Disclaimer: Rowling owns the canon characters. I own the non-canon. The French passage on the coat of arms is from Michael Crichton's Timeline. The scenes that I used as remembrances are from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Author's Note: I hope that you have all enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it for you. I invite you all to read my other works: The Unsung Past, my companion piece to this story that chronicles the lives of the Founders, their children and their Chosen Ones. Also on ff.net now, my story of Sirius is up and underway. I am finishing up his involvement in Bloody Sunday in Derry, 1972 and will continue with his later life. This is also a companion piece to the series that I finish today and follows closely the character of Sirius that appeared in this trilogy. Later in the year I will be working on a story that was also inspired by my series but will focus on the historical forces and characters around the Second World War era. Please be on the look out for these stories and more, as I would lament losing your readership after this series.

Chapter Twenty-Six

This Is How It All Ends

"Run to your dreamin'

When you're alone

Unplug the TV

And turn off your phone

Get heavy on with

Diggin' your ditch

'Cause I'm diggin' a ditch

Where madness gives a bit

Diggin' a ditch

Where silence lives

Diggin' a ditch

For when I'm old

Diggin' this ditch my stories told…"

Dave Matthews Band: 'Diggin' A Ditch'

               

                He stood and walked out, knowing not if he was heard. As soon as he hit the door, a voice came from the room that he just left.

                "Beautiful words. Did you mean them?"

                He moved back into the darkness of the chapel and looked around.

                Ginny sat on the floor at the back, near the confessionals.

                "What are you doing here?" he asked, kneeling next to her.

                She smiled. "Same as you." She stopped and hit her forehead. "No wait, you were here to pray. I just came to rough up the chaplain, sorry."

                Draco smiled and shook his head.

                "I'm going to hell," Ginny admitted silently.

                "No. You'd have to do far worse for God to forsake you, Ginny," he said, placing a gentle hand on her head.

                "Listen to you all of a sudden, preacher boy," Ginny said, tearing a piece of paper into tiny pieces and then scattering it to the floor.

                Smiling, Draco sat next to her and gathered her up in his arms. "I don't think I could have survived in 1352 without believing in something. He's real, you know. He hears you."

                "Me?" Ginny asked incredulously. "I just as much as sent Ron to his death. Tell God not to bother with me next time you two speak."

                "Why do you say that?" Draco asked, alarmed.

                "Azria. She tried to tell me that something was going to happen. What the hell is the use of this goddamned gift if the knowledge that I gain from it is always too little too late?"

                "It must be hard for you to carry, this gift. You know, you can trust me with it if you want. I could help you carry it," Draco said.

                Ginny began to cry. "He's not going to make it. I saw. He won't live through this."

                Draco nodded silently. There was no need of a gift like hers to know that this would only end in one way. Only one person had ever lived when hit with that curse. It wasn't likely that Ron would be so lucky.

                He had convinced her sometime later to come back to the rest of them. He couldn't sit in the dark any longer and he didn't want her to be alone. He wondered how good of an idea that was when they came around the corner and saw that everyone was there. Mr. Weasley and Sirius had come back. Harry and his cousin were back from wherever they had gone. All were motionless with grief.

                Harry looked up at them as the two made their way toward the others.

                Ginny's hand on his arm trembled and shook and she dug her fingers into him. She slowly crumbled to the ground, pulling him down after her. The others, save Harry took no notice. They were lost in their own mourning. But Harry too was stayed by the loss of his friend unable to move or to help them. He just stared at the two with piteous eyes, a tear running silently from them.

                Ginny screamed, a sound that terrified Draco. He had been enraged, inconsolable when he thought he had lost his sister. He did not try to console Ginny now. He put an arm around her and kissed her head and let her cry. Her scene distracted no one else but Harry.

***

                "Dobby knows, sir! Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy—,"

                "Find my what?"

                "—and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!"

                "What's a Wheezy?"

                "Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy—Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!"

                Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts.

                "What?" Harry gasped. "They've got…they've got Ron?"

                The thing Harry Potter will miss the most, sir!" squeaked Dobby. "But past an hour—"

                "—the prospect's black," Harry recited, horror-struck, at the elf. "Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.' Dobby, what've I got to do?"

                The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry had the impression that they thought that Ron and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong…both of them had opened their eyes; the girl looked scared and confused, but Ron merely expelled a great spout of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to Harry, and said, "Wet, this, isn't it?" Then he spotted Fleur's sister. "What did you bring her for?"

                "Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her," Harry panted.

                "Harry, you prat," said Ron, "you didn't take that song thing seriously, did you? Dumbledore wouldn't have let any of us drown!"

                "The song said—"

                "It was only to make sure that you got back inside of the time limit!" said Ron. "I hope you didn't waste time down there acting the hero!"

                Harry swallowed hard. He felt a prickling, burning feeling behind his eyelids. He looked up to the ceiling and felt dizzy. He crashed to his knees, feeling a dull pain as he hit the floor. Hands hanging motionless at his sides, he looked at the floor and let the tears overwhelm him in an uncontrollable shudder.

                He felt Sirius' hand on his head. Sirius stroked his hair, and almost to himself, prayer-like, or meant for divine ears, he whispered, "The streets of heaven are crowded with too many angels tonight."

                He let Harry go gently and left the hospital.

***

                "Open this door!" Sirius said, glaring at Lucius Malfoy from behind cool iron bars, angry black eyes met by calculatingly cold mercury ones.

                "Sir, we have to put him into restraints first," the guard was saying. "It's protocol."

                "Fuck protocol! Open this door!" he yelled.

                Lucius looked at him, only the vaguest of condescending looks upon his severe aristocratic features.

                The guard was silent, placing key after key into each lock, a series of clicking noises announcing ancient metal giving way. The door swung open and the guard immediately reached for his wand.

                Sirius rushed at the man, fair hair and cool unconcern painted on his icy features. The look of him enraged Sirius.

                "By the way you're acting out, I'd say that one of the wretched little brats has died. Pity, I don't think it was my own. Was it the Weasley?" Lucius asked, folding his hands over his chest.

                "Another to add to the list of transgressions that mark you for a special place in hell, Lucius," Sirius spat.

                "Save your Christian doctrine for someone who gives a damn, choir boy," Lucius said, leaning back on his bunk. He waved a hand to a bench, the only other piece of furniture in his cell. "Please, stay a while."

                "Why?" Sirius asked, pacing angrily in front of the offensive man. "Why did you have to take everything from them?"

                "I don't know to whom you refer specifically, but I can only venture the answer that I took because I can," Lucius spoke simply but eloquently.

                "It was Ginny first. Christ," he said, crossing himself, a habit he had picked up from Remus. "She was just a child when you set your master on her like a ravenous wolf. Harry, Ron, your own children. Who is it that you won't destroy for the mere pleasure of it, Lucius?"

                "Myself."

                "But, it started earlier than that, didn't it, Lucius?" Sirius fumed. "You have to take everything good and pure and beautiful and beat the shit out of it."

                "Ah," Lucius said, smiling. "You're upset because I got the girl."

                "No, Lucius," Sirius said, wheeling on the arrogant man. "I'm upset that you've ruined the lives of the people I love. In one way or another it all comes back to you. You took Dale and you broke her, her children were your personal torture victims. You tired to take Lucy from Harry yet again and you took his best friend, God help you, you took him from his family!"

                Lucius sat up. "Harry Potter, in love with my daughter? Oh, that's perfectly nauseating!"

                "What did they ever do to you?" Sirius raged.

                Lucius sighed. "What do you want me to tell you, Black? Do you want me to fabricate a story of how I was never loved enough as a child and now I act out against the innocent in a desperate plea for help? How about I tell you the truth?"

                "And what is that?" Sirius snapped.

                "In one way or another," he began evenly, "all of the people whom you claim that I have wronged have affronted my appreciation for all things base and evil and wicked. I am not sorry to have killed that Weasley boy. No doubt they have plenty more. He won't be missed, I dare say. And I never wanted to kill Ginny Weasley. I wanted to use her. Don't come in here and lay your pity party on me without first getting your facts straight."

                "What did you want with her?" Sirius asked with an impending sense of doom.

                Lucius smiled evilly. "It would be ungentlemanly and unwise for me to elaborate on that point. Besides, I don't even have my lawyer present."

                "You sick son of a—," Sirius began.

                Lucius laughed. "I will tell you one thing, Mr. Black. I always finish what I started. In idiot's terms, that means that I will kill my daughter, and I will make my son wish that he knew a thing or two about loyalty. And I always get what I want, which means that as long as I am alive neither of them, nor Ginny Weasley will ever be safe."         

                "It will be pretty difficult to get what you want from behind iron bars, Lucius. In idiot's terms, that means that you will never see the outside world again. You will stay here and rot until one day, long from now, no one will remember your name. You children will have forgotten you and their children will never have known you in the first place."

                Lucius stood. "You hate me, don't you?"

                "My hate will end the moment that I leave this cell and this prison and I, like everyone else, will think of you no more." Sirius left the cell. And left Lucius there with his one greatest fears: being forgotten and less than important.

***

                There was more black in the room than Sirius had expected. He walked to the bar and saw Lucy sitting there, blank expression, color drained from her face. She was still wearing a bandage on her broken hand. She would never again be able to play her cello.

                Looking so much like she had given up, like she didn't care which way the verdict would be delivered today, she turned dull blue eyes on him and tried to smile. Failing to appear cheerful, Lucy tuned her attention back to the bandaged hand that would occupy her for the rest of the closing arguments.

                Blair Parkinson had made a show of giving his condolences to the Weasley family. Arthur didn't give him the satisfaction of appearing angry but thanked him for his thoughts.

                The D.A. winked at Draco, sitting next to Ginny, and gave the slightest smile. Draco stared at him uneasily and watched his every move as he presented his arguments to the jury.

                "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began theatrically. "I will not recount what we have already heard here. The case is simple and your decision even simpler than that. This girl," Parkinson said, pointing accusingly at Lucy. She wouldn't look up though she was sure to be listening to every word. "Though she tries to fool you with her theatrical play acting, is deviant, vicious, cunning, very much her father's daughter. As a team, they have used tactics of cruelty to dominate not only our own government and way of life, but that of a civilization hundreds of years old—the foundation of the world in which we live today. You are smart people. Do not allow yourself to be drawn into the trap this clever little girl has set for you. She may appear harmless, but like so many things in life, appearances are deceiving. She is guilty. Do what is right and just and let her face her punishment."

The D.A. finished ineloquently and sat. Lucy wondered how he had risen to such a level of professional achievement. It certainly had noting to do with his oratory skills.

                Sirius stood and threw his notes down on the table in front of Lucy.

                Approaching the jury he nodded and said, "D.A. Parkinson is right. You all possess the intelligence to know well enough when a trap is set for you. Parkinson would love nothing more than for you to believe that it was Lucy who set it. She has fallen in, as will you. Bated by playing on her extreme respect for the truth and what is right, her father offered her up as a sacrifice to his own liberty." He spread his arms out wide. "Someone had to take the fall. How ironic that it fell to the shoulders of this young lady. Why would she have gone into a medieval war, risking injury, imprisonment, death?" Sirius shook his head. Leaning on the railing that separated the jury from the rest, he took a breath and continued. "Her father knew that she would come, he played on her willingness to put others before herself. Another child would have fallen victim to her father's demented whims had she not been the brave and honest person that she is, the sort of person," he turned to look at the D.A. "that Councilor Parkinson thinks should be punished for being so. I ask you not to look at this child and pretend to see anything more than what she has always proven that she is: a person in possession of so much good that she could not sit by and watch as her father worked to destroy our founding civilization. She has gotten to know these people. The Lords and Ladies of Hogwarts' founding days had grown to be her friends, friends that she could not turn her back on when they were in need, though it may very well cost her. It may cost her freedom. If you do as the D.A. assures you all that it is your solemn duty to do—finding her guilty—then her sacrifice will have had such a price."

                He looked to Lucy who had finally lifted her head, so shocked she was to hear his words, more shocked that they had not come from a piece of paper but from the soul of someone who believed in her. There were tears on her cheeks and her eyes were wide, unbelieving.

                "And you will have wronged a child who has done so much good for all of us. She has, along with the friends that sit behind her—saved us all from yet another dark reign that would have undoubtedly crushed us. To punish her would not only be a crime committed against her, but against yourselves. Don't fall into a trap that clever men have set to snare you. Decide for yourselves if she is guilty, but decide with your hearts, not with your minds. The mind is clouded and only the heart is ever-seeing."

                He pushed away from the railing where the jury sat with a quiet, "Thank you."

                The judge nodded and sent the jury into deliberation.

                "I guess now would be as good a time as any," Sirius said, pointing to the papers he had tossed in front of Lucy. She leaned forward and read them quickly. Her eyes flew wide and then she turned and looked to Draco in astonishment.

                "But I could go to prison for a long time, Draco. And father would never consent anyway," Lucy reasoned.

                Draco leaned over the bar and said, "If you want me to adopt you, then sign and I will worry about father."

                For the first time in more than a week Lucy couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face. She nodded eagerly and took a pen that Sirius held out to her.

                "Then, I guess all that's left is to have Lucius sign," Sirius said exhaling wearily.

                Draco held out his hands for the papers. "Let me do it. I have to see him sometime. I might as well be the one."

                Sirius wanted to disagree, wanted to pull rank, but knew that Draco needed to do this. Every son has to face his father after the realization that he is not a hero fades. In a way, Draco was a lot luckier than Sirius had been. He could face his father still. Sirius had only a grave to talk to in place of his.

                The verdict was read soon after. It was a not guilty one. Sirius thanked God for it. One more tragic piece of news was sure to bury them all. Tomorrow they would all have to say goodbye to Ron. That was about all that anyone could take, Harry most of all.

***

                Long after the house had quieted, Ginny stood alone at the room at the top of the stairs. It seemed more than empty now that Ron was gone. It seemed haunted. There were things that she should have said. Did he know that she had loved him most of all? She hoped he did.

                She fiddled with the Time-Turner around her neck and took her wand down stairs with her. In bear feet and pajamas she stood in front of Draco as he slept on the sofa.

                He started awake when he sensed eyes on him. "Ginny, you scared me," he said in a whisper. "Is something wrong?" he asked urgently, seeing her wand in her hand and sitting up.

                She shook her head and kneeled. Leaning into him, resting her head tiredly on his shoulder, she said, "I didn't want to be alone."

                "You can stay with me," Draco said, wrapping his blankets around her and leaning his head on top of hers. "Stay with me forever."

                Ginny curled up on the couch next to him and sunk down deep into the blanket. "There are four hours left until we bury him," she said as one single tear traveled down her cheek, finally coming to rest on Draco's shirtsleeve.

                "I know," Draco said. "I'm so sorry this happened, Ginny."

                "So am I," Ginny said, heaving a giant sigh. "But I am glad that Lucy got off. She didn't deserve that."

                "It feels more like relief, I think. This finally feels like it could be the end to all of this," Draco said, holding Ginny close to him.

                "I would have liked a better ending," Ginny said. "Poor Hermione."

                "Everyone lost something, not just Hermione," said Draco.

                Ginny lifted her head and looked into his eyes adamantly. "Tell me that you'll never go away."

                Draco looked at her and pressed his lips lightly to her temple. "I would be lying to you if I told you that. I could never promise it."

                "I don't think Ron ever guessed that he would leave her."

                "I know he didn't. I don't think Hermione would blame him though if he had promised her. None of us knew that he—," Draco stopped, rubbed Ginny's arm.

                "If you left me, I wouldn't ever love again. I think that's how she feels," Ginny said, choking on her words.

                "Maybe," Draco conceded. "I would want to see you happy, regardless."

***

                Harry tried to think of the worst day he had ever experienced. This one was fast climbing the charts and erased all other minimally horrible remembrances from his mind. That, and he couldn't remember ever seeing so much black in his life.

                Every face that he saw was colorless and drawn.

                It was rainy and the drops of water looked as though they were falling to the ground with grief as well. The umbrellas kept the rain off very little, as the early spring wind drove it sideways at times.

                "Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"

                But Harry was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost.

                "Harry," he said, very seriously, "whoever put your name into that goblet—I—I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

                It was as though the last few weeks had never happened—as though Harry were meeting Ron for the first time, right after he'd been made champion.

                "Caught on, have you?" said Harry coldly. "Took you long enough."

                Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly he found he didn't need to hear it.

                "It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it."

                "No," said Ron, "I shouldn't've—"

                 "Forget it," Harry said.

                Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back.

                Hermione burst into tears.

                "There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered.

                "You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either one of them could stop her, she had given them both a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

                "Barking mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores…"

                Harry held up a hand to hide a snigger. Was he allowed a snigger at a funeral, he wondered?

                Hermione, standing next to him, a trembling hand holding her umbrella, turned and frowned. Her face was red. She hadn't cried today. She was trying to be brave. "What are you laughing at?" she whispered, trying not to move her lips. They had talked between note-taking in Transfiguration this way. It was silly to do so now, but still it made them both smile.

                "I think his term was, 'barking mad'," Harry said behind his hand.

                "Term for what?" Hermione asked.

                "For you. He called you barking mad when you broke down like a nervous wreck in fourth year," Harry elaborated.

                Hermione gave him an incredulous stare. "You two had been fighting. I was under a lot of stress as a go between. You two drove me to it if I am barking mad."

                Harry smiled. He placed an arm around Hermione. "Things won't ever be normal again."

                Hermione was silent, but nodded in agreement. When Harry looked in her direction again she had begun to shake and then the tears started. "Why can't I cry?" she said, anticipating Harry's words.

                "I wasn't going to say that," Harry whispered.

                "What, then?" asked Hermione.

                "I was going to say that I think he was more upset by his fight with you in third year than by ignoring me in the fourth," Harry said.

                "No, he was always closer to you," Hermione said between sobs.

                Harry held her hand up between them and showed her the ring there. "He never wanted to marry me, Hermione," he said with a smile.

                Hermione snorted in laughter and put her hand over her mouth. "Are you jealous, Harry?"

                Harry smiled and turned his attention to the eulogy, given by some stony-faced priest that they didn't know.

                It was soon over and Harry stood beside Hermione as one-by-one people left the cemetery.

                "I can't leave him, Harry. Not now," Hermione said finally in a trembling voice.

                "Then I'll stay with you until you can," Harry said squeezing her hand.

                Hermione let go some moments later and moved toward the coffin where Ron lay. It was now closed and lowered into the ground, but had not been covered over. Harry watched as she removed her wand and snapped it in half with one swift and decided motion. Harry knew what she was doing and his heart sank for the second time in so many days. She would leave him too.

                He waited for her to return but said nothing.

                When they turned to leave, a wailing from behind them stopped them both. They turned and saw that Arthur was on his knees at the foot of Ron's grave. A little ways off Sirius and Corbin stood with Molly, their children and Anni behind them watching with pity. Lucy and Draco stood farther off under a stand of pine trees, Draco holding an umbrella for his sister, fang at her side.

                "A father should never have to bury his son," Arthur wept.

                Sirius walked slowly toward him and picked him up off of his knees, saying something to the grieving father that Harry could not hear.

                "C'mon, Harry," Hermione said, pulling him away from the scene. She let down her umbrella though the rain had not let up. "Let him be."

                They walked along in silence.

                Hermione turned to Harry after a while and smiled sadly.

                "See, just like he said, 'barking mad.' You're going to catch cold." Harry held his umbrella over her, but she pushed his hand away stubbornly.

                "I won't catch cold. Even the heavens cry for him. It's beautiful." She pulled Harry's umbrella out of his hand and threw it on the ground. Harry blinked as rain dotted his glasses.

                He looked at his friend and she seemed more optimistic than she had in days. "Thank you for being such a good friend to me, Harry, and to Ron."

                "I should thank you two," Harry said.

                "For what?"

                "If it weren't for you, I would be living my life the way I had always been: alone."

                She smiled and kissed his forehead. "I guess we needed each other more than we thought."

***

                Stumbling up the path, Ginny shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun.  The castle that stood on that loch was a disaster. She had been so drugged when Ron had pulled her out of there, she guessed she just didn't remember it the way the others had.

                But that wasn't what she was here for. She was looking for the family's tombs.

                Over a hill, quite a way from the castle proper, she found them. It was a building of gray marble, open on all sides with a roof of slate.

                Inside were three sarcophaguses only.

                Ginny had expected more.

                The first stone coffin had a woman on it, carved in very high relief. She had a long braid and a wise face. She was young because, after all, Slytherin had killed her when she was only about forty.

                Maren was laid to rest on the other side of her brother. Ginny smiled. It must have been some sort of heresy in her time. She was depicted in full battle regalia, mimicking her brother in just about every aspect.

                And in the middle of these two extraordinary ladies was a man that had loved them both more than anything. Galahad's features were stern and very warrior-like. He was recognizable to Ginny from his stone portrait, but she remembered him to be much gentler. But she had not run across him in battle. He may have been this man she now saw, but never in front of her. He was chivalry personified.

                She touched his cheek. The stone was cold under her fingers.

                With little effort, Ginny climbed up onto the coffin, near Galahad's knees, her feet dangling halfway to the floor. She placed a tentative hand over his that were folded across his chest. He was in a solemn attitude of prayer, like Mungo.

                Ginny felt a tear roll down her cheek.

                She swallowed hard and spoke. "I buried my brother today. I know how Maren felt when she had to say goodbye to you, how Azria felt." She smiled. "I know Maren always wanted to be seen as strong, capable, able to do for herself. But I think she might have felt a little of what I'm feeling now. I miss him. It's hard to imagine that he's gone. I think she understands that. You were her protector. She must have felt a little lost without you." She shook her head. "Maybe I'm just not as strong as Maren was."

                Shaking her hair out of her eyes and her thoughts into a more loose order, she caught sight of a man, stony glare, hollow eyes fixed on her. He was carved in marble and he looked as if he had been here some years longer than the others, seemingly waiting for them. He stood near the entrance, she realized, and she must have walked past him without noticing. Her eyes traveled from the chain mail he wore, beautifully rendered in stone, his sword, tip placed on the ground at his feet. On the base of the statue is read in a type of archaic French: In the year of Our Lord 1305, Lord Theoderic Ravenclaw gave himself for God and country. His family will ever grateful be. Standing vigilant watch for thee.

Looking down to Galahad where she sat, she traced the bronze seal of Ravenclaw House on his shield absently. "I bet you're wondering why I'm here.

                "The truth is really, I don't even know why. I thought you could give me some comfort," her voice broke into a sob.

                "I kept your sword. It's very precious to me." She stroked his hand and sobbed. "Thank you."

                She looked around. The sun had set and the wind was staring to bite.

                "And thank you for giving your life for us all. I hope that you are with your family and your friends now. I don't think death could separate you from your sister, or Mungo," she smiled and looked into the hollow eyes of the carving, "or Eomer or Isaiah." Her eyes drifted once again to the statue that gazed on her. "Is that your brother? He looks as if he always been watching over you. We're all lucky to have brothers like that, I guess."

                Running a finger around the shield and the bronze eagle, she read the French that was engraved at the edges: Mes compaingnons qui j'aimoie et qui j'aim…me di, chanson…Companions, whom I loved and still do love…tell them my song.

                "It's over now." She hopped down from the coffin. "I guess I just came to say goodbye."

                She placed a kiss on one of his cold gray cheeks. She stopped next to Maren and kissed her too.

                She walked back down the road, a little more lighthearted and a little less guilty over so much death. She couldn't have prevented it. Seeing was to know the future, not to change it. She wondered if she could live with such a gift. She shrugged and pulled out her wand. One day at a time was a good plan. Tomorrow she would see an editor about her book. Right now, she was headed home.

***

                "Sign it!" Draco said in a monotone. He handed his father the papers through the bars. "And it won't do any good to rip them up, so don't try it."

                Lucius scanned them and looked up at his child in disgust. "You want to take Lucilla from me?"

                Draco raised his eyebrows and stared at his father. "It has been my one wish since I was about fourteen."

                Lucius handed the papers back to Draco unsigned. "I will not consent to such thievery."

                "I'm stealing nothing from you which you haven't already given up freely."

                "I have given nothing up. You are mine and so is she. Until the day you both die. We are family. You will always be my children. You, both of you bear my name and my blood. And I can do with you what I choose. There will be no battle for custody. You both belong to me!"

                Draco looked into his father's ferocious eyes with even ones. "We haven't been your children. We have been your possessions. You wrote your name on us, fashioned us after you. But we were nothing to you, only something to manipulate and destroy."

                "That is your mother's nonsense talking," Lucius snapped.

                "Another of your possessions. Tell me, father," Draco said, nearing the bars. "Did you love her at all? Or was that just another exercise in egotism?"

                "I love my family. Don't you ever doubt that, Draco. I loved you and your mother and your sister. But you have a long way to go before you earn any respect from me."

                Draco shook his head. "I don't want respect from you. And I don't want love either. If you won't consent to my taking custody of Lucy quietly, then I will drag it out in court."

                His father flinched. It was the first time he had ever seen him appear weak in any sense. "You would do that to me, Draco?"      

                "Why not?" Draco shrugged. "It would be even justice for a lifetime of torment and abuse."

                "I never harmed you. I gave you everything," Lucius said.

                "I'm not talking about me, father!" Draco shouted. "I'm talking about Lucy!"

                "Don't do this to me." Lucius stood in front of his son with his hands out at his sides. "I will have nothing if you take her away."

                "You mean you will have nothing left to destroy. I want her to be happy. And she never will unless she can forget you," Draco said, folding the legal papers. "And she will forget you."

                "No," Lucius begged. "You cannot leave me here alone, son."

                "I will see you in court. And when I am finished taking Lucy from you, I will be finished with you altogether." He turned to leave.

                "Draco?" Lucius applied to his son.

                "Goodbye, father. May prison be long up to your expectations."

***

                "Is Hermione here?" Harry asked.

                "Yes, she's upstairs, Harry," Hermione's father said, opening the door and inviting Harry in.

                Harry sensed a bit of unease in the way that Dr. Granger had spoken to him. "May I go up?"

                "Yes, sure," Dr. Granger said distractedly. Probably because of Ron's death, Harry mused.

                He knocked.

                When Hermione opened the door, Harry knew that he wasn't expected. Her look was so startled. Harry saw a suitcase open on her bed.

                "Harry," Hermione said. "What are you doing here?"

                "I came to see how you were doing," Harry answered. "Where are you going?"

                "Away," she said, defeated, shutting her suitcase and kneeling to tie her shoes.

                "What do your mum and dad say about that?" Harry asked, startled, breathless.

                Hermione shrugged, standing. Her lip quivered. "I don't know what they think. Harry, I have to go. Please understand."

                Harry nodded. He didn't understand. He feared this but he never expected that Hermione could go through with it.

                "Can I at least drive you? See you off?" Harry asked, endeavoring to gain control of his shaking voice.

                Hermione smiled and dried her eyes on her sleeve. "I'd like that, Harry."

                "Well of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself," she said when he'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry…I don't think any student could have done it…they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore's—"

                "Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted.

                Hermione hesitated.

                "Erm…yes…he was at breakfast," she said.

                "Does he still think I entered myself?"

                "Well…no, I don't think so…not really," said Hermione awkwardly.

                "What's that supposed to mean, 'not really'?"

                "Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"

                "Jealous?" Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

                "Look," said Hermione patiently, "it's always you who gets all of the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," she added seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it…but—well—you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous—he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…"

                They were very quiet all the way into London.

                "Harry?" Hermione said finally. "What are you thinking about?"

                Harry took his eyes off of the road for a moment.

                Hermione, grasping the leather of the seat nervously, looked up at him.

                "I was thinking how much I'm going to miss you," Harry said, finding he couldn't look at her anymore without breaking down and begging her to stay. He wanted desperately to, but he wanted to be strong for her. He didn't want to be the one thing that chained her to a place where she couldn't stay. "I never even understood Ron until you explained him to me."

                "I was pretty shocked when you two had fought for the first time. With me he always fought. With you he took more care."     

                Harry shook his head, not taking his eyes from the road. "That doesn't mean you were loved less. We both love you and we always needed you. Don't ever doubt that.

                "I don't, Harry," she said faintly, wiping her cheek and clasping her hands in her lap timidly.

                When they stopped, Harry carried her bags for her, being as helpful as he could.

                They waited a while longer in silence, stealing glances at the other when they thought they weren't looking and hoping that the other would be fine without them.

                "Final boarding call for flight twenty-seven, non-stop to Cairo…" a professional female voice called over the din of the busy travelers.

                Hermione's deadened eyes seemed to flicker agonizingly to life for one final instant as she realized that this was it—the beginning of the end.

                "I hope you know how much I will miss you, Harry," she said laboriously, staring piteously at him through blinding tears that hadn't diminished in intensity since they had arrived at Heathrow.

                Harry summoned the last of his resolve, the reserves of his energy at their limits. He had used every bit to remain strong for her. "Is there anything I can do, say, to keep you from going?" He took her hands in his, facing her, searching her eyes for a last bit of hope. It wasn't there.

                Hermione managed a smile. "Harry, do you remember what it felt like to be a Muggle? I mean, before you knew that you were a wizard? Do you remember the hopelessness that you felt, the fear that there may never be anything more for you out there?" She paused, lifting her bag to her shoulder, taking the other from Harry. "It was just the opposite for me. I never belonged to that world the way you did. I am a Muggle who happens to do magic well," she shrugged. "I never fit in."

                She smiled as she recollected something. "My parents were the ones to convince me to give it a shot. I trembled the entire way onto the train."

                "But you seemed so eager. You studied the wizarding world like you studied for exams. You knew it all by heart. You were so prepared for it. I wanted to be like you," Harry admitted.

                Hermione looked at her feet, a rose blush coming to her cheeks. "I wanted to be as calm and unconcerned as you. But I was terrified until I met you…and Ron. He became my link to that world, my anchor. Now I feel lost at sea." She swallowed and shook her hair out of her face. Her hands were full.

                Harry reached up and brushed her hair from her face in one gentle movement.      

                "He was my world and I lost him," she said sadly.

                She shifted her bags and drew Harry into her arms, hugging him with a heartbreaking finality.

                "I don't think I could stay in that world without him. I don't belong in his world anymore than he would have ever belonged in mine," she said, speaking closely to his ear. "He didn't even know how to work a telephone."

                Harry chuckled softly and shook his head.

                "Goodbye, Harry," Hermione said with a final squeeze.

                "Take care of yourself, Hermione," he said painfully. It was the longest and shortest moment of his life, watching the last of his best friends walk out of his life.

                 She turned one last glance on him and he waved with a brave smile. She needed to see that he was all right without her. And he was sure that she would be all right as well.

                And as she disappeared beyond the flight gate, Harry was hit with the realization that she would never get over this. She would recover on the outside, but Ron would be remembered by the scars that she bore within—the scars they all bore. The memory of all they had experienced would fade. The sad truth was that what would endure interminably were the scars.              

                THE END

Most Sincere Thanks:

Oliverwoodsgirl: really you have been my most involved reader. I found myself, toward the end of writing this, wondering what sort of reaction Ron's death might have from you. We share basically the same opinion of Ron (which is odd, as we don't agree on many others). I see him as very much the anchor of the little group. As Rowling said in an interview, "They are stronger together than apart." I believe that wholeheartedly. I think 'Where Madness Gives A Bit' has been a building up of this point. I am not one for happy endings. I think that to do the amazing (sometimes very unbelievable) things that these characters have done—essentially saving the world—cannot be achieved nor appreciated without tremendous sacrifice. It is a hero's duty to sacrifice. I think my story has been a parade of heroes and sacrifices. I am more in the vein of Tolkien: a very understated parting of the ways after the group has relied on each other for so long. It's sad, but not entirely without hope, I feel. I have greatly enjoyed your readership and hope to have your opinions on my other works, as they may be my last three before breaking out into original material. With greatest appreciation, Tara.

Hibiscus: a greater motivational force I could not have asked for. I owe much of my research and attention to editing to you. I thank you so much for enumerating my mistakes and inconsistencies so that I could improve. Not that you were ever in anyway uncharitable or unkind in your reviews. A more sincere reader I could not have had; you said in your last review that I had written a very original and memorable scene in Ron's death, not just in fanfiction, but in general. I wish you knew what kind of confidence that inspired in someone who one day hopes to see a book she's written on the shelf of a bookseller. I shall never be a Bloomsbury Queen, but I feel that, having inspired such a reaction from one of my most scrutinizing reviewers was worthy praise indeed! Thank you so much for your readership and I hope to see some more of Hibiscus' wisdom on the review pages of my last three works. Grateful to have written for you, Tara.

Linda: you're not horrible for having a life outside of reviewing. I would never think less of my readers for skipping a review. But it seems like you've had a horrible couple of weeks and I am sorry for the loss of your puppy. Unconditional love of a pet it hard to lose, I know the feeling, having lost a dear dog too. It just goes to show how horrible my timing is. I did not intend to make anyone cry. Indeed, I didn't think that I had dwelt long enough on Ron to merit such a reaction. He was my most beloved character and I am thrilled that you felt I had made him so human that you didn't refer to him as Rowling's Ron, but my Ron. The subtleness of that praise went straight to my heart, and I thank you very much for such a kind validation. Your reviews have been some of the most substantial pieces of praise and criticism on my review board and I cannot think of a more generous reviewer. Your well thought out and eloquently stated comments were among the most rewarding of my fledgling career in fanfiction. If one day you see a book on the shelf of a bookseller's shop (in the vast future after years of practice) that says, "a novel by TJ Kittle", know that you have had a hand in it. With admiration for a kind reader, I remain your determined writer, Tara.

Krisalyn: I am sorry that you thought Ron's death terrible. In many ways I agree with you. I strove to write this story, particularly the end scenes, with the idea that justice is often inadequate to the crime. Indeed, Lucius, for all of his unfathomable transgressions, deserved nothing more than a slow, painful, humiliating end. A theme in this story has been heroic sacrifice. No one, I think, embodies heroic sacrifice more than Ron. I was always drawn to him in Rowling's books. If it seems that my representation of him is inadequate, we can just chalk that up to a self-conscious, second-rate author, not wanting to debilitate a beloved and cherished character. I hope I have not disappointed. I live for the enjoyment of my writing. It would be a failing, I think, to leave even one of my reviewers feeling disappointed. Your comments have always been taken to heart, and I am eagerly awaiting the final deliberation of your thoughts on my story. Thank you for your dedication to my work, Tara.

*Other readers, I have appreciated every one of the comments that you took the time to send me. I remain grateful for your constructive criticism and your praise. When, in two week's time, Book Five is in your eager hands and you see a point that I have made rightly in my trilogy, please think of me. I will be pleased to have gotten something right for once. If I have failed to call anything, you may laugh at me, as I will be laughing at myself as well. Thank you all.