Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk. He was smiling and his blue eyes sparkled as they had always sparkled. For a moment, he said nothing and then he opened his mouth. The wisdom in his voice was like dust. It coated everything.

"I know you're afraid," he said. "And rightly so." His wiry eyebrows moved up, challenging. "The fight between dark and light, good and evil, is age-old. Older than me. Older than time."

"There is nothing, now, to fear, Sir."

Dumbledore leant across the desk and placed his hands against the polished wood. They were large hands and weathered, but his fingers were surprisingly long, as if he were a musician.

"The thing you must always fear," he said. "Is not out there, in the world, but it is inside yourself."


Harry woke up with a start. He felt the steady rhythm of his heart and for a glorious moment, he believed that Dumbledore was still there, still looking out for him. Guiding him. But then he was plunged into despair again. He was gone.

"Harry?" It was Hermione. Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa after seeing Malfoy. "Are you okay?"

Harry sat up and took the mug of steaming tea that Hermione was holding out to him.

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

"Can you come into the kitchen," she said.

Harry sipped his tea. He shrugged. "I don't like surprises, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. "You'll like this one."

Harry stood up. "Lead the way," he said tiredly.

Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen, with Ron. They both turned to look at him as he walked in. Ron looked white and Harry wondered if it was because he was standing so close to the odious concoction stewing in the pot.

Harry wrinkled his nose. The smell had got steadily worse over the past few days. It was almost unbearable.

"Now," Mrs Weasley said holding up a hand. "I know it smells…"

"You're not wrong," Ron mumbled. He grinned at Harry and Harry grinned back.

Mrs Weasley poked her younger son on the arm. "That's not helping Ronald, is it?" she said. She turned back to Harry and smiled warmly at him. "Come here, Harry dear," she said. She had her arms spread wide and Harry thought he was being invited in for a cuddle. He had worked out, accepting these spontaneous outbursts of affection, was far easier than attempting to avoid them.

But Mrs Weasley didn't want to embrace Harry.

She took hold of his shoulders and peered into his eyes.

"I have something for you," she said.

Harry saw Ron roll his eyes and he grinned again.

"Thank you," Harry said. He wished whatever it was, she would give it to him somewhere other than the kitchen. Somewhere not quite so close to the stinking stew.

"Hermione?" Mrs Weasley nodded and on cue, Hermione produced a clay dish and armed with a spoon, stood poised by the pot. She grimaced as she plunged the spoon into the broth and tipped it, black and syrupy, into the dish. "Now, dear," Mrs Weasley said to Harry. "Sit down and keep an open mind, okay?"

She waited for him to nod. He obliged, but Ron's face, the smell, his instinct, was telling him to run. He sat, nervously.

Hermione handed the dish to Mrs Weasley who took it and sniffed at the mixture. She retched, but then quickly smiled.

"I know it smells bad, but you have to give it time to work," she said.

Harry was beginning to panic now. He looked at Ron who shrugged and then at Hermione who grimaced. They both looked horrified and sympathetic in equal measure. Harry turned to Mrs Weasley.

"You're not expecting me to drink that, are you?"

Mrs Weasley laughed. "Oh no, dear," she said. She held the spoon up. "It's a paste. For your face."

"What?"

"I've been working on something. I couldn't use magic because of the root of the scar, but I had some ideas and with the help of Letitia Luck's 'Magical Remedies without Magic' book, I think I've cracked it."

Harry stood up.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," he said. "But I don't think I can stand that on my face…" He peered at it in disgust as it flopped, like a lethargic slug, from the spoon, back into the dish.

Mrs Weasley pushed him back down.

"Don't be silly, dear," she said with a note of authority. "The smell goes once it's fully embedded in the flesh." She scooped more of the mixture onto the spoon and thrust it towards Harry's face. He recoiled, but Mrs Weasley was determined. As she got closer, she had the look of a mad woman.

"It can't hurt, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry glanced at her and she shrugged.

He went to speak, but Mrs Weasley's spoon found its mark and Harry felt an odd tingling sensation on his face. It suddenly felt cool and strangely, calming. He relaxed a little.

"A little more," Mrs Weasley said and slathered on more goo. She stood back and appraised her handiwork. "There," she said. "All covered just nicely. Make sure you leave it for half an hour before you wash your face, dear."

Harry looked at Ron. "Well?" he said.

"You look like your face is covered with black slime," he said.

Mrs Weasley lashed out at her son, but she was still holding the spoon and drops of slime flew around the kitchen.

"I suggest you get a cloth and clear this mess up," she said shrilly. She stared at Ron with frost and then smiled warmly at Harry. "If you can just ignore the smell for a few moments, I think you'll find it very magic indeed."

Harry stood up. He tried to smile, but his face felt almost frozen. He looked at Hermione who was grinning at him still.

"Come on, Harry," she said. "We need to let Ron clear up. Let's go and get some fresh air." She linked her arm through his and dragged him out of the kitchen.

They closed the door behind them, cutting out the sound of Ron's protests.


Outside the Weasley house, there was calm and quiet. The preparations for Fred's Memorial were in place and people were expected to arrive soon after midday. It was barely yet 9 o'clock.

"It's going to be a long day," Hermione said.

Harry looked up at the sky. "Yeah."

He was walking towards the remains of one of Mr Weasley's experiments. He had taken an old- fashioned carriage, the type once pulled by horses, and had attempted to fix a motor engine to it. It had failed miserably, and he never had the heart to dispose of it. Now it looked like it was being swallowed up by nature. There was something oddly peaceful about it.

Harry went and sat on the old seat that was at ground level and closed his eyes.

"How does it feel?" Hermione asked, sitting next to him.

Harry touched his face gingerly. "Weird," he said. He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. "I'm scared my whole face will peel off."

"It doesn't smell too bad."

"You haven't got it plastered under your nose!"

Hermione laughed. "No, I haven't." She sighed and leant back. "Will you be okay?"

Harry sighed, but didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He trusted Hermione. He loved her. But he couldn't fathom what he was feeling and couldn't begin to try and explain to her.

"I saw Malfoy this morning," he said. Hermione sat up and stared at Harry with a frown on her face.

"Malfoy?" she queried. "He came here?" She pursed her lips. "Harry, you mustn't listen to him."

Harry smiled. "It's okay Hermione," he said. "He actually came to apologise."

Hermione's frown deepened. "Apologise? Are we talking about the same person?"

Harry laughed. "I know. Mad." He plucked a weed that was growing through the red leather of the seat. It protested and wriggled in Harry's grasp. "He said some other stuff too…" Harry let the weed fall from his fingers. It scampered off, grumbling bitterly.

Hermione waited, but Harry was quiet. Everything was quiet. There wasn't a single bird and the air seemed suspended and still as if that too, was waiting for Harry to speak. And then, quite suddenly, Hermione didn't want to hear what he had to say. She felt frightened. It was supposed to be over, but it wasn't over. She could see from the pain in Harry's eyes. She touched his face.

"It's completely gone," she said with a faint smile. "Your scar. It's just disappeared."

Harry smiled too. "That's great," he said.

"It's not permanent though," Hermione said. "I mean, it's just brilliant make-up I suppose. You have to put another layer on once a week. Or thereabouts." Her smile faded.

Harry nodded.

"Harry…" Hermione felt the onset of tears.

"I can't stay here," Harry said. He kept staring at the blue sky. He felt as if it was descending upon him and that he would be carried far away. He sighed, despondently, then looked at Hermione. "I just can't Hermione…"

Hermione didn't bother brushing her tears away.

"You deserve to be happy," she said quietly.

Harry smiled and took her hand. "Well, we all deserve that, Hermione, don't we?"