Attention: This is my last post on FanFiction.Net--as of now, my account is basically defunct, and you'll see no more from me here. Should you for some unknown reason wish to keep up with my writing, I suggest you go to www.schnoogle.com, where I shall archive all future stories, or visit my website at www.angelfire.com/geek/mynaevaerland. That said, do continue onward. ^_^

Explanations and Other Scary Things

Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, casting brilliant flashes of color over the floor and beds and mess of the library. It was slanting from the east this time, only a few rays managing to peep over the horizon at this early hour. The air was still, calm, and filled with a welcome peace that seemed to muffle the voices of the few who were more or less awake.

Harry turned and groaned, not wanting to leave the comfort of his fuzzy dream-realm. The blankets around him were soft and wonderfully warm, the pillows beneath his head thick and fat, and if whoever was snoring didn't shut up soon he was going to take one of them and pummel the unfortunate sod to death.

"Will somebody elbow him already? Honestly, that's just embarrassing."

Sirius's voice floated through Harry's nest of blankets, sounding dim and furry as though he were on the other side of a hill. Harry only burrowed deeper, trying without much success to crawl back into his lovely slumber.

"Well, you're not much of one to talk, Padfoot," Lupin said, his remark coming from Harry's right. "Really, you were giving us quite the serenade last night."

"Oh, shut up, Moony. I would've thought you and Lorna would have enjoyed some mood music."

There came a thud as something large and soft flew over Harry's bed and made contact with something on the other side, followed by a very un-Sirius-like yelp and a crash. Harry groaned, realizing sleep was beyond his grasp, and flinging the covers over his head he shot Sirius a glare frigid enough to turn him to stone where he sat. The effect was somewhat compromised, however, by the fact that as soon as he caught sight of his godfather (who sat amid a snowstorm of swirling goose down) he burst out laughing, earning him a pillow of his own from Lupin.

"Really, Harry," Lupin admonished. "Do you want to wake everyone else up?"

Harry snorted and fell back against his pillows, rubbing his forehead. "I didn't want to wake up myself," he muttered blearily. "What's going on?"

"Not much," responded Sirius, hauling himself back up onto his bed. He was still coated in goose down, but didn't seem to mind it much. "Waiting for Dumbledore. He said he was going to...explain a few things."

His eyes traveled to the bed beyond Harry as he spoke. Harry followed his gaze and discovered it was occupied by Doors, still sound asleep and looking about twelve years old. Her face was a bit paler than usual, but other than that she looked suspiciously...fine. Lupin was sitting near her feet, his eyes still faintly yellow.

"Is she--okay?" he asked.

"Strangely enough, yes," said Lupin, his gaze flickering to the small woman. "That's part of what Dumbledore said he would explain." He fell silent, his expression clearly saying he had something of an idea of his own.

Harry stared at his aunt. Even after all they'd gone through she still somehow managed to retain her odd aura of tranquility, a sense of calm within cheerful chaos. Watching her gave him a feeling of security, a kind of subconscious knowledge that even in her sleep she had everything under control. "Somehow I should have known she'd find some way around dying again," he said, more to himself than anyone.

"She's just like James that way," Lupin said, sounding slightly wistful. "They were the two most stubborn people you'd ever seen. No wonder they made Snape's life such a living nightmare." He raised his eyes to Harry's, his gaze disconcertingly piercing. "What on earth was he trying to do to you in that corridor, Harry? I've been puzzling over it ever since I woke up, and I still can't understand what could have made him snap like that. I mean, he was trying to kill you, wasn't he?" he added, seeing the look on Harry's face.

Harry was mercifully spared the torment of trying to answer this unfortunate query--before he could even begin to think up a reply, a voice cut in and made one for him.

"I fear we may know the answer all too soon."

All three of them turned, their eyes meeting with the tall, green-robed visage of Albus Dumbledore. He wore no cheerful smile, and the eyes behind his sparkling half-moon glasses were grave.

For a moment there was a rather startled pause. "What do you mean?" Harry asked, doubt gnawing at him. "Did you get anything out of Snape?" Even as he asked the question he inwardly winced; for some reason he wanted the truth of Snape's motivations kept secret.

Dumbledore's eyes met his, and when he spoke his tone was somber. "Harry, Professor Snape is dead," he said quietly. "And so too would you and your aunt be, if he had had his way."

All three of them stared at him, speechless. Harry fought a mental stagger, unable to comprehend the Headmaster's words--Snape was dead? Much as he hated the Potions Master, Harry had never seriously wished him dead, and to suddenly find out he was was a bit more of a shock than Harry was ready to deal with just yet. He sat silent for a minute, unable to comprehend it, but his train of thought was interrupted by Lupin.

"How?" he asked, aghast. Harry saw him glance at Doors, who was still sound asleep, and did not quite know what to think when the Defense professor edged closer to her.

"Lorna," Dumbledore responded, something like sorrow in his voice. He hesitated a moment, as though loath to speak his next words aloud. "She gave him the Black Sickness."

Lupin's eyes snapped up, and both he and Sirius stared at Dumbledore, appalled. Harry had known this all along, but his tired brain had been too overwhelmed to fully grasp the implications of his aunt's hissed curse. He watched Dumbledore curiously, vague unease mounting in the back of his mind.

"You've got to be kidding," Sirius said hoarsely, finding his voice at last. He was looking rather pale. "Can someone even do that? I mean, I don't know very much about Black Sickness, but from what I understood it was an inherited disease, not something contagious." His eyes traveled to Doors, regarding her with somewhat horrified wonder. In her sleep she looked innocent, peaceful, and not at all like someone who would willingly pass on a horribly deadly illness.

Dumbledore's reply was grim. "She can and she did," he said quietly, folding his hands before him. "Whether or not she did it on purpose remains to be seen. Either way, in doing so she saved her own life." Lupin looked at him quizzically, and Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"Little is known about the Black Sickness," he said, sitting on the bed beside Lupin. "I'm afraid it was rather taken for granted that the disease was non-transmittable, a theory which has quite obviously been proven wrong. Nobody had ever passed it on before Lorna gave it to Severus, and so the consequences of such an action remained a mystery. Until now, of course."

Harry swallowed and unconsciously settled deeper into his nest of blankets. "What are you saying?" he asked, "That Doors gave Snape the Black Sickness and got rid of it herself?"

"Exactly," Dumbledore said softly. "I cannot believe she would do such a thing on purpose, but something she did passed it on." His eyes traveled to Harry as he said this, their glance deep and penetrating.

Harry said nothing, but he remembered Doors's words in the corridor. Merry Christmas, Snape, she had whispered softly. For once you got what you deserve. Clearly she had known what she was doing...hadn't she?

"So what's the problem?" he asked, anxious to change the subject. "I mean, I'm not saying I'm glad Snape's dead or anything, but if Doors just sort of gave it to him and didn't mean it..." He trailed off, his words failing under the piercing blue gaze of the Headmaster. Fear formed a knot in his stomach, and he waited with growing dread for Dumbledore to speak the truth.

The Headmaster sat silent for a long moment. When at last he spoke, it was with a quiet sort of finality. "Harry, Lorna may have given Professor Snape the Black Sickness, but that's not what killed him." He folded his hands inside his sleeves, something new in his expression that Harry didn't like at all. "And because of this our trouble is by no means over."

His gaze held Harry's levelly, giving him an uncomfortable feeling that the word 'our' really meant 'your'. Could there be just a hint of disquiet in those startlingly blue eyes? Never, in all his time at Hogwarts, had Harry seen anything even remotely close to unease in Dumbledore's keen glance, and the fact that he did now sent a faint, inexplicable chill down his spine. He knew he was expected to respond to this, but his vocal chords seemed to have been temporarily deprived of their function, and it was Lupin who broke the silence.

"What did?" he asked, though Harry had no doubt he had drawn his own conclusions already. "What killed him?"

Dumbledore peered inscrutably at him over the rims of his spectacles, the strange glimmer of almost-unease seeming to grow momentarily brighter. "The Phantoms," he said quietly, and with those two simple words effectively destroyed any tentative hopes Harry might have had for peace and normalcy.

A small silence followed this, broken only by the soft, whispered breathing of hundreds of sleepers and the faint clinking that heralded Madam Pomfrey's activities. Nobody quite knew what to say, though Harry felt a shiver pass through him--he wouldn't wish such a death on Voldemort, let alone Snape. He could feel Dumbledore's eyes on him, but his own stayed glued to the blankets of his bed.

It was Sirius who spoke first. "Look, I don't mean to sound like a horrid unfeeling git, but what does it matter what killed Snape? The point is he's dead, and he's going to stay dead, and can't we talk about something else, this subject is giving me the willies?"

"Oh, and that's not sounding like an unfeeling git?" Lupin put in. Dumbledore sighed.

"That would bring me to the ultimate problem," he said, pausing as Doors shifted in her sleep and muttered something about chickens. "Most unfortunately, Fate seems to have conspired against us in plotting Severus's demise. You see, Lorna gave him the Black Sickness before the Phantoms killed him, and as a result..." He paused, his expression somewhat distant. "As a result, the Phantoms themselves were infected with the disease. Black Sickness does not discriminate--indeed, it was once a part of the Phantoms themselves--and this reuniting of the two effected the destruction of both."

Silence. Harry stared at him, not certain he understood. "So...the Phantoms are gone?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Then what's the problem? I mean, isn't that a good thing?" His head was starting to feel somewhat spinny again, and he wondered why, if everything was as the Headmaster said, he didn't seem gladder of it.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Harry, when the Phantoms take a soul, They do not destroy it as Dementors do. Instead They trap it in their own special purgatory, a sort of parallel world reserved for the torment of their prey. It is a realm guarded and maintained by Them, and the moment They vanished, so did any guardianship They might have had." He noticed Harry's blank stare. "In other words, those They took were no longer bound in limbo, and have now been freed and granted mortal form." He paused. "Which means that every Snape, every Malfoy--every evil thing the Earth Sidhe ever gave the Phantoms--is now loose upon the world."

Yet another silence. Harry couldn't tell whether the others were sitting in disbelief or horror, but he himself was finding this a bit hard to comprehend. He remembered Doors's words about the Snapes, that they had borrowed much from the Phantoms in order to ensure their place at the head of magic's evil dynasty, and the thought of the lot of them free to work their mischief once more was enough to make him shiver.

He felt like he ought to say something--anything--but before he could even begin to summon a suitable response, Doors threw the blankets off her head and shot Dumbledore what could only be described as a pained glance.

"Oh, for God's sake, you've GOT to be kidding," she said crossly, blowing a wisp of frizz from her face. She crossed her arms, looking so irritated that Harry felt his unease abate slightly. "You mean to tell me all my work's been wasted by those damn Phantoms?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I wish I were," he said. "As it is, you are now awake, and I shall leave you to your own explanations." He stood, his expression a trifle less grave. "I believe Madam Pomfrey could use some assistance, if Mr. Creevey's yelps are any indication. Call me if you need me."

Harry turned to Doors as the Headmaster departed, more confused than ever. "You want to explain that?" he asked, not overly certain he wanted to hear it if she did.

Doors groaned. "Not really," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Look, I'm just going to get right to the point. Harry, you know how I told you that the only reason Snape lived was because somebody got to him who believed in second chances?" Harry nodded. "Well, what I didn't tell you was that someone was me. No, don't look at me like that--cripes, I was only five, and if things had worked out differently you might have had to do the same thing for Malfoy." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, her long fingers tangling in her hair. "Remus, you know a part of this tale, and I'll wager Sirius has guessed a bit himself, but as none of you knows the whole thing I'm just going to begin at the beginning." She settled herself back against her pillows, looking smaller than ever but still innately Professor Doors, and as Harry made himself comfortable she launched on a tale that seemed oddly familiar--as it ought to have, since he'd been involved in a large portion of it himself.

"You two know my mother was killed when I was very young--two months shy of five," she said, looking at Lupin and Sirius, "and that I was sent to live with James and our father. I would have been perfectly content to live a normal little witch's life, but most unfortunately I had a few--friends--who required certain services of me."

She fell silent a moment. "I actually called Them that," she mused softly, wonderingly. "Friends. Had I known then what They were, I would have run as fast as I could in the other direction, but being five I just accepted Them as a natural part of the magical world. Which was probably the stupidest mistake I ever made in my life."

She sneezed violently, blowing her nose on the hem of Lupin's sleeve. It was obvious she did not at all want to speak of these things, and without thinking Harry scrambled over to her bed and sat beside Sirius.

"Oi, thanks, honey," she said, gladly taking his proffered handkerchief. "Anyway, to make a long story short I was the one who let the Phantoms into people's houses, opening the Doors so that They might wreak what They considered vengeance. Really, They did Voldemort far more of a disservice than any Aurors--killed off hundreds of what would have been his loyal subjects, all because of broken pacts. Both the Snapes and the Malfoys had made deals with Them, bargaining for wealth and power and not realizing that a debt must always be paid. When the time came both families thought they could defy Them, thought they were invincible enough to resist the power of the Phantoms. Fools." Doors's voice was softer, still hoarse from the previous day's madness and holding a faint tinge of sadness that seemed to dampen the very air.

"The Phantoms knew they intended to fight, but instead of giving them an opportunity for combat They decided to void the contract and kill them all unawares. And for that They needed Sidhe children." She sighed, her long fingers picking at the raveled threads of one of her blankets. Harry looked at her sharply.

"Oh, no, I wasn't the only one," she said, in response to his look. "There were dozens of us, none knowing that we were aiding the worst evil ever to walk the earth. Out of all the families They took I dealt with only two, and believe me it was more than enough.

"The Malfoys were the first to go, a fact which strikes me as odd to this day--though they were far more overt, the Snapes were easily the eviler of the two clans. The Malfoys had bargained for far less power, but they were most public in their scorn of the Phantoms and they were the ones who went first. That would have been the end of the line, forever, but I couldn't bear the thought of Them killing all. I had seen young Lucius--four years old, just a year behind me at the time--when I let Them in, and I decided that They weren't going to have him. He was only a child, like me, and it wasn't his fault his family was the way they were. And so I hid him from Them, used whatever strange power the Sidhe have to keep him from Their eyes.

"I don't know how much he remembers of the night his family died, but it can't be much or he'd be locked up in St. Mungo's. I don't recall much of myself, though that's more because I decided to forget than anything else. I know their deaths weren't as horrible as the Snapes', though that's not saying a lot--the Snapes were extremely messy, by anyone's standards."

Doors laughed softly. "Listen to me; sitting here recounting all this like it's nothing more than something out of the Daily Prophet. I guess that's all it is, now, though I wonder that I can say that." She sighed again, clearly searching for the right words. "I saved Snape, when the Phantoms came for his family--saved him and stole his memories of their deaths. I thought both he and Lucius deserved a second chance, that without the evil of their families' influences they would not walk the same path. For seven years afterwards I waited, wondering if I had done the right thing, and you can imagine my dismay when both of them arrived at Hogwarts and were promptly shuffled into Slytherin. I was wrong, very wrong in my decision to interfere, and yet for years I couldn't bring myself to fully regret what I had done--not until Voldemort had been overthrown, and my own world came crashing down around my ears."

Both Lupin and Sirius started at this, an expression of knowing sorrow creeping over both their faces, and Harry realized they were thinking of his parents' murder. Doors had never spoken to him of what she'd done after his father's death, but from what little he had learned last year, to say she hadn't taken it well would be the understatement of the century.

"I'll not go into all that followed James and Lily's passing--I know it wasn't pleasant for any of us, and some things are best left in the past. However, the next part of my tale must be told, for I am not the only person it involves." Doors's eyes flickered to Harry, who felt himself freeze to the spot.

"It was many years before I came to regret my decision, but regret it I did. Harry, when you were four, Snape--I don't know if he snapped or what, but for some reason he got it into his head to go to your aunt and uncle's and abduct you without leaving so much as a Memory Charm to keep it secret. He had been active among all the children of your generation for some time--he'd been visiting with Lucius, I know, and old Mrs. Longbottom had him out terrifying Neville. He wasn't the only one, though--I'd been wandering among you for the past year, doing what I could to undo the damage of Phantoms and Voldemort alike." Her spidery hand reached out and traced a line behind Harry's ear, running along a thin, fine scar he'd had almost as long as he could remember.

"You've got a pair of those, you know," Doors said, a faint smile flitting over her features. "You and nearly everyone in your year. Hermione fainted, when I went to give them to her, and I'll wager poor Neville has nightmares about it yet. But you--" her eyes flashed with something akin to family pride "--you took one look at my knife and said, 'Pretty.' Pretty...you can't imagine the weight that took off my shoulders; I had been dreading the thought of bringing any fear or pain to my brother's son." Her smile was calm and slightly crooked, an impish yet almost motherly smirk. Her eyes held Harry's, something indefinable passing through them and into him, and he felt a cascade of comfortable warmth wash over him. He knew he ought to say something, that she had paused to allow him some kind of response, but he was so comfortable and almost sleepy that all he could muster was a puzzled,

"Knife?"

To his surprise all three of the adults chuckled, and Lupin reached for the pile of torn dress robes that lay at the foot of Doors's bed. He extracted from it a long, slender blade, unsheathed and glittering brilliant silver in the early morning sunshine. Not a sign of tarnish or blemish was to be seen upon it, either on the blade or hilt, which was carved about with vines and set with emerald leaves. The blade itself was etched with a very faint tracery of trees, winding and climbing their way from point to hilt. It was beautiful, and so obviously magical that Harry found himself unable to draw his eyes from it.

Doors took it from Lupin, holding it before her with the ease of someone quite accustomed to its weight and feel. Her eyes lingered over the flash of its polish, a faint, almost unnoticeable smile playing about her mouth.

"This knife," she said softly. "Aisling, the Knife of Dream-Mist. This blade belongs to the Guardian of the Gate of Heaven--don't ask how I came by it, it's a very long story. The point is, to be touched by this blade leaves one incapable of every truly turning to evil, no matter what the circumstances or even the person themself may wish. You have been marked by Aisling, as have nearly all your classmates--it was my form of retribution, you see; an attempt to create a generation Voldemort could never use. Wicked as any of you might seem, you are all good at heart, as was made quite clear to me yesterday."

Harry stared at her a moment, puzzled, until sudden understanding hit. "Malfoy?" he said, unable to suppress a wry smile.

"Malfoy," Doors agreed, her eyes shining. "He turned against his father when things came right down to it, to follow the only path he would ever be able to take. He'll never be any Gryffindor's best friend, but we never need fear his loyalties."

She sat quiet for a moment, leaving Harry to mull over this rather extraordinary piece of information.

"Anyhow," she continued, "as I was saying, Snape got it into his head to kidnap you just after I'd given you the marks. It's a damn good thing he waited, too, for I don't like to think what might have happened had he gotten to you first." Her eyes left Harry's, traveling back to the sword in her hand. She laid it on the bed, her mind clearly elsewhere. "See, like I said, Snape also had something of an interest in your generation, and while I've never figured out his intentions entirely, I know well enough what his plans were for you. Aisling has a mate, a sister-sword named Adachaidh, and that blade is as wicked as Aisling is good. That too may mark a human, but the mark of Adachaidh leads one irreversibly down the path of evil. The Snapes had held Adachaidh for centuries--it was one of the things they bargained the Phantoms for--but few of them held enough innate power to use it. Snape was the first in his family to be marked with the sword in generations, but marked he was, and that's what he wanted to do to you."

She broke off, her expression unaccustomedly bitter. "Idiot," she said. "He should have known that just because it had marked him didn't mean it would let him wield it. Had he actually tried to perform the ritual on you, it would have killed you both, and likely taken a sizeable portion of Wales with you.

"I'm not entirely certain what happened to Adachaidh--for all I know, it's still buried in the rubble of Snape Manor, though it's more than likely the Sidhe have come and taken it by now. I hope that's the case--good riddance to bad rubbish, I say." She sneezed again. "And that's it, really, or as much of it as I'm going to tell. I really don't want to think about the sort of mess a whole load of resurrected Snapes and Malfoys is going to make, and if it's all the same to everyone else I say we scrounge up some breakfast."

Harry opened his mouth, vaguely realizing he ought to speak, but was cut off by a rather impressive rumble from his stomach, which seemed to effectively end the conversation.

****

Half an hour later found Harry perched in the snow on the roof of the Great Hall, wrapped up in Malfoy's cloak, his feet lost in Ron's enormous boots. The mingled sounds of cleaning and feasting were emanating from the room below him, as those who were able set about repairing the wreckage and demolishing the wedding feast at the same time. The noise was cheerful, happy, as though the nightmare of yesterday had never happened. Harry could see how one could feel that way--the winter morning was dazzlingly beautiful, with an almost otherworldly air of calm and peace that seemed to sparkle off the snow with the early-morning sunlight.

He sighed. All was beautiful and peaceful and as it should be--the perfect happy ending--and yet deep inside he knew that it wasn't. Their troubles were not over yet, and if Dumbledore's misgivings were any indication what they were in for was far worse than anything they had yet lived through. He could take no joy in a victory he knew even now was incomplete; to do so would be to lie to himself. And so he sat, cold and unhappy on the snow-covered roof, and indulged in a fit of utter misery.

His despondent reverie was nicely shattered when a figure quite suddenly launched itself onto the roof, skidding through the snow and coming to a stop not far from him. It was Malfoy, though he was not immediately recognizable--his cloak was quite clearly Bill Weasley's, and if his shoes weren't Natalie MacDonald's Harry would eat his hat. The after-effects of Fred and George's curse seemed to have worn off completely--the Slytherin boy was sneering as murderously as Snape ever had, his expression once again hard and cold and not the least bit moony.

If Malfoy noticed Harry he gave no sign--merely scrambled up one of the chimneys and perched silently atop it, looking both sullen and angry. For a moment Harry was ready to dismiss him, until something occurred to him and he felt a sudden stab of pity for the boy.

"Hey," he called, hoping his assumption wasn't going to get him cursed.

Malfoy jumped. "Oh, it's you," he said, his voice once again dripping with the special derision he seemed to reserve just for Harry. For once he seemed to have forgotten utterly about Hermione, something which only served to reinforce Harry's convictions.

"Naw, it's my evil twin," Harry said, making no move to get up. Malfoy arched his eyebrows, but said nothing. If he wondered what Harry were doing up here, he didn't bother asking; he seemed more set on ignoring everything around him and perfecting his scowl than anything. Such was his grimace that Harry normally would have been fighting laughter, but at the moment he felt too sorry for Malfoy to taunt him.

"Malfoy," he said, drawing the other boy's eyes away from the sparkling blue sky. He looked at Harry, clearly expecting some sort of verbal blast. "Malfoy, you've been talking to Dumbledore, haven't you?"

Silence. Malfoy's grey eyes seemed to bore into his own, stabbing like twin icy nails as he regarded Harry narrowly.

"Yes, Potter, I have," he said at last, suspiciously. "He's already told me...everything, so don't think you need to rub it in." He folded his arms across his chest, clearly daring Harry to say something nasty.

"I wasn't going to rub it in," Harry said honestly. His pity for the other boy was somewhat lessened by this reemergence of the old Malfoy charm, but he couldn't honestly blame him for being so defensive--after all, if Harry himself had just been told his evil family was back from the dead, he wouldn't exactly be jumping for joy. "I was just going to say...well...sorry."

Malfoy didn't respond--his cold grey eyes were fixed on some unknown point on the horizon, dry and icier than the snow on which he sat.

"You know, it's not fair," Harry continued after a moment. Malfoy glanced at him. "I want my family back more than anything in the world, which there's chance of, and you, who probably wanted just the opposite, suddenly find out they're all alive again." Malfoy regarded him steadily, curiously. Harry offered him a weary grin. "You do know what this means, don't you?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"That the Fates really are a load of sadistic old bitches."

Malfoy stared at him a moment more, his face completely and utterly blank, before throwing back his head and letting out a great ringing shout of laughter that sent a massive ledge of snow crashing off the roof. It was a sound of pure and unadulterated merriment, tinged with inevitable Malfoy coldness but otherwise as carefree a noise as anyone else might make.

"Potter," he said, when at last he could speak again, "I do believe that's the first halfway witty thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Harry said dryly, but grinned nonetheless--if Malfoy could laugh in the midst of all his troubles, Harry himself had no right to sit and worry away a morning like this. "And I'm freezing my fingers off up here, so I think I'll go join the--er--party." He rose stiffly to his feet, numb joints protesting at the movement, and began tramping his careful way toward the drainpipe he had crawled up.

"Oh, and Malfoy," he said, half-turning. "Seeing as you've got no family now, I'm certain Doors would be more than willing to drag you back to the cottage over the summer."

The look of horror on Malfoy's face was enough to make him nearly fall off his odd ladder with laughter, and he slid down the pipe before the Slytherin could launch into a classic Malfoy tirade. He darted quick as he could back through the ruined front doors, slipping and sliding on the ice and nearly hiccoughing with hilarity.

The scene that awaited him in the Great Hall was enough to stop him dead in his tracks, however, and halt the laughter in his throat. Never in all his life had he seen a tableau so bizarre, so wonderful, or so lovely, and for a moment all he could do was stand and watch.

Literal bucketfuls of golden sunshine poured through the holes in the roof, splashing over the wonderful incongruity of golden plates and forks in the middle of massive ruin. Everywhere one could sit people sat, balancing plates on their knees and carrying on as though all were perfectly ordinary. Harry spotted Ginny Weasley not far from the door, apparently none the worse for her own misadventures and chattering contentedly with a Hufflepuff girl whose name escaped him. Angelina and his old Quidditch mates were all huddled in a group of their own, apparently hashing over, of all things, Latvia's performance in the last World Cup.

Before he could wonder long on these oddities, he spotted Ron and Hermione threading their way through the people-packed rubble, each balancing three plates and, from the looks of it, bickering royally. He started after them, stumbling awkwardly in his over-large boots and nearly bowling Professor Trelawney into her porridge.

He caught up to them as they reached their destination, a small ring of smashed masonry that formed something rather like a gigantic bird's nest. Crammed within it were the Weasley twins, Bill, Charlie, Sirius, Lupin, Doors, and Lee Jordan, squashed like sardines amid piles of blankets. Fred and George were currently dueling with their forks (with Lee attempting to act as commentator and spewing chunks of food a good three feet), while Bill and Charlie exchanged barbs with Sirius and the Quidditch group over broomstick size (Harry could sense Hermione snickering horribly over the Freudian implications.) He had to wonder about Doors and Lupin, who were wrapped snugly and without any personal space whatsoever in an ancient quilted bedspread, bickering over a bowl of ice cream and absently correcting Lee's commentating when necessary.

Ron and Hermione plopped themselves unceremoniously beside Sirius, who edged over to give Harry room to sit as well. He took Hermione up on her offer of a blanket corner, trying rather unsuccessfully to ignore the sound of Petunia's overdramatic weeping--she alone seemed unhappy, her misery no doubt caused by Snape's not-so-untimely demise.

Doors grinned at him, smacking Lupin's spoon with her own and smearing chocolate syrup across the bedspread. "Everything all right now?" she asked, giving him a characteristically searching glance. "Remus, for the last time, the Cherry Garcia is mine." She rapped Lupin's knuckles with the spoon, eliciting a yelp and earning herself a blob of syrup on her nose.

Ron and Hermione both glanced at Harry curiously--they had clearly been wondering what he was up to, and had likely been searching the hall for him while gathering food.

"Yeah, I think so," he said, shooting a rather evil glance at Hermione. "I ran into Malfoy on the roof, and he and I decided it was best if we just waited for the future to come to us."

At the mention of Malfoy's name Hermione went extremely scarlet, and huffed something about deranged Slytherins that deceived neither he nor Ron one whit. The poor girl would likely have been subjected to a merciless taunting, had there suddenly appeared a distraction in the form of a three-legged ice-cream ball that pelted out of the circle and off through the crowd. It slammed head-on into Marge's backside, splattering with a shrieked, "Eeeee!"

"Well," said Ron, blinking. "That was random."

"Thank you, Remus," Doors said crossly. "There went my breakfast." Harry noticed that despite her annoyance she made no attempt to move from her position in the crook of Lupin's shoulder. Lupin himself merely sighed and forfeited what was left of the ice cream, earning himself an elbow in the ribs. Harry merely shook his head--those two had a relationship he would never understand.

"So, what's going to happen to the Dursleys?" he asked, seizing Fred's ignored plate and setting to on the trifle.

Sirius snorted. "I don't know, and personally I don't care. Both your aunts are absolutely heartbroken over Snape, while your uncle seems stunned and your cousin--well, I believe the boy may be legally retarded." He wiped a stray smear off Harry's plate, complimented it with a smidgen of Doors's ice cream, and snatched Ron's goblet to complete the meal.

"Moocher," Doors muttered.

Harry shook his head once more. He had no doubt the Dursleys would be out of there as soon as was humanly possible, and he found that he was strangely devoid of any feelings on the subject--it was as though his heart had insulated itself against considering anything unpleasant, and despite everything he found himself filled with a warm, fuzzy sort of happiness that left him content to simply sit among a circle of his family and friends, eating Christmas breakfast in the ruins of the Great Hall with the golden sunshine pouring down around him like the glow of all the angels that ever were.

This is home, he thought, gazing around at all the people he knew so well, friend and foe, comrade and acquaintance. This is home and this is my family, and no matter what, no power on earth can take it from me completely. It's too strong, too big, too real to ever lose entirely. It's one thing I've got that no Snape or Malfoy or Death Eater could ever have--I love these people, and in some way most of them love me, and we're a family because of that. He glanced at Seamus and his mother, remembering the pangs of envy he had felt when first the parents began arriving at the school. It's not about parents or siblings, though I know they're here, too--my mother and father and all the brothers and sisters I would have had, somewhere in the sunshine around me. Everyone who ever was or every will be is here, so in a way we're never really alone or defeated--you can't lose what's always there.

-Ah, child. You're a wise one, sure.- The Voice of the Neverstone sounded as pleased as he'd ever heard it, ringing cheerful and liltingly beautiful from somewhere within his head. -You'll do well with what's ahead of you. Remember what you know--you'll sore need it, but if you hang onto it it'll see you through.-

Harry settled comfortably back against the masonry behind him, Fred's plate and a mug of steaming cocoa in his hands, and suddenly he laughed. Whatever lay ahead, whatever horrors awaited him in the months to come, for now everything was exactly as it should be. Let the future come--they'd meet it together when it did, and stand or fall Harry would feel no fear--he was with those he loved, and in the end, that was all anyone could wish.

The End

A/N: Phew! That's that. It certainly took me long enough--I've been writing this thing for almost exactly a year, but now it's finished and I can move on to other things. (Be afraid.) So, what did you think? I know the plotline was utterly unbelievable from the start, but I tried to lend it what credibility I could, and leave it to you to judge whether or not I accomplished my task. I only hope it wasn't too utterly confusing, and that you got at least some moiety of enjoyment from reading it--I certainly enjoyed writing it, which I guess was the point in the first place. Do be a dear and let me know what you thought of it, and don't worry--there is a sequel in the works for this monster, though it might be a while in coming. I extend a very large thank-you to everyone who stuck with this thing--I hope it was worth it, but if not, what the hell, it killed a few hours. ^_^

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