodite? Even if the Cloak was still in my father's possession that night, it would not have helped him and my mother survive, for Voldemort knew where they were, and it would not have made them curse-proof."

Aphrodite sighed, took Henrietta's hand in hers and patted it, looking at her as a skillful consoler would genuinely commiserate with a grieving mourner, but also firmly remind said mourner that life still had to go on, "Yes. It would not have made any difference. Unless, of course, it had been Hades' very own Cap of Invisibility itself. Persephone had manufactured that Cloak from a sliver of that Cap, after all."

Henrietta froze, and stared at the Goddess of Love in inexpressible astonishment and wonder. "My Lady?"

Aphrodite laughed and patted Henrietta's hand again. "You did not hear me wrong, Henrietta. Persephone had manufactured the Invisibility Cloak that had been in your family for so many generations from a sliver of Hades' very own Cap of Invisibility, which the Cyclopes had forged for him eons ago to battle the Titans. That is why it is a true Cloak of Invisibility. As Artemis Lovegood's father, Xenophilius, would put it, it is not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which would hide one initially, but fade with the years until it turns opaque. No. Out of the three brothers, Persephone had been most impressed and pleased with Ignotus, who was as modest and earnest as you, my dear Henrietta, are. So, using a sliver of her husband's legendary Cap, she gave him a Cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. But…" her smile and tone were tinged with wistful sadness, "Only concealment. Only invisibility in the sense that none other can see. Only eternal endurance against any and all weathers. Not the power of invisibility at its most absolute, like what Hades is capable of through his Cap. He was not exactly pleased when he learned of what Persephone had gifted Ignotus with, and was only mollified by her assurance that the Cloak was incapable of all that his Cap enabled him to do. He is a most loving, most devoted, and most indulgent husband, but even he draws the line at letting his wife bestow another with a gift possessing all the capabilities of his Cap, which is as precious to him as the Trident is to Poseidon, and the Thunderbolt to Zeus."

Henrietta turned to look at the Cloak, now regarding it with the same wonder she had when she first received it. As if seeing it for the first time again, she marvelled at its gleaming silver-grey fluidity, and as the Goddess gently released her hands from hers with a final pat, she put her hands on it, stroking and caressing it as a devoted mother would her beloved child's hair, taking in the sensation of how it was smoother than silk and as light as air. It had always been special to her, one of her most beloved, most cherished possessions, especially since it was one of the only things she had left of her father, but she never could have imagined that it was actually this special. But…was it really a good thing? "And the Stone, Lady Aphrodite?"

"Ah. Actually, it is not a stone from the riverbank, but a…" the Goddess' eyes glowed thunderbolt-blue as she chanted,

"By my power, unmask it now and in future hours!

Show it well and thoroughly, reveal it so the world may see!"

The Resurrection Stone glowed a thunderbolt-blue as well, then…Henrietta gasped, "How beautiful."

It was true. The stone had turned into the most beautiful black pearl ever seen. The size of a baby's fist, it glowed a dark, iridescent glow the like of which no other black pearl could possibly compare.

The most incredible thing was that it did not seem to be dyed or coloured in any artificial way, but was natural.

Completely and utterly natural.

A perfectly natural, perfectly black, perfect-in-every-way pearl.

Aphrodite laughed at the look of wonder on Henrietta's face. "Well, it did come from Persephone's very own coronation crown. Oh yes, Henrietta, your hearing is still perfectly intact, and you did not get that wrong. Persephone's coronation crown was a crown of black pearls – an exquisite crown that Hades had personally forged, and set with incomparable black pearls he himself had created through his deepest, darkest powers. As such, each and every single one of those black pearls contained a divine essence of Hades at his very mightiest, his very most mysterious. This is why it is so powerful. This is why it possesses the ability to bring back the dead."

Henrietta picked up the Resurrection Pearl and placed it on the palm of her hand, "But it would not truly bring back the dead, right? I mean, I remembered you said that, while Cadmus managed to bring back his lover, she was "sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil, for she did not truly belong there and suffered", right? If this Resurrection Pearl can truly bring back the dead, she would not have been like that, and Cadmus would not have ultimately killed himself so he could truly join her, right?"

Aphrodite nodded, now looking perfectly serious. "Like I said, no matter how much Hades lets Persephone have her way, he still draws some lines. This is another of them, and in the first place…as you can imagine, Persephone was not exactly pleased with Cadmus' arrogance. So, all that the pearl (which she enchanted to look like an ordinary black stone from an ordinary riverbank) can do is…well, do you remember the Tom Riddle from the diary? It would be something like that. The person brought back would be neither ghost nor truly flesh, being less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, though at the end of the day…well, neither really here nor really there. Yes, Persephone and Hades both had meant for the pearl to teach Cadmus and, by extension, the rest of the magical world a memorable lesson. Like it or not, there is always a price that must be paid. There must always be a fair exchange made. Dionysus freed his mother, Semele, fully and completely from Hades by giving Hades one of his best-beloveds – the myrtle – to replace her shade in the Underworld. Admetus won a second chance at life and even his wife, Alcestis, back through his unconditional and genuine kindness to Apollo (who had been punished to work as a herdsman for him for nine years), as well as his beautiful sincere friendship with Heracles (who literally wrestled with Thanatos himself for Alcestis' freedom). But Cadmus had neither made such sacrifices, nor shown such true kindness, and just expected a favour as great and terrible as this – having his beloved back from death – for free. It does not work that way, and so he failed like Orpheus did."

"But Orpheus was reunited with Eurydice in death, was he not, Lady Aphrodite?"

"Yes, he was, and till this day, they live in perfect utter bliss in the Elysian Fields. And so do Cadmus and his beloved, for despite his initial arrogance, the love between him and his beloved was genuine and everlasting, and he did sincerely repent in the end, and so the King and Queen of the Underworld saw to it that they were reunited in death."

Henrietta nodded, carefully placed the pearl on top of the neatly-folded Cloak, then turned to look at the last Deathly Hallow. "And this?"

"Ah." Aphrodite's countenance was as grave and intent as ever as she also turned to look the Elder Wand. "This was the one that Persephone actually enchanted with the full power of misfortune. Or, to put it bluntly, she created and cursed it. For out of the three brothers, she was least impressed with Antioch, whose heart was full to bursting with war, conquest, and ambition, with absolutely no room for love, or peace, or understanding and appreciating what truly mattered. And above all, he was a braggart, and a weak-willed braggart at that – some of the qualities that we Gods find most distasteful in humanity. Ignotus was humble and wise, wanting nothing more than a long, peaceful, and happy life with a special unique someone whom he could have lovely children with, as well as grow old with. Cadmus may have been proud and arrogant, wanting and taking without giving, but at his core, he shared the same desire as Ignotus. Antioch, however…"

Henrietta thought of how a heavy-with-drink Antioch had bragged at the top of his wine-ridden lungs about the Elder Wand, then thought of Vernon Dursley when he was in one of his moods, and of Ron Weasley gorging himself like a pig rolling itself in filthy mud, and nodded, the ghost of a wry smile on her lips. "Just like how the Resurrection Pearl did not truly bring back the dead, this Elder Wand did not truly always win duels for its owner. If it was truly such a wand, then it would not have had so many owners throughout history, and each and every single one of them a total complete unrelated stranger to the other. And it most certainly does not make its owner all-powerful. Not that some we know would care, though."

"Very true, Henrietta, very, very true. As part of the personal work of the Goddess-Queen of Spring and the Underworld, this wand is indeed immensely, incredibly powerful. The grain of truth is that it is capable of casting magic that is normally beyond even the most skillful mortal wizards, such as mending another wand that is damaged beyond normal magical repair, just like how spring heals the wounds of winter. But it still has its limitations. It does not make its owner genuinely invincible, or truly all-powerful, and Persephone's curse on it meant that its history is painfully long and full of brutal bloodshed, with each and every single owner always meeting a gruesome or tragic fate. Perhaps even my judgement of Albus Dumbledore could be attributed to this curse, especially considering how wisely and well he had used it for so many years after winning it from Grindelwald. But no. It is no unbeatable wand. Call it the Elder Wand, or the Deathstick, or the Wand of Destiny, it would not make any difference. For at the end of the day, it is only just a wand that is only capable of casting spells more powerful than any mortal witch or wizard would believe possible. But…like what you have said, not that people like Ron Weasley or Tom Riddle would mind even if they knew. Being who and what they are, they would just only care about how powerful they could be with it, and dismiss the curse as either a myth, or something that would not befall them because they are, well, them."

Henrietta nodded, picked up the Elder Wand, and put it beside the Resurrection Pearl. For a moment, there was absolute silence as the Goddess of Love and the young witch stared at the three Deathly Hallows, the latter still coming to terms with everything she had learned, then, "Is there anything else I should know, My Lady?"

"Oh. There is." Aphrodite's smile was as impish, triumphant, and relieved as Hermes' was when, in exchange for the lyre and the reed pipe, Apollo gave him his entire herd of cattle and made him the God of Herdsmen and Shepherds. "As I have told you, it is believed that whoever unites and possesses these three so-called Deathly Hallows who become The Master of Death. Or The Conqueror of Death. Or The Vanquisher of Death. In other words, the person would gain immortality. And true immortality at that. Albus Dumbledore, whom we both know to preach things that he does not really mean or live by, would say something like the true Master of Death does not seek to run away from Death, for they accept Death's inevitability, and understand that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying. And while I certainly would not disagree with him that there are things so much worse than Death…the truth is, whoever unites and possesses these three could call out to Persephone herself, and she would take them to the Underworld and make them an immortal deity."

By now, Henrietta had seen and heard too much to be surprised. "An immortal deity?"

"Yes, Henrietta. An immortal deity. And not just any immortal deity, but an immortal deity of Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed – the two final resting places of the souls of the heroic, the virtuous, and the decent. Yes. They will forever live in and govern those paradise realms alongside Rhadamanthys, the Son of Zeus and Europa, as well as one of the Three Judges of the Dead. It is always holiday there, with the air full of the most melodious music and the weather always perfect, and the blessed souls dance, play, laugh, and engage in their favourite pastimes all day long – and all night long too – for they need no sleep. So, what says you, Mistress of Death?"

Henrietta turned to look at Aphrodite. "My Lady?"

Aphrodite smiled at her. "You are the Mistress of Death, are you not?"

"Lady Aphrodite, I-"

"You own and possess the Cloak of Invisibility, which is your family heirloom. None could deny, or argue, or protest against that. You also now own and possess the Resurrection Pearl, which you know now that evil old fool was going to will it to you any way through the Snitch you caught in your first Hogwarts Quidditch match. Where the Elder Wand is concerned…well, I may have been the one who stripped Albus Dumbledore of all held most dear and condemned him for eternity, but…you, Henrietta, were the first to choose and summon me, for you knew it would be the cleverest and most effective way to punish him. Also, do you remember how, just now, I had handed you the wand with both of my hands, telling you that you alone have the right to own and possess it, and how you had accepted it with both of your hands? Yes. The ownership of the wand is officially and fully yours. You own and possess the Elder Wand, just like how you own and possess the other two Deathly Hallows. You are the one who has united the three. You are The Mistress of Death. So, it is perfectly within your right to call upon Persephone, and let her make you an immortal Goddess of Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed, where all negative things are forever unknown, and life is beautiful beyond compare. Oh yes, if is your wish, you could spend eternity exploring these paradise realms, laughing, dancing, and catching up with your parents and those blessed souls, and judging souls alongside Rhadamanthys and helping them fully initiate into the afterlife. That is right, you will be reunited with your parents as well, for all the afterlife paradise realms are, in essence, one and the same. So, what says you?"

Henrietta seemed to have lost the ability to speak. She stared at Aphrodite, then turned to look the three Deathly Hallows.

There was a long, long moment's silence when slowly, firmly, with a hauntingly beautiful smile on her face, Henrietta turned back to Aphrodite and, with only a slight tremor in her voice, asked, "I believe I have something else in mind. Lady Aphrodite, I know that you have done a great deal for me already, but…may I be so bold as to use these three Deathly Hallows along with my wand and my broom to beg another favour of you?"

---

After millenniums of marriage to the King of the Underworld, and ruling alongside him with almost equal power and authority, Queen Persephone was of the opinion that she had lost the ability to be surprised. Or, even if she was surprised, she had developed the ability to betray absolutely no hint of it.

But as it was, she could not conceal her extremely genuine surprise in this instance – her large, long-lashed, cornflower-blue eyes were wide as she regarded the eleven-inches-long holly wand and the magnificent Firebolt on top of the neatly arranged Deathly Hallows, and her perfect bow-shaped lips were slightly parted in unmistakable shock. "You are jesting with me, are you not, Aphrodite?"

Aphrodite shook her head firmly, still somewhat in shock herself, though grief and pity were the much more prevalent emotions. "Oh, I wish I was, Persephone. But I am not."

Persephone shook her head, her wealth of gorgeous golden-brown tresses sparkling and gleaming in the light no less beautifully than Aphrodite's hair did. She did not wear her crown or any of her jewellery (Demeter, who had never ever approved of Hades as a son-in-law and never would, did not like it at all when Persephone adorned herself like that during spring and summer), but on her head was an evergreen wreath of cypress flowers, asphodel blossoms, and narcissuses (her beloved husband's sacred flowers), the sweet divine perfume of which seemed…diminished by her shock and Aphrodite's grief. "Does she know what exactly she is giving up? And what exactly she had given me? Oh, my husband at our home, does she even know what exactly she is doing?"

The Goddess of Love sighed, a deep and anguished sound – an extremely rare moment. "I had told her everything. I was just as shocked as you are now, and I had tried to get her to change her mind, but…"

"Henrietta, I know the choice is yours and yours alone to make, but I still urge you to reconsider."

"There is no need for that, Lady Aphrodite. I have made up my mind on this."

"And later on, when it is too late? How many times have we believed ourselves to be absolutely and completely certain about our decisions, only to realise too late that it was not what we truly wanted or needed, or that those choices were inaccurate? What if you change your mind later on?"

"That is a risk that I will have to take, My Lady, but at the moment…this is my choice. My decision. And I beg you to help me make it a reality."

"At least take some time to think it through. Do not make such a decision now, when you have only just learned everything that you should know. For in a matter like this, whatever decision you make would be forever. And I do mean "forever". And…truth be known, Henrietta, I do not think you are truly comprehending the uniqueness of this opportunity."

"With all due respect, Lady Aphrodite, I do understand how special and unique this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity is, which is why I am making such a decision. Like what you had said, there is always the risk that I would regret this decision later on, but…in my bones, in my very essence, I do not think I would. No matter how much time I take to think it through, to consider…I truly and honestly do not think it would make any difference. In fact, I would say that I am perfectly, absolutely, utterly certain. As certain as I am when I choose and summoned you, actually."

"…I know better than to try to recommend to you the appeals of immortality, of Godhood, and of Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed, but…what about your parents? Henrietta, this might be your sole chance of reuniting with them without having to literally die, and without having to worry about any strings attached or incurring any devastating consequences. As the Styx is my witness, this is not going to be like Orpheus and Eurydice, or Cadmus and his beloved. You are neither going to die, nor be separated from them as by a veil. You are going to ascend like Psyche, my daughter-in-law, did when she passed my four trials and married my son, and you will be able to talk to, touch, and interact with them as and when you please. You will finally get a real chance to be with them, to live with them, to become a real family with them. And this time, it would be for eternity. There are no more prophecies, no more Dark Lords, no more manipulators for you to worry about, remember?"

"It is not that, Lady Aphrodite. It is just…just like how the likes of Minerva Snape, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin are fifteen years too late, it is also too late for my parents and I. I have learned to live without them. Please pardon me if I am being too forward, My Lady, but…since when have I ever needed parental love? And now…do I truly still need it?"

"…"

"I will not deny that, once upon a time, this opportunity would have made me the happiest person in the entire universe, and I would have accepted it immediately, without a moment's hesitation. But not anymore. Not after everything that has happened. I am no longer that child, Lady Aphrodite. In fact, I would say that I have never ever been allowed to be a child, and from the very moment I set foot in Albus Dumbledore's Survival Camp, I officially and fully became an adult, and one who has had innumerable burdens, expectations, and ideals forced on my shoulders at that. Like I had said, it is something of a miracle that I had survived till this moment, and it has cost me dearly. I am no longer a little child in need of a mother's lullabies or a father's embrace, My Lady, and I will never ever be one. I have been through too much. I have walked this hard road all by myself for too long.

I will also confess to you, My Lady, that at this current moment, it is utterly impossible for me to embrace James and Lily Potter as my parents, let alone getting to know them and spending eternity with them. It is well and truly beyond me. For I hate them. Yes, Fair Goddess, if you must, you may strike me down this very instant for this blasphemy, but as the Styx is my witness, I hate them. I hate them with all that I am and have. I hate them for having such poor taste in friends. I hate my mother for having such a sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. I hate my father for all the bad things he did during his Hogwarts years. I hate them for joining that thrice-accursed Club of the Flaming Turkey. I hate them for not taking me abroad after I was born, for not going to some place where neither side could find the three of us, for not getting us new identities so we could have lived in peace. Oh, Fair Goddess, I even hate them for not surviving Voldemort's Killing Curses that night! I know! I know it is unbelievable, nonsensical of me to hate them for this, but I do! I hate them for dying and leaving me all alone in this cold, cruel world! It was over for them in an instant, but for me…Lady Aphrodite, you know what happened. You know all that I had been through since they died. What those whom they had loved and trusted had did to me. All that I had lost. All that I had to give. Yes. I did not know it then, but I do so now: ever since they died, I have hated them with all that I am and have. All the time. Every single day. The same as always. How could I possibly become a family with them now, when I hate them so much?"

"…"

"Have you read Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, My Lady?"

"…I have."

"Then I believe you would understand what I mean when I say that, in a way, I am actually the Estella to Albus Dumbledore's Miss. Havisham. Miss. Havisham, at the very least, started off with the genuine intention of protecting Estella, of saving her from suffering the same fate she did, and when she realised what she had truly done, she actually went on her knees before Pip and begged him to forgive her. Yes. She was completely broken by remorse for having raised Estella to be her weapon of vengeance against the opposite sex, and for having broken Pip's heart in the exact same way hers had been when she was jilted at the altar. But Albus Dumbledore and I? I was not only his pawn, his weapon against Voldemort, My Lady. I was also his private experiment, his innermost desperation for self-forgiveness. You know what I am talking about. He knew how he had killed his own sister, drove his own brother away, and created two monsters through Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Marvolo Riddle. So, in his own twisted, warped way, he believed that if he could create someone who could, come what may, always truly and unconditionally love, forgive, and care for anyone and everyone, including those who not deserve it at all, then he could convince himself that his sins were not as terrible as he himself knew them to be, and so he could forgive his own self. And what has become of that? I, his guinea pig in this experiment of his, was taught to how to live without my parents, and to even hate them with every inch of my soul and being for their numerous mistakes in life. You are the Goddess of Love, My Lady, and so you can look into one's heart, soul, and spirit. You know what I am saying now is what I truly think and feel."

"…Henrietta…"

"The road may be hard beneath my feet, and it may be still mysteriously, unpredictably long, but I am accustomed to walking it all by myself. Yes, I can get by alone without Lily to hold my hands while I stumble, or without James to call encouragement or give me a piggyback ride. But Mr. and Mrs. Diggory and Cedric are a different matter altogether. Mr. Diggory may not be perfect, but he is still decent enough to own up to his mistakes, and do anything, everything he could to make amends. Mrs. Diggory is all that what Molly Weasley and even Lily Potter should be as a wife and a mother, but are not. And Cedric…Cedric was the light of their lives, their pride and joy, and he was taken from them at too young an age. You know that as well as I do, Lady Aphrodite. He was only almost eighteen, and had a lifetime ahead of him. True, we may not have been bosom friends, but I will never forget how he was always kind and decent to me, always having a smile for me. We helped each other through that thrice-accursed tournament, and if I had not…he was a great wizard, My Lady, and he could have gone on to become a greater one if he had lived. Neither he nor his parents deserved what happened to them. So, I am determined to use this opportunity to change that. To give the three of them a new happy beginning. And I am adding my wand and my Firebolt as incentive to ensure that there are no strings attached, no consequences whatsoever. Please help me with this, Lady Aphrodite. Please."

"…"

"It may be too late for James, Lily, and I. But it is not too late for Mr. and Mrs. Diggory and Cedric. That way, at least one family of three gets to have a new happy beginning, and I seal the deal by also voluntarily offering up my wand, which has been with me in weal and woe since I was eleven, and my Firebolt, the very symbol and embodiment of my joy, my passion, and my freedom in flight. No catches. No strings attached. No consequences whatsoever. Please help me with this wish, Lady Aphrodite. Please. I beg of you."

"…"

The two Goddesses stared at each other in silence, then Persephone closed her eyes and sighed, "Poor Henrietta."

Aphrodite nodded, sighing as well. Her startling sea-blue eyes were grieved. "I had thought that she would be delighted with and accept this opportunity, but I should have also known that there are some wounds that run too deep for healing, and unintentionally or not, James and Lily had given their daughter one of those wounds. No, they had definitely given her more than one, and those wounds are the most painful, most untreatable of all as they – her parents – had inflicted them on her. She was not lying when she said she hates them. Not lying at all. Oh, she might not admit it, but she does love them and always will, but now…she also hates them much, much more than she loves them. And the saddest thing is, I cannot blame her for it. No one can, actually. And she is right. She has learned to live without James and Lily, and the choices they had made in life had taught her how to. Taught her only too well. She does not need them. Not anymore."

Persephone opened her eyes, which were now almost as grieved as she had been when she had to leave her husband to return to her mother for the very first time. Having her time split between her beloved husband and her adored mother – both of whom could never ever get along – had given her a superior understanding of grief, of loss, and of the hurt love could inflict, and so it was easy for her to sympathise with the remarkable yet heartbroken young witch who had united the Deathly Hallows…only to beg for something else neither she nor Aphrodite had foreseen or expected of her. "It would have been better if she had been crying, would it not? But she had not been. She was cool, calm, collected, and coherent. That smile she had, the way she spoke, her hurt is beyond tears, beyond rage. She meant what she said. James and Lily Potter are going to be shattered. No. They have been watching. They are already shattered. Poor them. They never ever wanted any of this to happen, and it was not entirely their fault either, but their culpability is still very great and utterly undeniable. There is no way that Henrietta would be glad to see them even if she could for free, let alone embrace and be a family with them."

Aphrodite nodded. "No way at all. I have looked into her heart. They would not make her happy. Neither now nor in the near future, at least. Perhaps, one day, after many years have passed from now, or more likely, after she had lived a long and happy life of her own choosing, enabling her to move on with an open mind and a clear heart…but not now. Most definitely not now. It is part of why she had begged me to help her convince you to grant her this wish, and even offered up her wand and her Firebolt to better ensure that it is a fair trade, an exchange that comes with neither strings, nor consequences, nor other prices for the Diggory family. For besides that Cloak, she actually views these two objects as her most beloved, most precious possessions, even more so than that photo album, for she had shared so many memories and her deepest feelings with them." The Goddess of Love gave a sad little chuckle that was like a lonely wind chime tinkling away in the breeze. "Perhaps I am to blame for this. I was, after all, the one who explained to her the kind of sacrifices Dionysus and Admetus had to make respectively in order to get their second chances. So, she followed their examples. And most excellently, I must say. You also sense it, do you not, Persephone? How painful and precious that wand and that broom are to her? How they practically hum with it?"

"I do. Oh, Father Zeus in Olympus, I do." Persephone took a deep, sharp breath to steady herself. "Oh, very well. I will grant her wish. But I will also do more than that. For she deserves it."

"You mean, we will do more than that, my dear Persephone." Aphrodite corrected firmly. "We will do more than that, for it would be utterly unfair to her if she does not get anything after everything she had been through, and all that she had sacrificed."

---

Amos Diggory took a sip of his coffee and sighed, his eyes sad and thoughtful as he surveyed the Daily Prophet. "News sure travel fast, do they not, Elena?"

"Since when have they not, Amos? But it is a good thing that, for once, even the Prophet is being nothing more and nothing less than honest. None of them wants to end up like poor Rita Skeeter, so they are on their very best behaviour. Praise Aphrodite and Henrietta for that."

It had only been three days since the Wedding of the Millennium, and yet a tide the like of which had ever been seen had already washed over Wizarding Britain. Minister Amelia Bones and her allies were as busy as ever, for there was still so much that had to be done. Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort may have been vanquished (literally in the latter's case), their very best lieutenants permanently neutralised, and all the other Death Eaters stripped of all their magic and magical knowledge before being delivered to the Aurors (additional courtesy of Aphrodite, who was grimly determined to leave no loose ends), but their defeat had also unveiled all the wounds they had inflicted on Wizarding Britain, and to say that those wounds were severe would be an understatement. One of the positive things, though, was that each and every single newspaper and magazine in the land were, well, no longer "existing only to sell themselves". Especially the Daily Prophet, which had actually gone as far as to publish a most public, most unmistakable, and most sincere apology to Henrietta Lily Potter, the Diggory family, and the others whom it had harmed through the new Mrs. Peter Pettigrew in days of old.

Yes. If there is one powerful lesson the Wedding had taught Wizarding Britain's journalism, it would be to behave, or else they would kiss the rod like a certain journalist had. The focus, though, besides the Death Eaters' trials and the progress Wizarding Britain was slowly, very slowly, but still gradually making towards recovery, was still on what was now called "The Eight Evils", all of whom were having the "time of their lives" in Azkaban, with each and every couple having their own lovely little cell. Or, as Aphrodite would prefer to call it, their own "lovely little love nest".

"Speaking of Henrietta, how do you think she is currently doing, Elena? I mean, I know she has been assuring us that she is fine, that she is taking her medications faithfully, that her diet is careful and regular, and that she is taking exercise and rest by turns as she has been advised. But still…after everything she has been through…I would have preferred it if she, at least, had shared a meal with us. Why would she not dine with us?"

It was Elena's turn to sigh. "I think it is because she does not want anyone else to see the mess she is currently in, Amos. I mean, she has been forced to go through more than what any other person should have to, and now that the two major abusers in her life have been eliminated, she is, well, lost. She has been forced to dance to their tunes for almost sixteen years, and now that she no longer has to, she must be at a loss about what she should do. She has so much to properly sort out, and she does not want us to see her while she is doing that. She does not want to see the shock, pity, regret, and desire to help she believes she would definitely see in our eyes if she were to let us see how she has to struggle to find her true identity. It would kill her if she sees that." She sighed again, taking a mouthful of hot porridge. She had prepared her beloved Cedric's favourite breakfast – soft, fresh-baked bread with homemade melted cheese, a delicious nourishing porridge with a blob of honey in the middle and butter-yellow cream poured over the top, sunny side-up eggs with crisp succulent chipolatas, along with coffee, tea, and fresh orange juice. Yes, though she knew that her darling son was gone and never coming back, she had still set his usual place at the table. She always did. "And there is also survivor's guilt. It does not matter how many times we assure her that she is not to blame for what happened to Cedric, even if we literally try to smack it into her. She would always feel guilty and blame herself about that. She would always feel as though she is unworthy to be in our presence, to breathe our air. Those monsters had gone out of their way to destroy her sense of self-worth, and to try to ingrain within her that accursed-to-Tartarus mentality that anything and everything bad that happens is entirely her fault."

Amos dipped his bread in the cheese, took a bite, and swallowed. Oh, his wife's cooking was as fabulous as always, but it did little to alleviate his grief. "We – you and I – should have asked Lady Aphrodite for help regarding that as well. She is the Goddess of Love; she would be able to heal Henrietta's pain. Rid her of that dratted mentality. What do you think, Elena? Should we invoke her again?"

"The only way I could accomplish that is if I take Henrietta's feelings away. Literally. I could, of course, with just a snap of my fingers or a blink of my eyes. But I would not do that. Not after everything she has been through. Not after how Albus Dumbledore had tried everything to dictate every single thought in her mind, every single word in her mouth, and even every single emotion her heart beats with. No. I will be no better than him if I really do that. No matter how long, painful, and difficult it may be, Henrietta's healing must be a natural one. It has to be."

Amos and Elena turned their heads towards the familiar voice, and would have risen to bow if the Goddess of Love had not gestured to them to remain seated. She was, of course, as inexpressibly beautiful as ever, and her attire gave the impression that real meadow grass of the thinnest consistency and lightest shades had been plucked, gathered, woven, and then sewn to her frame. On her head was an exquisite wreath of daffodils, calla-lilies, lotuses, and daisies – flowers of rebirth and new beginnings, Elena noted to herself. And her gown is really like, like, the first early days of a fresh new spring woven into cloth. It is like she is here to bring us good news.

Oh, as a matter of fact, I am here to bring you two the most unbelievable, yet most wonderful news you could ever receive. Aphrodite's smile was simultaneously poignant yet hopeful as she regarded them. "Amos, Elena, you may rest assured that while Henrietta is indeed in a turmoil now, she does not have any foolish thoughts like suicide, and she is not going to have any such thoughts in the future. I know this for a fact, for I have looked into her heart, and Lady Persephone and I will also be keeping an eye on her. She herself has told me that, while the road under her feet may still be long and full of mysteries, she is still going to continue walking. Yes. Whatever hope she has may be frail, extremely frail, but it is still there. She will live. Lady Persephone and I will do everything we can to ensure that she heals well and lives well."

Amos and Elena exchanged one glance and breathed a mutual sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. Thank you and Lady Persephone, Lady Aphrodite. That is a true great comfort to us both. Would you like to join us for breakfast?"

Aphrodite shook her head, her smile a little more radiant at their genuine relief for Henrietta's sake and her anticipation of their reception to the second piece of news. "No, thank you. I have already had breakfast. But I am not done. That is only the first piece of good news I have for you. I still have another one – the second and final one, and I believe you will most definitely love it."

As Amos and Elena exchanged another look, Aphrodite raised her hand, and suddenly, as if he had always been there, a youth appeared. At the very sight of him, Amos' and Elena's hearts almost stopped.

Nineteen years old. A head of thick, rich dark brown hair cut short and styled neat. A face worthy of a Greek God, with a broad high forehead, chiselled cheekbones, a straight long nose, a clean-shaven strong jaw, and warm, honest eyes that shone as blue as the summer sea. A crisp white long-sleeved button-up shirt and elegant black pants set off the tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully-built physique of a devout athlete to perfection. But the most striking, most touching feature was the smile on his full lush lips – the smile that a truly devoted son would give to his adoring parents after he had finally returned home from a long, long trip he had been forced to take.

Amos and Elena Diggory turned to look at the Goddess of Love, who nodded firmly at them, her smile full of assurance. "Henrietta was given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She turned it into a wish, and voluntarily gave up two of her most precious possessions to ensure that there are neither strings nor consequences. So, here we are."

Slowly, almost timidly, Elena rose from her seat and approached the youth, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at him. Her steps were hesitant, trembling, as if torn between the fear that she would accidentally stumble and then wake up to find that it was only a dream, and the hope that, as unbelievable as it was, it was actually real, and that secret, supposedly-impossible desire in that innermost part of her heart was most miraculously fulfilled. But there was absolutely no doubt in her mind as to who the youth was.

Finally, she reached out, faltering at the final moment before pushing herself to touch the youth's chest. It was as though one of Zeus' thunderbolts struck her when her hand did not go through him. No. Real. Warm. Amos let out a sound that was a mixture of a gasp and a cry. Now visibly trembling, but with that strictly rational part of her mind still demanding a double-confirmation, Elena's other hand touched the youth's chest…and there was no difference. In fact, the youth took Elena's hands in his and placed them at the spot where his heart pounded, and said, "Mommy, Daddy, it is me, Cedric. Your Cedric. You are not dreaming, or hallucinating, or fantasising. It is me, your son. Thanks to Henrietta, Lady Aphrodite, and Lady Persephone, I have come home to you."

With a cry wholly uncharacteristic of the usually stately and dignified Elena Diggory, Amos Diggory's wife hugged her son, openly sobbing – something that had never ever happened before, and her cries only intensified when Cedric returned her hug. Yes. It was her son. His hug. His strength. His scent. His aura…he had really come back! It was then that Amos joined the hug, tears of pain and joy running uncontrollably down his cheeks as he embraced his wife and his son like he never had before, "Welcome home, son. Welcome home!"

Even as he hugged his parents with all he had, and tears were also flowing down his face, Cedric still turned to look at Aphrodite with an earnest question in his eyes, and the Goddess of Love nodded, her own heart as warm as summer at how, even in the midst of this supposedly-impossible reunion, Cedric Diggory still found it within himself to sincerely care for another. She is going to be fine, Cedric. She will be. Like I told your parents, Lady Persephone and I will be watching over and helping her. Your second chance…actually also applies to her. She will live and thrive. Her springs will flow anew, she will blossom again. You have my and Lady Persephone's word on this.

Unknown to the three Diggorys, there was a certain someone watching their reunion through their kitchen window, neither too near for them to sense or see her, nor too faraway for her to see them clearly, and on her lovely face was the most beautiful smile of relief and hope. "Be happy, the three of you," Henrietta Lily Potter whispered, blowing them a kiss in blessing. She did not cry, but her eyes were bright, and her heart was full to bursting with the joy of having united a loving family and the conviction that she had made the right choice. Yes, it was too late for her and James and Lily Potter, but it most certainly was not for the three Diggorys. "Be happy."

It was then that she felt a soft, gentle tap on her shoulder: Aphrodite, who was at once there with her and in there with the three Diggorys (she was a Goddess, after all, and so could be in numerous places at the same time). "Oh, they will be, for they have been given the gift of rebirth and true love by Henrietta Lily Potter. They will be happy. And…there is someone who would like to speak to you, Henrietta."

Henrietta's eyes widened. If Aphrodite was the embodiment of the beauty of love, then the Goddess who suddenly materialised as if she was there all along was the essence of the allure of the seasons: her rich, thick hair, which shone as golden-brown as autumn at its richest, was plaited with sleek gold ribbons and crowned with the most exquisite black pearls. Her flawless skin was as white as winter snow, with cheeks gently flushed with the pink of a spring dawn-coloured rose, and her inviting lips were as red as poppies. Her eyes, crowned by dark arched eyebrows and framed with heavy feathery black lashes, were as blue as summer cornflowers, and sparkled with sweetness and majesty. Her dress looked to have been literally spun of gold and silver thread, and fastened with a diamond-and-ruby brooch at her swanlike throat, a matching diamond-and-ruby sash sparkled around her slender waist, complete with her feet in gold sandals, setting off a form that was simultaneously as lithe as a virgin maiden and as voluptuous as a ripe young woman ready for love. She also gave off a powerful yet soothing fragrance of sunshine, crushed grass, and the loveliest wildflowers.

Henrietta would have bowed, but Queen Persephone of Spring and the Underworld stopped her with a regal gesture and a smile that was as truly warm and friendly as Aphrodite's was. "You need not bow down to me, Henrietta. I have come to commend you for what you have done for the Diggory family. It was truly brave. Truly selfless. Truly heroic. Especially considering what you could have had, what you voluntarily gave up. So very few would have done what you had. And while any hero could slay even the most dangerous monster, sometimes, not even the very greatest hero could bring a broken family back together the way you had. It is rare, so rare, and so commendable, Henrietta."

"With all due respect, Lady Persephone, I did not do it to be commended. I did not do it to be some kind of brave and selfless heroine. As Lady Aphrodite here has no doubt told you, I did have my own selfish reasons for doing what I had. You should know what I am talking about. I cannot and will not deny that one of my major reasons was to punish James and Lily Potter for all they had done and not done, and another important reason was to ease my own guilt over what happened to Cedric during that tournament. No. Lady Persephone, Lady Aphrodite, I am no heroine. I am just a person. A living, breathing, flesh-and-blood person who gets furious with her own deceased parents to the extent she actually punished them, and who actually makes the most unbelievable wish to cleanse her hands of the guilt and the blood they are stained with."

The two Goddesses exchanged a look, then Persephone took Henrietta's hands in hers, her look as tender and affectionate as any devoted mother's. "True. You may have had your own personal reasons when you made that wish. You are furiously angry with your parents, and so had punished them in the cleverest and most effective way imaginable. I will not conceal from you, Henrietta, that they are completely and utterly shattered by your punishment. By your rejection. But…all that does not change the fact that you are a heroine, and a true heroine at that. Despite all the pain and suffering you have endured, you did not break or fall from grace, and that takes true strength. Though you could have literally died so many times, and your heart was thumping madly in your chest and your very blood was chilling in your veins, you still met each and every challenge head-on and always did your very best, which is true courage. You could have followed the Way of the Albus Dumbledore till the very end, but you found it within yourself to identify who your true friends are, to truly and properly ask for help, and even to truly know what your real wants and genuine needs are, which is true wisdom. And most of all…you could have become a real, genuine Goddess like Aphrodite or I, with inexhaustible strength, unfathomable power, evergreen youth, and endless days, but you voluntarily gave that up to truly and fully unite Cedric Diggory with his parents – an ultimate act of true kindness. Yes, strength, courage, wisdom, and kindness, all qualities of which any true hero or heroine must possess. It does not matter if there are any tinges of other private reasons or negative emotions, for none is perfect, and what matters most is striving to always do the right thing. And while I am extremely loath to quote Albus Dumbledore, I have to agree with him on one thing he once said: it is our choices that show what we truly are, far, far more than our abilities. And your choices, Henrietta, have made you a true heroine in every sense of the word."

There was a moment's silence as Henrietta and Persephone stared at each other, then the former hung her head a little, her eyes slightly red. The Goddess-Queen of the Underworld's smile brightened as she gently patted Henrietta's hand, while the Goddess of Love, who stood by Henrietta's side lovingly, gave the young witch's shoulder a firm assuring grip. "Lady Aphrodite and I know that it is hard, and you may not really believe it now, but we still want to commend you on a job fantastically, marvellously well done, and to tell you to keep going, and that our blessings and grace will be with you always as you venture on this new path. But most of all…we want to tell you that you have earned a great gift that, just like Cedric Diggory's resurrection and reunion with his parents, comes with absolutely no strings or other conditions attached. This we swear by the Styx, which none of our pantheon dare swear falsely by."

Gently, tenderly, carefully, like how a mother officially handing a precious piece of family heirloom jewellery to her daughter, Persephone fastened a beautiful necklace – an exquisite butterfly pendant of pure gold hanging at the end of a delicate gold chain – around Henrietta's neck. "You may not need a gift, but you still deserve one, and do rest assured that, upon our word as Goddesses, this comes with no strings attached at all. Of course, if it is truly your earnest heartfelt wish, you could always call upon us to revoke this gift, but we believe you would like it."

Henrietta stared down at the butterfly pendant, which started to glow with a powerful yet gentle light that made her feel as if some delicious aroma or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. Then, before she knew what was happening, she heard a tearing sound, and out through the crisp, neat white sweater she wore, burst something extraordinary.

Wings.

To say that Henrietta's awe was beyond expression was an understatement. She spread them wide, closed them tight, then opened them again, retracted them until they folded flat across her back, and then opened them again. As she observed how their edges glittered in the sunshine, she realised they were not made from flesh, blood, and bone like the rest of her body. No, the wings were made from something more ephemeral, like air, and more luminous, like starlight. Lovelier than any gossamer or fairy wings, they shimmered with the most beautiful blues and greens and were flecked with gold in the most delightful way.

But the most miraculous, most wonderful thing was…they did not feel out of place at all. Instead, it was like an excruciatingly painful seal had finally been broken, freeing an innermost part of her to see the sun, feel the air, and taste the waters. Yes, it was like, like, like an age-old ache between her shoulder blades had finally been eased, or Albus Dumbledore's last and most powerful binding on her had been utterly destroyed at long last. She looked at the two Goddesses in front of her, who nodded, their smiles as heartwarming and reassuring as ever.

"For nearly sixteen years, Albus Dumbledore and his minions had done everything they could to make Henrietta Lily Potter a caged bird, but no more." Aphrodite started, her voice solemn and regal as if making an inviolate proclamation. "No more! Henrietta Lily Potter is freed of them and theirs, here, now, and forevermore! May she soar high and swift and courageous and free upon her new wings!"

"Blues for freedom, greens for rebirth, and gold for your clean heart and pure soul." Persephone added in a voice that most definitely belonged to the Goddess-Queen of the Underworld. "Lady Aphrodite and I will not restore to you that which you had voluntarily offered up, for to do so would be to spit on your noble sacrifice, and the sad memories they are associated with far outweigh the happy ones, but we bestow upon you other gifts, with this being the first. Go ahead. Try them, Henrietta."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Henrietta pumped her broad, shimmering wings, and as she rose into the air, she realised that tears had flowed down her face – tears of joy and hope from the realisation that maybe, just maybe, Aphrodite and Persephone were right about her being truly freed and even reborn. Yes. She felt like a bird freed of its simultaneously glided yet torturous cage, free to fly whenever it wanted wherever it wanted, with absolutely no one to say "no" and absolutely nothing to stop it from doing so.

The wind rushed over her face, toying with her hair while the sunshine glided it along with her skin. Though her glowing feathers quivered with every gust, the powerful wings kept beating rhythmically, and she was only vaguely aware that as she flew, she left an ethereal trail of a beautiful rainbow behind her (not that it was any cause for concern, for she also instinctively knew that unless she willed it, none could see her wings or even her when she flew – Aphrodite and Persephone had been most thorough and meticulous).

"I cannot believe it. I am flying. I am really flying. And flying not on a broom, but on wings. I. Actually. Have. Wings."

She looked down at the two Goddesses, whose smiles were the most genuine thumbs-ups she had ever received and, as if inspired by their approval and delight, she pumped her wings more vigorously, then catching an updraft that carried her higher than ever before. Riding the wind, feeling the sun warming her entire being, she felt made of air herself. Lifting the spirit along with the body. That is why I love flying so much…

"It is not going to be easy or quick." Aphrodite remarked to Persephone as they watched Henrietta fly. "But another step has been made. Another baby-step like the first one, yes, but still a step nonetheless."

Persephone nodded. "And we will be with her every step of the way, making sure that she is fine. Oh, but is there anything you would like me to do regarding The Eight Evils, Aphrodite? I mean, would you like me to add anything extra to their present cups of happiness? If you want to…well, whenever I am away from my husband and our home, he is always in need of some…things to entertain or distract himself with, and he can be extremely…creative, if you know what I mean."

Aphrodite chuckled. "Thank you, Persephone, but not at the moment. Perhaps I would take your offer after those eight had led a long and happy earthly life in their sweet little love nests. But not now, not when they have only been recently wed, and still on their honeymoon. It is not right to disturb newlyweds when they are on their honeymoon, after all, and besides…I myself still have so much to teach them. About themselves. About one another. And most of all…about true love. After all they had done in the service of true love, as well as all the years they had dedicated to this noble cause, it is the very least I can do for them, for am I not the Goddess of Love?"

"Oh, you really are full of wonderful ideas, Aphrodite, one more delicious than the other…"

THE END?