Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

Next chapter, yay!

I do apologise for my obsession with terrible puns as chapter titles, well, I'm not really sorry, but I feel I should apologise for them nonetheless...

Chapter 97

The first rays of light crept over the edge of the horizon, spilling across the shores of the Black Lake, casting long shadows from the the towers and turrets of the school, and bathing the face of Albus Dumbledore in a soft, orange hue.

The old wizard's face looked almost peaceful now Harry had closed his eyes, but, despite the illusion of repose, the thin, blackened, dead veins that traced their way under pale, paper-thin skin marred the image.

Harry gently placed the broken, half-moon spectacles on the desk next to Dumbledore beside the stack of empty vials he knew must have once contained the potion Snape had brewed to arrest the affects of the curse.

There would be no mystery about his death; it would, Harry smiled wryly, be the least secretive thing the man had managed.

There was a flash of red flame, and a soft, happy trill as Fawkes reappeared on the edge of desk, and, when Dumbledore did not move, the phoenix triumphantly stole his spectacles and swooped over to his perch with his prize.

'He won't be able to play that game anymore, Fawkes,' Harry said sadly.

The phoenix was the only thing in the room capable of hearing him, the portraits were confunded, thought they were almost all asleep anyway, and the wards around the office were nothing for the one who owned the concealing hallow.

Fawkes trilled once more, this time Harry could hear the alarm in the phoenix's song, and dropped the spectacles back onto the desk, nudging them with one taloned foot, and then its beak towards Dumbledore's hand.

When his partner did not reclaim his glasses the phoenix became distressed, hopping across to blink thick, heavy tears onto Dumbledore's hands, but the tears that had once saved Harry had no affect.

Fawkes, seemingly realising that his partner was truly dead, let out a cry of despair, and a wave of hot, angry magic that swirled about the room, rustling papers and rattling the doors to the cabinets.

Then the phoenix turned its eyes on him.

'Sorry,' Harry apologised quietly.

Fawkes hissed at him, scoring lines into the desktop with his talons, and trilled a song filled with so much scathing, angry disappointment that Harry almost wished the office would floor would open and swallow him.

A final flare of red flame and the familiar was gone.

'I am sorry,' Harry repeated, seating himself opposite the dead headmaster. He could hardly disagree with Fawkes. The phoenix had shown no hostility towards him until now, despite the acts he had previously committed.

I have crossed a line.

Killing the headmaster made things easier for him. Harry knew that, had known that from the moment he had removed the horcrux, but it was no longer justified, for Dumbledore, unlike any of the others he had hurt, had done nothing, and would never have done anything to deserve his fate.

Harry helped himself to a sherbet lemon, slowly unwrapping the sweet, and sucking on it several times before he placed one on the desk in front of Dumbledore.

The light had crept a lot further since he had last noticed, and Harry imagined the castle would be stirring soon; it looked about as bright as it was when he normally awoke at this time of year.

He slipped the ring from his hand, running the tip of his forefinger slowly and possessively along the edge of the gold band.

'Let's see what you're capable of,' he murmured.

I don't actually know how it works, he laughed bitterly.

He'd killed for this stone as much as for his misguided revenge and he didn't even know how it worked. Touching it had no effect, and running the tip of his wand over it only gave him an impression of a web of magic too complex for him to comprehend.

Maybe Fleur will know, he mused. I'm not even sure who I want to see first.

Harry couldn't bring himself to summon Salazar, or Katie, he wanted to see them too much, but it felt wrong, like he was rewarding himself for killing a man who had only good intentions towards him.

He flicked the ring into the air off his thumb, watching the band glint in the light from the window.

It spun, once, twice, three times, before landing in his palm.

My parents, perhaps, he decided; he would have to summon them at some point, just to see them.

'Harry.'

The voice from behind him was little more than a whisper, and it echoed, despite the Headmaster's Office never having had such an affect before.

He knew instantly, and without turning to look, that his company had not come from among the living.

Flipping the ring, or the stone three times, he realised, mustering the courage to turn, and see what his parents thought of him

It made sense that it was a magically powerful number.

He swivelled slowly, suppressing his emotions, and his hope, until he knew what they thought of him, and of what he had done.

They were both little more than shadows suspended on dust, translucent, distant outlines that wavered, and trembled as if he was watching them through water, but they were the closest he had ever been to seeing his parents.

'Harry,' his mother repeated softly, 'you've grown up so much.'

'I had to,' he replied, hand closing tightly around the ring.

'Sorry, his father murmured guiltily, 'we did not want to leave you alone, but it was that or have you come with us.'

'I would rather be alone than dead,' Harry smiled. His statement was perilously close to a lie, and it was only the knowledge that being alone might not be permanent that distinguished between the two fates.

'You're so powerful,' Lily beamed, sliding closer, fingers outstretched hungrily towards his face. 'I told you he would be special, James.'

Her caress was cold, little more than the brief flare of a zephyr against his skin, and his mother's fingers fell away disappointedly.

'The Dark Lord's equal,' his father said slowly, gazing past Harry at the still, silent form of Albus Dumbledore.

'We all make mistakes,' Lily remonstrated. 'Albus always liked to keep secrets, hoarded them, and left everyone in the dark while he tried to orchestrate things; our Harry can hardly be blamed for misinterpreting his actions.'

'Why did you not ask him?' James said suddenly, stepping alongside his wife to stare, with eyes that were little more than a memory, at his son.

'If I had been right, and he had known I knew he would have killed me,' Harry answered.

They disapprove, he realised.

'Albus should not have tried to bear the burden himself,' his father decided after a long pause.

They were more distinct now, their shapes solidifying, reaching an almost smoke-like state.

'Exactly,' Lily smiled sadly, 'Harry can hardly be blamed for defending himself, and we would have both avenged a friend.'

'You killed Peter,' James grinned viciously, 'well done.'

'You aren't worried that I am Dark?' Harry asked curiously.

'What does Dark or Light matter to the dead?' Lily shrugged. 'You are alive, our blood magic worked, and you have a hope of happiness as we dreamt of.'

'Is that all you wanted?'

It seemed so simple, so easy, that he could hardly believe it.

'I do not remember wanting anything else,' his father answered slowly, 'but I think I must have done once.'

They do not remember, Harry frowned. They are just echoes. It does not truly raise the dead.

'It is not wise to surround yourself with those who have departed,' his mother warned gently. 'Call on us, on Katie, and on Salazar,' Harry looked up at her at the mention of the ancestor she should not know of, realising that they knew far more than they should even as echoes, 'but don't depend on us for company.'

'I won't,' he promised with a smile.

'You have Fleur,' James reminded him, 'don't forget your dream.'

'I won't.'

He turned the stone back over in his palm, watching the spirits of his parents fade, unsatisfied. They had been little more than echoes, their personalities all but imperceptible.

Perhaps it was because I never knew them.

He turned the stone once more, calling on Cadmus Peverell, the wizard who had claimed to have been gifted by the stone by Death, but nothing happened.

Harry tried several more famous wizards that he had never met, and was met with the same result.

Someone I knew, then.

He flipped the ring thrice, curious as to whether how well he had known the person affected the shade he saw.

'Bellatrix Lestrange,' he instructed softly.

He was not met with the tall, dark-haired, gaunt-faced witch he had duelled in the Ministry, but a small, swaying, smiling child, with lustrous curls that toppled across one side of her face, and dazed, empty eyes.

'Potter,' the childlike shadow of the witch breathed, 'you killed me.'

'You lost,' Harry reminded her.

'Bella was always going to lose eventually,' she agreed, bobbing her head happily, 'at least I lost to a wizard who could play.' Her eyes slid past him to Dumbledore, and she giggled. 'You killed Dumbledore,' she murmured almost reverently, 'such a beautiful game.'

'Draco too,' Harry said absently, studying the witch's form as it solidified beyond the smokey shadows his parents had been into something that seemed only a step away from colour.

'That's what happens when you lose,' Bellatrix shrugged, 'you'll lose one day too, little Potter, the Dark Lord is my master, and the master of the game.'

She faded when Harry turned the ring back over again.

'Victor Krum.'

'Harry,' the Bulgarian grinned, 'you won!'

'I did,' he laughed, amused that Krum's competitiveness was the first thing that had reappeared.

'It was not fair, though,' Krum sighed, 'I should have liked to have faced you at your best, just us, without Voldemort's fingers at our strings.'

'Sorry,' Harry apologised.

'You have nothing to apologise for,' Krum shook his head, 'I should not have tried to dodge when I couldn't see the curse coming.'

The Bulgarian's form grew no more distinct than Bellatrix's had, and Harry began to turn the ring over again in his palm.

'Look after Hermione for me,' Krum asked softly, 'she is afraid.'

He was gone before Harry could answer.

The clamour of morning and breakfast was beginning to rise up from the Great Hall, and Harry knew he had to leave before he ran out of time.

Just one more.

'Albus Dumbledore.'

'Harry,' the old wizard steepled the shadows of his fingers, 'what would you have me say?'

'What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?' Harry asked. 'And where did you get the Elder Wand from?'

'A great deal more than most,' Dumbledore answered modestly, condensing to the edge of colour. 'They have a bloody history, stretching back far further than the legend would imply, and the wand I took from Gellert after he stole it from the wandmaker Gregorovitch.'

'How far?'

'There are references in Hellenistic literature to the finger of the Keres, a wand that bears remarkable resemblance to the one I once wielded, and is now yours. In Britain the legends of Arthur tell of an invisibility cloak that fits the description of the one you have inherited. The stone is harder to read from the pages of history, but Asclepius, whose ability to raise the dead was legend, may have once possessed it.'

'So they were not made by Death or the Peverells?' Harry inquired.

'I doubt they were made by the Peverells,' Dumbledore agreed mildly, 'the family came from Rome, likely bringing them with them, and later adopted the mark, but they are far older. I believe they are aspects of death, created as the oldest spells once were by simple emotion, and understanding. Since their creation they have been explained away by many stories, claimed by wizard after wizard, until the truth has become indistinguishable from death.'

'I do not understand,' Harry admitted.

'The cloak, invisible, intangible, undetectable and unstoppable,' Dumbledore began, 'just as death is. The stone, the lingering sorrow and regret that it imparts upon those who have lost loved ones to it. The wand, the ability to strike down any with impunity, just as death does.'

'So they are death.'

'Perhaps,' the former headmaster murmured, 'I do not know. There is the veil as well, the gateway that has never been explained. I am unsure whether that is a last aspect, or if it was created by the Peverells, the last to have all three Hallows together to study.'

'I am sorry,' Harry told him sincerely, turning the stone over twice.

'We all make mistakes,' Dumbledore told him softly, 'those of us who are powerful make mistakes with greater consequences. Good intentions, my boy, that is what matters most, and even now having done things I would have never dreamt you had, your heart is not so hollow. After all,' he smiled benevolently, 'you still chose the hallows over horcruxes, and unlike Tom you have someone you love, and someone who loves you.'

Harry turned the ring over one last time, letting the shade of the headmaster fade.

I will not call him again, he decided.

Dumbledore had a way with words, and Harry wasn't sure exactly how much of the old wizard was within the echo. It seemed unwise to expose himself to the advice of a wizard who had intended to have him sacrifice himself, even if he had intended Harry to eventually live.

He slipped the ring back onto his hand, made sure the Elder Wand remained tucked securely within his sleeve, and threw his cloak over himself to make sure he remained undetected by any wards on the office itself.

Swiftly he left the office, striding down the stairs, and out past the gargoyle guardian.

Breakfast time, he decided, sweeping the cloak off in a convenient alcove. I can continue to experiment with the stone later when Fleur is around to help.

He suspected it was likely that the Resurrection Stone created the imprint of the person from his mind somehow, and that was why he had to have known the person to be able to call upon them. It also explained why his parents were so without personality compared to Dumbledore, for he had little memory and knowledge of them for the stone to use.

The Great Hall fell utterly silent when he entered.

There were aurors on the stage in a small cluster around Professor McGonagall who seemed to be deputising in Dumbledore's as of yet unexplained absence.

'Harry Potter,' the first of them said sternly, 'for the destruction of the Three Broomsticks you owe its owner several thousand galleons for repairs.'

Harry blinked, taking in the faces in the room while he attempted to suppress his surprise. That had not been the reason he had been expecting for the aurors' presence.

It seemed the rest of the school shared his opinion, because most looked either shocked, horrified, or, in Hermione's case, an odd mixture of both. His revenge hadn't won him many friends, but, despite the wary glances, and disturbed looks he was receiving there was a faint sense of approval behind the eyes of many of the students, even those in Slytherin.

An eye for an eye always appeals to some.

'Mr Potter?' The auror, whom he didn't recognise, prompted.

'I can pay,' he assured them, 'just provide me with the vault number and I'll transfer money to pay for the damages.'

'Then that is all,' the auror announced, leading his team past Harry and out of the hall to the outrage of some.

Harry decided that quietly taking a seat next to Neville and keeping his head down might be prudent.

'Mr Potter,' McGonagall said sharply, 'up here if you please.'

Harry shot Neville a glance, but his friend was avoiding his eyes for the time being.

No doubt he approves of the end, but not the means, Harry deduced.

Neville would understand when he explained the reasons behind what he had done to Malfoy.

He came to a stop in front of McGonagall, and the table and throne he knew to be conjured replacements.

'The Ministry has decided there is no evidence to implicate in you in what has taken place,' his head of house said bitterly, 'but it has been brought to my attention that a lot of people whom you have a motive to harm get hurt, and thus, for the safety of my students, I hereby expel you from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

That wasn't part of the plan, Harry frowned.

He sensed the hand of felix felicis at play here. There was little reason for him to remain here, he had his NEWTs, his home was well warded, he could return through the chamber if he wished, and he had the stone. It seemed his actions, which, now he looked back on it, had been a little more extreme than necessary, had conveniently granted him an escape.

'Your wand, Mr Potter,' McGonagall said quietly, 'you're not seventeen yet, and though your parents would be heartbroken to see me to do this I think it must be done.'

'I would not advise trying that,' Harry replied equally quietly, and completely calm. He had no intention of allowing her to snap his wand, not now, not ever.

'Was that a threat?' McGonagall whispered, shocked. 'I have been practicing magic for several times longer than you have been alive, Mr Potter, no teenage wizard is going to scare me.'

'No?' Harry smiled innocently, glancing up at the missing flag on the far side of the hall. 'I am fond of my wand, Professor McGonagall, and I suspect I shall need it.'

For a moment it looked like she might reach out to try to take it, and so Harry let a little of the rage he felt at the idea of having his wand taken flow, cooling the air around them, and casting their breath as pale mist.

There was an audible scraping noise as the nearby staff retreated.

No doubt everyone knew what had happened to the pub in Hogsmeade.

'Goodbye, professor,' Harry said, turning on his heel to stalk out, leaving frosted footprints in his wake. 'It seems I must leave,' he added, loudly enough for all to hear.

Halfway down the hall he caught a glimpse of Hermione, her face caught somewhere between regret, relief and satisfaction.

'However you will find,' he smirked, 'that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me.'

Hermione, who recognised the words, looked outraged, and Harry smiled in satisfaction. He knew exactly who had been bringing things to McGonagall's attention. She had done it before after all, with the Firebolt.

Ignoring the lump that formed in his throat at the happy memories that broom had brought, and he made the most of his opportunity and while Hermione was stuttering he locked eyes with Neville. His friend had straightened up to stare at him the moment Harry had been formally expelled.

Soon, Harry promised him, thrusting the thought straight into his head. I will come to find you when it is time to visit the piece of revenge against the Lestranges.

Neville lacked the ability to reply, but Harry felt the hot upwelling of hate at the mention of the Death Eaters, and the surge of desperate desire that accompanied it.

There's so little left, he thought, as he swept out towards the Forbidden Forest and the edge of the wards. The cup, and Nagini and Voldemort.

He apparated the moment he crossed the boundary, not even pausing to look back up at the castle.

The looming pines whirled away to be replaced by the simple kitchen he and Fleur had, and window filled with spring flowers.

'I'm home,' Harry called out tentatively. He could not hear Fleur, which normally meant she was intensely focussed on something.

His first instinct was to check the study and whatever she was enchanting, his second was to open the tastiest looking box of cake in the kitchen. There was no way she would't notice that.

'Welcome back darling,' a much deeper voice cried, flinging their arms around him.

'Get off,' Harry grunted, detaching himself from his godfather, 'you're not pretty enough for me to want you so close, and why are you still here?'

'No point me staying at Grimmauld Place now,' he said, 'the Order has crumbled, Dumbledore has abandoned us, and the Ministry has fallen back to London in disarray.' His fingers slipped to the bandages that were just visible about his chest, and to the wound that Lucius Malfoy had led them with as he frowned.

Dumbledore is dead, Harry added silently.

'How was school honey?' Sirius asked, humour returning.

'I got expelled,' Harry grinned, watching Sirius splutter.

'Why?' He demanded, when he'd regained his composure.

'Malfoy.' Fleur swept into the kitchen, brandishing that morning's paper.

Malfoy heir murdered in school hall, Harry read. Death Eater's suspected.

This Ministry was just as adept at spinning the media to print its message as the last. Everyone knew who had killed Malfoy, but suspected was not proven guilty, as Malfoy's own father had so succinctly shown over the years.

There's a piece of irony, Harry noted grimly.

'You did that?' Sirius looked slightly sickened. 'Harry there is a line between killing the person who killed your friends, something I would do, tried to do, in fact, and whatever that was.'

'That was a message,' Harry explained calmly. 'I am sure that those who consider joining Voldemort out of fear, will now find themselves equally afraid of joining him.' He frowned, admittedly killing Malfoy in such a spectacular manner had not been the smartest thing to do, but he had feeling the luck potion had been at work there. He voiced as much, and Sirius looked quite relieved. Fleur, on the other hand, simply looked curious.

'It does not matter,' she shrugged. 'Katie is avenged.'

'Completely,' Harry agreed, extending his wand hand to display the black stone upon its thin gold band.

'Is that?' Fleur gasped, sweeping over to snatch his hand.

'Yes,' Harry nodded. 'The Resurrection Stone, to go with the Invisibility Cloak, and another horcrux destroyed, though it has taken a great toll on Dumbledore.'

'Can I?' Fleur's fingers were already tugging at the ring in excitement, 'just for a few moments?'

'Not yet,' Harry apologised, 'I am unsure exactly how it works, but I've tested it, and spoken to the shadows of my parents. Besides,' he teased, 'it is too early for me to be giving your rings, no?'

'Your parents?' Sirius looked completely lost. Fleur pouted, and stopped her attempts to steal the stone, though she did not let go of Harry's hand, and withdrew her wand, now engraved with a slim ring of runes around its middle, to study it while it was on his finger.

Harry supposed that was the best compromise he would get.

'This, Sirius,' Fleur said absently, tracing her wand over the ring, 'is one of the Deathly Hallows.'

'They're a myth.' Sirius' scepticism was obvious.

Harry pulled the ring from his finger, turned it over three times, and, with an amused smirk, decided on the perfect person to call to demonstrate without risking Sirius becoming obsessed with the stone.

'Walburga Black.'

'Oh,' the shade of Sirius' mother wavered into being, 'my wayward, useless son, and you, who could have been the greatest wizard of our name.' Her respect for Harry was tinged with regret, and hurt at the offer he had spurned.

Sirius stared blankly at Harry.

'He can't see me,' the shadow of the witch said quietly, 'only you can, heir of Slytherin.'

'Ah,' Harry frowned, 'it seems only the master of the stone can see those who have been summoned by it.'

'Why didn't you want to save my family?' The spirit demanded sadly. 'Look at what has become of my sons, one missing, likely dead, and the other so hateful of his kin he would see his own name ruined.'

'I would have done if your family would not have cost me Fleur,' Harry told her.

'Who are you talking to?' Fleur asked curiously.

'Sirius' mother,' Harry said simply, and laughed when his godfather blanched. 'I've released her now,' he added, turning the stone back over in his palm.

'Thank Merlin,' Sirius sighed, 'that horrible woman should stay dead.'

'She was sad because her family has been ruined,' Harry told him softly.

'Her perfect pure-blooded line, you mean,' Sirius sneered.

'Family is family,' Fleur said quietly.

'So it's a hallow,' Sirius said quickly, unwilling to talk about his family any longer. 'What does that mean?'

'It means Harry can speak to the dead,' Fleur said gently, 'including Katie, and apparently his parents.'

'Anyone I have known,' Harry elucidated, 'but the less well I knew them the less of the real person is in the echo.'

'There wasn't much of James and Lily in the shades you summoned,' Sirius realised. 'Sorry, Harry,' he shrugged helplessly.

'It's ok,' Harry reassured him, 'there was a little of them left, just the strongest parts, the desire that lingered longest after death.'

'It is the second hallow that we possess,' Fleur announced triumphantly, 'the cloak is the cloak.'

'James' cloak?' Sirius looked mortified.

'Yes,' Fleur smirked.

'Do you have any idea of the things he and I have done under that?' Sirius asked incredulously. 'I'm certain that he slept with Lily under it,' Harry scrunched his face up in disgust at the idea, 'and I have definitely had sex with at least,' he counted briefly on his fingers, 'four girls, under it.'

'I've been wearing that for years,' Harry said disgustedly. 'Children have been touching it.'

'It is a good thing I washed it,' Fleur nodded, equally repulsed. 'What a way to treat a legendary artefact.'

Sirius chuckled, torn between embarrassment, guilt and pride.

'Two hallows,' Fleur repeated thoughtfully, 'the things I might learn.'

'It's the third hallow we have,' Harry corrected, slipping the Elder Wand, Dumbledore's wand, from his sleeve. 'He had the wand as well.'

'All three!' Fleur looked like she about to have a heart attack from excitement, her fingers were twitching at her side. 'You have to let me see them, Harry,' she pleaded.

'We'll test them both together soon,' Harry promised, throwing her a fond smile.

'If the legends are true,' Sirius said slowly, 'then that wand will be of great help against Voldemort.'

'Perhaps,' Harry agreed, slightly optimistic, but cautious of hoping before he had tested its capabilities. 'It might help balance the scales at the very least.'

AN: Please read and review, thanks to everyone who does!