All lessons were suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days — the Patil twins were gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore's death and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the Entrance Hall which was resolved when she agreed that he could remain behind for the funeral. She had difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade, Seamus told Ron, for wizards and witches were pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore.

Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palominos, came soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the Forest. Harry watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, was being accommodated within the castle. Harry was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; he was sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked again to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts.

Harry kept himself extremely busy. He had spoken to many Order members and told them to be present for the meeting. Many had tried getting a hint about the contents of the meeting but Harry was very tight-lipped. The beautiful weather seemed to mock him; Harry could imagine how it would have been if Dumbledore had not died, and they had had this time together at the very end of the year, with everyone's examinations finished, the pressure of homework lifted… and hour by hour, Harry was forced to abandon that comfortably blanket of comfort where he could live in denial and actually prepare for the war he had been preparing for the past year.

He made sure to visit the Hospital wing twice a day: most of the DA had been discharged, but Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars were as bad as ever; in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs; in personality, he seemed just the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.

"… so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me," said Fleur happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."

"I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her," sighed Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds,

"She's not that bad," said Harry.

"Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, I can," Ginny said with a disappointed sigh.

"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the Evening Prophet. Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice.

"No," she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. "They're still looking for Snape, but no sign…"

"Of course, there isn't," said Harry, who became angry every time this subject cropped up. "They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time…"

"I'm going to go to bed," yawned Ginny. "I haven't been sleeping that well since… well… I could do with some sleep."

She waved at the trio and departed for the girls' dormitories. The moment the door had closed behind her, Hermione leaned forwards towards Harry with a most Hermione-ish look on her face.

"Harry, I found something out this morning, in the library…"

"R.A.B.?" said Harry, sitting up straight.

He did not feel the way he had so often felt before, excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; he simply knew that the task of discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before he could move a little further along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of him, the path that he and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and which he now knew he would have to journey alone. For a change, his memories did not offer any insight into the identity of R.A.B. There might still be as many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere and each would need to be found and eliminated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort could be killed. He kept reciting their names to himself, as though by listing them he could bring them within reach: the locket.., the cup… the snake… something Ravenclaw's… the locket… the cup… the snake… something of Ravenclaw's…

This mantra seemed to pulse through Harry's mind as he fell asleep at night, and his dreams were thick with cups, lockets, and tiaras that he could not quite reach, though Dumbledore helpfully offered Harry a rope ladder that turned to snakes the moment he began to climb…

He had shown Hermione the note inside the locket the morning after Dumbledore's death, and although she had not immediately recognized the initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she had been reading, she had since been rushing off to the library a little more often than was strictly necessary for somebody who had no homework to do.

"No," she said sadly, "I've been trying, Harry, but I haven't found anything… there are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials - Rosalind Antigone Bungs… Rupert 'Axebanger ' Brookstanton… but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him… no, actually, it's about… well, Snape."

She looked nervous even saying the name again.

"What about him?" asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.

"Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business," she said tentatively.

"Are we still doing this, Hermione? I thought we settled this already?"

"No — no — Harry, I didn't mean that!" she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard. "It's just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see… she was Snape's mother!"

"I thought she wasn't much of a looker," said Ron. Hermione ignored him.

"I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a —"

"— murdering greasy-haired piece of shit," spat Harry.

"Well… yes," said Hermione. "So… I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being 'half a Prince', you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet"

"Yeah, that fits," said Harry. "He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them… he's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, the Muggle father… ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name — Lord Voldemort — the Half-Blood Prince - how could Dumbledore have missed —?"

He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself from dwelling upon Dumbledore's inexcusable trust in Snape. Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Harry was sure that they, like him, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest. He did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what he might see, about how he would feel; the guilt of not helping him remove the curse on his hand. He wondered whether Dumbledore's death would be more real to him once the funeral was over.

"Hermione, come with me. I have a hunch," Harry suddenly said.

"Huh? About what?"

"Well I can't get to the 'crux of the matter, but explain when we won't be overheard."

The duo quickly made way to the Room of Requirement and Hermione was huffing as she tried to keep up with Harry. A part of her was annoyed at how his long strides helped him walk faster, but a smaller part of her also couldn't help but admit Harry's new height had made him look really attractive.

The Doors opened to the Room of Lost things. The room was the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, and forgotten. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe. Hermione was awed by the sheer size of the piles as they reached out into the sky in giant heaps. Harry meanwhile moved between the piles with purpose, like he'd been there before.

"Harry? What is this room?"

"It's like the Hogwarts Lost-and-Found. Except people lost it, and the elves found it. The vanishing cabinet Malfoy used is around here. I think Voldemort may have used this room to hide one of his Horcrux's."

"Why though? I mean the Chamber seems much more secure than a room that, by the looks of it is accessed regularly by the elves," Hermione asked as she picked up a fourth-year Transfiguration textbook torn in half. She almost whimpered in pain at the sight of a book being mutilated beyond recognition.

"Yes. But this Room is on the way to the Headmaster's office. He would have had enough time to hide it here when he came asking for the Defense job. Plus, Tom would be arrogant enough to assume that he was the only one to have found this room. When he asked for a place to hide something, I'm sure he imagined something like a giant pedestal with a statue of Ravenclaw and then placed all kinds of curses on the statue. But after he left, the diadem would be dumped into this room with the rest of the junk while the statue would disappear and the curses would dissipate without the statue," Harry said confidently.

"Wait. A diadem? How do you know it would be Ravenclaw's statue?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"I think this may be because of the broken link between us. I can almost imagine the statue as he placed the diadem on the top of — Hermione, NO!" Harry suddenly yelled as he saw her reach for a tiara perched atop the chipped bust of an ugly warlock. "Accio bust!"

The bust shot towards Harry with the diadem as Hermione seemed to follow it with glazed eyes. Harry ducked under it as the stone flew over his head and crashed into an old cabinet with one door and smashed into a skeleton of a five-legged creature. Hermione walked over to retrieve the bust, mumbling under her breath, "Wit beyond measure. I need it to keep Harry alive. Knowledge is power."

Harry grabbed her by the hips and tried to hold her back but Hermione's legs seemed to still pull her forward. Harry planted his feet firmly and lifted her off the ground so her legs would no longer touch the ground and spun her around so he could place himself between her and the diadem.

"Snap out of it, Hermione! It's a compulsion charm. Listen to my voice! Finite Incantatem!"

But nothing Harry said seemed to make a difference. Harry growled softly as he tried to hold her back and still point his wand at her. "Fuck me. I'm sorry Hermione, I don't have any other choice. Legilimens!"

Hermione seemed to suddenly stand still as Harry entered her mind. Memories seemed to flash past him. Brief glimpses of books flashed past him. He noticed that many of them seemed to have the voice of a child taunting in the background. Harry knew her childhood was not the most pleasant one, but children should not be capable of using the kind of language the voices were using. Harry suddenly realized this is what the Horcrux was doing. It was amplifying every single negative emotion while simultaneously offering salvation if Hermione put the diadem on her head. Harry searched for the insidious magic with mental tendrils but could not find a direct link. Since his first approach was not working, he withdrew the tendrils and expanded his magic in the form of a blanket, and collected every memory inside the blanket in an effort to isolate her mind from external influences.

After a few minutes, it seemed to have worked and Harry mentally whispered in her mind, "Use Occlumency. Protect your mind." Hermione seemed to have heard him and began slowly bringing up her mental shields. Harry slowly withdrew as he retreated into his mind. He also pulled up his own Occlumency shields and opened his eyes. He furiously blinked a few times as his eyes tried to moisten themselves again after staying open for so long. Hermione meanwhile seemed to also clear the glazed look in her eyes as she resisted the insidious compulsion.

"Dobby! Kreacher!" Harry called out.

"Yes, Master?"

"The Great Harry Potter called?"

"I need one of the basilisk fangs. Get me one now!" Harry ordered. Both elves popped away and returned with a fang held out in each hand. They almost looked comical with each fang starting at the shoulder and ending at their knees. Harry grabbed the closest fang from Kreacher and Hermione did the same with Dobby. Harry levitated the bust out of the cupboard and placed it on the ground. Harry was going to stab immediately when he hesitated.

"Hermione, you do it."

Hermione gave him a scared look, "Harry just do it. I can't get close to it and resist it. I can feel it gnawing at my shields. I can't hold it off."

"Trust me. It has to be you. Dumbledore taught me about this. Certain acts carry inherent magic of their own. You are the smartest person in this school. The diadem considered you a greater threat than me. It chose you. It will try to defend itself so be prepared. The bit in the diary tried to kill me."

Hermione looked terrified. Harry transfigured the stone of the bust to hold the tiara in place. Stone seemed to melt and flow around the tiara as it wove itself through the diadem and hold it in place.

"Harry, I can't— I can't do it! It's Ravenclaw's diadem. I can't destroy it! It's said to make the wearer smarter. I need to be smarter to help you, Harry. It can help us. We can learn from it!" Hermione almost pleaded.

"Hermione, no. We don't need to cheat. We can do this. You and I. Together. We cannot use this. Remember Dumbledore's hand? I can't risk that kind of a curse on either your head. I know it's supposed to be you who does it. Please, just get rid of it, Hermione."

The sound of her name seemed to act like a stimulant. Hermione swallowed, then, still breathing hard through her nose, took a step toward the bust.

"Tell me when," she croaked.

"On three," said Harry, looking back down at the diadem, "One . . . two . . . three . . ."

Hermione stepped forward when suddenly the bust moved like a real face and it seemed to blink its eyes, which opened and showed a human eye underneath each eyelid. Each iris was pitch black with scarlet streaks in it. Harry instantly recognized the eyes as Tom Riddle's and yet, they seemed to be half way transformed between Tom Riddle's handsome eyes and Lord Voldemort's scarlet slitted ones.

The bust seemed to open its mouth as Harry grabbed the bust to hold it in place from rolling. A voice hissed out of the bust half way between human and serpent, "I have sssseen your heart, and I know the truth you so desssperately hide"

"Don't listen to it!" Harry said harshly. "Stab it!"

"I have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I have seen your fears. All you dessssire is out of reach, but you already know what you need to do to make it possssible. . . ."

"Stab!" shouted Harry; his voice though loud did not seem to reach Hermione, who was gazing down into the statue's eyes.

"Ignored by the man who you love. . . Belittled and ignored by hisss replacement. . . Unwanted by both. . . yet kept around forever. . . Sssecond best, alwaysss, eternally overssshadowed . . ."

"Hermione, stab it now!" Harry bellowed: He could feel the bust quivering in his grip and was scared of what was coming. Hermione raised the fang a little higher, but as she did so, Riddle's eyes gleamed fiercely scarlet as the iris became even more serpentine.

Smoke began pouring out of the stone bust's ears and eyes, and bloomed, like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Harry and Ron, weirdly distorted.

Hermione stared in shocked fascination and stood frozen as the figures blossomed out of the diadem, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the air, side by side like trees with a common root, swaying over Hermione and the real Harry, who had snatched his fingers away from the Bust as it burned, suddenly, white-hot.

"Hermione!" he shouted, but the Riddle-Harry was now speaking with Voldemort's voice and she was gazing, mesmerized, into its face.

"Why bother? I don't need you anymore. I know more than you. I have so tired of your nagging, berating, and general bitchiness. You were wrong! Wrong about so much and yet you presume to lecture me. . .you presume —"

"Presume!" echoed the Riddle-Ron, who was more handsome and yet more terrible than the real Ron: He swayed, cackling, before Hermione, who looked horrified yet transfixed, the fang hanging pointlessly at her side. "Who could look at you, you buck-toothed bushy-haired beaver, beside Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, or even Daphne Greengrass? What could you possibly offer either of us? Have you ever done anything a girl would do? No make-up? No kissing? Even Krum left without making out with you even once! Why would either of us ever want you?"

"Hermione, stab it, STAB IT!" Harry yelled, but she did not move: Her eyes were wide, and the Riddle-Harry and the Riddle-Ron were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in an evil duet.

"Even your parents do not want you," sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Ron jeered, "You sent them away and they did not even look back. How many Christmases have you missed? How many times have you let them down because you weren't there for them? They don't even recognize you anymore as their daughter. . ."

"Who wouldn't forget she existed, what parent would, after you abandoned them for this world and him, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to them. And the best part is, that is the same thing he thinks of you" crooned Riddle-Ron, and he stretched like a snake and loomed over her, "He will never love you, and you will settle for whatever I give you. You will become my broodmare. I will make you bear my children so many times that you will be stuck at home taking care of them for the rest of their life. You've already thought of this, haven't you?"

Riddle-Harry seemed to join the other visage and said, "You thought of naming your daughters after a flower; like my mother and her sister, but the truth is you know I will never even notice. There is no way the Boy-Who-Lived will ever lower himself to lie with such mudblood filth," Riddle-Harry sneered.

On the ground in front of them, Hermione's face filled with anguish as tears streamed down her face. She had dropped to her knees and held the fang high, but her arms were shaking.

"Do it, Hermione!" Harry yelled.

Hermione suddenly turned to look towards him, and Harry thought he saw a trace of scarlet in her tear-stricken eyes.

"Hermi— ?"

She suddenly surged forward as her arm plunged downwards with the fang: Harry threw himself out of the way, there was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. Harry whirled around; wand held ready to defend himself: but there was nothing to fight. The monstrous versions of himself and Ron were gone: There was only Hermione, kneeling there with the fang held slackly in her hand, looking down at the cracked remains of the diadem on the stone bust that had suddenly reverted back to its ugly origins.

Slowly, Harry crawled towards her, hardly knowing what to say or do. She was breathing heavily: her eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal brown; albeit teary.

Harry stooped and tentatively reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. He barely touched her when she whirled around and launched herself into his arms and began bawling her eyes out. Harry hugged her back just as tightly as she held on to him and began running his hand across her back. They stayed in that position for almost an hour as Harry whispered comforting words in her ear. Hemione seemed to cry herself to sleep when Harry asked Dobby to take her to bed.

Harry walked over to the Diadem and saw it smoking slightly. The thing that had lived in the Horcrux had vanished; torturing Hermione had been its final act. A part of Harry felt guilty for putting Hermione through it because of his insistence she stab the diadem. The largest gem in the diadem seemed to have been eaten away by the Basilisk venom, but surprisingly, the metal seemed to shine just as, if not a little more brightly. He slipped the diadem into his pocket. Harry walked towards the common room and spent the rest of the evening thinking about what had happened. The guilt of hurting Hermione seemed to worsen with the loss of Dumbledore.

Though he had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm him, there were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was talking about anything else in the whole castle, he still found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore had really gone. He felt in his pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux and the diadem. A reminder of what they had cost and what remained still to do. Harry tried to sleep but he knew there was none to be found.

The sky had just begun to lighten when he decided to go pack; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral, but Harry did not plan to be on it. For that matter, neither did Hermione, Ron Neville, or Susan. All of them would be joining him for the Order meeting. Downstairs he found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the thronelike chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was deserted too: Harry thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast, but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry avoided his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall; Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Scrimgeour was looking for him.

Among Scrimgeour's entourage, Harry spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unnecessary venom. Over at the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle were muttering together. Hulking boys though they were, they looked oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between them, bossing them around. Harry had not spared Malfoy much thought. His animosity was all for Snape, but he had not forgotten the fear in Malfoy's voice on that Tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived.

Harry did not believe that Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore. Killing nameless muggles was easy, he had always considered beneath him. Killing the man who represented the Wizarding World's grandfather, was not as easy. He despised Malfoy for his crimes. Where, Harry wondered, was Malfoy now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when Hermione entered the Great Hall. He immediately zeroed in on her and saw her eyes were red and blotchy. He silently asked her if she was okay with a single twitch of his head. Hermione seemed to understand and shook her head in a negative. Harry simply gestured to a plate he had kept ready for her. A raised brow from and a shake of her head in reply, they unanimously decided to not speak of what they had done yesterday. Harry nodded solemnly and Hermione only gave a small smile in reply and began eating.

Harry looked around the Great Hall and saw many other somber faces. Even the Slytherins seemed to be subdued. They may have disagreed on almost every opinion with Dumbledore, but none of them could deny his greatness. Harry was brought back to reality when Hermione nudged him gently. Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.

"It is nearly time," she said. "Please follow your Heads of House out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."

They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent long emerald-green robes embroidered with silver. He had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the Entrance Hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she, in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, and he, in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs.

They were heading, as Harry saw when he stepped out onto the stone steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed his face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the center of them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most Harry did not recognize, but there were a few that he did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to most vivid pink, Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragonskin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two-and-a-half chairs on her own, Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbor, the hairy bass player from the wizarding group the Weird Sisters, Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley, and some people whom Harry merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry saw Luna being helped into a seat by Hannah and Neville.

Cornelius Fudge walked past them towards the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Harry next recognized Rita Skeeter, who, he was infuriated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand; and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, she gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away. The staff was seated at last. Harry could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. He wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. But then he heard music, strange, otherworldly music, and he forgot his dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. He was not the only one: many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.

"In there," whispered Hermione in Harry's ear.

And he saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding him horribly of the Inferi; a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language he did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on Harry's neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As he looked down into the wild faces of the singers he had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Hermione nudged him again and he looked around.

Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Harry knew to be Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in Harry's throat at this sight: for a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. Ron looked white and shocked. Tears were falling thick and fast into Hermione's lap.

They could not see clearly what was happening at the front. Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalized looks from some, including, Harry saw, Dolores Umbridge… but Harry knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. He tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going. Harry glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realized what was guiding him, for there, dressed in jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulder-like head bowed, docile, almost human.

Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head so that his chair legs sank into the ground. Harry had a wonderful momentary urge to laugh. But then the music stopped and he turned to face the front again. A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. Harry could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of beads. "Nobility of spirit"… "intellectual contribution"… "greatness of heart"… it did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Harry had known him. He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words: "nitwit", "oddment", "blubber" and "tweak", and again, had to suppress a grin… what was the matter with him?

There was a soft splashing noise to his left and he saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen, too. He remembered Dumbledore crouching at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Harry now sat and conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Harry wondered where Dumbledore had learned Mermish. There was so much he had never asked him, so much he should have said…

And then, without warning, it swept over him, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead, gone… he clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes: he looked away from the front and stared out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the little man in black droned on… there was a movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pay their respects, too. They did not move into the open but Harry saw them standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides. And Harry remembered his first nightmarish trip into the Forest, the first time he had ever encountered the thing that was then Voldemort, and how he had faced him, and how he and Dumbledore had discussed fighting a losing battle not long thereafter. It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated…

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one: that the shelter of a parent's arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was more alone than he had ever been before. The war horns beckoned and his time of peace was done. He was called to serve a higher purpose and he must answer the call.

The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Harry waited for somebody else to get to their feet; he expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.

Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiraled into the air and made strange shapes: Harry thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that he saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but the next second the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested. There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Harry knew, the centaurs' tribute: he saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees. Likewise, the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione: Ron's face was screwed up as though the sunlight was blinding him. Hermione's face was glazed with tears, but Harry couldn't feel any tears form in his eyes. He had already spent all of them the night Dumbledore died. He just sat very quietly, as the buzz of conversation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet.

Ron, he saw, was now holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. With a miserable gesture, Harry got up, turned his back on his friends and on Dumbledore's tomb, and walked away around the lake. Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still: just as setting out as soon as possible to track down the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort would feel better than waiting to do it…

"Harry!"

He turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly towards him around the bank, leaning on his walking stick.

"I've been hoping to have a word… do you mind if I walk a little way with you?"

"No," said Harry indifferently, and set off again.

"Harry, this was a dreadful tragedy," said Scrimgeour quietly, "I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard. We had our disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I —"

"What do you want?" asked Harry flatly.

Scrimgeour looked annoyed but, as before, hastily modified his expression to one of sorrowful understanding.

"You are, of course, devastated," he said. "I know that you were very close to Dumbledore. I think you may have been his favorite ever pupil. The bond between the two of you —"

"Minister, I'm not going to kiss your ass and I'd appreciate it if you would extend me the same courtesy. What do you want?" Harry repeated, coming to a halt.

Scrimgeour stopped too, leaned on his stick, and stared at Harry, his expression shrewd now.

"The word is that you were with him when he left the school the night that he died."

"Whose word?" said Harry.

"Somebody killed three Death Eaters on top of the Tower after Dumbledore died. There were also two broomsticks up there. The Ministry can add two and two, Harry."

"Glad to hear it," said Harry. "Where I went with Dumbledore and what we did is my business. He didn't want people to know and I'm respecting his wishes."

"Such loyalty is admirable, of course," said Scrimgeour, who seemed to be restraining his irritation with difficulty, "but Dumbledore is gone, Harry. He's gone."

"I've noticed that Minister. I am the one who saw him get hit in the chest by an AK. I happen to intimately understand what that kind of a curse does when it hits people. But perhaps you'll understand it if I use something he said to me once. He will only be gone from this school when none here are loyal to him," said Harry, smiling in spite of himself.

"My dear boy… even Dumbledore cannot return from the —"

"I am not saying he can. You wouldn't understand. And honestly, I don't even expect you to. But I've got nothing to tell you."

Scrimgeour hesitated, then said, in what was evidently supposed to be a tone of delicacy, "The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to place a couple of my Aurors at your service —"

Harry laughed.

"Voldemort wants to kill me himself and a couple of Aurors won't stop him. Madam Bones had two Aurors to protect her and I vividly remember what happened to her. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks."

"So," said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, "the request I made of you at Christmas —"

"What request? Oh yeah… the one where I tell the world what a great job you're doing in exchange for —"

"— for raising everyone's morale!" snapped Scrimgeour.

Harry considered him for a moment.

"Released Stan Shunpike yet?"

Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple color highly reminiscent of Uncle Vernon.

"I see you are —"

"My own man through and through," said Harry. "That's right. You don't see it yet, but soon you will. The ministry is doomed. It barely made it through the last war because of Dumbledore and now he's gone. The only thing standing between you and Voldemort is me right now and I refuse to be cannon fodder for short-sighted selfish petty tyrants like you, Fudge, and Umbridge. I hope you live to see the end of this war, Minister. Perhaps I may come to loath you a little less after a few years. But since this may be our last conversation, Minister, I would like to reiterate. I don't kiss ass and I don't want mine kissed."

Scrimgeour glared at him for another moment, then turned and limped away without another word. Harry could see Percy and the rest of the Ministry delegation waiting for him, casting nervous glances at the sobbing Hagrid and Grawp, who were still in their seats. Ron and Hermione were hurrying towards Harry, passing Scrimgeour going in the opposite direction; Harry turned and walked slowly on, waiting for them to catch up, which they finally did in the shade of a beech tree under which they had sat in happier times.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Hermione whispered.

"Same as he wanted at Christmas," shrugged Harry. "Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry's new poster boy."

Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to Hermione, "Look, let me go back and hit Percy!"

"No," she said firmly, grabbing his arm.

"It'll make me feel better!"

Harry laughed. Even Hermione grinned a little, though her smile faded as she looked up at the castle.

"I can't bear the idea that we might never come back," she said softly. "How can Hogwarts close?"

"Maybe it won't," said Ron. "We're not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere is the same now. I'd even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d'you reckon, Harry?"

"I'm not coming back even if it does reopen," said Harry.

Ron gaped at him, but Hermione said wistfully, "I knew you were going to say that. I'd have really liked to be the Head Girl."

"Dumbledore wanted me back to the Dursleys' once more, but I'm not going to do that," said Harry. "I'll make a short visit, but then I'll be gone for good."

"But where will you go if you don't come back to school?" Ron asked

"Let's head to the meeting," Harry muttered, "I'll explain over there."

The trio headed into the castle only to see some of the Order members waiting to escort them into the room. The Order had decided to use the Defense classroom for their meeting and Mad-eye had secured the room extensively with wards and spells.

"Wotcher, Lord Black," Tonks said as the trio approached.

"Not till July end, Tonksy," Harry said, "Moony finally pull his head out of his ass?"

"Yes. Finally." Tonks smiled as she twirled a strand of pink hair as she gazed at Remus with an expression that resembled a cat that caught the canary. Remus coughed and tried to redirect the conversation, "Why did you call the meeting, Harry?"

"Patience, Professor. Patience."

Harry shoved the door open to the Defense classroom and saw a large group of people talking and murmuring. As soon as they noticed Harry had entered, they began taking their seats. Harry confidently strode up to the blackboard and Hermione and Ron followed him. Neville and Susan decided to follow suit and stood next to them. As everyone took their seats, Harry saw many familiar faces, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones comprised the non-Weasley members apart from people Harry did not know the names of like the barman of the Hog's Head. Almost the entire Weasley clan was present except Charlie and Percy.

"Harry, dear —"

"Mrs. Weasley. Please," Harry held up a hand and interrupted her, "All arguments about us not being adults can be put on hold. We are not interested in joining the Order. But we have killed too many people to be called children anymore. Between the five of us, Hermione is the only one whose hands are not dripping with blood. There is a reason I asked to meet all of you and it is a very simple one. I am going to war with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I am not Dumbledore and I am not his protégé. I will fight this war, the way I see fit. As the senior guard of people fighting this fight before we were born, I am offering you a chance to join me in taking the fight to these fuckers. If you wish to join, so be it. If you don't, I hope you follow Dumbledore's plan and we share a drink at the end of this war."

There was a moment of silence before Moody asked, "What is your plan, lad?"

"Moody? Are you serious?" one of the unknown men asked, "these kids have no idea what those Death Eaters are capable of."

"Aye. They are. They were there during the Department of Mysteries fight. I recognize the look in the kid's eyes. He can do what Albus never could. And I think there is more to him, isn't there, lad?"

"Yes. Neville, Susan, and I have prepared a series of safe houses for muggle-born, half-bloods, and anyone that can be persecuted by these idiots in white masks. We will be hiding them away, or helping them get out of the country until it's safe for them to return."

"Okay. What can we do to help?" Moody asked.

"That comes later. Are you in or not? I'm not telling you any more than that. I'm fighting a war, here. Not playing games. If you're not convinced, feel free to pursue Professor Dumbledore's vision. But if you join me, I'm making everyone take secrecy oaths. Like you love to say, Moody," Harry said with a smirk, "Constant Vigilance."

"Where did Dumbledore and you disappear to, the night he died?" Doge asked suddenly.

"None of your business," Harry said briskly, "Even if you give an oath, Dumbledore trusted me with a task, and as long as it remains secret, it is achievable. For that matter, I will be keeping important information from many of you. That is not because I don't trust you, it's because the simple fact that you possess that information can make you a priority target."

"We know, lad. Albus played by those same rules. Alright, as the second in command after Albus, I propose we hear the lad out. All in?" Moody asked the room at large.

"I'm sorry, Alastor. With Albus gone, I don't see how a bunch of students can win against the Dark Lord. I'll take my chances with the Irish," A tall blonde man from before stood up and left the room.

"I'm sorry, but Adam may be right," The lady next to him stood and followed him out. About half the Order followed them out the door. Amongst those left behind was the Weasley family, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones, and Moody. Harry sighed. He hoped for more, but he could work with this. He nodded to Neville and he left the room. Harry waved his wand at the blackboards and a piece of chalk scribbled the oath Hermione had phrased before the attack.

"If you would all please?" Harry gestured and one by one, everyone swore to keep the contents of the meeting secret and to not betray them to death eaters for the duration of the war on the pain of losing their magic.

"All right. Moody, I want you to be in charge of security, like inspections of safe houses and wards. But you won't know which family is living in which house. That information stays with Hermione. I also want you to set up ambushes for these Death Munchers. Neville, Susan, and I have trained throughout the year and I'd like it if you evaluated us. We plan to ambush DEs in the streets and use their hit and run tactics against them."

"Harry, with all due respect, we're Aurors—"

"A whole lot of good that has done for the war, Tonks. When was the last time you went after Death Eaters in your capacity as an Auror?" Harry asked.

"Well, we do make arrests—"

"Yes. Of people who disagree with the minister. I told the Minister of Magic to fuck off twice and I expect my warrant to be issued before Bill and Fleur get married. Look. I'm not saying you guys don't do an important job. All I'm saying is the Ministry is more focused on optics than on actually fighting the war. I mean Dawlish is still in Scrimgeour's security detail, Fudge and Umbridge are his advisors; an incompetent fool, a corrupt moron, and a sadistic bitch. How long do you think it'll take before Scrimgeour 'resigns' never to be seen again and a marked Death Eater is voted minister?"

There was a pause as the door opened and Lady Longbottom entered the classroom with Neville. "Alastor? I'm surprised you stayed behind. I thought you'd be the first one out the door," Lady Longbottom said.

"Aye. I would have been. But I owe the kid a debt. If he hadn't made it out of the graveyard, I'd be dead. I'm just repaying my debt," Moody growled.

"You don't owe me anything Moody. Please don't stay as an ob—"

"Kid. Shut up. I do what I want to do. Now tell me why you called for this walking fossil of a dragon," Moody growled as he tapped his cane three times.

"This fossil still remembers how she took on an entire Walpurgis unit on her own while you were still learning to levitate a feather, Alastor," Lady Augusta said tapping her cane on the ground twice. For a moment, neither moved before Moody's scars seemed to twitch as he formed a warped smile, "Good to see you, Augusta. What's your role?"

"Oh, I'm a spectator in this one. I'm only arranging logistics and supplies. I'm too old to run around dueling these idiots. I'll leave the fighting to these youngsters. Perhaps, this is where you explain a little bit more, Mr. Potter."

"Umm — Yes. Well, we were talking about setting up a network of safe houses for people who are fleeing from Death Eaters. I think, and I'm guessing Dumbledore knew this as well, that the Ministry will fall before September."

There was a cacophony of gasps and shouts of outrage all across the room. But the youngest and eldest held their composure because they already knew about this beforehand.

"Harry, are you sure? I mean the Ministry,—" Mr. Weasley began saying.

"The kid is right. Dumbledore knew. He told me a few months after You-know-who regained his body. Dumbledore knew the ministry wouldn't last long after he died. He also expected to survive for 5 more years, so Potter here could be trained properly. We'll have to move that timeline along a bit and start your training. I'm assuming Junior Bones here has been teaching you the basics of how Auror teams work?" Moody growled.

"Junior Bones has been teaching very little during training. We've already moved beyond Auror modules from the handbook," Susan said tritely.

"Fred, George, we need ammunition. Malfoy used the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder with devastating efficiency. We need to think of stuff like that to use in combat against enemies when they least expect it," Harry continued immediately. He did not want their training details to become well known. Mrs. Weasley could be overly protective sometimes and he didn't have the time to indulge in her fussing, "We'll also need Bill to teach us curse-breaking and how to take down wards. We plan to hit the Death Eaters in their homes and it's not going to be easy getting in."

Bill had just been discharged from the hospital and weakly said, "Done. Fleur can help too." Next to him, Fleur nodded in agreement.

"Dumbledore has given me another task but I am not supposed to share it with any of you. Only Ron and Hermione know what the task is apart from me. They are my insurance policy; in case I die."

Mrs. Weasley hiccupped at that. But Harry continued, "Make sure that task is completed at all costs, no matter what it takes. If Voldemort gets even a single whiff of what this task is, the consequences will be something far worse than anything we can ever imagine."

"When are we going to retrieve you from Privet Drive, Harry?" Hestia Jones asked.

"That won't be necessary. I'm not going to Privet Drive," Harry said flatly.

"Potter. Albus was very specific about you having to stay there to charge the wards," Moody growled.

"Yes, plans he made before the greasy bat threw an AK into his chest. Snape knows what plans we've made and I'd rather not take a chance with anyone's life to follow Professor Dumbledore's plans."

"Then where are you planning on going? Grimmauld Place is not an option because Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper. With him dead, every soul that had the secret shared with them will become the Secret Keeper. That means Snape can bring any number of Death Eaters he wants to the house," Moody growled angrily.

"No. I understand why Grimmauld isn't an option, but I was planning on staying with the Longbottoms."

"Why Longbottoms?" Moody asked.

"Because everyone knows I have stayed at the Burrow before, so that is not an option. Hermione's parents will be leaving soon for Canada. That means if any of those places are being monitored, I cannot be there. Additionally, Longbottom Manor has ancient wards that have never been breached. So, safety is not an issue there," Harry said.

"I thought Frank and Alice were attacked at their home? I remember reading the case report," Kingsley said.

"That case report was forged. They were attacked just outside the Ministry building in broad daylight. Barty Crouch Jr. had notified the Lestranges when he saw them entering the Ministry that morning. Bagnold and Crouch wanted to hide just how incompetent the Ministry was and I needed priority care for Frank and Alice, so I agreed to the lie in exchange for permanent care for both of them," lady Longbottom replied, "You need not worry about security. The Longbottom manor has stood for the last seven centuries and hasn't failed anyone yet."

"Fine. What next?"

"I'm planning on using a different Black property as our base. I have a farm near Cornwall that is mostly run by elves. We can put that place under the Fidelus and use it to launch attacks—"

"Harry? Are you planning on killing them?" Mrs. Weasley asked weakly.

Harry sighed audibly at that. Mrs. Weasley was the quintessential mother to her core. She had apprehensions about killing but Harry knew she was more worried about them than the Death Eaters.

"Mrs. Weasley, I killed a man at the age of eleven. A week ago, I killed seven more people in cold blood. I have nightmares of their faces every time I close my eyes. But I cannot stop. Voldemort and his minions are not human anymore. They are little more than animals in human bodies. They need to be put down. Dumbledore's generation tried to guide them; your generation grew up with them but now it's our generation that is paying the price. I spent a decade sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs like an unwanted house elf. Susan saw her Aunt drawn and quartered in the middle of her living room. Neville was forced to be an orphan in all but name. This is a direct result of letting these animals live. And I'm not even considering the insults Hermione and Ron face day in and day out from bullies like Draco Malfoy who grow up to wear the same robes and masks as their fathers before them and kiss Voldemort's feet. We're already damaged. All we're doing is making sure our kids don't have to grow up the way we did. If we have any, that is," Harry said passionately.

Mrs. Weasley shakily nodded with tears in her eyes and sat down. She promptly buried her face in her hands and began weeping softly.

"We're sorry your generation has been pulled into this war, Harry," Mr. Weasley said as he hugged Mrs. Weasley at the shoulders.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Weasley, but we were born into it. All we're asking is, let us fight it on our terms."

"Well said, lad. Albus already had us prepare a bunch of safe houses for refugees. We have a few dozen apartment complexes warded and ready for people. We can add it to your list," Moody said.

"Alright. I guess it's time we move. I don't think I want to impose on Professor McGonagall any longer. Besides, if the Ministry falls before September, there is no guarantee Hogwarts will have her as Headmistress. The five of us will cover the train and talk to people about running away. One day should give all families enough time to pack and find their way to a safe house."

"How are they traveling? Floo's and Portkeys will be monitored. Apparation can be tracked," Moody growled.

"How about this Moody? You try to follow any single-family to the best of your ability and see if you can find them. If you fail, then you know the Death Eaters are also sure to fail. And if you find them. . . .Umm I can't think of anything to offer. What do you want as a reward?" Harry said with a challenging smirk.

"10 autographed photos from you," Moody said with a smirk. Harry's expression suddenly blew into full-blown panic.

"What!? What are you going to do with that?"

"Oh, I don't care about the pictures or the signatures. I just want to see you suffer. Minerva mentioned how Lockhart got under your skin. I'll keep a nice peacock feather ready for you to sign."

Fred and George began laughing like hyenas at that and Harry paled. George almost fell out of his chair when Harry said, "F-Fine. You have a deal."

"Good. Now scram. The train leaves soon." Harry promptly fled with Hermione, Ron, and Susan following him out with smiles on their faces. Neville stayed behind with his grandmother but after a brief discussion, he too left to join the gang. He didn't want to lose out on the last few relaxing hours he would get with Hannah.

The five of them spread the word between Muggle-borns and Half-bloods on the train. Word quickly spread and many people took them up on the offer of sanctuary. Dobby placed an elvish tracking charm on each of the students and managed to retrieve them and their families that night. By the next morning, word had spread that the muggle-born were going into hiding. Many Aurors were dispatched to known Muggle-born residences to find out if it was true. Most of the properties had been placed under a Fidilus thanks to Susan's copying of Auror records. Many other muggle-born residences were quickly made aware of how to get in contact with someone who could place their houses under Fidilus. The Daily Prophet was forced to stop their morning press when more than half the delivery owls refused to take to the skies. Panic and confusion began spreading in Diagon Alley as many shops unceremoniously upped and disappeared. Confusion and panic spread across the country for the rest of the week, until one day, the radios crackled and an unscheduled message began playing in Harry Potter's voice across an unregistered channel, on repeat.

"Greetings, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Harry Potter. There is much you have heard about me and many of you believe the rag, that is the Daily Prophet. I do not blame you. You, the people of this country, have been treated like mushrooms. It is something I am intimately familiar with. Just like you, I too was kept in the dark and fed shit. But no more. I come to you today because we are at war. Professor Albus Dumbledore was murdered at the top of the Astronomy tower by Severus Snape. He was the one man standing defiantly against Voldemort and his minions. Yes, I say his name. I say his name, because Professor Dumbledore once said, fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself, and I refuse to let that creature hold any power over me."

There was a pause.

"The creature you all fear, and refuse to name, Lord Voldemort, was once named Tom Marvolo Riddle. If you are afraid that the Ministry will use the Taboo on that name, then call him by his real name, Tom Riddle. A half-blood son of a squib and a love-potioned muggle, who now has these holier-than-thou purebloods kissing the hem of his robes. The irony is painfully obvious. I am speaking to you today because I, Harry Potter, along with my associates, are declaring war on Tom Riddle and his minions. We will not bend. We will not surrender. We will not submit. We fight for our liberty. We fight for our right to live without fear. We fight because we must."